Yes, alright, this situation was my fault. I’d cloned myself. My clone turned out to be evil. He’d killed everybody I’d ever loved, and then he’d hijacked a local television broadcast to inform everyone that he – ostensibly, I – was going to kill the President.

I’ll own that error. Nobody’s perfect. Everyone makes mistakes.

Try telling that to the Special Forces guys who’d just abseiled down the roof of my apartment building and smashed through my window. Try telling that to their guns. They’d have a tough time believing you. Their guns, too.

I tried explaining what had happened. I even pointed out my other clone, Dave, who wasn’t quite so gifted in the intellect department but, dammit, he was keen and he made an effort.

Even with Dave nodding and saying, “Yep!” every time I finished a sentence, the black-clad men refused to budge on the matter, and their guns didn’t look like they’d even been paying attention.

Fortunately my evil clone detonated a small nuclear device in the next town, killing us all.