She saw them every day, watched them with a careful scrutiny that noted everything about their changes in appearance (which were frequent) and their demeanors (which were rare and slight enough to be almost never). It was necessary, of course, part of her job to keep vigilant observation of them, but a part of her suspected that even if it were not, she would still watch them just as closely…

She was one of the many to care for them, to see after their well-being. She monitored their vitals, controlled their diets and exercise, treated their injuries and illnesses, referred them for massages or relaxation sessions to ease the tension that their bodies remembered, even if their minds did not. She bandaged their scrapes, bound up pulled muscles, stitched and disinfected wounds without leaving scars- irony indeed, considering the abundance of her own clearly marked across her face. She did all this for them and watched them walk away without any fears, any concerns, with no memory of the pain they had felt or what had happened to cause it. She watched their easy manner of moving, the innocent serenity of their eyes and the placid contentment of their smiles, and she knew it was as if in their own minds, none of it mattered… none of it had ever even happened.

They were almost nothing now, almost no one… Tabula Rasa, Adelle called it, blank slates. There was nothing left now of the desperate, miserable men and women they had been, for there remained in them not even the smallest fragment to tie them back to those people. They were all one person now, one personality… a person and personality that was really not one at all. Nothing marked them now as different from one another beyond their physical appearances…

They were like children, like slaves, like everything and nothing… they were Dolls, and though they had no individuality, no say, no control, they were still happy, still at peace.

And Dr. Claire Saunders wanted so badly to be one of them.