It was, just think about it, his 85th birthday. The years had flown by unnoticed for a man as perpetually busy as Zandik. But they had taken a noticeable toll on his body, which hadn't succumbed to the effects of the elixir of immortality he'd so painstakingly tried to create in recent years.

Lost in his own thoughts, the old man tripped on the stairs and fell down, injuring his back and apparently suffering a concussion.

"Agh! Help me.. up... C-call for help!.." He said to his clones, who was looking down at him, doesn't making a movement to help. To his surprise none of them helped him. Every version of Zandik was too selfish for that. They was waiting for his death just to have curious opportunity dissect their own original self