Salvage

Five - Part 1

November 12th, 2015

W12 was late for our meeting last night. Agent Remington brought him in. He seemed impatient and moody, until I once more pushed for psych eval. He cooled down and insisted he was fine. I don't know if I totally believe him, and would have pushed harder, but Agent R spoke with me privately beforehand. It appears W12 has been interacting more with Ms. Miller. I am keeping my security detail on him. I dislike that he keeps secrets, but I was told it would likely occur. One of the only ways for the subjects to exert independence is to withhold information.

W13 was playing with W6 last night and accidentally bruised her arm. Though no permanent damage was done, W13 continues to torture himself over the issue. I told him she is young enough, she will forget by the next day that it even happened, but he, as always, just told me to "fuck off." I will keep a closer eye on him.

There is some concern from Corporate regarding how quickly we are assimilating 12 and 13 into the populace. I will call Agent Simmons tonight. I hope the uneventful contents of my report will soothe their fears.

"I still don't think that counts as a useless hobby."

Aurora frowned, continuing to concentrate on the stitch she was painstakingly looping, then paused, hooking a small stitch-marker through the yarn so she wouldn't lose her count. "What are you talking about? I'm making a tiny doll, and I don't even know any kids."

"Yeah, but you could just as easily be making a cozy warm scarf." Rosalind, a slender young woman with dusky brown skin and long wavy hair, prodded her own lump of modeling clay. "Sculpting is completely useless. Even if I made a dish, this shit is toxic, so I couldn't eat off the dish."

"But that's your choice. You could've chosen non-toxic clay. I could've chosen not to make dolls." Aurora unhooked the stitch counter and began working another one in. "I feel like the true definition of useless is having use, and choosing not to utilize it."

"Choosing not to utilize the use?" Rosalind shook her head and tsked. "Redundant."

"In a conversation discussing uselessness, you bring up grammar." Jolynn, a shorter woman with black and silver hair cropped in a pixie cut, spoke up, putting aside her paintbrush. "A true testament to the nonsensical nature of the English language."

"You guys sound like assholes." The last member of their group, Greg, entered the room holding a large basket. He grinned, teeth flashing white through his dark red beard. "And the rolls are ready."

"If you're going to nag anybody about the rules, it should be Greg." Aurora pushed her stitch counter in once more and set down her ball of pink beaded yarn. "He's the most useful one of us all."

"Yeah, but I can't bitch about fresh baked rolls." Rosalind stood up as well, and the whole motley crew followed suit, crowding around Greg eagerly.

Aurora plucked up a roll and tore it open, inhaling deeply as the heavenly smell wafted over her. Greg wasn't a professional chef, nor did he want to be. He worked as a mechanic, specializing in motorcycle repair, but he just loved to bake. He and Jolynn had been engaged for about ten years at this point, and both were so laidback that they hadn't even set a date for the wedding.

Jolynn was a child psychologist, and she had been the one who first got Aurora interested in CPS work. Jolynn was older than the rest of the group, in her fifties, and she had known Aurora ever since she was in foster care. If Aurora had to pick someone in her life as a mother figure, it would be her.

Rosalind was closer to Aurora's age, but vastly different in many ways. While Aurora had grown up without much television or technology at all, Rosalind had been immersed in it, almost raised by it. She loved to sing, and peppered in musical numbers throughout all of their lives willy nilly.