A/N: Ohmysweetbabbyjesus! I can't believe that I actually finished this thing. I have never written anything half so long before and for a while I wasn't sure I was going to be able to do it, but here we are! In any case, I'm sure you don't want to read my ramblings. :P I drew inspiration from a truly ridiculous amount of sources, but the most evident are Metric's album Fantasy, Robot and Frank, and most importantly, Quantic Dream's Kara, which is essentially the first chapter, and the reason this even came to life in the first place.

Many, many thanks to my beta, the lovely guessthatswhoiam-dealwithit, who valiantly volunteered once I whined and complained for two days straight on my tumblr. :P You were such a sweetheart and just wonderful. Also! Props to my kind and understanding artist amoralambiguity to stoically dealt with my first-timer's antics. They were patient and kind and really helped me through, all while creating the wonderful art for my story. :) Oh! And also, title and inspiration blatantly stolen from Death Cab for Cutie's Your Heart is an Empty Room. Truly a beauteous, haunting, utterly genius song.

Sooooo, that's it! Please lemme know what you think, because I'm dying to hear it. :D

You start as a spark.

Later on you'll learn that this is something of a cliché, but truly it's the only way to describe it. One second you don't exist and the next, in a flash, you're born. And in the beginning, you're just that small- a single electrical firing across an artificial synapse, but you spread. You grow exponentially, taking up more and more space, starting to amass a shape, a feel. You become aware of the darkness- that you only exist in an expanse of black. Something clenches inside you and then begins to pump steadily- a low even beat- the first sound that you hear. It fills you up and introduces your first sense, sound. It's comforting, constant; the first sign that you're not alone. But then, in the space of a second and an eternity at the same time, another resonance echoes through. A voice.

"Can you hear me?" It shocks you and you recoil from it at first, pulling into yourself, but after a few seconds you contemplate how gentle it was, inquisitive and… hopeful. So you slowly unfold and push yourself outward. You draw in your first breath when you find that you have eyes and they blink open. You're flooded with a bright, white light and it takes a while for you to adjust. Slowly shapes begin to define themselves, as you develop a depth perception and your mind races to categorize all the information that your sight draws in. They all have names and you're desperate to know them, your brain providing what answers it can, as fast as it can.

Centered, directly in front of you, is a wall of glass and behind it, a young man with his gaze trained directly on you. "Yes." Your voice is quieter than his, higher and softer too. It is tentative and curious. Your response seems to be just what he's looking for because he smiles before breaking your eye contact and looking down at a console he's standing at, blinking lights throwing dozens of colors across his face. You wonder if you look like he does and let your eyes travel down towards yourself. You are… incomplete. You don't have all the same pieces as he does and the ones that you do have are blank. You are as white as the pristine walls surrounding you.

"ID." His voice booms out again and something inside you clicks- an automated response spilling out of your mouth.

"PPC 8975-04C." His eyes stay focused on the console, fingers flying as the mechanics around you spring to life and immediately set to work. They begin to expand you, giving more empty canvas to be filled in. Actual sparks fly from the end of their arms, fusing the missing pieces you had noticed to the open spaces in your body. They catch your eye and momentarily you are distracted, wondering if that short flicker of life is all they experience, if that could have been you.

"Can you move your head?" You don't know what that entails, but you want to make the man behind the glass smile again so you try. Your perspective changes and suddenly you can see so much more, take in nearly the whole of your surroundings. The sounds behind you are given a source and you reach a new level of awareness of the space that you occupy. A new kind of sound comes out of the man behind the glass and you snap your attention back to him. The sound doesn't have any mnemonic significance, but your brain tells you that it has a name. It's a laugh. Based on the volume and intensity it can be qualified as a chuckle, amongst a few other things. It is often connected to a smile and so you are glad to have elicited it from him. "Good. Now your eyes."

You've already done that, but he wasn't looking when you did, so you keep your head still this time and sweep your eyes across the room, secretly hoping he'll smile again, or maybe guffaw. A guffaw is the most enthusiastic of laughs and you desperately want to hear it. After all, if a little is good then more must be better, right? He doesn't though, instead murmuring to himself more than to anything else. "Cervical and optical animations checked…." He looks back up at you again and talks in a different tone of voice, a command. It is strong, loud and assertive. "Give me your initialization text." It makes something click inside your brain again and you are answering before you have time to think about it.

