2 He's Glazed Over

Bo:

Beep-

The Bionic opened his eyes.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

As the alarm clock continued to scream, each shrill louder and more unbearable than the last, Bo's patience grew thin and he buried his face into his pillow. Sitting up, his expression surely lidded and his vision obscured by the heaviness of his eyelids, the bionic man slowly scratched his head with weakly fingertips before rising out of bed.

On his way to shower, Bo stopped at his bedside mirror. His pale skin seemed paler, his parted dark hair looked drier, and the bags underneath his large almond eyes appeared to be a feature that even an avid amount of sleep couldn't cure. Was this really the face of a being that was supposed to represent the entirety of exemplariness, and sophistication stemming from the idealisms of being inhuman? Dismissing his internal queries, he grabbed a towel from his dresser before heading into the bathroom to freshen up.

Before he left his room, Bo once again glanced at his reflection to adjust his appearance one final time. With everything but his face, neck and hands covered in nothing but black garments, he scanned his physical appearance from head to toe through a body-length mirror: a simple black button-up which complimented the fit of his narrow torso and sculpted upper body; tight, slim dress-pants which came down and stopped above his ankles, with the ironed crease trailing the front of the trouser legs; and formal, laced up, patent black brogues that were heavily polished at the tips, so that they arrogantly shone every time the light hit the Italian fabric.

Black everything: as monotonous as it got.

He left his room, turned to lock the door with his thumbprint, and walked down the hall to the next floor. He managed to make out a pair of bionics stood together against the walls of the building, one with his arms folded and the other checking her watch. And as he got closer, the one who had his arms crossed turned and greeted him with the same loud voice Bo met with every morning.

"Bo! What took you so long?"

Bo took a second to reply, because of his inability to immediately react to this level of borderline brashness. "I'm on time."

"Barely! Why do you always make it a point to only get here on the dot?"

"It's the way I was made."

Finn dipped his head down, his notion blatantly exasperated, and he pushed his orange, curly locks across his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. His friend's manner came across as practically human-like, such as the way he moved was somewhat springy, like he was a lamb bounding across a spring meadow on the regular. Mostly cheerful and charismatic by the day, Finn's quirky and mismatched style from his polka-dot shirt to his slim, checkered trousers was enough to display to the world that not all Bionics stem from uneducated beliefs.

Which was...that the general stereotype of Bionic humanoids tended to be of the more stoic, unfeeling kind. To be frank, it wasn't ignorant of an individual to think that, because Bionics are, as stated, technically 'unfeeling'. But Finn, as well as a handful of others, clearly went against the grain.

Bionics had a sense of personality, one which they developed and picked up depending on their surroundings, much like how an accent arises within a person or a child. They weren't 'born' a uniquely certain way, only in a complete sense of nothingness which allowed the people around them to shape the Bionic into the being which they wished to synthesize, including their personality.

Bo's own bleak personality clashed with Finn's. But somehow along the way, their habitual meetings every morning deemed their relationship more than acquaintances.

Well, as humans would call it, maybe even friends.

Bo's other friend stood taller than both him and Finn, with her hands slipped into her pockets, and with a stern look in her eyes. "Whoever made you in the first place has no sense of integrity. And stop using that as an excuse. Just admit you're human already, and get recycled for your plasma so we can finally turn up on time."

"We're not late. I'm not breaching any guidelines or rules," Bo replied.

"We're not exactly early either. I like avoiding neutral zones. Staying ahead of the curve has its benefits Bo," Caelen murmured, as she tucked her hands in her trouser pockets.

"Take it from the scientist," Finn chipped in. "I do. Caelen has her head on her shoulders for sure."

Caelen turned away, the draft of the empty building catching her blonde locks, and the strewn, washed out morning light illuminating her blue irises. However Bo caught a flash of a smirk at the corners of her lips, and the shadow of her dimples before she could completely hide her face. "We're bionics. We all have our heads on our shoulders. Firmly."

Finn huffed, then looked down at his watch while his shoulders moved up in related anticipation. "07:58. We have a couple of minutes."

