[ That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? What does he want to do? Go home. Get a drink. Knock himself out for a few hours so that he doesn’t have to think. What he wants to do is to not have to deal with any of this. But that’s not an option. It never is.

He shrugs, affecting a casualness he doesn’t feel. ]

I don’t know. But I’ll figure it out. You’ve been here, what was it? Seven months?

[ If they’re clones, there’s no way they’re ever really going home. He can’t think about that, though. Not yet. It’s too overwhelming when he hasn’t processed the rest of it. ]

Something tells me I’m going to have a lot of time to do it.