Jackson stared out of the space shuttle window. The view of Xanthar was breathtaking. Rather, it would have been breathtaking, had he been going there for a different reason. He balled his hands into fists and shuddered, trying to steady his breath.

“Nervous?” Jackson’s Trainer, Angela, asked, noticing his usually calm demeanor shift. “I don’t blame you. Especially not after…” She trailed off.

At this, fear settled in Jackson’s gut like a block of ice. He swallowed, trying not to think about Charlie. He failed miserably.

She was talking about the last Artificially Mass-Produced Child that Jackson was going to replace. At 15 years old, Charlie had been excited to have finally received his first job assignment, and he was to serve a noble Xantharian family, the Xarkovias. Jackson remembered how elated he was. At the time, he was happy for him as well. It was a dream job for an AMPC to work in such a prestigious household. Not two months later, he was dead. The official record was that he had passed under “mysterious circumstances,” but Jackson, as well as the other AMPCs back on Earth, knew better.

He had been murdered, and it was being covered up.

“I know what's on your mind,” Angela finally said after a long stretch of silence.  "They’re all rumors, and it would do you well to ignore them.”

“Rumors?” Jackson snorted, voice shaky. “You know those aren’t just rumors.”

Angela didn’t respond, and the rest of the trip was made in silence.

* * *

Several hours after Angela and Jackson’s brief exchange, their shuttle touched down on Xanthar in the Xarkovias’ ship docking bay. The planet’s terrain and environment were similar enough to Earth’s that they were able to walk freely without any sort of spacesuit, save for a tinge of sulfur in the air. Angela mumbled something about the smell, but hurriedly rushed towards the Xarkovia Estate’s main entrance. Jackson matched her brisk pace with ease.

“Angela,” Jackson said suddenly. “Why was I chosen for this? There are tons of other boys that are… well, more suited for this job. Don’t you think someone else would be better?”

Angela looked at him quizzically.

“The Xarkovias prefer boys with green eyes,” she said, as if he should have known. “And don’t think I don’t know that you’re trying to make me change my mind and take you back to Earth. It’s too late now, anyway. Look ahead, Jackson. You’re here now.”

Jackson let out a harsh exhale and his shoulders sagged.

A few moments later, they made it to the estate.

The house shimmered under the Xantharian sun. It was so bright that they had to shield their eyes so as not to go temporarily blind. Jackson read the house’s nameplate.

XARKOVIA, est. 135 X.E.P.

“Just remember what you were taught, and you’ll be fine,” Angela said, giving him an encouraging smile.

Jackson gave her a confused look, but before he could ask what she meant, the great door creaked open. It was painstakingly slow, almost surely for dramatic effect. Xantharians loved to put on a show, after all. The heavy door swung completely open and a Xantharian servant girl stepped out.

“Welcome to the Xarkovia Estate. We have awaited your arrival with bated breath. Please, come in, and I will lead you to Sir Xarkovia.”

Angela followed the servant inside, but Jackson hesitated. She looked back at him and cocked her head, silently saying, Come on. Jackson let out a puff of air and reluctantly entered.

The inside of the house was much more luxurious than the outside. The interior was designed primarily with Technetium, giving everything a gaudy, oppressive shine. The air smelled of a Xantharian plant that vaguely resembled lilac.

“Angela!” a booming voice suddenly exclaimed. “Welcome! It’s always a pleasure to have you. Please, sit down. We have much to discuss.”

“Oh, Ambassador Xarkovia, the pleasure is all mine!”

As the two chattered, Jackson sized up his new Master. Ambassador Xarkovia was tall for a Xantharian, towering over everyone in the room at 6-and-a-half feet tall. He had blue-gray skin, great horns protruding from his forehead, razor-sharp teeth, and a thick head of white hair. He was in a sharp, black suit that complimented his onyx eyes. On the outside, Ambassador Xarkovia looked like a genuinely kind and sociable man. But Jackson knew better. This man was responsible for Charlie’s death.

Angela's voice ripped Jackson out of his thoughts. “Jackson, don’t be antisocial. Come say hello!”

Jackson’s gaze bounced between Angela and Ambassador Xarkovia for a moment before he stalked over.

He bowed. “Hello, Sir Xarkovia. My name is Jackson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Ambassador laughed, flashing razor-sharp teeth. “No need to be so formal! You’re family now, Jackson. I want you to feel comfortable here. Why don’t you call me Varis?”

Jackson straightened his back and looked up, a look of bewilderment on his face. “V-varis? Is that really okay?”

The Ambassador laughed again. “Of course. Besides, being called ‘Sir Xarkovia’ makes me feel awkward, you know.”

Jackson let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I-is that so?”

All three shifted in their places, silence falling over the room.

“Well, Jackson, why don’t you get settled in while I walk Angela to the shuttle?”  the Ambassador piped up. “I have a room prepared for you downstairs. The lift right there will take you down. When you step off, it’s the second door to your left. You can’t miss it.” He smiled, teeth gleaming.

Jackson, thankful for an excuse to leave, nodded and quickly walked away. He stepped onto the lift, and an automated voice confirmed that he would be headed downstairs. He sighed and leaned his head on the lift's wall, thinking about what had just transpired.

He doesn't seem so bad, he thought. Maybe Angela was right. Maybe those were just rumors.

The lift quickly reached its destination, and Jackson stepped out. He took in his surroundings. He was in the basement. There was a long hallway with doors on both sides that seemed to go on forever.

Second door on my left, Jackson thought. Don’t wanna open the wrong one.

Jackson walked towards the door. It was made of steel and looked like it weighed a ton. He grabbed the handle and pushed. Nothing happened. He pressed his entire weight against the door, pushing with all of his strength. Finally, the door relented, and he was inside. The room was pitch black before motion-operated lights flicked on.

He started to walk further into the room, but froze.

The room he had entered was obviously not the correct one. Rather than a bedroom, it was a lab room filled with unfamiliar Xantharian equipment. There were whirring machines and shelves filled with tools and samples that Jackson had never seen before.

That’s not what had Jackson’s attention, however. It was what was on the operating table in the middle of the room.

It was Charlie.

Or rather, what was left of Charlie.

He was alive, and in agony. His arms and legs were gone. His head, once full of thick blond hair, had turned white. His tongue was gone, and he writhed on the table, moaning. He had wires attached to him all over his body, pumping things into him and taking samples of his blood. His eyes were closed, and he hadn’t noticed that Jackson had entered.

Jackson vomited. He started to back up out of the room, but crashed into a solid figure. He looked up to see the face of Ambassador Xarkovia smiling down on him. His knees buckled and he fell. He started to sob.

“It seems I’ve sent you to the wrong room,” the Ambassador chuckled, tongue running over his sharp teeth.

“My mistake.”