Love. A word the boy had never learned about in his life, much less experienced. His own mother had been torn away from him...she had loved him, but he didn't know it; for all he knew, she was a dirty old hag that had given him up for money, though worthless his life was. He lay in the basket in the room, the weaving was done precisely and without human intellect. Machine. How many more were in this godforsaken universe?! Suddenly, he heard whispering, and the child rested his head down upon the hard, itchy fabric that was his blanket.

"Where did he come from?" A woman's voice. Soft, gentle, and caring. Also worried, he noted as he eavesdropped.

"I don't know, and I don't care. Just get him out of here. You know what happened last to the twins..." He paused a moment, the man, turning to the basket and staring suspiciously at the contents within.
"What if he's amazing?"

"What if he's not human?!" The man stopped, short of breath, and picked up the blob that was within, examining it with beady eyes. Two blue eyes stared back at him with a look of shock and dismay.

"I like him." She added, matter of factly, taking the baby from the man's arms and cooing at him. "I'll keep him, and I don't care what you say."

"What are you naming him, then?"

"Robert. Robert Iving."

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