Question.

[Emeraldfox]

If you kill a clone of yourself is it murder or suicide? Or both?

[Lux Aeterna]

It would be murder. Murder is the killing of another being. Suicide is the killing of one's self. Although it's a clone of yourself, it's not you, because it is another being, regardless of if you share DNA.

[Fireman]

For some reason, I feel compelled to post this story from "SF's past".

The Story.

You awaken on a simple flat bed. You have fairly distinct memories of the bed and the room around you – some clothes near the door, a few odd panels in the walls, nothing else remarkable. You stand, stretch a little and promptly dress in the clothes by the door.

A voice comes over an intercom – it’s familiar but you can’t place it. A mirror opens out of one of the odd panels on a nearby wall. The voice asks you to go to it and examine yourself.

“Does anything seem odd to you?” It asks.

You reply, no. Your face is as you left it, just as you remember – same eyes, ears, nose, mouth, just as it’s always been.

The voice then asks you to approach another mirror that is folding out of the wall a little further along. You do so and it asks you the same question – does anything seem odd to you? You reply in similar fashion – it’s still your face. The voice questions you further.

“Are you certain?” It says. “Yes, I’m certain.”

“Good. Excellent. Now, a third mirror is off to your right there. Do you see it? Could you go and take another good look?”

It goes on to ask you the same questions again after you’ve had a chance to look closely, you give it the same answers.

“Why are you asking me to look in all these mirrors? It’s always going to be me. Why wouldn’t it be me? By the very nature of the word mirror it must be me!”

You’re feeling flustered by all these simple questions.

“Are you the same as the face in the mirror?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“Be careful now, think about your response…”

The voice returns to explain that the second mirror wasn’t in fact a mirror, but a video camera and screen playing your face back in perfect quality.

“Are you the same as the person on the film?”

The third instance was neither, it goes on to explain.

The door to the room opens and you walk in. You go on to ask yourself directly who is actually you.

“I’m sure you have the same memories too,” the second you explains, “But I was picked up and subject to this experiment. Now, I woke up in a room across the hall out there with much the same set-up as in here. And something has been bothering me … I want to know, am I you? Or are you me?”

You look at yourself for a long moment. The door opens again and another you enters. It addresses you both.

“Or, are you both me?”

“Hold on, hold on!” The second you exclaims. “I thought it was just me and you over there. I was told there would only be two … So, who’re you?” The second you points at the third accusingly.

You look at both of them – it all comes rushing back. You remember ticking the boxes, agreeing to have yourself copied. But, number two was right, you only signed up for two – not three. Why does number two remember it too, though? You’re quite obviously the original, so who are these others?

You notice that number three is carrying something, but you’re too late to yell out before the knife is buried in the chest of the second you. The third you turns to face you with a threatening glare.

The voice over the intercom intervenes and number three suddenly keels over gasping for air. You rush forwards and check the body, but it’s dead. The intercom asks you to thoroughly examine the bodies and – in order to live – to tell it, without a doubt, which one – if either – is the original.

You search over the bodies. They have your hair, your eyes, your freckles, the scar on your leg. You search for a wallet, but suddenly remember that you gave all your personal belongings over to the doctors before the experiments. Neither of them have wallets, phones, or jewellery.

You look to the ceiling and proclaim that you’re not certain. The voice asks you why.

“Don’t you have a sense of self? Isn’t there something you feel that makes you the first? Could they have your soul?”

You think for a moment.

“I suppose not,” you reply sheepishly. “The soul is individual … they would have their own souls …”

“Ah, of course. So, you can feel that your soul is yours? That it’s the first? The original?”

You suppose it does and you say so. The voice is joyous and thanks you, explaining that now it can let you leave. It had to be sure that you were the original.

The door clicks unlocked and you leave the room. Walking down a long hallway you don’t remember you come across a window. Inside the room is a microphone and several screens displaying empty rooms. One of the rooms on display has two bodies in it and you realise that it’s your room.

A shiver rolls up your spine as you notice yourself sitting at the microphone. The you at the microphone nods to you with a smile. You’re not sure what you’re feeling. You want to rush out, call your friends and pretend none of this had happened. But what would this other you do?

