En Multiple Identities Novels & Stories

Luca, suffering from his leg injuries, was personally escorted back to the Moretti Famiglia by Mamma. Mamma approached Don Moretti to request the termination of the engagement with the Moretti Famiglia and also offer an apology for her sudden outburst against Luca. Don Moretti was fuming, but because Luca was also to blame, he eventually had no choice but to accept the end of the marriage alliance. I spent my days being stuck with needles and swallowing pills, but my health continued to fail. I could feel my internal organs aching with each injection. I managed to intercept and hide a dose of the medicine one day. I waited for Antonio, then forced myself upright to hand him the medication.

"The face isn't repeating." She held up the photograph. "The identity is." Silence. Then understanding began spreading. Slowly. The child in the records wasn't one person. The records were reusing one profile. One template. One constructed identity. One fictional child moving through multiple programs. Multiple sites. Multiple years. The same face. The same progression. The same fabricated continuity. The realization felt awful. And important. Very important.

As if she too had learned that stability didn’t require singularity. Her voice came softly. “Sophia…” A pause. “…I can hear myself differently now.” Ama looked up. “What does that mean?” Elena hesitated. Not due to system failure. But reflection. “It means I am no longer the only version of me being held.” Arthur stiffened. “That shouldn’t be possible inside a stabilized witness construct…” Gabriel muttered, “You’ve said that about everything for the last hour.” Arthur ignored him. “It implies distributed identity coherence…”

Under a different identity. Inside the organization itself.

"I've been networked for eighteen months. I mentor new collective members. Help them adjust to merged awareness." "Do you remember your name from before you were networked?" Pause. Longer than Marie's hesitation. "I remember being called something. Having individual designation but it feels distant. Irrelevant. N-23 is more accurate descriptor of what I am. Node twenty-three in consciousness network. That's my function. My identity." "But you're also a twelve-year-old girl. You exist beyond your function in the network. Don't you want to be more than node designation?" "Individual identity is limitation. Node designation is liberation. I contribute to collective. Collective contributes to me

Not control. Something far more dangerous. Identity.

“Anyone could have put this together after the fact.” “Not this,” she replied. Her voice stayed calm, but there was something firm under it now. I looked back at the file. The next section was different. It wasn’t about my past anymore. It was about possible versions of me. Different paths and outcomes. It was like someone had mapped out who I could become under certain conditions. I didn’t like that. At all. “What is this?” I asked. “A framework for identity shaping,” she replied. “That’s not a real thing.”

I definitely don’t want to be caught up with this pack when I could be with her. The only rub is that she isn’t just my mate. My brothers and I are identical. The only thing that sets us apart is how we wear our hair, tattoos/piercings, and how we carry ourselves. If not for those things, no one could ever tell which of us is who. That being said, we are meant to share a mate. That’s how the Goddess works. When multiples are identical, they share a soul and share a fated mate. If multiples aren’t identical, they will have their own mates.

Camera footages from my apartment couldn’t give a clear facial recognition but I had a feeling Hannah was back with more than one baggage. I quickly scanned through the documents where some interesting notes about her was written. There was surely one thing that caught my interest. “DID?” I said as I read through her profile. Hannah Wellston suffered from Dissociation identity Disorder or simply put multiple personalities, not schizophrenia, not OCD, DID. “Yes. Originally there were five personalities, Hannah, Michael, Dot, Patty and Erica. Out of all the personalities, Erica has a high score in an ASPD test.” “Antisocial personality disorder.” I said and he nodded.

Avery winced at the name, but offered a small smile. There it was again, that name. The one Avery was supposed to respond to. Supposed to remember. But it still felt like a stranger’s name, stitched onto her like a label she hadn’t chosen. And yet, here was this woman—Gloria—this kind, broken-eyed woman, who knew that name like it belonged to someone she loved. Avery stood there, feeling the weight of two identities pressing down on her: the one she had built after the accident, and the one everyone kept trying to hand back to her.