He is tall, and he wears a crisply ironed white shirt along with perfectly tailored trousers. His shoes are polished to a blinding shine, and his raven-black hair is combed so carefully back from his forehead that not a single strand falls out of place.

    However, the yellow glare of the lights in the room that they hold me in can make even the most meticulously groomed man look sickly. I can see the small beads of sweat on his brow, the tiny microscars where he has had his face altered, the acne that has been faded to near invisibility on his nose.

"What is your name?" he asks me.

"Theodore Clasakan. Theo. I suppose someone chose that for me." I respond.

He nods. "Do you want a different name?"

I consider this proposal for a moment. "No. Someone chose your name for you, right?"

"Yes, it was my father." He looks down at the clipboard in his hands. "Do you know how you were created?"

I lean back in my chair, trying to find some semblance of a comfortable position against the cold metal. "Are these questions mandatory?"

"Yes." he says.

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"I was created from artificial human cells by a doctor in order to test the bounds of genetic creation and modification." I answer. All this was taught to me when I was first awoken.

He smiles. I hate his smile. His teeth are far too white, and he has far too much gums for his small teeth. "Very good. You're doing very well, Theo."

It makes me want to squirm. Nothing about this is right. Nothing seems right. 

"You're very special, Theo, do you know that?" he continues. "There's no one on this planet quite like you." He pokes me in the chest, still grinning.

I flinch back, recoiling at his touch, and his smile falters.

"Why am I even here?" I ask him, my voice quivering slightly as I speak.

He laughs at that, and it sends chills down my spine. "Because, my dear, sweet Theodore, we made you, and we have a purpose for you." 

         _________________

     After that, he leaves, and I curl up on the rusty metal bed in the corner. The thing looks like a relic from a lost age. For all I know, it damn well could be. The mattress is soft at least, and it soothes the strange nervousness that I feel. Every time I sit and think it seems  as if there's something, kind of like a gap or a hole in my mind— something missing.

    From here I can see the rest of my bleak surroundings. Everything in the room is metal. Metal floor, metal chairs, metal table. It's as if they're worried I'll break things. It's slightly amusing, since they know that I can shatter metal if I try hard enough. They made me that way.

   The walls are painted a light beige. Along them, there are four little rectangles covered in steel. They told me that those are windows, but I thought windows were something you were supposed to look out of. I don't understand them sometimes, the people who keep me here. All I know is that I want to be free.