What if they robbed a bank and you were arrested for the crime?

You sit down opposite yourself and make yourself comfortable. The you by the microphone smiles again, but waits for you to initiate the conversation.

“Do you have the answers?” You ask slowly. “Better still, are there any answers?”

“There are only answers to some questions, and some answers are questions,” you reply cryptically.

“Okay … So are you a clone, or are you really me?”

“how do you mean? Are you asking me if I’m a clone of you? Or if I’m a clone in general? They are two different questions, and we need to be certain at this point that we can achieve some concrete answers.”

You stare at yourself blankly for a moment. “Either. Both … Can’t I have answers to both? Don’t I deserve answers by now?”

“Let’s see what we can do. I can tell you wholeheartedly that I’m not a clone of you. But then that gives you the other answer doesn’t it? If I’m not a clone of you, then you’re not the original. But I have insinuated that I’m not the original either with my use of words … God … I’m confusing myself now, and you no doubt because you’re me and I’m you … In some sense of the words at least.”

You shake your head hoping that it will clear your thoughts.

“What I’m suggesting,” the microphone you continues, “is that there could be another room like this where another you and another me [whether we are one and the same or not] are sitting having a conversation very similar to the one we’re having.”

“Hang on,” you cut in. “If that’s the case then couldn’t there be a third example of two of us having this conversation or one very similar?”

“Undoubtedly. Almost certainly there is a third example, and probably a forth and a fifth as well. How are we to know? We’re not even sure who’s who at this point,” the you sitting by the microphone pauses for a moment and glances at the various screens. “If we accept that there are other versions of this going on, wouldn’t it make sense that we’re like rats in a maze? So the room where we woke up was the beginning, and beyond that we’re all trying to move outwards?”

You shake your head again, your brain bulging inside. “Ok, so what’s the point?”

“Well, let’s say that this conversation, the meeting of you and I in this room is like a trap door, and we’ve now fallen through to the next level of the maze. So, once again we’re at the beginning. And other rooms like these, other versions of us are falling through similar trap doors into the second levels of their mazes …”

“Wait, wait … where does it end? How do I get out?”

“Somewhere you’re already out …”

“What? What do you mean, how can I already be out when I’m sitting right here with you?”

“well, who are we to assume that we’re the first to go through this particular maze? Essentially, we could suppose that there are versions of us that have already finished this conversation and done whatever that they do next and moved onwards and forwards until the end … whatever that happens to be, but for all intents and purposes they’re out.”

“But if they’re out … Why are we still here? Are you going to tell me it’s all about causality? Or determinism?”

“Causality, yes. Determinism, I think, a little too simple. I think we’re working in a completely fatalistic causal loop.”

“Oh,” you stand and pace for a moment. “Why is it a loop? I don’t see how that works. How did you get here before me anyway? Why were you talking to me on the intercom?

“Oh that stuff is easy. I was with the you with the knife before he had the knife. When we stumbled upon this room and he saw you and that other you waking up in the rooms, he flipped because he and I had already met, he took me to be his clone and you and the other you to be the excess copies. You wanted to be rid of you. So we found a medical lab together and he took the knife and told me to talk to the other two of you to keep you in the rooms. I felt that the version of us with the knife had lost it’s mind – why would we possibly want to kill ourselves? So, as he ran out of the room I picked up the nearest syringe I could and injected him in the small of his back – I pretended that I’d pinch him. Anyhow, the rest you know.

“Right…” You return to your seat opposite the you at the microphone. “So what about causality then? What about the loop? How does that work?”

“Well, the way I see it, you and I will never be able to find out if we’re actually ourselves or not. And we have fairly distinct memories of ourselves before the cloning process, correct? If that’s the case, who are we to say that there is an original?”

You tilt your head sharply. “What? How could there not be an original?”

“Okay, go with me on this for a moment, which shouldn’t be hard seeing as we’re essentially the same person. If there is an original who was cloned and we were made in an infinite succession, placed in different rooms which make up different mazes within other mazes and the like, why would the original be in here with us? What if the original is actually the clone who gets out?”

“But, then we’d have memories of ourselves working through this rat trap, wouldn’t we?”

