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Replicants did not have soulmates. How could they? Soulmates were born out of love. Made of love. Made for love. And only beings with souls could love. Could be loved. Could have a love fated for them.
And Replicants did not have souls.
K had never loved.
K had never been loved.
K did not have a soul.
There would never be a mark on his wrist, planted there once he and his perfect match were together. Skin to skin. Souls bared. A soulmate mark. The ultimate display of love. Devotion.
He had a mark. Of a different sort. His serial number. In a way, the soulmate mark felt like a serial number for the humans. Their own cosmic identifier. Proof that they didn’t know who they were until they found their other half.
K did not have another half.
He did not need another half.
He would never be whole anyway.
The music kept drawing him back. Back to that old abandoned bar. Well the bar that should have been abandoned. But the piano. The music. The solitary player.
The man in brown.
Well...not a man.
Not exactly.
He didn’t have a soul either.
And yet...
“You keep coming back here,” his back was to K’s, but he spoke with surety, with confidence. “Got any requests? I can play all the classics.” He finally turned, a big smile on his face, it crinkled the corner of his eyes.
Eyes so blue, K was drowning in them. He looked away, down at the ground.
The musician shrugged, fingers brushing against the keys. “You’re here for me, then.” It wasn’t a question. “It was only a matter of time. Come closer. Allow me to play one more song before I go.”
He was not sure what possessed him to do so, but he walked forward, his feet shuffling through a thick layer of dust. Reflexively, his hand brushed against his gun, his fingers flexed around it, then released.
Retiring this beautiful thing in front of him felt cruel. For what harm could he really pose? Holed up in an abandoned bar, playing the piano. Causing no trouble.
But he could cause trouble. They could always cause trouble. He had a job to do. He had to do his job. That was what he was created for.
“What were you created for?” He found himself asking, though he wasn’t sure he should be asking him anything. This wasn’t an interview, it was an execution.
“Companionship. Music. Nostalgia.” There was a hair that had fallen into his eyes. K felt compelled to brush it aside, but he fought back against the urge.
Since when did he have urges?
It took too long to realize that the pianist had asked him something in return. “I asked what you were created for.”
“Obedience.”
The word was out of him before he properly knew what he was saying. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He needed to get it together.
“And blood-black nothingness began to spin...” He murmured, gripping his gun, then releasing. And again.
The pianist watched him for a moment, then sucked in a breath and began to play. Fulfilling his purpose.
K had to fulfill his purpose. “A system of cells interlinked within...”
There were tears in his eyes. A heaviness in his chest. Why? Why did he...why did it matter? It had never mattered before.
“Cells interlinked within cells interlinked...”
The music paused. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You know that, right? You think that you do, because you’ve never done anything else before. But you’re allowed to make your own decisions. Life. Life is made of a million decisions big and small. Ever-changing. Our course is never pre-determined. We, ourselves, are a song. A symphony. Jazz! We’re jazz music.”
He didn’t know what the man was saying. He needed to take out his gun and shoot him. Be done with it. Return back. Return to baseline.
Within cells...
“I am...not allowed to make decisions. I must follow my orders.”
“Why?” There was an earnestness in his voice. As if he genuinely wanted to know the answer.
“I do not have the capacity to make decisions for myself. I am programmed to–”
“Course you can make your own decisions. Anyone can. Here, is it part of your programming to ask for my name?”
He shook his head.
“Ask for my name.”
“What...is your name?”
“Sebastian. What’s yours?”
Sebastian. That was a real name. Whoever owned him had really loved him. He wondered what happened to them. A tear slipped down his cheek.
“K.”
“K.” Sebastian nodded. It was a knowing look. A pitying look.
No one had ever loved K enough to give him a name.
“Tell me, officer, did you enjoy the music?”
He had.
“Yes.”
“Did you know that in order to enjoy music, you have to have a soul?” He stepped off the stage, walking towards K. He reached into his holster and took out his gun, pointing it at his chest. “It’s alright. Go ahead. I’m ready to retire. Thank you for letting me play one last song.”
K’s hands shook as he took the gun from Sebastian. He gripped it tighter. Within one stem... “I...I do not understand.”
Sebastian reached up and cupped K’s cheek gently. “You will.” He closed his eyes, his body bracing as K pulled the trigger.
And dreadfully distinct.
There was an ache in his wrist that was easier to focus on than the one in his heart. Back in his ship, he rubbed at the spot. Upon removing his thumb, he saw a music note burned into his wrist that had certainly never been there before.
There was no way...
A soulmate mark.
But then that meant...
Against the dark, a tall white fountain played.