The problem with Evil Clones is that they always have better budgets.
Elara Vance stood in the center of the Tournament Arena, staring at her doppelganger. Dark Elara wore a suit made of black liquid latex that shimmered under the arena lights. Her hair was a perfect, sleek bob that didn't move when she turned her head. And in her hand, the Double-Bladed Lightsaber Baguette hummed with a menacing, red-yeast energy.
"You look tired," Dark Elara sneered. Her voice was auto-tuned to sound deeper and cooler. "Your texture resolution is low. And is that... motor oil on your gi?"
"It's grime," Elara said, tightening her belt. "It adds character. You look like a graphics card demo."
"I am Elara Prime," the clone corrected. "I am the reboot. I am the gritty reimagining. I do not have anxiety. I do not have debt. I have agency."
"And I have a rolling pin," Elara said, raising her wooden weapon.
