As you regain your faculties you fight down the primeval urge to panic at the sensation of breathing fluid into your lungs. The tranquil weightlessness of floating in the amniotic fluid of the maturation tank feels familiar and you allow the disorientation of the consciousness transfer to pass before opening your eyes. You know your new stomach has no contents to disgorge, but it is still best to follow procedure to minimise the nausea.
You open your eyes and allow them a moment to focus through the blur of the fluid onto the unexpected yellow square on the plexiglass in front of you. You can make out hurriedly scribbled handwriting on a post-it note. Squinting, it reads,
"Dear Capsuleer,
Due to the QuafePants Superbug epidemic, this cloning facility has been evacuated and we have been instructed not to return for at least three months. You will be perfectly fine in your tank and we will release you as soon as it is safe to do so.
We apologise for the inconvenience.
The Clone Guys."
THE END
(YOU ARE A LOSER)
