Prototype R

Chapter One

"DMITIRI, YOU BETTER NOT BE PLAYING WITH ME AGAIN!"

You really want to smile at your distraught mother, but that would just ruin this whole scheme. All you see are her lipstick red heels and it makes her pale legs stick out. I see she shaved today. You also notice that your room, which you have been a prisoner in for seventeen years, is cluttered to the point of being labeled a pig. Oink Oink.

It had been a hard minute of your life to apply the "glossy" effect to your eyes but with the power of water, all went well. Your head is bent down low to imitate a mechanical being during a power down (when the new beings have lost all power.) The only thing you cannot copy is being absolutely still, but you will your nerves to slow down for a couple of minutes. You clear your mind to the brink of erasing your thoughts to help add to the emotionless mask that the new residents often wear. I feel nothing, fear nothing and express nothing.

Your mothers' patience is wearing thin and you watch as she shuffles her feet around, giving you the nonverbal cue, stop this nonsense. A sigh echoes inside your room but you show no sign of it ever occurring. "Dammit Dmitri, don't make me go and get your father." Now it has come to the threats? Two can play at this game.

"I do not compute. Please try again." You try and add tone deaf to your voice. Inside your body, it is buzzing with excitement to see her face and you lift your face and gaze into her blue eyes. Unlike you, she is well aware of her emotions and it is clear that she is not enjoying this one bit. Her jaw is set and cheeks flushed, ready for the challenge.

"I swear to god, I will go grab your father and have him call you in sick. You know he can do a great impression of you." She plants her hands on her hips, lifting her nose a bit, "Better yet, I'll have him call you in for about...two days?" Thinking hard, her eyes occupy the left corners and return back to you with a smile, "Yeah, two days." Well played mother.

"Negative."

"Oh? You don't think I'll go get him right now?

You can't prevent yourself locking onto her legs as they head towards the hallway. She is doing it in what seems like slow motion as if it is in mockery. ABORT ABORT! "Okay, you win." You finally get out of bed and leave the covers all crumpled and smothered.

"Of course I win, I'm your mother." Her feet falter and looks at you with a warm smile, "I would not even imagine you missing out on work. Your father and I both know how much you love your job." Her manner has peaked all the way up to a dangerous level of excitement. Without warning, you are being embraced by your mother and you can't help but smell the strong smell of perfume. It feels like your nose hairs are being suffocated, so you cough into her arms. I don't understand how girls can wear that stuff.

"Jesus woman, I hear you hollering upstairs and now you are hugging our son to death. Make up your damn mind, will you?" After you are released, you see your father standing in between your door and the hallway. His casual posture seems to calm your mother down and after a quick kiss to your forehead; she stands next to the man of the house, "Dmitri, you should get dressed and ready for work. Your mother will make you a..."

"Don't ruin the surprise, Dad." You smile at him and he smiles back, wrinkles forming around his mouth and eyes. When they both leave you alone in your room, you start unclothing yourself and feel the bitter cold against your pale and slightly hairy body. For a moment, you observe your arm hairs erect and you start to warm up. You start to apply fabric that represents where you work on yourself (a grey short sleeve with a black stencil of multiple gears and jeans that are not as cool.)

Your eyes zoom on your inner right forearm and touch the now fully healed tattoo of gears on both sides of the most said saying of the new race, I do not compute. Now heading to the bathroom, you grab the lonely comb sitting on the counter and brush your hair in a way that screams professional. Although robots seem to not be able to smell, you decide to freshen up your breath. Okay, clothes...check. Hair...check. Breath...check.