Overlaying archetypes in one character
Here before me is the fifth version of Derek Stills. Bemused, I watch as he reaches into his pocket, a magician on stage. I sink deeper into the leather couch. My firearm rests on the table.
Derek produces a small battered and yellowed notebook. He lifts it up to the light, scratched leather glistening, and smiles. “I used to keep a diary,” he says. “Writing—can you believe it?”
He gently places the notebook on the table, beside the handgun.
“I wrote about my wife, my three kids, my dog. I also wrote about who I killed, and how I did it.”
I sink even deeper. My thoughts yearn to latch onto something else, but I urge them to listen, to understand the person, the immortal clone, sitting across me.
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