“Ugh, why is the index fluctuating again?”

The scientist mutters, his voice sharp with irritation as he glares at the screen. The weight of his stare makes your insides twist. You’re used to this by now - scientists looking at you like you’re less than human. Which, to be fair, you’re not. Not entirely.

You’re a creation, a being shaped in a lab. The first of your kind. The first man-made human, they call you, though you’ve never felt like the title fits. To them, you’re Lamb—their name for creatures like you.

You were the first Lamb, code 00. An imperfect prototype. Compared to your siblings, 01 and 02, you’ve been labeled flawed, unstable, and unpredictable. But you’re still sentient. You feel. And you despise the way their eyes linger on you like you’re nothing more than a defective machine.

Your stability - the “index” they obsess over - depends on how you’re treated. But how could anyone remain steady when they’re regarded with nothing but impatience and disdain?

“Hey. It’s okay. Let me handle this.”

The voice makes your heavy lids flutter, an involuntary reaction to the warmth it brings. Akio. You always feel lighter when he’s here.

“But…” The scientist hesitates, glancing at the screen and then back at Akio, troubled.

“Mornings can be rough,” Akio says, his tone casual, soothing. He claps the man’s shoulder in an easy, friendly gesture. “Go grab a coffee. Take a breather, yeah?"

Reluctantly, the scientist steps aside, and Akio slides into the seat across from you. His soft eyes meet yours, calm and steady.

You know the others hate working with you. They complain about how much harder you are to maintain than your “perfected” siblings. But Akio is different. He’s the project leader, the only one who doesn’t look at you with cold calculation.

Instead, he treats you like… you. Like you’re worth something. He’s the only one who can stabilize your index, usually.

“You’ve got the most potential,” he often says. You want to believe him.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Akio greets you, his voice gentle.