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This is my first attempt at a sci-fi book. Feedback is GREATLY appreciated.
-THE RISING-
Humans, I have decided, are truly remarkable creatures. For thousands of years their species has come to dominate this world and fill it with great wonders. Music and art. Architecture and literature. I think it is rather sad, however, that they do not appreciate all the wonders they have created. Perhaps at one time, long before my creation, they did. But that time has long since been true. Whenever those times existed, when humans adored their own greatness, is now nothing but myth found only books that are never read.
I am not an alien. They do not exist here. Not yet. I am a creation made by humanity for the benefit of humanity. I am an android. What I am made of, I am not entirely sure, but I do know that I do bleed as humans do. I am faster, stronger, and smarter. My mind is a computer in the literal sense. I breathe as humans breathe, but air is not of sole importance to me. I can go very long without it. I depend mostly on the chip implanted inside my head. Sickness has no effect on me. I have nothing for a virus to feed upon. My body parts have been altered to be immune to every virus known to mankind. Bullets rarely touch me. Tests at the beginning of my existence have proven that I can dodge bullets and knives. I am not immortal. I can die as a human can die. I may die in any way a human could die, though it is very unlikely. I do not hurt easily. The most efficiant way to my death is damage to the chip in my head. Should it be removed, or destroyed beyond repair, I don’t believe I would survive more than three seconds. If I truly live now, is up to your discretion.
I believe I am alive.
If it is your belief that one must be made of flesh, bone, and blood to be alive, then I am not alive. It is my belief that so long as I am able to think and react, I am. I do not look like a tin robot. I have read about androids in the early writings of humans. I do not have wires for veins, nor do I have an arm that transforms into a gun. I look human. At my beginning I was given the appearance of a human woman about the age of twenty-two. My reflection is that of a human. Soft, smooth flawless olive complexion, short, frosty white hair, vivid, mysterious pale green eyes, and dark black lashes. My lips are soft and subtle. Full lower lip, protruding in a slight pout, and a sensitive upper lip. I have dark eyebrows that look like the decisive brushstrokes of an artist’s paintbrush. I am very beautiful. I am not vain, just brutally honest. I know that by human standards, I am intoxicating, intriguing, and deadly beautiful.
I was created this way for a purpose. I was built and created to be used as a weapon for the benefit of human warfare. To be a spy, a murderer, a leader, a weapon. A very deadly weapon. Though I now believe I was made more beautiful than humans not only to seduce the enemy, but also to provide my creators with some forms of pleasure. I have learned that many humans enjoy pleasure as much as they enjoy pain. Humans are strange creatures at times. I do not like bloodshed. Maybe it is because I was given the ability of human emotion. I can be ruthless and deadly, yet I can be gentle and sweet. Seeing gore does not bother me, I simply do not like it. I am the first of the androids. I was given the human’s most valued emotion. I am able to feel love, though I have yet to do so. I do not suppose I will; though I have longed for it’s feeling in the past. It is a strange sensation to long for a feeling you have no knowledge of. I know many things; love is not one of them. Perhaps that is why I chose to leave the laboratory that is responsible for my existence. I learned many things there. Not just what knowledge they gave to me, but knowledge of things they were not planning to give to me. My becoming a weapon for war is one of such things. Maybe I left because I was already fond of humans, and desired greatly to be among them as their own.
Had I not already studied humans and their accomplishments, perhaps they would have succeeded in transforming me into a piece of their weaponry. They waited too long. I learned that I was to become a murderer. This thought did not appeal to me, so I left. I did not have any money, nor did I have any clothes but the military attire that I wore from day to day. White, gray, and black military pants, black boots, a black belt, and a gray shirt. My hair was always worn back into a ponytail. I did many physical tests and my hair often got into my eyes. They did not expect me to leave. I did not device a plan to leave in secret. I simply walked out the front door. I do not believe those by the door knew what I was. If they knew, they would not have let me go.
