Saoirse

Saoirse started life as most uncertified clones do——awakened in some secret home lab, shaped with a degree of trial and error into whatever the maker wished. In their case it was as a cross between companion and trinket, a pet project for an overworked and underpaid software engineer who'd fallen short of the bioengineering career he'd desired. Clone creation was and is illegal outside of federal labs, but the upside to underground mad-science was the sense of freedom: if he wanted to make a leisure clone as a peculiar work of art, then they could only stop him if he got caught.

Being starkly desaturated as they are, Saoirse never had any hope of being exposed to society proper. Even after clone liberation, the cost of being discovered by Federation officials would inevitably be the 'disposal' of their creator; it was easy enough for him to convince them that they would be destroyed as well, although the reality was not much easier. And so Saoirse acquiesced whenever he shot their requests down, resigned to a life in that small bachelor's pad as their novelty to their creator wore off.

But despite their cooperation as they gathered dust, the creator was to be his own undoing. He was a programmer, sure, but by no means a cybersecurity expert; online discussion of uncertified cloning is about the only way to learn more, and rife with honeypots and other federal efforts to bust practitioners. Just a few little mistakes were all it took to have the door of that apartment busted down, and Saoirse was shuffled forcefully into one van as their howling creator disappeared forever into another.

The trouble with being an uncertified clone is that the government doesn't care. Beyond the initial removal, they had little reason to bother with heir newly displaced clone. All clones require a weekly injection of a custom serum to live, staving off the rapid aging that would kill them otherwise; not being of federal origin, Saoirse was not entitled to free doses, and quickly found themself having to take whatever work came as they were thrust for the first time into the realities of society. They managed with a bit of charity, but it became a repetitive slog, living paycheck to paycheck with no options or future and not even being able to blend into the crowd.

No end of more questionable work was offered to them, but it was a recruiter for a piloting program that got their attention. The details were ambiguous but the gist was clear: go to New Monaco, receive a legally dubious modification, become famous, live in comfort forever. It was riddled with red flags that Saoirse saw and cared not for. After some research they were on the first shuttle out; within the week they'd passed interviews and prequalifications with flying colours, assuring their potential manager that they didn't need to hear the sales pitch, just tell them where to sign.

One might not have expected it, but it paid off in spades.

They're no stranger to the reality that New Monaco owns them. Their massive popularity as a charming figure and ad star gives them some choice in who to work with and where, but their modified body is legal only on the planet of New Monaco, meaning they will live and eventually die there. But the oft-criticized pleasure planet is a true paradise to Saoirse, who revels in their role as a public figure and wholly embraces the many luxuries at their disposal. As far as they're concerned, having to cooperate with managers and smile for the camera is hardly a cost in exchange for a life of eternal comfort, where they want for nothing and can walk anywhere they please. Outlooks among the clone pilots may vary, but Saoirse's is by far the most positive, and under the layers of sunshine and cheer hides a fierce tenacity to hold onto their role at any and every cost.

How fortunate, then, to be a biomachine, ready to be reassembled after that horrific crash, months of suffering, a reduced reaction time, ironing out the complications.... it'll all be worth it, right?