He'll deal with the possible existential crisis of real versus fake people later.

"Wow, how thad for you," he drawled scathingly, while trying to keep his blood pusher from racing. "Who'th motht likely to die? Back home, we cull the weak. I'm not in a pothition to do any culling, but I take cultural interetht."

He'd never been in a position to cull. Kill in defense, yes, but even after he'd escaped slavery, he'd chosen to follow ideals that eschewed culling.