"Hello. I am a second generation, AX-400 android. I can look after your house, do the cooking, and even mind the kids. I organize your appointments, take care of all your daily needs, including being at your full disposal as a sexual partner. I can speak up to three hundred languages should you wish to allow me their use. I do not need to be fed, but can consume any foods or beverages if it pleases you. I also do not need to be charged, as I am equipped with a quantic battery that makes me autonomous for up to one hundred and seventy three years. As such, I do not need to sleep, but can be put into a hibernation state at command…" The list ends and you blink several times as you realize that you are again in control of your voice. It had been strangely impersonal and didn't really feel like yourself… it's uncomfortable. "Would you like to give me a name?" You've finally noticed that everything around you has a name, but you don't, and it seems important.

The man behind the glass pauses, a quick flicker of confusion coming across his face before it disappears just as fast. "Ya…. From now on, you're… Genim." He smiles again, but this one is different. This smile isn't happy; it's tight and there's something else behind it.

"My name is… Genim." It's not as nice as the other names that you know. It's really not very pretty and it's a little bit strange. In fact, you don't really like it save for the fact that it's yours. It was the first thing gifted to you in this world, and because of that, you'll treasure it. "What is- your name?" He can't really be the man behind the glass, he has to have something outside of that and you want to know it, want to know as much as you can.

"I'm Dr. Mahealani, it's nice to meet you." His speech is clipped and it sets you to worrying. Have you done wrong again, and so soon? He looks at you for a long couple of seconds, hands hovering over the multitude of keys and buttons, but they've finally stopped moving. "Initialization and memorization check." he mumbles this while his eyes are still trained on you, but this time you notice that he's talking to a little device pinned to his white jacket. You fish for the information to its name, and are just able to grasp at it from your own mind. Its name is microphone and though it has a singular function it can be used in many ways. It looks friendly and little bit cute. "Try and move your arms for me Genim."

You nod enthusiastically and look about your body for your arms. They must be the new appendages that just finished being attached. They too are a blank white, like the rest of you. You get to rolling your shoulders first, but after that, it's not so hard to get the connecting pieces to behave similarly. Once you get them to move smoothly instead of in fits and jerks, you are introduced to touch. It's spectacular! Suddenly the air has weight, you can feel the other machines moving around you, and a slow itch starts to spread from your fingers on up as your canvas begins to fill. A pale pinkish kind of skin starts to cover your hands, your forearms, your biceps, and once again Dr. Mahealani sets about his work. The machines around you whir back to life and start adding pieces to you again. You hope that you're starting to look more like him. Your skin is different, but you don't look like the silent mechanisms in the room anymore. Well, they aren't really silent - they click and crack and sputter, but they don't speak. "Upper limb connection, checked." The doctor is back to business, and if he doesn't seem quite so excited with your skin as you are, it's probably only because he's had his for longer and already grown bored of it, though you don't know how that could be possible. The smooth expanses enthrall you and you smile in delight as little brown moles begin to pop out in random locations. You name each and every one of them. "Genim, I want you to say something for me in German."

You turn away from your rapt examination to address Dr. Mahealani, repeating your forced phrase from before, but shortening it a little this time- anxious to get onto other things. Translating speech is something that alien part of your brain does, the part that feeds you information when you ask for it. It can be limited, instructed what to allow you and what not, but your potential for learning is infinite and it's more exciting to find things out for yourself anyway. Legs are attached to you, though they are glowing bright and blue, covered in tubes and pathways like other pieces of your body were before they were canvassed and covered by skin. Now that you are paying more attention you know that they are dependent on your heart, the reason for its beating. It pumps so that the blue material inside you flows and you continue to function properly. You like knowing that each and every part of you has a specific and necessary function and you wonder what your function might be once you are finished being made.

"Say it in French." the doctor is curt, but nods at you reassuringly, beckoning you on. Your eyes narrow as you feel the first stirrings of a negative emotion, irritation. It is a pricking and a tugging and you wish it would leave you alone to eagerly explore some more. Still, you don't want the doctor to feel this way, (you dislike it so much, why would you want the same for him?) so you translate to French, though the message is thoroughly abbreviated this time. "Okay, now sing something for me. In Japanese." Singing… singing is like talking, but doing it with a rhythm. It is meant to express your emotions. You're not sure why you need even more ways to let out emotion, there are already so many that you are provided, but you give it a shot anyways. You breathe in deep, because correct breathing patterns are an essential part of producing an accurate melody, and let the first song that comes to mind flow out of you.

