Up to 80 copies

Ten more of myself slid into existence like shadows given substance. The total number was thirty-five, but I could have done more. If I pushed it all the way, there would be eighty Taylors waiting in the wings, crouched on rooftops in a gray so dull, so deep, and so close to black that only the white skulls would stand out. I was knives in the dark.

I was an army.