Where the best love stories are created...
A blue neon dot kept writing and rewriting the company's slogan above its large doors. Behind me, the drop-off shuttle of the clinic drove away, and I didn't even glance back, too busy staring upward.
I craned my neck, trying to see the top of the skyscraper, but it disappeared into the blinding blue sky. It was my first time seeing such a tall building from so close.
The doors opened wide, and I stepped into the white hall, already aware of how out of place my green uniform looked. Everything was white, from the floor to the ceiling, except for the immense window walls surrounding the space. Sunlight poured in, bouncing off every surface, so bright I had to narrow my eyes to look around.
"Find your best friend!" a voice announced from the first luminous screen I walked past.
The dots on the display moved around to show two men sitting side by side on a balcony. They were laughing so hard that tears streamed down their faces.
You could not tell which was the machina and which was the human.
Most likely, neither was. They were probably both generated images.
"A companion... for life," the second screen continued, this time in a more nostalgic tone.
The image of a young man appeared, leaning over an old woman as he offered her a cup of water. She looked ill, lying in bed, her face and hair as pale as the bedsheets. Whatever he said must have been comforting, because she gave him a faint, wrinkled smile, her tired eyes lifting to meet his.
I walked past the final, dark screen when an alluring voice called for my attention.
"A friend..."
The moving dots got darker on the display as red velvet drapes opened on the screen.
"...or more..."
The opening revealed a splendid blonde, her long, shiny leg slipping between the velvet like a bait. A smile of pearly white teeth broke on her red lips as she called for the observers to join her behind the curtains.
I walked past all the screens, not taking more than one quick look at them. My stare was too captivated by the place itself, the height of the ceiling above me, and the radiant blue sky all around us. My mouth half-opened in awe, not even noticing the dots of light slowly fading away on the screens. When I turned around, they were back to black, and I could see my reflection in them.
I sighed, my shoulders drooping.
Washing my hair this morning had seemed like a good idea then. I wanted to look as clean and proper as possible for the interview. But my frizzy dark curls had loosened, and I now looked even more disheveled than usual.
"Hey!"
I flinched.
"You!"
Turning around, I saw a man striding straight toward me.
"What are you doing here?!"
Already, he pointed a scanner gun at my chest.
Beep!
The tiny screen on his scanner lit up with my barcode. He grunted.
"Seventy-fourth floor," he muttered, looking me up and down with clear disapproval. I didn't move or didn't say anything until he finally said, "Follow me."
I knew better than to discuss with security.
He escorted me to the elevator, and again, I gawked in awe at the sleek design of it. Floor numbers blinked in neon blue on the metal panel. I wished it were a glass elevator, like in the movies, so we could see the outside. We rose in the air so fast my ears popped.
When the doors opened, it felt like stepping into a different building. Unlike the big hall downstairs, this room was bleak and windowless, lit only by a faint white glow along the corners of the ceiling.
Thankfully, security stayed behind, and I stepped out alone. The doors shut quietly behind me. There were three seats in the room, but I didn't dare to take one of them. I remained standing, my hands together in front of me.
I couldn't believe it.
I couldn't believe I was here.
When Human Resources told me I'd been selected yesterday, I thought it had to be a mistake. I was braiding the hair of that cute girl from the Eights when they passed by to announce it.
The last time I had felt so special was probably over a decade ago when they sent me on that weird mission up north. The rumor must have spread quickly around the clinic because everyone I passed in the hallway congratulated me. I stumbled back to my dorm, still trying to wrap my head around the news.
Me? They wanted me for that job?
I couldn't believe it.
The northern mission had required a full week of travel. Will this new job send me on a trip again? I hoped so. I remembered seeing landscapes of deep green forests on the horizon, like the ones I've seen in books.
Suddenly, a door opened.
My eyes blinked fast, adjusting to the bright light coming in.
"Hello, Sade."
A tall man entered the room, wearing grey pants and a white collarless shirt.
"Hello."
"Do you know where you are?"
He stood tall before me, holding a light tablet in his hands.
"Love Machina Inc.," I replied.
He gave a light nod of approval and gestured to a chair along the wall. Taking the seat across from me, he swiped his fingers across the tablet. Someone else entered, a woman in a similar uniform, her blond hair tied neatly into a low bun. She gave me a polite nod before sitting beside him.
"My colleague is currently in training," the man explained, and the woman gave me a small smile. "She will assist me during the process to familiarize herself with it. First, I'll verify your details. Please interrupt if anything is incorrect."
