The window in the androids apartment overlooks the harbor as the fog rolls in over the water. The light shining in is a purple gray and he begins to put his research away. On the rare occasion he sleeps, he does it in a chair or on the floor. The idea of a bed is far too reminiscent of the operating tables at the interment camp. The scientists who had created him had such high hopes for his potential. They gave him the ability to feel pain and other sensations because they felt it would help him to assimilate into the organic world. But in the end, it only aided in his torture. They created him so that he would possess emotion, but the Cardassians only used it as a weapon. So many years ago, he had known the fair haired Bajoran girl named Taya. They were prisoners in the same camp. She was no older than fifteen and always managed to smile, no matter what happened.
She was a fool, at least he thinks so now, retrospectively. She fell in love with him, where as the others avoided him like the plague. Everyone who got close to Lennox disappeared and never came back. This was true for his creators who were slaughtered at the Phiana Orphanage Massacre. Lennox was helping them deliver medical supplies when the Cardassians attacked. They raped and killed all the women first as they made the men and boys watch, but no one survived, with the exception of the android. He was a thing of curiosity to Gul Daro, the woman leading the attack. He was captured and studied for years, never willfully giving them information.
So they tried and tried, through every means possible to break down his barriers. Their engineers barely could maintain their own ships, none the less dissect a complex piece of equipment like a positronic brain. Torture failed, he even stopped screaming before too long. They will simulate excruciating pain to the point where his body would automatically shut off, which was always quite ineffective. They managed at some point, to gain control of his voluntary movement systems. They forced him to kill children for hopes that he would finally disclose Federation and Marquis secrets, that he would assist their engineers to build combat ready androids, but he never broke.
And such was the fate of Taya. She was pregnant when she was killed, she had been gang raped by several of the internment camp guards. She told him never to give in to the Cardassians, even if it meant her life, and he did not. But that sense of morality has never been able to wash away the blood from his hands. Whether he was being remotely controlled or not, he still killed them. Their screams and agonized, twisted faces haunt him. He had spent ten years of his life as a test subject in a laboratory, and even now that he is free, he forces himself to spend most of his life catering to patients and analyzing test cultures. Trying desperately to free himself of some of the guilt, to make retribution for the lives he has spent in the name of morals. The sacrifice of the few for the need of the many, in theory is quite logical, always seems to feel wrong in the end.
He combs his hair in the mirror, just like a real human. He has synthetic bones and muscle, fat and blood and skin. Synthetic hair follicles and tear ducts, pores and lungs. An artificial heart, digestive system, automated reflexes and cognitive patterns. Microcomputers regulate his body functions, a constant skin temperature and respiratory rates, everything streamlined and perfect in design and construction. His eyes are a pale, hollow blue and stare back at him vacantly before he turns out the lights. He takes his white coat from the hook by the door and puts it over his medical smock. The room is tiny, lined with brick walls, a chair by the factory window staring out over the bay. The day looks cold and bitter, but wasn't every day? Even as the sun shines through the window, he knows that it is artificially regulated by the planet's weather control system.
He disappears through the door, his white coat trailing behind him as he climbs down the steps and walks toward the hospital. There is a pile of crates by the side of a building, and he can hear a faint mewing and labored breathing. He stops and digs into the pile of rotting wood and paper to find a tiny, moist bundle of fur. He picks up the creature and holds it to the light. It's barely alive and covered in blood. Burns on his face and abdomen, it looks like it has been tortured. he cradles it to his chest and smiles gently.
"It is alright, you are safe now."
The food in the plate in front of Milo resembles some kind of ground pig intestines, but with a strange, bluish tinge. He can't force himself to eat it, or even look at it, so he shoves it to the side before finishing his glass of cranberry juice. There is a woman in front of him who is horrifically disfigured. Her eye appears to have been gouged out and she rocks back and forth, humming "The Yellow Rose of Texas". Drool runs down her face and her one eye is fixed onto a blank area of the table. All of the patients in the dayroom seem to be human, with the exception of a Vulcan man who connects imaginary dots on the walls and an Andorian girl who apparently cut off her own antennae, they grow back in vain under pale bandages. Some of the patients are strapped to chairs while others stare catatonically at the floor from the plastic furniture. While others still, talk in hushed voices and laugh quietly.
The dayroom has pink walls and grey carpet. The furniture is all plastic and rounded like doll toys and the nurses stand at their desks like stone immortalized fascists behind a shatterproof partition. There is blood on the wallpaper behind two women who are laughing in Japanese. But the lady sitting across from him at the round, plastic flesh table just rocks and hums and drools. Out of nowhere, a rather obese man in his thirties appears beside Milo and starts eating his food. Not that he cares, he hadn't planned on consuming it anyway.
"W-w-what are you d-doing?"
"Eating... You know what they make this stuff out of, don'tcha?"
"N-no..."
The man slurps the strange substance between his teeth with glee as he prepares to answer his own question.
"Abortus... the womens clinic is on the next floor up. They give the aborted fetuses to the psychiatric ward, Dr. Rollins requests them specially for this ward."
The man's red face wrinkles as he sucks down the last of the food substance, making a loud slurping noise before standing up and releasing one loud, grotesque belch and walking away. Milo stares down at the empty plate and wonders if there was any truth to what he said. He stands up to dispose of the dish in the slot at the far end of the room. He can't help but stagger as he walks from the table. An orderly grabs his shoulder and tells him to sit down.
"I j-j-just w-w-want t-o p-p-p-"
"Shut the fuck up and sit the fuck down!"
Milo spins around to see a Klingon woman about three times his size. "Great" he thinks, "This is just what I need, another Klingon." He only has a brief moment to contemplate why he seems to be the bane of every Klingons existence before he jabbed in the stomach and shocked with an electrical baton. He drops the dish as he hits the floor and quivers as an excruciating burst of electricity surges through his body. at some point he is carried to a wheel chair and stepped into place. There are metal cuffs holding down his wrists and ankles. His head spins as his eyes attempt to adjust to the light. The rocking woman still sits in her chair, a puddle of saliva pooling on the table in front of her.
Then the room goes quiet as a man enters. He has dark brown hair and light skin, dark eyes and a white linen suit. His body moves fluidly and he grins at the nurses and the patients as he walks in, dripping with some expensive alien cologne and pure arrogance. This must be the Dr. Rollins whom Lennox had told him to expect, the Dr. Rollins who allegedly feeds this patients aborted fetuses. Like most human doctors, he is tall and aesthetically pleasing. Still, there was something artificial about his personality. Something strangely sociopathic, hidden just beneath the surface as he talks to his staff and walks into the locked, metal door behind the nurses station.
Moments later, the doctor appears through the door once again holding a large clipboard with real paper and a graphite pencil. He walks to where Milo is seated, still delirious from the electric shock and whatever they shot him up with when he arrived there.
"Greetings, Mister Sharpp" The doctor reaches out to shake the boy's hand, only to laugh when he can't reciprocate. He straightens his tie as he continues.
"My name is Dr. Rollins, I understand that you are a Starfleet cadet. Shot an admiral, did you? Well, we'll fix whatever's gone wrong in that defective mind of yours, don't worry."
"I d-d-don't think I sh-should be here."
"Is that so? Well you shouldn't go around trying to kill people if you don't want to be rehabilitated. You can trust us Mister Sharpp, we're federation doctors."