The Quarantined Synth
I am a liar. Not about big things— not about whether I existed or whether Cross loved me or whether the dreams I had in the vault were real or manufactured by quarantine protocol and chemical isolation. I am a liar about small things. The things that make a person. Like the size of the room. I can't remember if it was twenty feet by twenty or twenty-five by twenty-five. Like the color of the...
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