Chapter 1. Author's note: My first official attempt at science fiction. Yikes. But that means that I might severely edit it or even take it down at some point. Also, if you're confused, don't worry. Things will become clear. And you can always read the summary on the side. Comment, vote (and maybe even fan) please! 

Update: art on the side by the illustrious Poetical_Friday. It's lovely, isn't it?

Nightingale was lying on the floor in her bedroom, trying to sleep, when she overheard a conversation in the hall. Not just any conversation - one about business. Nightingale rolled onto her side and put her pillow over her head. Unfortunately, her sharp hearing did not allow her to block out the voices from the hall.

"Listen, Hank, I'm not sure if I can afford another one. They're not cheap to house, you know," said a voice. Nightingale recognized the voice as Bobby's.

"One more. Come on. She's a pretty thing, too," cajoled Hank. Nightingale recognized his voice, too. He was Bobby's salesman from the Corporation.

"I don't know. I just don't. I'm doing really well right now and I don't want to push it," said Bobby. But Nightingale could tell that Hank had swayed him.

"Come on," Hank continued. "She's great. About five foot six, once she's done growing - which will be tomorrow - with red hair and blue eyes. She's gorgeous."

"Of course she is. They're all bombshells. The Corp's legit," said Bobby. "Not like the others. Did you see the ones Starkwood was trying to sell me? They were all deformed. How is an Inamorata with webbed feet supposed to be sexy to a client?"

Nightingale shivered. She was lucky - if any Inamorata was - that she'd been created by the Corporation. It was the most legitimate of the labs in the Inamorata business. Genetic engineering could go wrong so much of the time, resulting in horrific deformities for the poor Inamoratas created by hacks like Starkwood.

"That's why you deal with us," said Hank. Nightingale could hear the pride in his voice. "We only produce the highest-quality Inamoratas."

"And that's why you charge me an arm and a leg for them," laughed Bobby. Nightingale clenched her teeth in anger at the sound. "But fine. I guess I could always use another one."

Nightingale shuddered at the thought.

"Excellent. I assume you'll pay as you always do?" asked Hank.

"Of course. Oh, and make sure to inform Dr. Stone that I'll be bringing someone with me," said Bobby. "As usual."

Nightingale's blood ran cold. She closed her eyes and prayed to whatever God would answer a sub-human like herself that Bobby would not choose her.

"You'll be bringing an Inamorata with you, right?" said Hank.

"Yes. It often makes the new one more comfortable," mused Bobby. "And seeing an obedient, subservient Inamorata will teach this one how to behave."

Hank laughed. "Yours really do behave well," he said admiringly.

"They learn at an early age what happens if they don't," said Bobby threateningly. Nightingale felt her limbs tremble with fear but her stomach twist with bile in anger. Though she had no scars on her body from Bobby's teaching - it would have put off clients - she remembered the pain of those early lessons. The punishment for disobedience or unhappy clients.

"So who's to be this role model?" asked Hank.

"I think I know the perfect one," said Bobby. Nightingale knew the leer that would accompany his words.

Her eyes opened as her room flooded with light. Bobby had opened the doors of her room and the light from the hall was filling the room. But her keen eyes adjusted to the light quickly and she sat up. She sat quietly, pretending as though she had not heard their conversation.

"Nightingale, you're going for a little trip with me tomorrow," said Bobby.

Knowing what would happen if she didn't, Nightingale smiled, though her insides seemed to have turned to lead. It was a slinky, seductive smile that had been bred into her by the Corporation's scientists. "Thanks, Bobby, darling," she said, standing. She went over to him and kissed his mouth.

Bobby chuckled. "See what I mean, Hank? Look at how good she is. Your boys at the Corp can't breed that into them. Only I can train it in," he added, his bragging tone making Nightingale want to throttle him.

"Yeah, she's obedient," said Hank, his eyes roving over Nightingale's perfect body. Then they moved to where she'd made her bed on the ground. "Hey, Bobby, why is she sleeping on the floor? She's got a bed, hasn't she?"

