I came home to find my boyfriend Rayan asleep, but then saw him showering in the bathroom. Panicked, I shouted about an intruder. He told me to run to the car and call 911, but police found no one—no forced entry, no footprints, just an unlocked back door. Rayan swore he was in bed, but I saw someone identical to him: same build, tattoo, smile. I wasn’t hallucinating.
Strange events escalated. Footsteps downstairs at 3 a.m., the kitchen faucet turning on briefly, but no one was there. We installed cameras. For weeks, nothing—until footage showed two Rayans entering with groceries, one never leaving. He claimed he was at the dentist, but his phone was dead, and he couldn’t explain the video.
Rayan revealed he once worked for a startup creating “Profile Cloning” software, making digital and physical decoys for rich clients. He quit when it turned unethical, but his profile wasn’t deleted. Cameras later caught a not-quite-Rayan in our home, moving oddly. A woman claiming to be his ex warned me his past was catching up.
We went dark, ditched phones, and hid in rural Ontario. A USB drive later arrived, showing Rayan in multiple cities simultaneously—and me at our coffee shop when I wasn’t there. We exposed the AI firm behind it, went public, and the clones stopped. Now, in a quiet town, we’re healing, but always watchful. Trust your instincts—truth leaves footprints.
