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Carbon Copy

“Do you know what this is, Grasshopper?” The Caretaker’s voice resounded hollowly. His eyes were a light blue now.

“It’s…it’s me,” Grasshopper said, staring at the transparent tank before him. His initial paralyzing fear had now been overcome by a strange sense of calm, even peace. Why had the others feared the Caretaker so much?

“Indeed. You notice the hair, the height, even the scar on your chest is the same. He is you.”

“How?” Grasshopper viewed it with more curiosity than surprise, now.

“It is my job. Part of my job is to not tell anyone what it is. I cannot tell you what my job is.”

“How? I just want to know!” Grasshopper yelled. He needed to know how a perfect match of him had somehow ended up here, floating in a liquid capsule.

“I cannot tell you what my job is,” the Caretaker repeated. “In fact, you know too much about it by being present here.” His eyes turned a weird green.

Grasshopper’s hand shot out of the tank and took Grasshopper by the neck.

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