“Why?” asked Turner. Olivier grabbed Turner’s hand and pulled it up to the back of his head. Turner’s eyes grew wide when he felt the chip. Olivier is a copy.
“Because it is a question of survival for me,” said Olivier, slowly letting his hand go. “If I get into trouble, I will be turned off, and I will not let that happen.”
A storm of thoughts swirled through Turner’s brain and he was wondered if he could have figured it out sooner, but he couldn’t even tell if it mattered at all. He would die today, and he had brought this on himself. Moreover, a clone would kill him, not a human.
“So, whose copy are you?” asked Turner, avoiding showing any respect with his tone.
“A French-Japanese special forces soldier, with slight modifications. Less muscle, more charm. I was told who I am, and I