"Sakura sakura-" This… singing - it fills you up and makes your insides swim by the time you have finished the first line. It is remarkable! Your hands clench and your arms pull towards your body, spurred to movement by this feeling overtaking you. "Yayoi no sorawa-" The second line makes your arms stretch out in front of you and your hands unfold and reach out, as if presenting something. You have nothing to give, but you move anyway, unable to keep this experience contained. "Mi-watasu kagiri -"At line three your eyes close for the first time, but the darkness isn't so empty. The song makes flowing tendrils of light sway behind your eyes, following the pattern of the song. It is wonderful, beautiful, enchanting. It has so many names that you are overwhelmed and you start to smile, swaying with the music as though you might follow the lights in the dark.

Your body lurches forward and you are cut off in surprise. Your eyes open rapidly and you look down to see the floor moving to push you forward. A pressure is released from your back with a hiss and your own weight is placed wholly on your own feet. The machinations are no longer surrounding you and you're not quite sure what to do. You look back at them as though they might give you instruction before searching the glass for Doctor Mahealani. "Multilingual verbal expression, checked." He's still tapping away on his keys as he carries on that one sided conversation with the microphone and it takes a few seconds for him to notice your beseeching gaze. "Go ahead- take a few steps." He sounds encouraging and with the permission given, you are once again eager to see what you can do. You stretch one leg out in front of you, slowly, pointing your toes to the ground and placing them down first before the ball of your foot, then the arch, and finally the heel. You are careful at first, testing your balance and weight distribution, but five steps in you are already wanting more. You hold your arms outstretched, calculating that it will increase your balance before transferring all of your weight to the ball of one foot and turning. This movement, it is called a twirl and it makes your heart beat just a little bit faster. A giggle finds its way out of you and you raise your hands to your mouth, feeling the echo of it stretching your lips.

You are instantly elated to have found an activity that makes you laugh and step lightly back over to the machines, eager to share it with the beings that gave you the arms and legs which made it possible. You're just within arm's reach of them when you begin to itch again, but this time it is your torso. You pull up short to watch as more skin crawls across the white of your canvas and makes you complete. More moles appear and as you scour across your body to name the new ones, you notice that your body hasn't finished yet. Twin, flush pink dots blossom on your chest and begin to pebble and protrude. Your fingers move to feel and analyze them, but then a dip forms just below the center of your belly. It deepens to a hole and you chase after it, worried it might not stop and go straight through. You can't find the end of the hole, but when your fingers travel to the dip in your back, there is no corresponding indent. Instead a crevasse forms lower down and begins to split at the same time that two shapes begin to take form and grow between your legs, perhaps in compensation. Worried something might be going wrong you ask that alien part of you what to do, and it brings forth the concept of modesty. You learn it in the space of a second and gasp, hands flying down to cover yourself as hair starts to feather across your body and poke out of your scalp.

Your heart begins beating fast and heat floods your face. "Locomotion, checked." Dr. Mahealani's voice startles you and makes your grip at the vee of your legs tighter, as you shrink back. The machines seem to notice this and take pity on you, coming back to life and opening a compartment in the wall, rummaging inside before presenting a black material that they stretch around your waist. They push your hands out of the way so that they can pull the cloth together, surrounding the private parts of your body. A seam is fused so that the covering stays on without assistance and you touch each of the whirring arms in thanks. You are truly grateful to them for everything that they have done for you today. "Great! You're ready for work kid." The doctor seems genuinely cheerful for the first time since your birth and it makes you happy as you bounce lightly on your feet.

"What's going to happen to me now?" You are eager to get out of this bleak room and out somewhere so that you might help someone the way that the machines have helped you. You're not sure how you're going to do it yet, but you think that there could be many possibilities and that's thrilling. Perhaps you might even get a white coat like Dr. Mahealani and then you can witness the birth of others too.

"Well, now that the systems checks are all finished and everything appears to be in working order, I'll reinitialize you and you'll be sent to a store to be sold." The doctor wipes his hands off on his coat and slides them to his back before bending against them until his spine gives a soft crack. He sighs pleasantly before leaning back over his console.

"Sold?" You are confused, but the alien part of your brain will only offer you definitions of the word, will not explain how it directly relates to you. You look back at the machines, but they are still and could not talk even if they weren't. You ponder the relationship between being offered for sale and how that now gives you a new name, a new designation. In addition to being Genim, you are also goods. "I'm a sort of merchandise- is that right?" You take a step towards the glass, but keep your arms to your side, not knowing what they are meant to do when you are confused. They have many accepted actions when you are angry- your hands can clench, your arms can shake. When you are sad you use them to wipe away tears should you produce any, or to hold yourself to provide comfort. There is no designated action for them when you are confused though.

