It's been awhile. c:

"What happens when you die?"

Jeremie tightens his jaw, fixing his gaze firmly on the computer before him as he examines the code. He needs to make sure there are no flaws, no possible chances of failure...

(No chances of prolonging any suffering. But he pushes that thought away as soon as it occurs to him.)

"We don't really know, William." He risks a glance at the boy beside him, the one who he knows is only a construct of coding and nuclear energy, and his face is curious. Unafraid, unbetrayed— simply wondering, musing somewhere in a way that only one whose personality hinges on a basic behavioral program could understand.

"Some believe in an afterlife. Some think of it as just going to sleep and... never waking up."

"Oh." He blinks at him. "Do digitally generated polymorphic energy fields get afterlives?"

He stays silent for a long, long moment, his hands hanging motionlessly over the keyboard. Then, he sighs and leans back into his chair. "Do you remember when the real William deactivated your tower? And you went away for awhile, and we brought you back?"

"Yeah. It was scary."

His heart twists. In his head, he repeats, over and over again, 'It can't feel. It's only repeating what it knows about death. It won't exist. It can't know what fear is.'

It doesn't help.

"It'll be like that, because I'll be deactivating your tower, except... you won't come back. Do you understand?"

"Yes." The clone's tone is unchanging. "I liked hanging out with you guys. Can we do it again?"

"Sure, William. Think about that for a bit, okay?" His voice is tight when he speaks because he knows what he has to do, and he knows if he doesn't do it now, he won't do it ever.

He jabs a finger against the jump key, and he sucks in a sharp breath at William's surprised yelp and the flash of light beside him. It isn't even a second later when it's over; it's done, the clone is deactivated, it isn't an issue anymore.

Shakily, he takes his glasses off and cleans them on his shirt. When he highlights the coding and sets the cursor on the 'Delete' button, he waits for a long moment.

Eventually, he lets go. The code vanishes, but the new weight on his shoulders—a mere feather atop the thousands of pounds already resting there—remains.