Caelen sighed in turn. "I've got enough pent up energy to spare to make the run. Finn?"

"Oh, I've got enough," Finn grinned as he eyed Bo, who squinted back in response.

Then, Finn grinned at him before cracking his neck and sprinting down the hallway at an incredible speed. Caelen smiled once more, before disappearing at the same inhuman speed as her friend's, their movements untraceable despite Bo's own heightened vision.

Tracing his right foot backwards, Bo focused an adequate amount of energy down towards his feet. And within the next second his body flung itself forward and past the world, over his head, much like it usually does.

***

When he entered the hall, he took notice of the perfectly aligned rows of Bionics in front of him, and joined the back row. He could hear someone at the front speaking, and even though he couldn't see over the rows of heads, his hearing was faultless.

"-like the usual, each of you can check your assignments at the front of the factory if you haven't already."

Bo heard the announcer's steps gradually fade as he entered through a probable back door, and with that the rows of Bionics all turned to the right before dispersing in different directions. It took him a couple of seconds to locate a bright orange head amongst the huge crowd of Bionics, and it took him a second longer to weave around the crowd and appear next to his friend.

"Finn, what have you been given?"

His friend pursed his lips. "I've been assigned to someone who's apparently a shut in," Finn replied, shrugging his shoulders. "A university student. I don't start until tomorrow, so in the mean time I'll just be waiting around."

"Oh."

"What about you?"

Bo's eyes scanned the board at the front until they found his name and model, as well as the assignment besides it. And for a moment, he froze.

"I'm meeting the manager at noon."

"That sounds strange. It's not like you've done anything particularly bad or good lately."

"Yeah." A moment passed as the hall gradually emptied out. "Where's Caelen?"

Finn looked around, obviously just for show, before shrugging his shoulders with disinterest. "She got assigned to that scientist again. She left the second this ended."

"Oh. Yeah that makes sense."

Scoffing, Finn rolled his eyes at Bo as if what had been stated was the most obvious thing in the world. "Caelen's pretty close with that scientist. You'd almost think that she's pushing the boundaries of our emotional extent."

"Mm."

"And also, our kind hasn't been around long enough to know about any longer effects of received affection. Maybe we can fly, and we just wouldn't know it yet."

"Very funny."

"Aren't I?" Finn tittered.

Most people are surprised that bionics can befriend and socialise if need be. They tend to forget that Bionics are not cyborgs or androids, but biologically-altered, indifferent humans with enhanced skills. He wasn't too sure, but the terms used to describe what they were 'Bionics' was initially used as more of a metaphor, to what they really were. While a true Bionic would be partially robotic, Bo and Finn, and Caelen as well as every other Bionic in the world were still completely made of flesh. And yet, they were as robotic as it got, on the inside.

Bo's first memories as a Bionic man were hazy, but his intelligence never allowed him to forget. He had woken up in a strange blue cylinder as an ex-nineteen year-old Bionic with multiple abilities. His body had been harvested from a family who had had a recently deceased son, and who in hopes, believed that reviving their son as a Bionic would bring back the person they had once known. However, to their disappointment and to many others, Bo had had no recollection of who he had been before, nor did he have the curiosity of a human to want to know. But his name had been Bo, and that was all he could process at the time.

And afterwards, he was given clothes and a room, and one order to fulfill: to help humans. It was pretty simple, and ironic how such a complex creation had such a simple task. Maybe that was what the meeting was going to be about.

Bo sauntered out of the building to be faced with insipid, grey clouds which hung above the factory land like the monotonous crowds of beings who occupied the factory themselves, dripping in lacklustre and lacking in visual vitality. Bo didn't mind the rain, but then again, he couldn't feel enough to like/dislike it either. It made him feel content, and yet not so much indifferent, but maybe something more. The courtyard was empty more or less for the majority of the time; it was just the deserted space between buildings which housed more bionics like him and his friends. Kind of like a prison.