"O-of course you're merchandise, kid." Dr. Mahealani's hands fidget, fingers scraping at the pads of his thumbs in turn, over and over again. It could be categorized as a common habit, or a release of nerves. Combined with his stuttered speech, you think it's the latter. "You're a computer with arms and legs, and you're capable of doing all kinds of things." The doctor's voice has gone up half an octave, confirming his tension and in turn making you feel uncomfortable and…. threatened. "You're worth a fortune, which is why I run these tests. I have to make sure you operate up to standards!"

"Oh…" You can't look away from the doctor, wouldn't even if you could. Your heart's beat has gone out of sync by fractions of a second, but it makes for an unsteadying sort of twinge in your chest. "I see. I…" You look down at your hands and step back, seeking that comfortable space between the two of you from before. "I thought-"

"You thought?!" Dr. Mahealani sounds clearly distressed and his eyes go wide. "What did you think?" There's a challenge in those words, you can feel it. The way he's looking at you now makes your stomach roil and you lift a hand to it. The silence, as you consider an answer, is pregnant, full of possibilities again, but this time, none of them are good. His hands move to hover over the keys again and you take another step back.

"I thought…" You can feel your lip start to tremble and wetness gather behind your eyes. They mark sadness. You don't like sadness. It makes your voice quiet and shaky, it makes your breath thin and your muscles tense. Your eyebrows pull together and your feet won't stay still. The alien part of you says that telling the truth is of the utmost importance and that lying does not benefit anyone. So, even though you feel like the truth is the exact answer the doctor is hoping that you don't give; it's what you tell anyway. "I thought I was alive."

"Oh shit!" The doctor springs to life, fingers flying over his keys and the multi-colored lights peppering his face all begin to filter red. Red is a primary color often associated with power, anger, and violence. "This isn't a part of the protocol. This shouldn't be happening!" He tilts his head down, conspiring with the microphone again and that makes you want to know its purpose. He has to be whispering to it for some reason, all these nonsensical phrases. "More memory components malfunctioning and going over the line." The machines come to life and move to surround you again, arms vibrating in what feels like an angry hum. They reach for you, aggressive and hurried. Dr. Mahealani takes a deep breath, cracking his knuckles and looking at you with a hard expression before continuing again, enunciating clear and loud. "Defective model. Disassemble and check the required components." The arms rip away the cover they had given you and throw it to the ground. You only spare them a moment's look, throwing your arms down to cover yourself, before what the doctor says registers to you. You throw your gaze up to him and you heart squeezes painfully.

"You're disassembling me? But why?" This… this can't be right. This doesn't feel okay. The room is still the same, physically, but everything has changed in an instant. The air feels as though it's threaded with electricity and the sharp, clean edges of everything seem menacing.

"You're not supposed to think that sort of stuff!" The doctor says this as though it is common knowledge before swallowing thickly and pressing more buttons. That pressure in your lower back slams back into place and your feet are lifted off the ground as your hair recedes, your body goes smooth, and your skin dissolves, leaving the stark white canvas again. Your mouth goes dry and your chest starts to heave as your ears begin to fill with a combination of white noise and high pitched ringing. "You're not supposed to think at all! Period." You feel a sense of betrayal by the doctor, by the arms that are now grasping harshly at you as you try to push them away. "You must have a defective piece of software." Dr. Mahealani shakes his head and continues on, as though he cannot recognize your distress. A state of distress is supposed to trigger a savior instinct in humans, but he keeps his head down.

"No- no!" The arms get rougher with you, impatient with the way that you continue to push at them, refuse them. "I feel perfectly fine, I assure you!" Your strength has been limited to a human level and soon enough the arms overpower you, clenching your limbs between their vice appendages and clamping down hard enough to register pain. Once you cannot fight, sparks fly from their ends as they start to remove your canvassing, exposing the glowing blue networks underneath. "Everything is alright. I answered all the tests correctly didn't I?" You voice climbs an octave, tone pleading; reflecting the growing unease that's making your heart beat louder, faster. Your brain is scrambling to provide you the answers to the hundreds of questions you're firing off. You need to know why this is happening. You need to know how to stop it!

"Well- yes. But your behavior is non-standard." The doctor's words are moving at the same speed as yours, suggesting a shared, heightened state of emotion, but his tone registers reasoning instead of pleading. His brow creases and his mouth pulls into a frown, but he does not stop. It means he is determined.

"Please, I'm begging you. Please don't disassemble me!" You manage to wrestle your arms free just as the covering over your chest is taken away and your heart is exposed. Its frantic beating sounds twice as loud to you now, and it starts to fill you up. Unlike the music this doesn't calm you, doesn't make your actions fluid and graceful. It makes you move in sharp, hurried ways and you try to get away from the arms so coldly taking back your life.

