Isn't it strange
Feels like I'm lookin' in the mirror
What would people say
If only they knew that I was
Part of some geneticist's plan (plan-plan-plan)
Born to be a carbon copy man (man-man-man)
There in a petri dish late one night
They took a donor's body cell and fertilized a human egg and so I say
I think I'm a clone now
There's always two of me just a-hangin' around
I think I'm a clone now
'Cause every pair of genes is a hand-me-down
Yeah, I resulted to be a clone of myself from an alternative-future-imaginary-world or something like that. Listen, is this going to affect my welfare check?
—Alan Moore, Tomorrow Stories
Tears... tears. Why am I crying? What... did this mean to me?
Han Solo: So what's it like being a clone? Carib: About as you'd expect. It's the sort of secret that gets heavier with time and age. Han Solo: Yeah. I can imagine. Carib: Excuse me, Solo, but you can't possibly imagine it. Every time one of us leaves this valley it's with the knowledge that every outside contact puts our lives and those of our families at risk. The knowledge that all it will take will be one person suddenly looking at us with new eyes, and the whole carefully created soap bubble of the ever-so-close Devist family will collapse into the fire of hatred and rage and murder.
"These people you're copying are already superfluous. You're trafficking in excess."
"The issue is not excess but access. Others take away reproductive rights, I grant them!"
You look in the mirror, but someone else looks back. You remember a life you never had, one that cannot be yours. You are the piece that does not fit, you don't belong in this game. The board has been knocked over, you shall be swept away...
Tagon: Kevyn and, um...Kevyn, do you have any suggestions for how I handle paying you? I mean, there are two of you now. Timeclone!Kevyn: No. There is one of me, and one of him.
Kowalski: How many brain-clones of mine died out there? Admiral Emm: Plenty. If souls exist, you launched your own, personal invasion of Hell. Kowalski: So the place will be secure when the three of us eventually arrive.
Kowalski: I hate this part. I've cloned my selfstream hundreds of times, and still I hate it. Kowalski: There's a fifty-fifty chance I'll be the version that wakes up disposable, downjacking a sleeper. Kowalski: One mission, then I'm lucky she'll get to upload a gestalt. A gestalt, but not the selfstream. Kowalski: I'll remember the mission, right up until the moment I die. Again. Admiral Emm: Take solace in the fact that you've saved more lives than you've lost. Kowalski: I'm just happy that I've killed more times than I've died.
My name is Jennifer Lucas. I'm not a factory part. I had toast for my breakfast. I wrote a letter to my mum. [...] I am Jennifer Lucas! I remember everything that happened in her entire life! Every birthday, every childhood illness. I feel everything she has ever felt, and more! I'm not a monster. I am me! Me! Me! Me! ME!
Dani: Stop fighting. I know you're too weak to beat me! Danny: I'm not going to fight you! Every time I fight a clone they turn to goo! (Dani looks down and sees she's starting to melt) Danny: But you're not mindless, like the other clones. I don't want to fight you! Dani: Then let my father have your morph DNA! So he can save me! Danny: He's not going to save you! He's using you! You're nothing but a mess he's not gonna clean up! Dani: You're LYING! (blasts him)
—Danny Phantom being rather insensitive to his cousin/clone Danielle, Kindred Spirits
Nasdra Magrody: "While the loss of material is extremely taxing, as well as the many navy crews who have lost their lives. Lyrax Pentigure: "Not to mention our clone troops." Nasdra Magrody: "As I said, material, yes."
Today I slew my twin brothers seven times and nearly died four times at the hands of my twins. What kind of war is this
that we replicate ourselves time and again, only to waste our own lives on axe blades dulled by endless internecine fighting?
Which one of us represents the hopes and dreams of our shared parents? Is it truly death if I am reborn time and again?
Am I more worthy of living or is my twin? Might we not ally ourselves - the Spawned - against the Firsts who recline on golden thrones,
stirring themselves only to order us into fratricide?
...
Perhaps we are no longer even dwarves. When a work of art is copied, and that copy is copied again and again, the results become gross parodies of the original.
I fear that I am but a pale imitation of the First I once was, willingly killing myself in an absurd parody of narcissism.