It's Called Being Happy

Feeling?

|A.N - Hi! So in the description, it basically says I wrote this story-that kinda based off Detroit Become Human-for my assignment. Umm, it's a bit long and I didn't feel like splitting it up so have fun. Hopes it not too cringy and yeah. Enjoy?|

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Falling in step with the rest of the Numai; Kohen-a name her last owner had given her-looked straightforward as they were instructed to do. Their orders were simple; follow the one before you. Maybe it was a test, they'd made Kohen do many before she entered this area of the facility. Just a test right?

Even if it weren't a test, there was still a known rule anywhere they went: speaking was not allowed when marching. In all reality... anything that was associated with their free will wasn't allowed.

Still, the lights were beautiful to her; did she even know what that meant... like actually? They were lowly-lit with tones of greens and blues and even a tint of red-that had caught Kohen's eyes-trying to slip past the darkest of blacks and brightest of whites. The letters were bolded a charcoal grey into the signs: TO THE RIGHT → Clean Station. She was too focused on what was above her that she hadn't seen the line stop; resulting in her bumping into another one of them. It turned to her; its face a mask of calm-something that was considered the signature face of a Numai. They didn't feel anything, did they?

Its eyes were of the lightest blue-something she liked-the mouth shaped to the perfect of perfectionism. Well, what their creators believed was perfect. The human-like-creature was tall; taller than her to say the least, and the "hair" was a dark brown-something she also thought looked nice on it. The clothes It wore today were of the normal to what they all wore. A black and grey shirt-the grey just stopping before the mid of the pectoral; the rest black-a symbol the size of a small palm on the left: their signature Numai sign engraved into it. On the right read the company they were all owned by VFTF-Venture Into The Future. Below its number...it's type. WI670.

She was staring too long; her program reminding her that it was considered rude. "I'm sorry" the algorithm almost seeming happy after she said it. The humanoid only nodded; a ghost of a smile creeping onto its face-maybe it was it's setting making it do that... right?

They began walking again; the lines beginning to split. A new Command: They were to go to stores... to be sold and to be of service. Maybe Kohen would be bought by a nice owner; not like the last one.

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The store was cold, well, that's what her program told her; the temperature 55 degrees Fahrenheit. It was full; the store. Many people-humans-of all sizes and shapes started wandering in-at the crack of dawn-looking at all the design; all their options of Numai. The sizes of families ranged. Some came in all alone; others came with quantities of 5 or 6. Little ones ran around pointing and giggling at how one droid would smile or another would wave.

Human workers walked with tablets in their hand; egging the customers to buy one; even saying, "They are your perfect helper in any way!" But were they? There were rumors running rampid of the Rogue; the Numai who had escaped, who had rebelled against their programs and against the people. Even though it wasn't told like that through the media, people had their theories. Maybe they were right; Kohen didn't know, she was too focused on being a helpful servant.

The sun had already begun to set, Kohen noticing the way the reds and oranges began to take over for the blues, wondering how time had passed so fast. It was almost as if they were saying, "It's our shift".

The streets that outlooked the store had become abandoned of all life-not even the drunken thugs lunged around the bars.

Kohen's attention was grabbed by the small beep that signalled another Human had entered the store; a girl. She was Kohen's height; brown hair that reached her chest, her slim frame showing as her clothes hugged tightly against her body. The girl walked around; examining the way each Numai looked, asking questions to an employee who seemed beyond tired. She came upon Kohen. A smile ghosted onto that face of hers, and she looked at the way the word KJ900 was printed on Kohen's shirt.