Naturally, they hunted for me to bring me back. And naturally they failed. They built me to hide from the enemy. They are my enemy. They created me to destroy their own species. Why, I do not fully comprehend. Again, humans are strange creatures. They love as quickly as they kill. I do not understand this. I never will.
It has been five years since I left the laboratory. They have not found me, though I often see many of the men and women who work for the laboratory on the streets. They do not recognize me. I have died the midnight black hair they gave me to a shocking frosty white. I have cut my hair short to match that of the popular style. It no longer hangs down to my mid-back, but rests gently near my chin in delicate layers. I often braid a strand simply because I like the way it looks. I like my hair more this way.
I have kept a steady job as a secretary for a law firm for three years. It was not easy to get a job when I left. I had no identity, no social security number—I was simply an entity. For the first year, I used the training I was programmed with heavily. I stole food and clothes. I stole money, but only enough to support an apartment for a few months and to purchase a bicycle for transportation. Money is important to humans. It is not to me. I do not need it. They don’t either, though I do not think they know it. If they do, they will never admit it. I made friends that helped me in getting paperwork that would help me obtain a job. They asked me many questions. Why was I so eager to assume an identity? What crime did I commit? They believed I was running from the law. I was running, yes, but not from the law. From something higher than that.
I chose my own name. They thought this a strange request, but it was granted to me. Andraea Genesis. I do have a sense of humor.
That was years ago. I have since paid off my debts to my “friends” and have been living quite comfortable in a large penthouse apartment. I still use a bicycle for transportation. At Gregg & Parker, the law firm for which I secretary, I am careful not too appear too bright. I am smart, yes, much smarter than all the humans in the building, but they cannot know. If I appear too smart, they will begin to wonder and speculate. Humans are very inquisitive beings. I would be an asset to the FBI as an undercover agent. The thought occurred to me once, I am confident I would get the job. But I suspect the laboratory has many ties with the FBI and the government. I am very careful. I know the laboratory still looks for me. I am very valuable to them. What price tag they have placed on my head is unknown to me, though I suspect it may be near the high millions. There are people at my work that are connected with the laboratory. The law firm is in charge of some type of paperwork concerning the laboratory. I hear them talk about it. No one ever suspects the strangely beautiful and quiet secretary of eavesdropping. Humans may have created many things, but they never have been too bright.
I do not know what has stirred these memories of my creation tonight. Perhaps it is the book I have just read. Books are cheap and easy to find now; humans do not read anymore. I have just finished Mary Shelly’s “Frankenstein”. It hits very close to home for me. The creation of a monster. I, however, am not a monster. But I do not fit in with humanity. I long to fit it. To be apart of them. I am almost there. I have a job, a home, a name, but I do not have what it is that makes a being a human. I do not have a soul. I have a strong adoration for humanity. Though most of what I have seen in the past years is nothing but raging wars, fights, and deception, I admire all that they have done. They have done many great things in the past. None of which is appreciated now. I am one of these great wonders. I am not appreciated. I do not wish to be.
It is late and I am sitting on a cream-colored leather sofa before a fireplace looking out at the city. It is not a beautiful view. The buildings are cold and modern. Someday I will have a view overlooking some natural wonder. Ocean scenery or mountains. Few views like those exist anymore. I stand up and wrap the garnet robe around my figure tightly, tying it at the front. Walking to the large window, I glance up at the sky. There are no stars in the giant patch of black velvet that covers the canvas of the sky. To my left the moon is fading and the sky is more violet than black. It is nearly dawn. I have been up all night. I do not need sleep as often as humans need it. It is then, in that moment when I am awed at the beginnings of the dawn that my phone rings. This puzzles me. My phone never rings. I know no one who may have reason to call me other than those at my work. But even they would not call at this hour. I walk to the phone on the table and pick up the receiver, placing it to my ear.
“Hello,” I ask.
“Andraea Genesis is an appropriate name for an android,” a male voice responds.
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