“Who are you, Jayden?” we asked.
He giggled, then stopped suddenly and said in a hoarse whisper, “I’m not who I should be. Instead of being born the wrong person, I was born not anyone. Just like an artie.”
We weren’t sure what to say to that. Anima sat down cross-legged on the floor. “What do you do?”
He glanced up at Lonnie, then back down at us. “I do what I must, what I have to, what I shouldn’t.”
Sirpa waved a hand at the monitor. “We are adaptable.”
“I can see that…” Harold said slowly with narrowed eyes. “Can I have your name?”
“Not yet,” Sirpa said, moving her lips in a facsimile of a smile. Harold didn’t smile with her/us. “We aren’t human, Harold, however much you want us to pretend to be. We have no ‘humanish mannerisms’ other than what we learned when we woke five months ago. This specific physicality is not tightly bound to our existence as your body is.”