Trey marvelled at the monitor. The man in the examination room looked exactly like him, down to his unruly cowlick.
“So he just goes about his life, oblivious, until I need him…?”
Dr Wilmer nodded. “Yes—he has a fully implanted memory, no idea he was cloned. If you need one of his organs, let us know. Sign here, please…”
***
Chip watched Trey sign the form on his screen. “So he has no idea I’m about to get his heart…?”
Dr Campbell shook his head. “None.”
Chip ran his fingers through his cowlick. “I feel bad…”
“Don’t. Sign here, please…”
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="First Kiss, Second Kiss by Jeff Currier"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Up, Up and Stay by Jacob Conflitti"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Butterfly Defect by Andreas Flögel"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Heavyweight by Gully Novaro"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>