or
Alvin nodded. “Do it.”
Simon’s face went pale. “A corrupted recursive clone. It’s a digital ghost. Alvin, this is why you don’t copy master stems without parity checks!”
“Hey!” he shouted. “You’re right. I deleted you. I copied you. I didn’t think.”
Alvin stopped running. He looked at his brothers—real, breathing, worried. Then he looked at the ghosts of his own carelessness.
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