In the year 2271, a mom named Emily sat in her plush armchair, nervously twirling a glass of wine in her hand. Her 23-year-old son, Hector, was sprawled on the couch, lazily flipping through a history textbook.
“Hector, dear, we need to have a talk,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. Hector glanced up, mildly annoyed at the interruption.
“What is it, Mom?” he asked, his voice laden with teenage indifference.
Emily took a deep breath. “Well, you see, there’s something very important I need to tell you about your... heritage.”
Hector raised an eyebrow. “Is this about that genealogy test you made me do last summer? Because I really don’t care if we’re 1/64th Lithuanian.”
“No, no, it’s far more serious than that.” Emily set her glass down and leaned forward, wringing her hands. “Hector, you’re actually a... well, a Hitler.”
Hector blinked. “A what?”
“A Hitler. As in, you are a genetic clone of Adolf Hitler.” Emily’s voice quavered as she forced out the words. Hector sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with shock. “What the hell are you talking about, Mom? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“I wish it were, dear,” Emily replied, her tone deadly serious. “When you were conceived, I was going through a... a phase.”
“A phase?” Hector’s voice rose an octave. “You cloned Hitler because you were going through a phase?” Emily nodded, biting her lip. “It was a dark time in my life, Hector. I was fascinated by historical figures, and, well, I thought it would be interesting to raise one.
Hector jumped to his feet, his face a mixture of horror and rage. “Interesting? You thought it would be interesting to clone one of the most evil men in history?”
Emily stood as well, trying to calm her son. “It was a terrible mistake, I realize that now. But you have to understand, you’re not him. You’re your own person.”
“But I look just like him!” Hector shouted, pointing to his reflection in a nearby mirror. “You ever wonder why my classmates keep calling me ‘Little Führer’? I thought it was just a cruel joke!”
Emily winced. “I’m so sorry, Hector. I didn’t think it through.”
“You think?” Hector paced the room, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to figure out why I look like a World War II villain, and it’s because you were going through a phase?” “Yes,” Emily said softly, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Hector stopped and stared at his mother, his anger slowly giving way to incredulity. “How did you even get Hitler’s DNA?”
Emily sighed, sitting back down. “There was this online auction—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hector muttered, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want to hear the rest. What am I supposed to do with this information?”
Emily reached out, taking Hector’s hand. “You’re not bound by his actions. You’re a good person, and you can be anything you want to be. You’re not defined by his legacy.”
Hector pulled his hand away. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s going to have to explain this to everyone I know. ‘Hey, guys, turns out I’m Hitler 2.0, but don’t worry, it’s all cool because my mom was going through a phase.’”
Hector stood up “This is too much, I can’t even be around you right now! I never should’ve dropped out of art school and moved back home. I’m going to stay at Heinrich's house for a while so I can process this. Emily began to speak “Hector plea-” but was cut-off “NEIN, you’ve done enough, mom!”, and Hector stormed out.