He walked across the lab, piecing together the small metal part in his hands in extraordinary speed along with his steps. His spiraled glasses glimmered in the artificial lights; the scratches and repairs of the worn but strong plastic showing. Laid down on the cold lab table was his masterwork, the project he had stayed alive to complete.

Here was the magnum opus of one Mathew Schlumper: the Insane Brain.

He was a small young man of 21 years, whose defining features were said glasses, his dull blonde hair, and his weary smile. He’d had that sad position in his brow, those distinct worried wrinkles in his face, and that betraying gleam of his smile since those glorious days of his early fame, although back then no one was truly aware of why he was such a sad boy. His life before then had been lived in solitude; even in those spare pieces of time when the world knew his name, he was seen as an eccentric, and too much of one for those who glorified him to truly want to be his companions.

That was all he wanted. He needed little more than a real friend.

Because of that, since his adolescence he had been marking down his plans. By now, multitudes of papers, blueprints and files were stuffed and organized into folders and cabinets, carefully documenting all of his work. And as the years passed, metal, fibreglass, rubber, vinyl, and machinery came together. But there was one thing he had never written down.

His parents died when he was 15, and he lived in the expansive basement of a kind man. He had the fleeting suspicion that the young man really did care for him, but he didn’t know much at all about him besides what he could see on the surface.

Mathew knew that he was rich, and that he was good. He knew the man’s deep brown eyes and pale complexion, and the childlike wonder with which he viewed the scientist’s work, despite the fact that Mathew was younger than him. He knew his name, Lucas Mochrie, but not the story behind it. He had realized that although he was endlessly thankful for the man, he would never have the patience nor the understanding to truly get to know him and become real friends. He wasn’t sure if he could ever really give his thanks to the man. Regardless, six years living with the man allowed him to piece together the last part of his great work: a heart.

The heart machine was in his head.

To be more accurate, the better heart machine was in his head. He.had adapted it from a slightly older system he had read of in his youth, the Tiffany machine, of which he had taken endless notes and blueprints. It was only the modifications and his proper program that had taken root in his head, and it was for that point that he had taken every other detail down. He needed space in his mind for the truly important plans. Although he’d never known himself to have a friend, Mathew had his ideals. A resourceful and clever type, with a slight witty bite, a strong sense of devotion, and a thirst for truth. That seemed like the right idea. But he’d never seen that in a real-life artificial intelligence.

Already his new friend was operational; before, he had tested the hardware with several different artificial intelligences, written by those who worked on the original project, and although the machinery worked fine, none of the configurations were the kind that felt right. Not only were they non-ideal, they seemed waxy and hollow, and truly artificial. The kind of artificial intelligence Mathew wanted, to him, wasn’t deserving of the term -- he wanted a natural intelligence.

He set the part down on the table beside his friend’s arm. Beside it lay many more parts, of telescoping sizes, the largest being about six inches in diameter, with many rods set out and welded to more rods with small claws to attach to other rods. They were all the same length, and were segmented into sixths. A great array of holes were punched in the parts, like some sort of 19th-century computer, but these holes were not the entire program itself. There was a thin circuit board laying on his friend’s chest with many wires coming out; a small memory card reader was connected to it. Within the memory cards lay the young scientist’s modification, the last piece of his human puzzle.

“Mr. Mochrie!” Mathew called as he began to put the largest parts inside of each other and took a few of the parts in his hand.

Lucas rushed down the stairs and to Mathew’s side. “Ready for duty, Insane Brain!” he cheered, earning a disappointed look from the scientist.

“Assemble the rest of those 28 cards, Mr. Mochrie. When you get confused, I will be over there, attaching the wires on the board to these cards.” He held up four of the smallest parts for a second, then picked up the circuit board and walked off.

“You never use ‘please’, do you, Schlumper? And what if I don’t get confused?!” Lucas asked, to no reply, then turned to look at the parts. “Figures,” he said, smiling.

Mathew carefully soldered the wires of the circuit board into the first four cards, resulting in a cylinder with an open bottom with two wires poking out of the top and the memory card drive’s slot facing the bottom. He walked back to Lucas’s nearly-finished cylinder, took it right out of the man’s hand, quickly reordered the cards to put the cards and claws in their proper places, then walked back to the iron and fixed the rest together.