I nodded, sitting upright with my hands together on my lap.
"Sade, identification number IDO12884, category 7, 23 years old, XX, single, 5'10" or 172 cm, 62 kgs, blood type O-, mixed ethnicities, medium-brown skin tone, brown eyes, dark brown curly hair..."
I listened without a budge. Hearing the staff list my information was already part of my job at the clinic.
The man turned to the trainee, who picked up where he left off.
"Clinical Trial Worker for the past twenty-two years. One transnational Biohazard Clearance Operation. All activity confined within the United Nations Belt..."
The woman stopped talking, and I looked up to find her frowning at something on her tablet.
"What's that...?" she pointed at something on the screen.
The man leaned over, glanced at it, then dismissed her concern. "Involuntary Debtor Offspring. It's not relevant. Continue."
Too late, the trainee had circled the word on the tablet, and a projection appeared on the wall next to us.
"In the 2120s, legislation was enacted granting parents the legal authority to secure loans in the names of their children..." a monotone voice began to narrate.
I looked at the blue words appearing on the wall before looking at the opposite wall. Where was the light coming from?
The trainee fumbled with her tablet.
"Lawmakers viewed this transfer of economic responsibility to the child as an innovative solution to stimulate birth rates," the voice continued.
"Sorry, I thought I had my glasses on..."
She gave an apologetic look to her colleague, her fingers coming to tap on her temple.
"Many individuals were incentivized to have children solely to access financial resources, abandoning their infants once the funds were secured..."
"Turn it off," the man snapped, without even a glance at her.
Having heard it all before, I was more interested in understanding how the projection between us was created. The sound probably came from invisible speakers, but what about the light? Did it come from the wall?
"This led to the emergence of 'Debt Babies'", the voice continued, imperturbable, "- children born into financial obligations, destined to inherit debt from parents they would likely never meet..."
"Stop it," the man said again to the trainee.
"I'm trying!"
The woman kept sliding her finger up and down on her tablet, to no avail.
"These abandoned children eventually filled orphanages across the nation, a grim result of the legislation's misuse..."
"Not like that," the man sighed with exasperation, trying to get his hand on her tablet.
He grabbed it, but her hands were still around it, preventing him from turning it off.
"It's almost finished anyway," she said, waving away her tablet from her colleague's hand.
"...After years of public outcry and media coverage exposing the predicament of these 'Debt Babies', the law was finally repealed in 2135, bringing an end to a troubling era of financial exploitation through newborns."
Finally, the voice stopped. The light on the wall faded away, and the trainee gave me an apologetic smile.
"We're sorry for the inconvenience," the man uttered, a dark stare at his colleague before turning to me to become apologetic.
"Really sorry," the woman's eyebrows came together, the sympathy in her eyes palpable.
I forced a small smile in return, not sure if they felt sorry for their mistake, or for me. Or maybe both. In either case, I wasn't planning to think much about it.
"No problem," I waved away their concerns. "I'm used to it."
🌱
They continued verifying my information and reviewing my answers from the testing phase. When they asked for details about my last romantic relationship, I was surprised but didn't let it show.
Oddly enough, I had no problem answering questions about the color of my stools or how many times I'd gotten up to pee the night before, as you'd expect from someone with years of experience as a clinical trial worker.
But now, I felt shy admitting I'd never had a boyfriend for longer than a few weeks. I explained it wasn't my fault as the turnover at the clinic was high, and most people didn't stay long.
They asked me about my friendships and my relationships with the clinic staff. They praised me for the astounding reviews from my peers on my profile, as he quoted, I was "an obedient participant" and "a good listener, very welcoming to newcomers, always curious about them". He said "well-behaved", "agreeable", and "kind" were the top adjectives used to describe me.
I shifted on my seat, basking in their praises, unable to control the smile on my face.
"That's good, really good," the man had said. "Impressive, to say the least. That's exactly why you are perfect for this mission."
The trainee even seemed impressed that I had learned to read and type by myself.
Most missions didn't require the workers to learn, but from a young age, I had already realized how much information seemed to be missing between the screens and the generated voice speaking aloud to us. We had so much free time between the visits, it was easy to learn with the help of the staff.
"Congratulations!" the trainee concluded with a big smile. "You're in!"
I was so proud! It felt as if all my hard work until today had led to this interview. All those times I had prioritized being a good patient and a friendly colleague were paying off now.
