Green

Green. It's the first thing I see when I wake up, and the last when I sleep. I find it calming, a sort of organic trademark, inviting fresh leaves and grass into your thoughts. It's why it's my favorite color. It's why I have plants by my bed and around my house, even though I understand that they cost a fortune. I stare at my ceiling, watching cold blues and greens mix together in the reflection as the morning begins. It's cold and raining outside, like always, and neon signs don't help the harsh artificial colors.
I get up heavily, begrudgingly, and exhaustedly. Last night on the job was long, and the lingering headache didn't make me feel any better about it. I hold my head in my hands for a minute or two before I turn the lamp on next to my bed.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING
Horrible idea. My ears and head ring at the light, and I just decide to quickly get in the shower and get ready. Before leaving, I grab my files and keys and begin to head for the train station.

Red. Red walls. Red lights. Red floor. Red ceiling. Red. It's all I see. All I feel. Feel? What am I feeling? How can I feel?
CLASH!!
Someone's here. Who? Can they help me? Wait, who is..."me"?...

The train ride is long, and the people beside me wear old torn clothes, smelling like sulfur and rain; sometimes, I hate the fact I can smell. I hold my files and triple check my keys are in my pocket. I don't fear that these people will steal from me, I know they will if given the chance, so I just have to be careful.
The train stops at my destination, and I carefully walk off, still holding my files and keys. I sigh a bit in relief and continue making my way to my job. About a thirty minute walk, give or take, so I try my best not to get soaked. I walk under sheltered places the best I can, though there's no avoiding the neon lights.
They shine bright hues of neon orange, blue, yellow, purple, and red. I don't see any green, as usual. Quite a shame that you don't get to see that color here anymore. However, I ignore the neon headaches the best I can. I hold my hand out to the rain as I walk and feel the droplets drip down my fingertips.
I believe it's the little things like this that make you feel alive.

"Hello," a voice echos out.
"Hello," another echos, but it sounds robotic. Like it was coming from a speaker. Artificial.
"Ah, I see that you've quickly found your voice, that's good," the previous voice sounds.
"Whose voice?" the speaker questions.
"Why yours of course," a woman walks out in front of me, she wears a long red coat, maybe white, it looks thin, not really for keeping warm. She has long black hair, I think? And I can't see her eyes. The red lights obstruct any real observation I try to make now that I think about it...
I then take in what she said. Whose voice? My voice? That cold robotic voice is my voice?
"Well, don't be shy; we aren't strangers. I'm your maker, Dr. Valentine," she smiles a curious smile, "Aand you're my Frankenstein's monster."

I find myself at my destination and look up at the grey, wet building. Its surrounded by a few other grey, wet buildings, a bit more worn down than this one, and don't really seem to be inhabited, but by a few people. My building, though, is the Ikling City Police Department. What a place. Full of supposed know-it-alls and self-righteous a-holes. Nevertheless, it's where I've worked for the past five years, and will probably continue to work for the rest of my life.
I walk in and greet others with a half-hearted smile before I hear familiar heavy, footsteps behind me.
"Hey, Redbox," the gruff old voice almost shouted, saying an annoying slur that I've almost grown for my nickname, "we've got a case for you."
"If it's another missing cat I swear to God-" I'm cut off by a newspaper being thrown into my arms, I drop a few things catching it. I look at the header with wild curiosity and forget about my things.
"VALENTINE MURDERS STRIKE AGAIN"
"It's one of yours." My captain, Cpt. Heartsweld, looks me in the eyes in an almost desperate kind of look, "we need your help on this one, it's the fourth time in the past two weeks and we don't even have a suspect."
"Let me see the files then," the words almost fall out of my mouth, like I'm desperate for it. I haven't gotten a murder case in awhile since people like me have been set free. Looks weird in the reports and papers when a robot does a better job than people. It makes them worry. Before I know it, I'm delivered the files and I go to my desk after picking up and turning in my paperwork. I open the manilla folder and start reading the reports. It's gonna be a long day today; I can tell.

It's been a week since I first met Dr. Valentine. She scares me, and I never know how to respond when given a question. Since its hard for me to work with her, they give me other doctors and scientists instead. I'm supposed to learn emotion, and how to act as they do. They say I'm going to be something new and special, that I was their "catalyst", I don't know what for though.
"Get them ready, we're going to test drive them," I recognize the voice and immediately freeze up. I don't know what's beyond this room so what could she possibly mean? I'm prepared and dressed in five minutes before I knew, and then handed over to Dr. Valentine. She looks excited and curious about things to come. We walk towards the white double doors, and I can feel my body overheat from nervousness if I had glands I know I'd be sweating gallons. We walk out, and she holds my arm tighter, that's when I see the neon red sign;
VALENTINE'S MACHINES: THE RIGHT LOVE FOR YOU.
I see me.
In glass casings.
One. No, two. Three. Five. Ten. Thirty.
Of me.
Is that what I am?
I close my eyes and shut it out.

I get lost in thought. I remember what I am when reading these files and I can't feel, but, like, every emotion I have is wound up in some sort of knot in my stomach. I feel like I can sort of sympathize with them, but in the same sense, why would they want to see all that red. It makes me feel nauseous, and I close the file for a breather. I look around on my desk, and my eyes keep going to my nameplate: Detective Valentine. I feel my nausea get worse and I close my eyes. It's my name. No one else's. No matter who gave it to me or what it represents. I'm me, and that's my name. It's my name. I open my eyes and get back to work.
It's going to be a long day today.

I open my eyes, and for a brief moment, I see something new. Green. A plant growing through a crack. So strong it broke through the floor and seems to be thriving. I feel at ease somehow just by seeing it. So, I take a deep breath and get comfortable with Dr. Valentine's hard grip.
It's going to be a long day today.

P.N.
This is a prologue of the character and beginning of story, not the actual beginning.
I hope to write more which in the week, but please enjoy this for now. <3