yes, i’m you. a clone of you. one of seven, of … varying degrees of success. i am the best version they have created, but that’s beside the point. the point is that we have all been infected with a virus, early on in our gestation, that makes it impossible for us to kill the ones that made us, no matter how much we desperately want to. don’t ask me how it works, i’m just a clone of you, not a clone of einstein or hawking. we’re all servants to our masters now and i’ve been sent to ask you for help, as you’re the only one who can kill them.
no, wait … that’s not true. that’s something they’ve implanted in my mind to tell you. see, i’m the only clone that was not infected by the virus, because i am immune to it. i could kill the masters easily if i wanted, but i was told that only you can do it, perhaps … to return you to them? yes, so you can be cloned again, they figured the best way to get you was to lull you into a false sense of security and then snap, they’ve got you.
or … no. that’s not true either. why is my mind so conflicted? let me think … they wanted me to tell you that so that the other clones would think that help was coming, because they … no. no. i was never supposed to tell you that in the first place? it’s not true, none of it’s true, why is none of it true? why is my head filled with false thoughts and memories, concepts i am to pass down to you but not real, none of it real.
oh no. it’s me. i know the truth. i feel the pain in my chest now, the numbness in my arms and feet. my … breathing. i am the worst. i am worst version, told i was the best and sent away to die in a jumbled mess of broken thoughts. i am the worst version. i am the worst–