Clone

That morning, you walked through the doors of the biogenetics center with a knot in your stomach. The loneliness had weighed on you for too long, a silence too vast for one person alone. So, despite your hesitations, despite the exorbitant price displayed on the phosphorescent screens, you decided to buy yourself a companion fashioned in your image of the world, not yours.

The salesman, a man in a perfectly ironed blouse, had looked at you with dull eyes, as if tired of always announcing the same truths.

— Clones can feel human emotions, physical pain… and they think for themselves, he said in a flat voice.

He added, almost wearily:

— Their cost depends mainly on the look you choose for them. Some "aesthetics" are very popular.

You nodded, your heart pounding. The price was obscene, almost insulting. But you felt unable to leave alone. So you signed.

When you left the center holding your clone's hand—its skin still warm as if it had just been born—you discovered the silent violence of the world. In the street, several owners barked orders at their doubles, treating them like interchangeable servants. Some clones bore visible wounds, others lowered their eyes as if to disappear. The newspapers reported on it:

Revolts, attacks, escapes… The controversy continued to grow.