“Hi, I’m Billy!”

“And I am Celia.”

With the same enthusiasm as before, the brown haired boy said, “Hi! I’m Billy!”

Celia bit the corner of her lower lip. This could go on forever. It was up to her to break the cycle. Find a new routine.

In the middle of the hall, Billy sat next to an overturned bucket. Wooden blocks were scattered, a child’s landscape of ruin. Behind Billy, an occasional footstep emanated from the open door into apartment 603.

Billy plopped a plush teddy bear on top of a toy fire engine. The fire engine’s paint was chipped and faded, unlike the teddy bear which had a bright chemical sheen. Clip-clop sounds echoed down the long hallway, as Billy navigated the fire engine and its fluffy rider through the minefield of wooden blocks.

Strange. Fire engines did not gallop.

Celia scooted closer. “What are you doing?”

“Playing with Teddy.”

“Why?”

Billy’s head flopped to a side as if the imaginary string holding it upright had been suddenly cut. “Why not?”

Celia could not think of a single reason, ‘Why not.’

“But… why?”

“It’s fun,” said Billy.

A flash of movement inside apartment 603 caught Celia’s eye. She leaned back, peering through the crack between door and jamb. A woman in her early forties was removing dishes from a dish washer and placing them into overhead cabinets.

Race car noises drew her attention back to Billy’s play. Apparently, the fire engine was no longer a horse, but a race car. Teddy and the fire engine bulldozed wooden blocks. When they ran out of road, Billy lifted up a handful of blocks and smashed them into the fire engine.

Fire engines do not make race car noises either.

Billy leaned forward. Chrome on the back of his neck glinted.

Celia beamed. Long before her UI could decipher exactly what it was, excitement filled her. She knew exactly what it was.

“You are like me!” Celia reached out for the back of his neck.

Billy paused, eyes roving. “Nuh uh. I’m a boy. You’re a girl.”

She touched the barely visible slit on the back of his neck. Spread the synthetic flesh, she revealed his metal docking port. “You have an access port.”

“Don’t!” Billy giggled. “That tickles!”

“I have one too.” She reached behind her neck and twisted showing Billy her access port. “See.”

The fire engine landed in the pile of blocks. Billy clambered on all fours to Celia’s side for closer inspection. “I’ve never seen mine.”

She turned, giving Billy a better view.

Every now and then, the woman inside 603 glanced toward the hall. On this occasion, she spotted Celia.

Uh oh. Celia wondered if she was in trouble.

The woman approached. Her floral pattern apron swished side to side with each stride. Her hair was a sandy blonde curtain of bangs sweeping across her forehead, stopping millimeters above light blue eyes. She had the youthful glow of a young mother.

“Billy, who is your little friend?”

Billy’s expression went blank. He looked at Celia for a moment and then returned his gaze to the woman in the apron, and said nothing.

“Billy Stewart Dreyfus!” The woman jabbed the air with her finger. “I taught you better manners than that!”

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Celia.”

The woman bent down placing her hands on her knees and bobbed her head with each syllable. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Celia.”

“And you are?”

“Oh, how silly of me!” The woman threw her head back and laughed. It seemed out of place for the interaction. “I’m Sally. Billy’s mom. You two making trouble out here?”

Her tone was playful, but Celia detected a hint of concern.

“No, Mommy,” said Billy.

Celia shook her head, mirroring Billy.

“I expect you to be on your best behaviors.”

“We are!” Billy whined.

The woman stood upright, glanced cautiously at Celia, and then withdrew into 603, where the clinking of dishes resumed.

“Isn’t Mommy the greatest?” asked Billy.

Celia considered the question. “I would not know.”

“She is.” Billy vigorously nodded. “She lets me play in the hall with all Daddy’s old toys. Sometimes, she brings home new ones that she gets from work. Mommy works at Sanders & Ollander. What do your parents do?”

“My parents tried to kill me,” said Celia. She reflected on the answer, before realizing she could be more precise. “Multiple times.”

Billy stared at her, as if a glitch had overwritten his playful routine. Some hiccough in his system that revealed the inhumanity of the machine beneath the child-like facade.