Nightingale didn't allow herself to shy away from him in disgust and fear, but didn't answer him. He hadn't spoken to her, and so she shouldn't reply.

"I dunno. Why are you sleeping on the floor, Nightingale?" he asked.

Now she could answer. "Because, Bobby," she said sweetly, her eyes glittering with flirtatious verve. "It keeps me leaner. Supposedly sleeping on a hard surface does that. And the clients like me lean." She didn't tell Bobby the truth - that she never slept in her bed because it was where her clients slept after they'd enjoyed everything she had to offer.

Bobby laughed. "Again, look how good she is! I've trained her well, haven't I, Hank - to be always working to please clients!"

"She doesn't need to sleep on the floor to stay lean," snapped Hank. "The Corporation makes all its Inamoratas flawless. There's no need for upkeep on her heath to keep her attractive."

"I know that. But she doesn't. You don't breed them smart, you breed them sexy," laughed Bobby.

Nightingale didn't inform him that she was, in fact, actually incredibly intelligent. One of her clients, a filthy stinking rich businessman in computer science, had given her an intelligence test. Only when she'd come up as Gifted had he agreed to fuck her. And this had been a lucky stroke for Nightingale - had he not decided to accept her services, he wouldn't have paid Bobby. If he hadn't paid him, Bobby probably would have been angry with her. She trembled at even the thought of the electric current that was his favourite method of expressing that anger.

"There's no way to engineer intelligence," said Hank coldly. "If there were, all your Inamoratas would be geniuses."

Bobby laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Nah, man. Some men like them stupid."

Nightingale was silent until Bobby turned to her. "You know the drill, Nightingale. Be ready to go when I get here. Wear something decent. Don't show too much skin. Don't want the Corporation thinking I didn't pay enough for you."

Nightingale simpered for a moment before responding. "Whatever you say," she purred. "But I can tell you that, whatever you paid for me, it wasn't enough."

Bobby laughed. "Isn't she cocky?" he chuckled to Hank. Nightingale felt his hand grope her, grabbing her ass. At least that was more innocent than the way he usually touched his Inamoratas. "I wouldn't take that from any of the others, but Nightingale here is different."

"I can see," said Hank. Once again, his eyes swept over Nightingale's body again. "Hey, Bobby, do you mind if I borrow her for a bit?"

Nightingale wondered how she would have the strength not to rip Hank's throat out if Bobby agreed. He wasn't like most of her clients, who merely enjoyed the Corporation's creations. He was one of the people actually behind the Corporation itself, creating and enslaving girls like her.

"Sorry, Hank," said Bobby. He flung himself down on her bed, lying on his back. Nightingale winced internally, but some part of her was perversely glad it was Bobby and not Hank she'd have to fuck. "But I'm going to be pretty busy with her. Just go down the hall and knock on Sparkle's door. Tell her I sent you. But man," he added, sitting up. "Don't think it's free. Take whatever she charges you out of my balance for the new one."

"Fine," said Hank. "See you tomorrow, Bobby."

"You too," laughed Bobby as Hank left the room and shut the door. Then he turned to Nightingale. "Now, Gale, entertain me."

With her disgust, anger, shame, sorrow, and despair safely hidden behind a seductive mask, she crept onto the bed.

"Yes, sir," she said as she quickly and expertly undid his pants.

The next morning Nightingale, as much as was unhappy to be accompanying Bobby to the Corporation's building in the East Side, was tickled pink to be able to dress in something other than a corset, fishnets, and garters. She was dressed as she'd seen normal, human women dress - in an elegant calf-length black dress that showed off her figure but kept her skin hidden. Bobby, in a rare fit of sympathy, had allowed her to wear a knee-length, beige trench coat that kept her warm.

Had it not been for the identity anklet that manacled her electronically to Bobby, someone could have taken her for an ordinary woman. But there was no way to hide the black device. It was starkly visible against her pale skin above her black shoe.

Now, she and Bobby were being shown up to the Corporation's main lab. Nightingale knew the area all too well. She was often the Inamorata Bobby took to welcome the new one, as he had a soft spot for her.

