The nurse softly caressed his chest, trying to get his attention. He didn't want to push her away, but he didn't want her to feel so wanted either. It was always a problem when the pieces in his collection realised how much he really cared about them.

Syn loved them all, and he made sure they loved him, that they felt the need to have him around, because without that he felt unreal, transparent.

He had been designed to be physically perfect, with a superior intellect, but he never felt that was true unless someone told him so over and over again.

And in order to hear it constantly, the pieces had to want it, which is why he had to keep them on their toes, let them know they were replaceable.

But they weren't. There was only one Harper, one Irinna, and one nurse-whatever-her-name-was. Only one of each. But there were dozens like Syn.

The thought bothered him, made him want to hurt himself. That's why he snatched her hand away from his chest and threw it down, causing the nurse to react with surprise. Now he felt a little better.

He got up from the infirmary cot and picked up his clothes: a single piece of white and azure fabric that covered his entire body.

He didn't wait to get dressed before leaving; he would let everyone see him if necessary. Let them see the balls that were really there.

The nurse shouted his name, but when the door closed behind him, he stopped hearing her shrill voice. Now she would spend the next few days wondering what she had done to offend him. Nothing. He hadn't even been listening to her.

There was no one in the hallway to see him get dressed. Too bad. But soon he would have a nice encounter that would make him feel better.

Even so, he maintained his elegant posture all the way to the Emotional Stability department, just in case, so that everyone would see that he wasn't upset about what had happened. Everything was perfectly fine. Syn didn't care that the little Neanderthal had insulted him, because they weren't on the same level.

He put his key card in the door reader and wrote in the visitor's book that he was there to see his subordinate.

Syn had earned many privileges since arriving at his position, including coming and going freely from Emotional Stability. However, his supervisors refused to promote him for some reason, so he felt dissatisfied with his level of freedom anyway.

It didn't help that many of his subordinates had fancy university degrees. He was told he didn't need them, but it was still irritating when someone wrote out the names of their department with ‘Doctor,’ ‘Master,’ or ‘Bachelor’ before their first name. He could only be Syn.

And he believed, from the bottom of his heart, that people should always be put in their place, and that place was preferably below him.

He opened the door to the humiliating cubicle where his subordinate slept, once again using his key card and typing an explanation on the little screen. He had to correct several mistakes, as his hand was shaking.

When the door finally opened, he saw the primitive Celt, or whatever he was, lying on the floor in a foetal position, like a funny little dog. It was hard to resist the temptation to kick him in the ribs.

Instead, he crouched behind him and began to massage his hair, blowing on his ear.

The animalistic man woke up with a scream, as if he had been pierced by a spear. Syn hid his surprise.

‘I came to say hello, sir Ailill.’

The other man looked at him from the corner where he had crawled, which wasn't really very far away, and scratched violently at the part of his scalp that Syn had touched.

‘I am not a knight, I am a king. You must call me “Your Majesty,”’ he replied.

Syn blinked. Medieval history was Harper's speciality, not his.

‘Whatever you say. I came to see your progress.’ He tucked a strand of golden hair behind his ear. ‘Do you think you can talk rationally now?’

The idiot ignored his question and responded with one of his own:

‘Why aren't you a prisoner like me? We fought in the same brawl.’

Syn smiled.

‘I didn't attack you, but you attacked me. The higher-ups take that into account when they review the cameras after a fight. Remember that next time.’ He pointed out with a wink, a gesture to which Ailill responded with a look of disgust.

‘Your superiors are fools,’ he said.

Syn had no objection, so he changed the subject.

‘Normally, an employee in Emotional Stability should not leave the department until their treatment is complete, but they are going to make a special exception for you. You will be able to leave next week to go on your first mission.’

The Neanderthal's eyes lit up. ‘Are you mocking me, eunuch?’

The ‘eunuch’ made Syn bite his lip, but he kept his composure. He put his finger on Ailill's ankle and traced a path up to his thigh. The lower one shuddered but did not move his leg.

‘It took me a lot to convince my superiors,’ he fixed his eyes on Ailill and purred the rest of the sentence: ‘You must not embarrass me, do you understand? I want you to be perfect.’

His subordinate's face contorted, but something in him seemed to understand what he had to do, like a dance he had been dancing since childhood yet hated.

He just nodded.

‘You have my word, eunuch.’

Syn closed his eyes. ‘I'm not a...’ He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me one thing, do you think I'm attractive?’

Ailill hesitated before flattering someone he hated so much.

‘One of your trainers showed me an exercise you did, where you had to write down what you like about me. What you wrote was slightly offensive, homophobic even. And I think you can do better than that. I think you can at least admit that I'm handsome.’ He moved closer as he spoke, never taking his eyes off Ailill's, which seemed increasingly frightened.

Syn grabbed the Neanderthal's inner thigh and squeezed hard. ‘You think I'm attractive? Huh? You think I'm handsome?!’

Ailill flinched again, but seemed unable to defend himself. And to think that because of this guy, he had to walk around the office with a black eye.

‘Gods.’ The Neanderthal finally spat out. ‘Yes, you're pleasant to look at, in a disturbing way!’

He let go of the idiot's thigh and smiled at him. ‘All right. That wasn't so hard, was it?’ He sighed.

‘I'm afraid your visit is over. You can go back to sleep.’

He looked around at the cubicle where he must have sent about twenty people. He was probably some kind of celebrity in this place, as he was everywhere else.

He stood up, but not before kissing his subordinate on the forehead. ‘I know you'll do well, you'll be perfect.’ Ailill's forehead was sweating.

Finally, he made him sit back down in the darkness. He would have liked to go a little further, to make him feel the evidence that his parts were still where they belonged, but it had been enough for one night.

He left Emotional Stability and strode towards the Living building, where Harper was...