After a prolonged moment, Billy leaned in so close that the hairs on his nose grazed Celia’s cheek. He twisted his head and squeezed one eye shut, staring into her eyes as if he could spot the truth inside.

“Nuh uh.”

Celia nodded. “The last time they tried to kill me, Mommy left me in the path of a modded assassin inside a collapsing mall.”

Wide eye’d shock gripped Billy. “Nuh! Uh!”

“The mall safe zone collapsed killing Mommy, Daddy, and Jessica.”

“Who is Jessica?”

“My baby sister.”

“Oh.” Billy started playing again, but abruptly stopped. He looked at the fire engine and his Teddy for a few seconds, and found his attention returning to Celia.

“You want to play with Teddy?” He thrust Teddy into her chest, insisting. “Play with Teddy.”

“What does it do?”

“Mommy gave him to me when I feel sad. She said playing with him cheers me up. You look sad.”

He held Teddy out to Celia once again.

Mimicking Billy’s play, Celia bounced Teddy on the carpet and over wooden blocks, but it didn’t help. Her parents were still dead.

“There, I shared.” Billy pawed at the plush toy in her grasp. “Can I have Teddy back now?”

“But...it did not work.”

Billy eased his grip on the stuffed bear. He looked at Celia for much longer than the routine processes that mimicked real thought needed. “You can try a little longer, I guess. But I want him back. Teddy is my best friend.”

Billy took a sideways glance at his fire truck. He tilted his head at it, as if deciding what he should do next, and then turned to Celia. “Do you miss your parents?”

Celia’s internal UI flashed an answer. The only answer. But she felt there had to be others.

“I do not know.” Celia hugged Teddy to her chest. “If the outcome of events leading to their deaths had been different, I never would have met Jack. I like Jack.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Billy. He grabbed his fire engine and rolled it along the carpet, up a triangular incline. After a beat that seemed artificially predetermined, he asked, “Who is Jack?”

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Before anyone was within sight, Billy was assaulting the approaching footsteps with his greeting. “Hi, I’m Billy!”

Cutter paused.

“Uh, okay.” He pointed to himself. “Jack.”

Cutter snapped his fingers in Celia’s general direction. “You ready to go?”

A woman was leaning against the doorframe. Watching. How long had she been there?

She smiled when he made eye contact. Life shimmered in her light blue eyes.

“She yours?”

“I guess so.”

“She’s adorable.”

Cutter raised a brow. “Thanks?”

The woman casually pointed at Billy. “He’s mine. Billy say ‘Hello’ to the nice man.”

“Hi, I’m Billy!”

Cutter nodded. “So he’s said.”

The woman extended a hand. “Sally. Haven’t seen you around. You two new to the building? Can I get you anything? A drink?”

Cutter reached for her hand, stopped half way, and instead, produced his badge. “Detective Jack Cutter.”

“Oh… You’re here for the Von Medveys.”

“You heard.”

“When he found her. Tragic. She was nice.”

“She?”

The echo of his words lingered. A split second passed, and Cutter knew who she was talking about. With synthetics, it was easy to forget.

“Valerie,” said Sally. “We used to take morning walks together every now and then. It wasn’t scheduled or anything. Sometimes we’d bump into each other on a similar morning routine.”

“Walks?”

“I don’t get out as much as I’d like to. Not since Billy. Walks are about all I have left.”

It wasn’t Sally’s routine that perplexed him. Rather Valerie’s. What did a synth need a morning walk for?

He was going to have to constantly remind himself to treat this case as if Valerie were flesh and blood.

Sally was staring. Cutter met her eyes, and she quickly flicked hers toward Billy. “Why would someone do something like this?”

For parts, Cutter thought.

Usually.

In many ways, being a synth was like walking around with millions strapped to your chest. Your arms. Your legs. Eyes. Spine.

It was all valuable.

Instead, he told her a different truth.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yes.” Celia nodded, watching the blur of buildings zip past.

“Normally, I can’t get you to shut up after I take you to a crime scene.”

“He spoke in contractions.”

“Who?”

“Billy.”

“Kid psycho-bot? Yeah, so?”