"Stay here, Gale," he said as they exited the elevator and got into the elegant but bare lobby. It was all white and chrome, undeniably a scientific building. He dropped her off at the reception desk. "I'll be back in a minute."

Nightingale nodded. As she waited, she hummed and began to drum her fingers on the glassy white desktop. It was smooth and cold under her fingertips.

"You have a lovely voice," said a voice from behind the desk. She looked up to see a young man smiling shyly at her.

"Thank you," she replied. Quickly, she assessed him. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, with chocolate-brown hair and wide, innocent eyes. Nightingale smiled as she saw they were a warm, earnest, dark brown. Her smile fell a little when she saw he was carrying a clipboard, hugging it close to him, as though ready to squirrel it away in his lab coat if someone tried snatch it from him. He must have been one of the Corporation's scientists.

"Are you waiting for someone?" he asked after a short pause. Then he blushed and looked down in embarrassment. Nightingale felt the smile creeping back onto her face. He seemed like a nice man. It was odd that he would be a part of an organization that made its living through slavery.

"Yes," she said gently.

There was another pause in which Nightingale noticed the man staring at her. But it was an innocently interested stare, not a lascivious leer like the ones she was used to. 

"So, what's your name?" he asked. The he paused and laughed a little. "I'm sorry if that seemed creepy. It's just that we don't see many women around here."

"Nightingale," she said. "Yours?"

"What a pretty name. I'm Michael Castleman. What, you don't have a last name?" he added, his voice lightly humorous.

Nightingale was confused. Then she realized with a clashing mixture of disappointment and pleasure that he thought she was a normal woman. A human woman. He thought she was being silly, not telling him her last name. He didn't realize that it was because she wasn't a person - in the eyes of the rest of the world - that she had only the name Bobby had given her.

"Nope," she said, making her voice teasing, hoping he wouldn't catch on to the fact that she was an Inamorata. "I was born without one."

He laughed. "A shame," he said. He put down his precious clipboard and leaned over the desk towards her. Up close, she could see his downy eyelashes. "But it makes you more mysterious. Do you have secrets or something, Nightingale?" By the tone of his voice, she could tell he was joking - and flirting. She felt more than a twinge of regret as she realized that she needed to put him down gently.

Nightigale sighed. Her own eyelashes batting, she leaned the rest of the distance towards him. He froze as she whispered in his ear. "You don't want to know my secret, Michael," she said, her voice low and sad. "You'd think badly of me."

"Nightingale!" came a call from behind her. She turned to see Bobby beckoning towards her. He was flanked by Hank and by another man. She recognized the man as Dr. Stone, the Corporation's best scientist. He was usually the man who ran the final check on each Inamorata before turning her over to Bobby.

Nightingale turned and walked over to Bobby, sharply aware of the anklet around her leg. No doubt Michael would see it where it jangled around her ankle. When she got over to him, she turned to look at Michael.

Unhappiness stabbed through her with an almost physical pain as she saw his expression. His mouth was slack and his eyes wide in shock, shock that was mixed with disappointment and disgust.

"Come on, Gale," said Bobby. "Let's go. And if you want to see her again, you'll be paying for her time," he added to Michael, who gaped at him. "She isn't cheap."

Nightingale allowed Bobby to tug her away, down the corridor to the lab. She felt so startlingly sad that she had to pinch her wrist to prevent herself from crying. When Bobby spoke, she had to prevent herself from strangling him by clenching her fists. It was his and the Corporation's fault that Michael now thought of her as subhuman, an animal. That she was viewed by the world as little more than livestock, chattel to be bought and sold and used as they pleased.

"Did you give him the bordello's address?" asked Bobby. "He seemed interested in you."

"He didn't know I was an Inamorata," snapped Nightingale bitterly. "He was interested because he thought I was a normal woman. He was trying to get to know me, not to fuck me. But I doubt you could get him to touch me with a ten-foot pole now."

Bobby looked over at her. Nightingale expected a slap, but one didn't come. "No cheek, Gale," he warned. "You're usually a good girl. Don't change it now."

Nightingale nodded, silent.