When Human Resources told me about the pay, I did not think twice. It was enough to reimburse half of my remaining debt.
Half! And I was only 23!
All the other workers were so jealous when they heard I had been invited to interview. I couldn't believe it myself.
"Everything seems in order," they had concluded. "Let's proceed to the onboarding now."
They were already getting up from their seats when I wanted more details about the mission. I had no other information about it except that it would require me to be away from the clinic for some time.
I was about to ask about it, but my interlocutors indicated the end of the meeting.
I was led to another room. A stretcher was standing in the middle, a gigantic white overhead light floating above. Only the trainee stayed with me. She put a white lab coat on and asked me to remove my uniform.
I obeyed and neatly folded the top and bottom, placing it on the chair against the wall. My hand smoothed out any fold on it, and I assumed they would store it for me, for the time of the mission. This rough fabric had been the only thing standing between me and the world for so many years, and it felt strange to think I would be away from it for some time.
What kind of uniform will I get for this mission? I remembered the mission up north and the weird yellow full-body suits and respirator masks the staff wore. I thought they would give me a similar outfit to theirs, but they did not. I kept my green uniform for the mission and was asked to change into a new one by the end.
I guessed it would be different for that mission.
"Underwear too," the trainee said, her eyes still on the tablet.
I did as asked.
"You can lie down," the woman instructed as she put plastic gloves on.
My bare skin shivered at the cold contact of the plastic material. The light over my head was so bright, I could barely keep my eyes open.
I heard another door open and someone entered the room.
I closed my eyes, knowing exactly what was expected of me now. After years of clinical trials, I had seen and felt everything imaginable on my body. Needles didn't make me flinch anymore. My arms and legs no longer stiffened at their touch. My body had become something pliable, like clay, ready to be molded by the clinical staff without resistance.
"You're going to feel a slight tingling in your fingers and toes," the trainee said, appearing by my side with a nasal cannula in her hands. "You will be unconscious for some time."
Another woman appeared by my side, one I had never seen before.
"What's going to happen?" I asked.
I wasn't fearful. Only curious.
The other woman gave me a small smile, holding the cannula against my nose.
"We're going to make you pretty."
🌱
It felt like a dream. I imagined myself floating. I was there, but also, not entirely. The sound of the door opening and closing came and went, marking the arrival of more people into the room. The stretcher beneath me rolled away, and lights shifted on my closed eyelids.
Then, the scrubbing began.
It felt like being caught in a sandstorm, or what I imagined it must have felt like.
During bad weather, the clinic would not allow us to go outside. I remembered pressing my cheek against the window, listening to the grey sand whipping on the thick windows. I imagined the stinging slap of sand against my skin and the harsh, strong wind through my hair.
This was no different from what I had imagined.
She has such unique features...
...a stunning result of diverse genetics...
No need to change that part...
Sensations, smells, and voices blended in. The relentless motions almost lulled me into deep sleep, but the feeling of icy liquid running over my body pulled me back. My hair was tugged, stretched, and scraped.
I felt more aware now.
"A debt baby?" I heard a male's voice right behind me. "A 23-year-old debt baby? It's practically geriatric at this point."
"She was born in Zone 2 of Solarov," another voice chimed, one I recognized as the trainee. "No one wants organs coming that close from a nuclear disaster. She was probably never allowed to enter a donor list."
"Correct," another female voice confirmed. How many were around me? I must have been a piece of work if that many people were needed to make me pretty. "And because of that," the voice continued, "She'll probably spend her entire life trying to pay off her debt. I heard the fastest way to clear it is to sell organs, but if she can't do that..."
"That's so sad," the male voice said.
"Sad?" the woman's tone was sharp, almost pissed. "What would you choose? A lifetime of slavery or a short, but free, life?"
"I'd give all I can," the trainee said. "I heard they sell one kidney, one lung, part of their liver, intestines, pancreas... even skin and bones! Just to clear their debt."
"Anything they can," the other one seemed to approve. "They live fast and die young."
"Lungs, too?" the man asked with disgust.
"Of course. How do you think Category 1 gets to live so long?" the trainee replied with a chuckle.
"What about bioprinting?" he asked. "I know a guy who got his entire facial bone structure 3D-printed."
"As usual..." the trainee sighed, and I even felt her breath against the arm she was handling. "It's all about price. And these..." she jiggled my arm "...are selling off for nothing."