[ WP ] Write from the perspective of a cloned person .

It felt instantaneous, almost as if I had been napping. I opened my eyes for the first time and felt new again. I was 116 years old and this was my third time using Rebirth, a procedure where your conscious state is transplanted into a fully grown stem cell clone of a previous self; I had used a stem cell record of my healthy 23 year old body. It was a great feeling, one that I had missed dearly time and time again. 
 
 Rebirth was expensive, the procedure was as costly as a mortgage. As one could imagine, young hopefuls are often faced with the decision to create debt with an education, home, insurance, or a guaranteed second chance should something go wrong. Once you're on a Rebirth contract there's no escaping their payment demands. At that point it's either you pay or you serve, mostly the latter for misguided youth who ca n't earn a substantial income; one that is near impossible to acquire. Luckily for me I was born into wealth and these issues are not my own, hence why this was my third. 
 
 My first Rebirth was n't long after I signed the agreement. I was 25 and got into a fatal car accident. My vacant clone was pulled out of preservation ready for a mental host and the transition was painless. The second was a result of lung cancer at 46, I was able to enjoy my vices in excess. I'd drink routinely, almost religiously, as I had no concern for my future health. The third death was the least pleasant as being wealthy is controversial. I was murdered by a less fortunate stranger who was angry at his place in the world and sought revenge upon my immortality. I suspect he was one of those kids indebted to Rebirth with little money left to live freely. 
 
 The room I was sitting in had n't changed much since the last time I visited the Rebirth center. Regardless, I wanted to check out as fast as possible so I could contact my lawyer and sue the brat. I stood tall and stretched out my body, then approached the bathroom to take a look at my handsome face. Then I felt my stomach drop at the sight of myself in the mirror. I began to panic because the man I saw was n't me. I calmed myself by believing they had simply made a mistake with my documentation. I ran to the paging device to contact medical personnel. Pushing the button repeatedly was the only way I could exert my stress. The door opened and rather than a cheerful doctor to greet me, I saw three guards. I cried in outrage at their mistake. They did n't respond and forcefully grappled me. 
 
 `` Where are you taking me? I demand to know what is going on?'' I ordered. 
 
 One of the guards uttered, `` You're under arrest for murder''.