"Hey," he snapped, stopping and grabbing her by the jaw roughly. Dr. Stone and Hank stopped, watching them. "What do you say?"

"I'm sorry, Bobby," said Nightingale softly, almost seductively. "It was very bad of me. Forgive me."

"Don't do it again," said Bobby. "Or I won't just tell you off."

"I won't." Now Nightingale's voice positively dripped with lust. "Thanks for forgiving me."

Bobby chuckled, grinning indulgently. "No problem. You're too pretty to be angry at for very long, Gale."

Nightingale smiled back at him. In the corner of her eye, she saw Hank and Dr. Stone exchange a smug glance, obviously pleased that a piece of their work had such an effect upon Bobby.

"Can we go now, Bobby?" asked Hank.

"Of course," said Bobby. As they began to walk again, he added: "I forgot to ask you before, but how was Sparkle?"

Hank laughed. "Good. She's was a bit listless, though."

Nightingale wanted to add that maybe that was because Sparkle had been awoken halfway through the night and forced to sleep with a man she loathed and somehow had to pretend to be okay with it, but she didn't. It was the kind of comment that a less experienced Inamorata would have made, in futile rebellion, not knowing that it was pointless to rebel.

"Give her a slap next time. It always wakes them up a bit," instructed Bobby.

"Does Nightingale ever need slapping?" asked Hank, eyeing her.

"Nope. She's a good girl. That's why I've brought her," said Bobby proudly. Dr. Stone laughed.

"You seem to be almost attached to her," he said, smiling.

"Take the almost out of it. I am attached to her. She's reliable, never lets a client down," said Bobby. The first part of his comment might have been kind and caring, had it not been for the fact that he was attached to her the way one would be to a piece of furniture - it was attractive and always available for use, but could be discarded once it had served its purpose - and not the way humans were attached to each other.

Dr. Stone laughed again. "I'd like to say we could take all the credit for that, but I think you take some of it, too."

Bobby grinned. "Hell yeah."

By this time, they'd made it into the lab. Dr. Stone donned a pair of gloves and Hank handed Bobby a tablet. Nightingale stood next to Bobby as a translucent, human-sized, cocoon-like structure made its way over to them on what looked like a conveyor belt. When it stopped, large drains opened in the smooth white floor, gaping like the maws of wild creatures.

Nightingale shuddered involuntarily, remembering.

Bobby barely glanced her. He stepped forward to where Dr. Stone was opening the cocoon. As he sliced, the form of a young woman was gradually revealed, curled up on her side in fetal position. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was sleeping. As he opened the cocoon, a clear liquid - artificial amniotic fluid, what the Inamoratas were grown in - rushed out the sides and poured into the drains.

When the liquid drained away from the girl's face, her eyes suddenly opened and she gave a gasp. Dr. Stone gripped her under the armpits and hauled her unceremoniously from the cocoon, standing her up on the cold floor.

She stood there shivering, looking confused and piteous, her wet hair plastered to her naked body. As Hank had promised, she was of medium height, with blue eyes and hair that would have been a spectacular shade of red when it was dry. Bobby eyed her appreciatively. He walked around her as she gazed at him. Her eyes were wide with terror and bewilderment.

"She'll do," he said, nodding. "I'll sign." With that, he pressed his thumb to the tablet.

"Can you speak?" asked Dr. Stone, shaking her by the shoulder.

She gazed at him mutely. Nightingale remembered what it had been like at her own extraction. She'd been sleeping in a warm place, in complete darkness and perfect peace, only to be hauled, sopping wet, shivering, and naked,  into the light and the cold and the befuddling awareness.

"It always takes them a moment," said Hank.

"You should work on that. I need to know now if she's completely functional," replied Bobby. "Or I'll get my money back."

Nightingale took a step towards the woman, her hands extended gently. "Hello," she said. "My name is Nightingale. You know what a name is, don't you?"

The girl nodded. Dr. Stone snorted.

"Of course she does. We condition that into them. It seems as though we can't give them intelligence, though," he snapped at Nightingale.

