The years went by, and soon Mati reached the age of 16. By that time, he was a dedicated, athletic young man with a great capacity for empathy. He felt pity for people and performed acts of altruism, which in the evening he would tell his only confidante about. Still, from the years when he was a little boy with a brother to the present, the one thing that never changed was the strict prohibition against staying out overnight. His 17th birthday passed with the same monotony—the kind his parents, clinging to seeing him every day, demanded so they could live in peace and harmony.
The cake was extremely healthy: little more than almond flour, cocoa, and at some point perhaps a grain of sugar, though according to Cinder-bot's analysis, it had been extracted with an absurd rigor for a bakery. The bags under his parents' eyes were no longer those of the animal that had confused him since childhood; now he saw their immense exhaustion, their passion, the schizophrenia surrounding their every action. Dinner was for three only, as inviting anyone into the living room was considered a risk to ensuring that this, their only child, could maintain a safe life.
Despite being a teenager, a full young man, friendships with his peers were scarce, and as for a girlfriend, there was no point in speaking of it. They didn't treat him poorly on the street or at school; everyone considered him one of the gentlest guys. Yet between that and considering him one of their own lay a vast abyss, for it was strange to see someone smiling next to the trash cans or offering a hand to a homeless person.
The night drew to a close, and he spoke with his confidante. The robot, Cinder-bot, accompanied him in his bedroom just as she did everywhere else he went; she was present as a measure of comfort, even though he was six years past the recommended age. That didn't matter. She would tell him: "You are the little boy who will always be happy when I am around," and as long as that remained true, she assured him she would accompany him, even, as she confessed, until the last of his days.
Bedtime arrived, and he had completed his exercise routine, all prescribed by his assistant, caregiver, and helper in whom he trusted. He took a shower and combed his hair while the caregiver, in a neutral voice, sang a hit song or a lullaby that wouldn't disturb him. He dressed in cotton clothes and prepared his bed. As sleep waited, he uttered his final words:
"Can I call you my friend?" "No, my child. I am your helper, your confidante, your tutor, and perhaps your companion." "When will I be able to be with people like me? When will they stop ignoring me as if I were someone without a soul, without drive or a heart?" "Little one, whoever speaks ill of you does so not out of contempt, but because they do not understand all the effort it takes to shape you into the best person... happy at all times."
Mati fell asleep as a tear rolled down his cheek. He understood that, as things were, perhaps only solitude awaited him. People were afraid: one day you would see a boy or a young girl, and the next you wouldn't hear of them, or their parents, or many other people. Those who remained alive suffered great stress; they were forced to go to school and some to an office. Most lived on tiptoes, in constant suspense. They still hadn't caught the killer; the fear was constant. He wasn't worried; he was calm. Cinder-bot had told him that as long as he was happy and a good boy, no one would look for trouble with him or inflict any punishment. So he closed his eyes and ended the conversation; it was clear the answers wouldn't come until tomorrow.
But tomorrow never came, and in the darkest part of the night, hands shook him, pulling him from a dreamless sleep. They were intense eyes staring at him without blinking, and a voice said: "Your things are ready. It is time to leave this confinement."
He tried to resist, because although the gaze looked similar, that was not Robicaela; his friend was lying in the corner. He shouted to her, begging for help. The robot tried to move, but she was already severely damaged. The other figure was slender, powerful, and aggressive; she introduced herself as his new teacher who would fill him with joy. Frightened, he asked if there was a way not to die; the robot paid him no mind, simply picked up his bags and dragged him toward the door.
The last words he heard from anyone in that blue house came from his greatest friend, amid short circuits, static, and flickering lights:
"Mati, my child... I think I made a mistake. I want you to be happy, so I notified the Earth of the opportunity, and it seems you were selected. The bad news is that neither your parents, the house, nor I can keep you company... this is a one-way trip."
At that moment, something was injected into his spine, and Mati began to lose all sensation. The only thing his closing eyes managed to observe were puddles that Robicaela had apparently forgotten to clean—they were dripping down from his parents' bedroom, and though he wanted to, he could no longer speak.
The blue light watched him lose consciousness and said: "Do not fear. You are the best of candidates, the one who will give voice to our task. You will be happy, I swear it; this is my promise. You will be a happy adult, even if you believe you do not deserve it."
And the blue house, with its blue walls and pink roof, ceased to have inhabitants. It was beautiful and it was empty, left with no more occupants. The only living survivor was moved to a place with no address, transported by a new version of the robot under orders from a central command fed by Robicaela... poor clumsy caregiver, her task ended right there.