There were humans here at this factory, like every Bionic factory, only as the scientists in the back laboratories who created more bionics, or fixed ones that had faults. Bo had never had a conversation with one of those scientists, or at least, one that extended past the required questions in their monthly examination. He answered what was necessary, and they asked what they required. Because of that, Bo was unsure as to how a human could possibly be different to someone like himself, who was just as capable of maintaining a conversation like the next person.

He tried not to ponder too hard about that, as he made his way over to the main building.

***

He checked his watch.

11:58am.

Before he entered, he smoothed down his shirt and once again played through his head all the possible scenarios to which could occur. At worst, he would be given an incredibly strange and wacky job that could take a week to complete. It could be thoroughly exhausting, even for such a bionic as himself. At best, well he wasn't sure. At best was only a talk. This could be just a talk.

12:00pm.

Bo knocked on the double doors in front of him, and a cheery 'come in' sounded from behind them. He stepped inside the room, and closed the doors behind him.

"You're Bo?" A man with a perfect, wide smile walked around his desk and came to greet Bo by grabbing his hands and roughly shaking them up and down.

"Yes sir."

"No need for formalities. Just call me Omar. I called you in here for a favour." Omar walked back around to his desk, and signalled for Bo to take a seat in front of him, to which he did.

"A favour?"

"Yes, a simple favour. This is a bit difficult to explain. To be frank," Omar leaned back into his chair and interlaced his fingers together, "You are quite expendable, and you were picked specifically for that reason. Bare in mind that this will be on account of research."

"Research?"

"You are pretty new, yes?" He squinted to make out the brand label tattooed on the side of Bo's neck.

"Yes sir. I was synthesized only a couple of months ago."

Omar laughed, the sound fluttery and warm. "I said to drop the formalities. Anyway, first I just wanted to ask you a few questions."

Bo nodded, having foreseen this as a possible outcome. Omar came across as friendly, and earnest. Everything about him so far felt warm to Bo, from the callous on his burnished skin that sat a top his knuckles, to the way his smile hadn't died since Bo's entrance. Hair that could have been just as dark as his own, unlike Bo's neatly parted hair, Omar's could have been more along the line of an undercut rather than a fadeout. He seemed too busy, and chippy, to stay sat in a chair for a long time if only for a haircut.

He considered the possibility of this being a kind of 'satisfactory survey', but after going over the situation and considering Omar's now low tone of voice compared to his greeting, this was more serious than a few questions. Bo wasn't even sure if his kind were entitled to something like a survey anyway, because they were all as logical as the rest. What kind of favour was Bo obliged to fulfill? And what did Omar mean by 'expendable'?

Sitting up, Omar cleared his throat. "Have you ever felt emotional? Or distressed/distraught in anyway?"

Bo shook his head. What a strange question to ask a Bionic.

"Have you ever wished you could?"

Bo paused. Seriously, he thought it was very strange. Had he? "Not until this morning, I think. It was more of a passing thought."

Omar raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Bo swallowed. His gaze shifted to his left to a nearby window. He could see how the cold of November had turned the raindrops into flecks of snow, and again, the thought of wanting to feel something, anything, washed over him. "I think so."

He couldn't tell if this strange sensation was engulfing him, or merely driving past him. But he didn't think it could be normal, if he wasn't supposed to feel anything in the first place.

Omar nodded, the sound of pen vigorously meeting paper sounding throughout the room. "Well, alright then. I'm glad you're relatively new, at least I know you're mentality won't just fall to pieces."

"Pardon?"

"I know this seems a bit quick and it definitely was not in your schedule, but this was kind of a last minute decision. Take it as an experiment which actually, surprisingly hasn't been done before."

Bo blinked. He had not been expecting this. "Am I allowed to know the nature of this experiment?"

A sigh escaped Omar's upturned lips, as his body sunk back into his chair again. "It would defy having this take place if you knew. You'll find out eventually. Just know that compared to the usual manual labour you're used to, this will be slightly different. Just follow my instructions."

"Yes sir."

He laughed. "For the last time, it's Omar."

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