Ziven Wynter lay weakly on the cold metal bed, his fiery red hair damp with sweat and silver eyes clouded with pain. Looking at the kind intern, he whispered “I need to tell you… I’m a clone, created for their experiments. That’s all I’ve ever been, and all I ever will be.” His voice broke as he added “I don’t feel well. I think they did something in their last experiment, and whatever they did is making me feel really sick.” 
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