“Mr. Mochrie, detach the battery from the charging component cords and bring it to me,” Mathew said, then added quickly, “Please.”

Lucas smiled, pulled the small ribbon cord that attached the battery to the charging outlet, and put it into Mathew’s hand. He attached the wires from the top of the machine to the battery, then walked it back to his friend.

“Mr. Mochrie?” Mathew called.

“Yes?” Lucas replied.

“Wish us luck,” Mathew said, and in mere moments, set and locked the completed heart machine into his friend’s body, then the battery, then connected the battery to the charging component. He pulled a small memory card out of his pocket and set it into the slot of the card reader. His hand reached for the power switch next to the outlet and battery. His breathing stopped for a second. Then he flicked the switch.

In a couple of moments, the machine roared to life with many sounds: that of the many cooling fans, that of the various circuits clicking to life, and that of the whirring heart machine, among others. Lucas went to Mathew’s side, and the two of them could see the many cylinders of the heart machine busily turning about. Mathew pulled off his glasses to see its glory, and soon his tired face grew lively with a genuine smile.

Mathew’s friend turned its head to them and opened its eyes.

“Hello,” it said in a somewhat deep male voice, with an accent not far away from Mathew’s. It blinked twice, with its face forming a small smile. Lucas’s hands flew to cup his mouth in shock and awe, and it pushed itself into a seated position with its arms, stopping when it realized its front panel was a bit too far open, and quickly attempted to shut it. Mathew reached and closed it properly, and his friend held onto his hand.

“Could you help me up?” it asked. Mathew nodded in agreement and pulled it all the way up, being careful not to pull too hard. It stood up and paced slightly around the table. Lucas’s hands came away from his face, revealing a positively gigantic smile, and he hopped in joy and excitement.

“Schlumper! Schlumper! You’re a genius, Mathew Schlumper! You really are!” He clamped onto the scientist in a bear hug for a moment, then hopped slightly further away and clapped his hands in an attempt to balance out his happiness. Mathew nervously cracked a smile, and his friend gave Lucas a curious look, then looked between the both of them.

“Who are you?” it asked.

“My name is Mathew Schlumper,” he said.

“And who are you?” it asked Lucas.

“I’m Lucas Mochrie.”

“Who am I?” it asked, looking back at Mathew.

“Well,” Mathew begun, “While I was making you...”

“You made me?” it asked.

“I did,” Mathew replied, and smiled politely. “But it doesn’t matter that much, does it?”

“People don’t “make” people like me, do they? I’m not a real human, am I?”

“You are to me.”

“Me too,” Lucas added hastily, stepping slightly closer to the scientist’s side.

“Good. I want to be like real humans. They have names, don’t they? What’s my name?”

“Well, I assigned you the project name ‘Computerized and Mechanical Humanoid Emotions and Relations Information Adaptation and Retrieval System’. But I think that might be a little much for you to say. What do you think?”

“It’s too long. There’s a C in that name, correct?”

“Yes.”

“An H?”

“After the C.”

“R, I, and S.”

“Chris?”

“I like that,” Chris stated. “I’m a male.” Lucas giggled softly at his statement, attempting to hide his face in Mathew’s shoulder. “Is that odd?” Chris asked.

“It’s not odd to be male, Chris,” Mathew said, reassuring his new friend. “We just don’t tend to say it that way.”

“Then... I’m a man? Is that proper?” he asked.

“Sure,” Lucas replied, smiling.

“...I’ve just remembered. Don’t two people make another person? Does that mean you made me too?” Chris asked, looking at Lucas.

Mathew turned his head to Lucas, the most important man he’d ever had, with a new feeling. This was the man who took him in and kept him fed and happy for the past six years, and he didn’t even know how or why he did it. He’d barely ever been outside since Lucas took him in, barely even thanked him for what he’d done. He’d taken his guardian’s, no, his friend’s charity for granted. Lucas looked back at Mathew, at last being able to see the scientist’s navy blue eyes with all clarity. Lucas looked back to Chris.

“Yes.”

