He shivered slightly as he could feel the piercing gaze of those he passed by on him, their eyes staring daggers that threatened to reach his very soul, but he shut them all out. He was never the subject matter of anyone, and when he was, he always seed to be a subject of ridicule. Alto was largely unbothered by this, but that did not stop him from feeling awkward.
Everyone seed to look at him like he was so foreign object; others used his appearance as a cause to start a conversation. He could hear whispers such as:
"Who is he?" one asked at one ti.
"Dunno, but he seems awfully fine to be in this part of the building. Maybe he’s so technician or sothing," a grumpy officer who seed not to care about the discussion said to his body counterpart.
Alto, on the other hand, found out that his hearing had improved to so extent; he was able to hear much better than he usually could, his ears catching whispers from afar like they were said directly to him. He smiled as he walked around, stretching his tired legs. What he wished currently was to go outside of the facility and see the sun, have a bit of fresh air, but he did not have the clearance for such leisure. He wondered if he was a prisoner in the ch division because they did an obvious job at making it very obvious.
He rembered what Abigail had said about the planet dying and the ch division doing nothing to help despite being on the planet for a very long ti. Wasn’t the goal of the ch division to protect human life, or did they have an ulterior motive instead? There was more to the ch division than he knew, more than he wanted to know. Slowly, Alto’s mind was piecing together bits of sothing solid, sothing concrete. He rembered how the ch engineers had called the ch designer departnt a waste of money—literally budget wasters—but in a way, it was true since they did not build a ch. Even the professor had said it herself—why would she build a ch for a planet that did not go to war?
As Alto took the next turn down a hall, he thought to himself, "They don’t go to war. I rarely see anyone leave, yet their chs need constant repairs despite rarely leaving the division grounds. Where do the chs go then? Sothing is going on here, and I think the professor knows about it." The thought that he did not realize this till his intelligence got a boost from the ch designer software caused him to feel a bit low, but he soon got over it and started to think about what Marie had told him before she and her fleet had left the planet.
"They were investigating the ch division and planning to shut it down? Apparently, their investigation did not go as planned. There is sothing here they all seem to be after. Sothing more important than the people they’re sworn to protect. This neglect led to there being so many orphans, and yet they still farm us for potential X gene carriers. What a corrupt world we live in."
As he was finishing his thoughts, he reached the door to the ch designer room and paused before it, and thought of what would happen after he went through. His mind was not on whether he would be praised for his recovery or celebrated—he had faked his absence for three months, and he doubted they would show enthusiasm towards his return. What he was really thinking about was whether he would simply go back to being that errand boy he used to be. He wanted to improve and beco a ch designer; to do that, he needed to co out of his shell of pretense. He would walk up to the professor and ask for a promotion. He doubted she would refuse if he put up a convincing argunt.
Or would she? Since they did not create chs in any way, would that not be a waste of ti? Alto did not want to be limited to his online presence alone. The real world worked with real chs, not virtual chs. The fear of not being able to achieve his dream struck him like a chord.
He initiated the sequence and walked through the door and into the room to see it busy for once. There were ch parts arranged on a table and a working 3D printer, with Charles Vans working on it, his full attention on it as he fabricated his work. As Alto entered, he greeted him first in his usual gesture, which Charles Vans had said was childish and lacking respect. The next person he saw was, of course, Eleven, who was analysing a ch blueprint and doing nothing more. This was the closest Alto had seen him to actual working, which surprised him. Eleven did not look in his direction, but he waved at him.
As for the professor, he could see her wearing a sports bra and workout shorts, her long red hair packed behind a rubber band, her fra muscular in the back and shoulders, her skin glossy and sticky from the sweat covering them. She was currently putting on boxing gloves and hitting a boxing bag with surprisingly good form. Alto did not know what good form was, but he figured if she could move so fast and while sweating so much, that was definitely good form for sure. Her entire outfit was white; with each blow, many drops of sweat would fly off and land on the floor where a small puddle was starting to form. Her speed and efficiency surprised Alto and left him confused.
"Now why would a genius ch designer need to punch bags in a workshop?" Alto muttered silently.
"Because I get bored of doing nothing in this damn place," she answered him from across the room, shocking Alto. He had no idea her hearing was so advanced. It was either that or she was also genetically enhanced. Did she know he was too? Was that why she answered him just now?
"Calm down, Al, just act as always," he thought to himself.
Alto waved at her, not daring to approach her. "Good morning, ma’am."
Alberta stopped her exercise and let her hands fall to her sides. Sweat slid down her temples and down to her chin where it converged and dropped onto the floor. She started to breathe heavily, her breath uneasy for a few seconds before she finally spoke. "Again with the ’ma’am,’ you haven’t changed, have you? It’s good to have you back, asel."
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