Nightingale ignored him. She recalled how confusing her extraction had been - she knew the basics of the world and her place in it (she knew no specifics of her role as an Inamorata, those had to be trained by the owners of the bordellos individually) and knew how to walk and speak and live, but had never done it before.

"Can you speak?" asked Nightingale softly.

"I...I think so," said the girl in a high, gentle voice. It was a beautiful voice, even for an Inamorata.

"Perfect," said Dr. Stone. "You'll need to name her, Bobby, so I have something to put on the records."

Bobby nodded. "We'll call you Rose," he said, nodding at his own creativity. Nightingale rolled her eyes as subtly as possible. Bobby wasn't creative. He named his Inamoratas based on whatever first came to his head. Usually it was a physical feature or something the Inamorata said after her extraction. Nightingale had got her name from her melodious voice. Sparkle had got hers from her sparkling hazel eyes. Yet another of Bobby's Inamoratas, Magenta, was from the fact that she'd commented on Dr. Stone's magenta tie.

"Why?" asked Rose. She clearly didn't know that it was likely due to her red hair.

"No back talk. You'll learn that," he said. "Now come on."

Rose shivered again and looked about her, and then down at her own body. She blushed in embarrassment and tried to cover herself.

The three men looked at her and began to laugh. It was cruel, mocking laughter and caused Rose to shy away in shame and sadness, attempting to cover herself further, which only heightened the men's amusement.

As Rose began to cry - likely overwhelmed, confused, afraid, and humiliated, just as every Inamorata was - Nightingale felt her hands balling up into fists without her accord. Rather than listening to the men's laughter anymore, she snagged the white robe from where it was hanging on a hook and draped it over Rose.

"Here," she said quietly. "Get warmer.  It's difficult, I know."

"You do?" asked Rose, her teeth chattering.

"I'm what you are. I was created the way you were. They call us Inamoratas," said Nightingale.

"I...know," said Rose, looking bewildered at her knowledge. "And we're different. Because of the way we were made. And what we were made for. Oh God, is that what I was made for, too?"

Nightingale hugged Rose to her as Rose began to cry in earnest, howling like a wild animal. The laughter stopped as Bobby groaned and Hank and Dr. Stone rolled their eyes.

"Every time," said Dr. Stone. "You'd think we would have found a way of breeding that out of them."

"Hey, shut her up, Gale," snapped Bobby. "I don't want to listen to her crying. It's irritating."

"Shh, Rose," said Nightingale. "You have to be quiet. Shh."

But Rose continued to wail. Nightingale took her by the shoulders, shaking her a little, but Rose didn't stop. If anything, her grief intensified.

"Shh, Rose, be quiet, please," begged Nightingale. She knew what would happen to Rose if she went on like that that. "Trust me, it will hurt if you cry."

"Shut her up!" yelled Bobby. He lunged at Rose, hand ready to land a blow on her face, when Nightingale caught his hand and stayed it.

His eyes bulged with anger at Nightingale, but she placed his hand on her chest and kissed his mouth. He struggled a bit and tried to hit her, but she smiled seductively.

"See, Bobby, she's quiet," she purred. "No need to punish her."

And it was true. Except for a hiccough, Rose was silent, her wide eyes staring at Nightingale and Bobby. Normally, Nightingale would have let Bobby hit whichever Inamorata was irritating him, knowing that she would be punished for interfering, but with a newborn one it was different. They were so young and innocent - they needed to be protected.

Bobby smiled reluctantly at Nightingale. "You live dangerously, Nightingale," he said. 'If you weren't so appealing when you disobey me, I'd have strangled you long ago."

Nightingale grinned, though her insides boiled with anger. "Good thing you like me, then," she said, batting her eyelashes.

Bobby grinned broadly. Then he turned to Rose. "Don't think you can get away with what Nightingale does," he said sharply. "Nightingale will tell you what happens to Inamoratas who mouth off or displease clients."

Nightingale shivered.

"Alright. Thanks for her, Dr. Stone, Hank," said Bobby. "I think I'd better get going. Let's go, you two."

Nightingale sighed.

 "Come on, Rose," she said, taking her by the hand. So she led the terrified and confused Rose out of the lab and after Bobby.