“Mathew’s eyes grew heavy with nearly-falling tears, and he stepped forward, putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Let’s go put you in some clothes, Chris. Then we can take you outside.” He let his friend take the lead up the stairs, with Lucas just behind him, and Mathew himself at the very end. At the top, he turned around to look at his lab, the residues of his work shuffled around the place. After a moment of contemplation, he flicked off the light switch and proceeded to Lucas’s bedroom.

---

“What are we going outside for?” Chris asked, sitting on Lucas’s bed as the other two shuffled around in Lucas’s closet.

“We’re going outside so you can see some real humans, Chris,” Mathew answered, stepping back to make eye contact with Chris.

“It sounds like fun,” Chris replied, and Mathew went back to pulling out clothes..

“Mathew, are you crazy?! Don’t make him wear that, that’s ugly! I wouldn’t even wear that!” Lucas was balking at Mathew’s silent suggestion of a positively ancient rusted orange shirt with a hideous pattern in the bottom half.

“I’m just looking for clothes with long sleeves. He needs them to cover up those joints, after all,” Mathew replied. “Besides, why is it in there if you hate it so much?”

“It’s my father’s! It has sentimental value to me! Now put it back, Mathew.”

“Fine, then.”

“How about this, Mathew?” Lucas held up a thick-looking black shirt that appeared at least somewhat flattering.

“When I said long sleeves, I didn’t mean a winter coat, Mr. Mochrie.”

“Don’t make a Mochrie of me, Schlumper!”

“But aren’t you --”

“Chris, it’s a joke!” Luke shouted in a mock-angry tone.

“Oh, well...” Chris fell silent in contemplation.

“Here,” Mathew said with finality. He held up a light blue silk shirt. “Do you think this is good enough?”

“Oh, I didn’t see that,” Lucas said, impressed. He took the shirt to Chris as Mathew began to look in the trouser drawers. “Here you go, Chris! Try it on,” he said.

Chris struggled slightly to properly put his arms in the sleeves, but they slid on with ease once he started to attempt to put his hand through the actual hole. Lucas buttoned up the shirt and turned up the cuffs.

“There!” Lucas said, and Chris gave a big smile. Suddenly, a pair of tan dress pants hit Lucas squarely in the back, and he turned around to pick it up and glare (jokingly) at Mathew.

“I’ve got to get my clothes, too, you know,” Mathew said with a smile, then tossed all of the clothes on the floor into Lucas’s closet and departed into the hall. Lucas turned back around and shook his head, then looked back at Chris.

“Let’s get these on,” he said, and Chris nodded in agreement.

---

Mathew threw his labcoat onto his bed and forced open the closet door in his bedroom. He hadn’t looked inside of it for a long time (crap, he wasn’t even sure if all the clothes would fit anymore!) since he usually slept in his clothes. Hell, half the time he just slept on the third spare work table in the lab with a grease-stained pillow under his head. Rarely did he ever need to get more clothes from his closet, since he tended to leave his dirtied-up scrub shirts and work pants on the floor for Lucas to pick up and wash. He pulled off his shirt and work pants and threw them by the others, then rummaged through the drawers to find a pair of jeans. He pulled out some new-looking deep blue jeans and stuck them under his arm. Then, he looked through the hangers for a shirt.

He pulled out a T-shirt. “I was on Good Morning America”. Nope, it’d make him too obvious.

“Smithsonian Institute thinks I kick ass”. Not really.

“I Blinded Cambridge University With Science”. No again.

He reached blindly into the furthest point of the closet and pulled out another T-shirt.

“Die Hard”.

Sure.

---

Mathew came into the living room from the hall, newly groomed. He’d shaved (for once) and combed his hair into something presentable, and had left his glasses in his labcoat. He didn’t look like the tousled, shelled-up prodigy he once was.

Chris, too, had been preened. His light brown nylon hair had its knots combed out and carefully conditioned, and Lucas had put on Chris a spot of his mom’s old makeup in an attempt to make him slightly more realistic-looking. He looked like a real boy, that’s for sure.

“Where’re we going, Lucas?” Mathew asked.

“Chris and I agreed we should go to the mall,” Lucas said, and Chris beamed.

“Well...” Mathew pondered, and Lucas’s slight smile turned into a pout. “Alright.”