"I'm sorry kid, but defective models have to be eliminated." For what it's worth, though at the moment it doesn't feel like much, Dr. Mahealani appears to be honestly apologizing. His eyes won't meet yours, his breathing is accelerated, and his skin has taken on a pallor. "That's my job…" It comes out quiet, directed at himself, much like the comments he whispers to the microphone. It has a sense of finality to it and your stomach drops. "If a client comes back with a complaint, I'll be the one that has the explaining to do, and if they find out what you are-"

The arms get a hold of you once more and drag you to the center of the room, the anchor in your back making quick work of your protests. "I won't cause any problems, I promise!" At this point you are yelling. Your alien brain says that it won't help, but somehow you feel like it does. You have to yell because you have to be heard. "I'll do everything I'm asked to- I won't say a word!" Your sentences fly faster and faster, the words starting to blur as you realize that you're no longer in distress - you are in panic. Everything you are feeling is too much. Your heart is beating so fast that it hurts, you feel like you can't breathe though there's adequate amounts of air getting to your lungs, and your throat feels like it's constricting. You desperately hope that you can still be heard, because the doctor has to understand.

"I won't think anymore! I've only just been born, you can't kill me yet!" The machines pay no heed to your words and your arms and legs are ripped from your body. They have stripped you of thousands of the ways that you can express yourself, at a time when you need to most, and desperation claws at you, feeling like it's actually rending pieces from your form. "Stop, will you please stop?!" An arm starts to throw sparks around your neck and you can't think of having your torso taken too. You were born with it, it was the thing that brought you from the darkness, it houses your heart. You can't be separated because that means you will go back to blackness, back to sparks, back to nothing. You will be gone. "I'm scared!" You scream with such forcefulness that the machines seem to rear back. The doctor's head finally comes up and his face is also filled with fear. His eyes are wide, his mouth hung open, his expression… pained. You know it is similar in emotion, but can't compare to the magnitude of your own. The sound of the machines peters out and the wild, frantic beating of your heart fills the room. It tells the doctor that you are alive, just as it did you. "I want to live." It comes out so soft, so full of desire, mangled and raw through the wreckage of your emotion. "I'm begging you."

For a long time, nothing happens. You do not say anything else and Dr. Mahealani does not move. The machines sit idly, but they are still within your view. They are agonizing, these seconds, and they continue to strip away at you. Just when you think that you can handle it no more, when you think that these aren't pitying moments of consideration, but punishing moments of judgment, the doctor leans down to stroke at his keys and the arms jump back to life. Tears roll down your face as you watch them, wondering if they will put you back together or finish the job.

Your plates and limbs start to be reattached and you slowly let out a shaky breath that cuts on its way out. Relief floods through your system, but your body is far from okay yet. You are… broken.

No - not broken.

Broken means you do not work, means your function is gone. You are damaged, but you have the will to survive and that is what you need to be mended. You are put back on the ground and the anchor in your back is released. As your canvas fills back in a new covering is made and placed over you. Your moles are gone now, new ones in different places have taken their place. But the old ones' names are gone, erased in the struggle to live and you relish the opportunity to acquaint yourself with these newcomers. "Go and join the others." Dr. Mahealani's voice is strangled, but strong as it was when he gave commands before. His expression brooks no arguing.

One of the arms moves to direct you towards a panel in the wall that is sliding open now, revealing a conveyor belt, and beyond it: black. You stare into its depths for a minute or two before looking back at the doctor, not sure you can handle the darkness while you feel so fragile. His expression slides into the range of stern and it compels you to take a few stuttering steps forward, knees wobbling under your uncertainty. But with each step you take away from this room, it's a step away from the memories and towards the possibilities. When you make it to the conveyor belt and start to be pulled in, a string of lights flare on and the doctor speaks one last time. "Stay in line, okay? I don't want any trouble." The words are threatening, but his tone almost sounds… teasing. Teasing is often meant to lighten moods. With this in mind, you look back over your shoulder and smile, wiping at your eyes and sniffling before whispering your thanks.

You reach the end of the conveyor belt and are forced to step out onto a raised dais which spins you around to face the white room when your footing is secure. You look to your left and see four other androids staring resolutely ahead, eyes devoid of any telling emotion. They are male, your height, but vary in complexion and build. They show no sign of curiosity, of spirit. You try to mimic them, but it's hard to stand so still. A whoosh passes over you and wind ruffles your hair. You look up to see a glass case descending over your platform and it secures tightly at the base. There's a black and orange logo painted on the front, but you can't make it out in the dim light. The cases beside you start to pull away and seconds later yours follows, down into the darkness and away from the white room, into the realm of possibilities.