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He could remember how his fingers and toes twitched as he was made, he could remember how bright everything had been when he first opened his eyes as his synthetic skin was formed onto his body. He remembers how new his body felt as he took his first steps into existence. Remembers how the scientists had poked and prodded at him, checking to see if there were any flaws in his system, and were pleased to find no errors. He wanted to ask questions, ask why and where he was but didn’t know-how. Don’t ask questions. You aren’t allowed to question, something told him, so he didn’t bother to as he was ushered towards a door.
He remembers how utterly cold the water they sprayed him off with had been. From then on, he decided he did not like water as he stared in confusion at the hoses above him. He saw the pink liquid he was covered in wash down a drain in the floor underneath him and almost jumped at the sudden rush of air blowing down on him. After he was dried, he was given a uniform by another scientist who avoided his eyes. He always wondered what they saw when new synths were made and took their first steps of their life. Did they see another machine? Or did they see another human? He would never know because he was told not to ask.
He remembers his designation: X6-88.
Not a name. Not a title. Just one letter and three numbers.
He remembers cleaning up after his creators. Remembers one of them telling him as he was being questioned for having any glitches in his system that he was programmed to obey. Programmed to listen and do as they say. And did so he did.
If there was something particularly hazardous to the humans to handle, he or other synths were ordered to handle it because they were immune to radiation.
There was one point where his mind wandered of its own accord. While he was cleaning he saw a painting of trees unlike the ones here in the Institute. There were hills—mountains they were called—all standing behind the trees, and in front of the trees, a small body of water. He wondered if he would one day get to see the outside world. Sometimes he would hear the scientists talking about a ravaged wasteland, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Could that be related to the world above? And if it did, was the world above gone? So many questions had run through his head that day that he feared the scientists would hear him questioning things.
He remembers seeing a synth being reset for showing signs of emotion—her designation was C9-54. He doesn’t know the full story on why, but supposedly, she fell in love with someone in the BioScience division. After she was reset, they told the surrounding synths that had stopped working that love wasn’t for them. They weren’t programmed for love, they weren’t meant for love, they were only programmed to obey, obey, obey. They told them that no human could love a synth, and those that did were blinded because they—the gen 3 synths—looked human enough that they wouldn’t suspect someone’s bones being made a possibility.
She was later melted down for parts because she’d failed in her programming.
X6 tried to see himself in her, tried to imagine what love was. But he didn’t understand something he wasn’t made for. Synths are not made for love. We are made to obey.
He’s seen many other synths being reset or melted down. The latter being the worst one to witness. He was forced to watch by a scientist who wanted to show him what would happen to him if he ever disobeyed his programming. Was forced to watch as her skin melted off her body like candle wax, watched as a sad smile had been plastered onto her face when she saw his horrified eyes watching her burn. As if she was completely fine with that. She had only let out her first agonizing scream of pain after the red of her flesh had been charred, and when that too had been gone, her screams had continued until the fire had melted down to her bones. Human-like bones.
He’s always carried the sound of her screams around with him like a memory, or a warning. He remembers how her remains were crushed into dust in front of his face, all by the scientist that had brought him into the Incendiary Room.
Obey. Obey. OBEY.
He doesn’t know what her malfunction had been. No one but the scientists did. But he knew her name, she screamed it to him while her skin was melted right off of her. Anneleigh.
Not a designation. A human name.
For a time, he marveled at how she’d chosen a name for herself. Did someone give her that name? Or did she name herself? How did she come up with a name that he’d never heard before?
By thinking. By questioning things we aren’t supposed to question—
OBEY.
No. He couldn’t question. He wasn’t meant to.
He wasn’t meant for human life. He was a synth. He was created, not born. Constructed, not cared for.
Do not think to disobey them.