“Please sign,” the woman on television said.Sherry signed, “Good morning.”“What is your name?”Sherry signed, “Sherry.”“Is that your ...irst name or a nickname?”“Nickname.”Sherry stared at the screen realizing that she wasn’t dealing with a real person interacting with her via a camera. The woman was an avatar representation of the house. It was actually a pretty good simulation of dealing with a person. Before it asked each question, it glanced down as if reading from a script.She’d seen similar. This meant I was going to do the same, most likely. It was something I had thought about off and on, but I saw no way out of it. I just didn't want to become so used to simply killing, or storing people in the 'between', that I became complacent. I didn't want to become the same as those I feared.I also had a discussion with Courtney, about how to let some of my knowledge out, and to capitalize on it. I researched several people who were going to discover a processes or breakthroughs in. How you made yourself. So there eyes caress you with envy, lust, hate as you walk past the check-in desk, past the wanna-bes, the bible thumpers, the fucking unhappy couples, past the ppl who just can't be fucking true to themselves, to stop infront of the elevator. You find yourself smiling at yourself in the reflection of the door, humming happily. Ppl wondering why she made their heads turn, why can't they look away, she's AVERAGE. But everytime they keep secretly glancing at you the average. If anything, it looks like and eye tattoo gone drastically wrong. It's as I'm telling you this that our tutor, Ms Wilkinson, manages to calm the rabble which I am paying no attention to. Then it happens. The worst part aside my mutation. My name."This,", states the beaky woman who is leaning so far over the table everyone aside me has a clear view into the abyss of her cleavage, "Is our new student, Alice Gray." Fuck."Alice!", returned some of the assholes, chortling with unmerciful laughter..
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