93 The Pursuit of Freedom (1/2)

She remembered when they first met in the Inner Nursery, long ago when they'd been children.

Her first impression of him had not been the greatest, so to speak. It'd become a fond memory for her, one that she'd often tease him about after they'd become friends.

He had refused to introduce himself to everyone else, let alone even speak to them — ignoring them whenever he had the opportunity. The only people he'd ever actually respond to were the Elders themselves.

Fifty-eight — it was the number that'd been stitched on his shirt. That was the number that the Elders had given to him.

He was without a real name, much like they'd been when they first arrived.

A meaningless serial number, only befitting for…

An odd boy, that was what she had thought of him. He was unsociable and a bit standoffish, but not so hostile towards them that he'd cause trouble.

An automaton.

It was only when the Elders were present that he'd ever act properly. For them, he'd act like an angel and obediently nod his head like a puppy.

A cold, soulless machine.

He reminded her of a wind-up doll in that regard. He only ever came alive when his spring was wound up — when the Elders visited them.

It's like seeing a reflection of our former selves.

And once they left, he'd wind down and return to his old ways. He'd become a lifeless doll.

What we'd once been before we realized the truth.

The boy acted on his own as fought alone, learned alone and… lived alone, even though he was supposed to have been working beside his new peers.

An artificial creation designed to operate within a set of predefined parameters.

In his eyes, it was a sign of weakness to rely on others. He was a competitive individual who always strived to prove himself whenever he had the opportunity.

Eat. Fight. Learn. Sleep.

But slowly, over time, things changed for the boy. As the difficulty of the tests the group had to take rose, the harder it became for the newcomer to keep up.

Repeat. Obey. Repeat. Obey.

He'd begun to fail and as a result, had experienced what it felt like to go hungry. To feel the pangs of pain — the desperation induced by hunger — as he struggled against the impossible odds that the Elders had created for them in their tests.

Ignore the pain. Ignore the feelings in your chest. Ignore the hunger.

They'd become demons to the children if it meant that it'd push out all of their hidden potential.

Good children listen to their elders. Don't you want to be good child?

That was when she had made her decision… and when the boy would finally experience kindness for the first time.

He'd gone without food for days and could no longer persevere, even with his indomitable will to survive. His body and mind had finally reached their limits — he could go no further.

The Elders initially expected much from the boy but now, they had lost all confidence in him. Despite their best efforts, the newest prototype had failed to deliver the results they wanted.

”Most unfortunate. The prototype seemed so promising, too…”

He had not been as strong, swift or as intelligent as its fellow peers, who were seventh generation models. He, who was an eighth generation model, should have been superior to all of them but that had clearly not been the case.

”Tell the R&D chief that they're going to have to scrap the new batch he made. This one's no good to us.”

”G-58 had failed to meet expectations. It's a failure. A reject.”

”In the end, the seventh generation's still the most promising, stable series we've created, right?”

The order had been passed down to the chief lifeweaver in charge of the research and development department that the test prototype had failed.

”Yes, that seems to be the case. F-12, in particular, has shown incredible growth out of the seventh batch. She'd be perfect, if not for the rebellious, inquisitive attitude she has developed.”

The R&D department had been ordered to destroy all remaining prototypes and to restart their work on creating a successful eighth generation model from scratch.

She, in the dead of the night, had given the boy the nutrient paste she had hidden away — an act of insubordination against the Elders.

The boy did not understand why she had done it. Why she had defied the Elders to help him. The rules were explicitly clear — he had not been permitted to eat — and yet, she had gone out of her way to feed him.

And it did not stop there — the next day, she had secretly helped him during a test, even though he had never asked her for help. Whenever he felt lost during a lesson, she'd appear to teach him and help him understand.

Slowly but surely, his scores rose and the number of times he'd failed tests shrank.

Her insistent meddling had never stopped since then, much to his confusion. It made him think about something that wasn't the Elders for once. Questions bubbled up in his mind and slowly accumulated until…

His curiosity got the best of him.

”Why do you defy the Elders? Why are you helping me?”

”Because I can, that's why. My name is Astrid, by the way. Not, you.”

Astrid, she had called herself. He didn't understand. Why did she have a name? Who gave her that name? Did he have a name, too?

Her answer didn't make any sense to him, either. Because she could? What did she mean by that? None of it made sense and that troubled him.

Unbeknownst to him, he had already begun to walk away from the darkness of ignorance towards the light of knowledge. The fact that he'd become interested in something other than the Elders was more than enough proof of that.

Questions he'd never thought about before fell like raindrops upon the barren desert that had been the boy's mind and soon…

Life had begun to grow there. Across the desert, seedlings sprouted out of their tiny shells and basked in the downpour in delight.

He had questions and she had answers.

Day by day, he cared less about the Elders and more about everything else. He longed to see the blue, clear sky and the vast, open world outside. To feel what sunlight felt like; how the wind felt like…

The more he learned about the world — the longer he spoke to her — the harder it rained upon the desert until it had transformed into a lush, vibrant forest.