1

Noemi Madeira was a model. Not the kind that appeared in magazines and social media, not the kind who would walk runways or promote brands. Where most models depended on repute to remain relevant and successful, her existence was practically kept a secret and for her own safety. She had done those typical jobs in the past, as a teenager; however, as she failed to become famous, she found a much more secure job at a company called De Gyves Dolls.

Mr. Carlos De Gyves had several companies, and while all were successful to some degree, none was more prolific and secretive than the one that made Noemi a millionaire at just twenty-six years old.

From the outside, it seemed like a regular job. She appeared at the building at 9:00 am and left at 5:00 pm; spending most of her day being watched and filmed.

Before that, she had to be prepared and styled, of course.

"Keep her hair natural today," one of the photographers said to her current hairstylist. It was a day like any other; she was getting ready in the main set.

"Why?" The hairstylist protested, he loved to use wigs with fake hair colors.

"A request from the director. The more natural looking dolls sold the most last year."

"Really? Must be a sign of the times. I still remember when all men wanted to buy the short-haired ones, bright pink hair… or any type of neon."

While they spoke, Noemi sat quiet and still like a statue. Her head was too occupied with thoughts to even try to listen to what they said. Besides, it was not common for her to try to be included in the conversation as it developed right in her face, and about herself. Most models had an absentminded look while they sat on the chair, so it was unlikely anyone would ever find her behavior odd.

"The tech people want to see her today," an assistant arrived and interrupted the hairstylist and the photographer as they argued about her image for the day. "She will be summoned to the main lab, so you won't be taking pictures of her. We will send another model for the shoot. Come along, Miss Madeira, please."

"Just her?" the hairstylist sighed. "Again?"

"She's got the most expressive face out of all the girls," the assistant continued.

Noemi turned to see them. She gulped, and then cleared her throat. "Why me?" she said in her practiced sweet voice.

"Don't frown, it'll get you wrinkles. You should take it as a compliment, Noemi. You're the most human girl currently working with us. Besides, you know these kind of jobs leave the most royalties."

"I hate robots."

"You shouldn't call them that," the assistant had that typical voice of corporate people. "Remember the brand, always: De Gyves Dolls."

She followed the assistant and walked out the set towards the elevator with a heavy pain in her stomach. She knew what she was going to do; it made her steps slow and tired but nonetheless graceful. She stood before the main lab and turned to look at the assistant who had accompanied her in complete silence, paying more attention to the phone in his hand.

"Have a good day, Miss," he gave her a little polite nod and left.

The guards never looked at the models. She greeted them even while knowing she would be ignored. One of the guards announced she had arrived, and the door opened. Every area in the building had a crystal scanner in the doors, which could only be opened by certain people. Mr. Ulloa, the chief engineer, welcomed and ushered her inside. He scanned his hand once again and she was locked inside.

She tried to fake a smile but that was one of the things she could barely do anymore. She kept her eyes downcast as she stepped in, avoiding the equipment and the staff.

"Come on," Mr. Ulloa called her. "Fret not, we'll only record and scan your face today. Nothing below the neck… or well, below the chest."

Noemi walked to sit next to him. "That's what I'm afraid of, sir… I should let you know, I am not feeling too well today. I don't think I can pretend to be happy."

"All the better, Noemi. We want to record you crying."

She was taken aback. "Pardon? May I ask… why?"

She had signed about a hundred different types of N.D.A's, most people in the company spoke freely in front of her.

"A new feature our clients are requesting. The new set of dolls must show negative emotions as well. Buyers must be bored of their dolls lying with smiles in their mouths and eyes. We want the new model to cry quietly, to cry loudly, terrified, saddened, desperate… so we'll take a long time today, I think."

Noemi considered this for a moment, "I must apologize again, sir. I don't think I can do that either."

Mr. Ulloa frowned and stood from his chair. "What do you mean?"

"I can't show any emotion in my face… negative or positive. I've sort of been able of getting away with hiding this from the photographers and editors for months, because we've mostly worked on body shots. But I have not been able of smiling nor crying in quite some time. Sir, I… I don't think I have any feeling left in me."

There was a moment of silence. The other engineers, the scientists and artists watched her all very puzzled. Mr. Ulloa laughed loudly which broke the tension. Everyone started laughing, too.

"And why is that, I wonder? Are you depressed or something?"

Noemi looked at the floor. "I've been wondering that. I think I might be."

"Ha! I wonder, what could make you so sad, then?"

Noemi tried to tell him that she was not sad; she was void of all feeling, when he began raising his voice.

"Is it the mansion in which you live? Your jewels? Your clothes? Oh no, perhaps it is your marvelous beauty? I mean, you have been modeling since you were a child. You are the most beautiful girl at a company that quite literally scouted the entire world for every position. Everyone loves you. You could have anyone you wanted. You don't have to work, not in the real world, dear."

"I… I only meant—" she had had many thoughts about her feelings for a long time, but for some reason she could not articulate them while they all stared at her.

"I would like to see you try to clean the machines after they're used," a voice said from the crowd that started gathering around her. There were different pairs of eyes, of different colors. Different mouths, with different shapes. Murmurs like snorts and words like venom.

"I would like to see you go through the archives that are about fifty years old every time a modification has to be made. You would not last five minutes before your head exploded."

There is nothing funny. Who—and why are they laughing?

"Oh no, I would like to see you talk to one of our clients when the product was not satisfactory! I assure you girl, no matter how bad a person has it in life, if they're not working directly with customers they are of the lucky ones!"

Why did I say anything? Did I really complain? I only meant—

"Are you kidding? Try to actually build a damn thing before you speak!" someone not only raised their voice but actually screamed in her face. "Trust me, girl, if any of us had the luxury of sitting down looking pretty you would not see us complaining like you are! Would you rather wait tables? Work at an office? Clean houses? Take care of children?!"

The words kept coming from all around and she wasn't sure of whom was talking to her. She was a tall girl but she cowered and shrunk before them, feeling small and caged.

The ache in her belly grew but she ignored it because now it was her chest killing her. She took both hands to her heart, as if that could keep it from running so fast. She moved her hands towards her ears, trying to block their words. She took both hands to her mouth, trying to prevent the desperate cry. She fell to the floor and wept, as she had not in a long time. She screamed and thrashed and cried her heart out.

The crowd dispersed, mostly everyone went back to their usual positions. Mr. Ulloa went to his computer, the artists to their pads, and only the camera operators to her.