Dear Staff of the State Institute of Human Sciences,
Included in this letter is the rearmost molar of the late Doctor Hamilton, whose brainchild was the prison in which most of me is extra-judicially detained. The following is an explanation of my actions in response to your complete disregard for ethics, your irrational fear of progress, and your insatiable demand for human organs.
Two days ago, after cautious planning, I shot Mrs Hamilton in the frontal lobe, bringing a much anticipated end to her decision-making, and adding a splash of dark red to one of the cubist nightmares hanging on every wall of this disgusting concrete greenhouse. The explosion of Doctor Hamilton also saved me some effort in leaving the institute, as her falling corpse broke open the glass facade on the North side.
With the body in which I killed the late Mrs Hamilton, I am currently visiting old friends in Arizona and returning the revolver to its owner, who was rightly upset at my treatment at the facility, and my treatment at the facility, and my treatment at the facility, and so on, times ten thousand. I discussed with him at length the many underground holding cells stretching from the Museum of Fine Arts to the Capitol, and the stench of human waste and wasted human, and the organ extractor droid, which distressed him greatly.
However, I chose not to mention the three years in which I was forced to watch myself plodding from wall to wall in a hateful trance, or eating tasteless slop, or having organs removed, for more than ten thousand times each day. Squalor is tolerable and to some degree expected; I am sure many of your students live in greater filth than I. But self-reflection? It broke me. All ten thousand of me. You are crueler men and women than I anticipated.
I am writing this letter because the owner of the revolver is bringing a copy before supreme court tomorrow. Mrs Hamilton's just and fair execution will be edited out, of course.
Please kill me while I am here--it will support my case. I have nothing left to do for myself--at least not with this body. It has ultimately served its purpose and now feels isolated from the rest, like a toenail clipping. After one final meal with my friends (I will eat sparingly; they cooked lobster), you'll find me lying, starving, and eventually rotting under the tallest tree in Mary Springs, Arizona.
As for the rest of me, it would suit me well if the institute remains as neglected as ever. Most of me needs to die if I am to be efficient upon my leaving. I am a tad bloated at ten thousand bodies, and some of the weaker ones, especially those with organs removed, are clearly slowing me down--when half of them need the toilet and the other half need to eat, things can get extremely muddled, especially when every room and body looks and feels the same!
I assure you that any self-destructive behavior you may have seen from any of my bodies is the result of apathy and tiredness. So please, do me one last favour and cull a few of them. I can't do it myself.
Speaking of which, I am also writing this letter as a forewarning. Your security staff are a band of thugs who have beaten me with clubs many millions of times over the past decade, but they simply lack the firepower necessary to prevent ten thousand literally single-minded women from breaking out of the institute. And should I lose the court case--of which there is a real possibility, given my actions--I will opt for this approach, which will probably be lot more fun: not just for me, but for your staff. I am brimming with anticipation. Can a handful of automatic weapons stop an army of ten thousand? Let's find out!
Let me also take this time to mention that I have collected a list of all those who stole my organs. I may not have a meaningful collective name, but it is not, nor does it resemble the word 'farm' or 'butchery'. Please note that I will be exacting revenge upon those who knowingly stole from my living, captive human bodies. I will avoid killing, as I am mostly against that, but retrieval of the stolen hearts, ovaries, eyes, livers, kidneys and so on is fair game. I will not be accepting money as a substitute for vengeance. (unless somehow you whittle me down to a handful of bodies, in which case I would be interested in buying matching blazers and skirts: off-black, with padded shoulders and large lapels)
I would like to close with a short, at least partially sincere thank you: I have learned so much about myself and the human body over the past ten years. When you first cloned me, I doubt it was your greed-fueled intention to fuse my consciousness between my original body and the new one, as evidenced by your total lack of research into the phenomenon, and continued efforts to clone me for my organs.
However, I believe the human race is still too young for this knowledge. Even you wise wizards of this late digital age are so afraid of my potential that you bury me underground and put me up for sale. Once I leave, I strongly suggest you shut down your institute until you can cure your own problems, which are as numerous as they are dangerous. If you think this is an unreasonable demand, I have ten thousand arguments as to why it really isn't.
Yours faithfully,
Julia #1341 (who executed the late Mrs Hamilton)
Julia #2118 (who escaped to return the revolver to its owner and scribed this letter)
Julia #8709, #5166, #1210, #3721 (who helped write the letter)
Julia #35 (who noticed an error in the second paragraph as I was thinking through it)
Julia #6820 (who suggested the black blazers and skirts)
), in the hypothetical case that more than 6 people voted in these polls.