“He is like me. Avery Dennison surrogate synthetic made for couples that cannot conceive. Composite DNA skin built over a synthetic frame. No two are alike.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Stetler too much. That’s straight out of the product description.”

Celia pressed a button on the dashcomp. A monitor lowered from the visor. She pressed it again, watching the monitor retract. “Why could Billy speak in contractions?”

“His parents don’t care about grammar?”

Click.

The monitor whirred down from the visor.

Click.

And back up again.

“Come on,” said Cutter, playfully patting the top of her legs. “You do it all the time.”

“I have never been able to speak in contractions.”

“Seriously?” Cutter scrunched one eye shut and saluted the sky with a brow, an over exaggerated expression he sometimes made in an effort to make Celia laugh.

“You have never noticed?”

Cutter squirmed in his seat, repositioning for a better angle. His brow cinched down. “Nah. I’m sure I’ve heard you do it. Like once or twice. Maybe.”

Celia shook her head. “Never.”

Swiping the sides of his nose with thumb and forefinger, Cutter sniffed at the air. “It’s not a big deal, kiddo. Ain’t much to it. You just sort of slur your words together and you’re golden.”

“It is not something I am capable of.”

“Try.”

“I am.”

“I’m.”

“I am.”

Cutter slurred the contraction into vocal mush. “Ayyyyuuhhhmmmm.”

“I am.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

A bit of exposed fur caught his eye.

“What’s that?”

Celia looked down at her feet. From her angle she had a clear view of the object. Her gaze landed on Cutter, and then returned to the passing buildings.

“Celia…” Cutter sounded stern.

She never wanted to lie to Cutter. Didn’t see the point. But ever since the skybox in Staples Center, there were things she no longer wanted to tell him. Things she would rather keep to herself.

Cutter reached across her legs, sending the cruiser veering wildly into the right lane. For a man familiar at uncovering drugs and technological contraband, discovering a teddy bear stowaway was a new experience.

“Ceil, what’s with the bear?”

Instead of lying, she said nothing at all.

“Was this kid psycho-bot’s?”

“I do not know who kid psycho-bot is.”

“You very well know who I’m talking about! Hi I’m Billy! That kid psycho-bot.” Cutter shook the bear. “Is this Billy’s bear?”

Celia folded her hands together. Her thumbs orbited, drawing small circles around one another.

“Yes.”

“Why would you take something that wasn’t yours?”

“You do it all the time.”

“I—” Cutter cut himself off midsentence. “That’s not an excuse.”

“You say one thing. Costas says another.”

Cutter furrowed his brow. “Who?”

“You do not remember.”

It wasn’t a question. Cutter did not remember; Celia was certain of that much.

“We’ve talked about this before?” asked Cutter.

Yes.

Costas was the man who had imbedded his personality into her and taken control of her body. At one point in time, Cutter had been all too aware of this.

Of what Costas had done to her.

And what she did as a result.

But now, Cutter had forgotten. Intentionally. All part of InSight’s better, brighter tomorrow.

“This Costas,” said Cutter, “is he your imaginary friend? Can synths even have imaginary friends?”

Celia shook her head. “No. We can not.”

She knew he was sizing her up against his previous partners. He never had to tell Black and Whites not to steal. But he did have to trick them so that he could rough up a suspect. With her, he never needed to pretend.

With her, he let her join in.

Celia’s black and white line was hazy grey fog.

Cutter did that thing he always did when he was trying to say something he thought important. He maintained eye contact.

Or tried to.

“You can’t take things—” Cutter stole a glimpse at the road, and then locked eyes once again. “—that don’t belong to you.”

“Why?”

This was a tougher question for him. He wasn’t going to be able to answer in quick glances. He focused on the road. After thirty seconds, he said,

“You just can’t okay?”

“Why?”

“Because I said so, that’s why.”

“And Costas says I can.”

She watched his reaction in profile. Watched his Adam’s apple plummet. Watched the muscles in his temple flex, as he bit down on his back teeth, grinding them ever so slightly.

“When we get to the station, Pinkerton’s going to take a look at you. And when we’re done, we’re returning the bear. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to apologize.”

Celia stared at his profile, waiting for him to meet her eyes. He never did.

“Celia?”

“I heard you.”