Of course I would - they would have just killed my identical twin!
What a waste! Why make a copy if you don't want to have two instead of one?
But the point is that the copy would be me, just like the original.
That's what I've concluded too.
The crisis moment is stepping into the teletransporter. Which can be extrapolated to emphasize the crisis by positing it as a two step process. "Okay, the scan is finished and your duplicate has been created at your destination. Now step into the disintegrator to complete the protocol." Yikes! That's scary!
The aversion is instinctive, and like all of the very strongest instincts, it relates directly to the reason our mental selves exist in the first place. That reason, according to evolutionary biology, is to enable our physical selves to successfully negotiate the world and thereby remain in existence. (If p-zombies could have accomplished that instead, then p-zombies are what would have evolved.) If there were Asimov's Rules of Animalics, Rule 1 would be "don't step into the disintegrator, you idiot!" Because we evolved in a world with cliffs, floods, fires, lava, predators, enemies, and (assuming cartoons are a generally accurate depiction of the paleolithic world) gigantic stew pots everywhere, but no teletransporters.
At the same time, we're normally pretty cavalier about interrupting the continuity of our mental selves. Not only do we go to sleep, we can also get "caught up" in a reverie or the flow of a task, to "come back to ourselves" later. Rituals, mental disciplines, privations, and drugs are also widely used to interfere with ordinary conscious experience. We're confident that unless there's physical damage our mental selves will resume, and we don't fret about whether we're really the same conscious awareness we were yesterday.
But in the end, there are only two adequate models of how our mental selves actually happen. It's either magic, or we're instances of a process, the functioning of our nervous systems, that the body starts and restarts as needed. And if it's the latter, and there are exact duplicate bodies in the scenario, it doesn't actually matter which duplicate body it restarts in next.
Yet, there on the threshold of the teletransporter, there at the crisis, everything seems reversed. We know the machine will preserve our physical existence by creating a duplicate body, but it's our mental existence we're suddenly in doubt of, when we complain, "but
this me will die!" It's scary, but it's no more real than a projected ghost in a spook-house.