“Why? If the other clone gets out and rather than brilliant freedom the prize is actually a firm knock on the head and a series of cuts that remove a solid chunk of its recent memory, then based on our understanding of self we would once again be interested in having a clone made. The free clone returns to the clinic, ticks the boxes and has the experiment done and suddenly we’re back in this mess again.”

“But … How is that a loop? We must have arrived here in original form at some point in the past.”

“But who knows how long we’ve been in here. It might have been a couple of hours or several years, going through these same motions and having similar if not the same conversations until one of us breaks through all the portions of the maze and gets out. Only to find themselves at a loss of memory suddenly deciding to sign back on and dive back in. The loop is that there is no start. For all we know, we’ve always been here and our memories are a mere fantasy …”

“God …” You stand and move to the door, and then turn and come back “So your role, now, and in every iteration of this room occurring at the present and into the past and future, could be to create doubt in my mind and make me think that this is a game with no end? Essentially, so that you can save yourself and stop me here, making it more likely for you to get out and assume the role of the original in my life outside of this wretched clinic.”

You stare by the you by the intercom for a long moment. You suddenly notice that that in the pocket of the pants you’re wearing there is a knife. Did number three really talk with this you and then go and find the knife? Or was it always in its pocket?

Feeling the knife in your pocket, a strange urge overcomes you. Free will is yours to take as you see fit – that’s why it’s called free will. You can take control. If this you is lying with all these theories, then he’s just trying to keep you trapped in this maze. If he’s telling the truth then you need to find the exit and kill whoever plans to send you back to the beginning. You close your eyes for a long moment.

Reaching into your pocket and feeling the sharp of the knife slide under the tips of your fingers, you clasp your hand around the grip.

“It’s okay …” the other you murmurs quietly.

You lunge forwards violently stabbing the other you in the chest. He falls to the ground, a faint smile on his face. You shiver pulling the knife from his chest – blood pumping in gushes from the wound out onto the floor.

Rushing from the room you stumble down the hallway. Doors tumble past you – they all look the same. Your heart pounds in your chest [but is it really? Now that you’re three times dead … twice at your own hands …]. Where do you go? What have you done? How do you get out? Eventually you realise that the hallway is looping around and that you’re seeing the same doors again and again. You need to get out – you need to choose a door and find the exit. But, which one?

You turn left following the corridor and stop walking. Further down the hall you see twelve doors on the left, and thirteen on your right. You pick a number between one hundred and two hundred. One hundred and sixty seven. Then you had the three digits together like a simple sum. The first digit of the new number indicates left or right. One being left, two being right. The second digit represents the number of doors down. The idea is to completely randomize your choice. One hundred and sixty seven, makes fourteen – means left, door four.

You walk forwards slowly, squaring off at the door before reaching for the handle. With a twist of your wrist you breathe deeply and step though.

There’re two more of you in the room. You catch the end of their conversation as the door closes and they both turn their attention to you. You feel compelled to ask a question – it’s bubbling up inside you, in the cauldron of your conscience. Your brain struggles to grasp at it, but it seems to be shrouded in fog. No matter how you try to discern it you can’t grasp it as a strict thought. Your mouth opens, your voice builds up in your throat, then the words tumble out of your mouth before you can think about them.

“Or are you both me?”

Your eyes widen. A strong sense of deja vu settles onto you like a thick slab of molten rubber. One of the you’s in the room is talking but you miss what it says while you’re trying to work out what’s happening.

He’s pointing at you menacingly and your heart starts to pound. What’s happening? You step forwards and stab the you that’s pointing. As he falls to the ground it all falls into place in your head – like some elaborate game of Tetris.

But if the you at the microphone is dead, then you can kill this other you without anything going wrong. You flex your hands and move towards the other you as he stares at you – horrified.

[Dr. Tarrasque]

Murder.

[Zanarkin]

For some reason, I feel compelled to post this story from "SF's past".

not that again it was confusing

[Fireman]

not that again it was confusing

[Fei Mao]

It would count as murder cause you are killing another person even though they have the same trait/looks as you. and

[Rodykitty]

It's only suicide if you're both fighting with Devil Axes.