“Come over here and pour me another cup of tea, Joey.” The mistress set down her teacup with a clink. With careful haste, Joey picked up the tea tray and brought it close, lifting the teapot and filling Lady Davenport’s cup to a precise level. Joey had practiced.

“One lump, milady?” Joey smiled faintly and kept a neutral gaze fixed on the lady’s dark and featureless face. She appeared much like the other shades, but better dressed and coiffed by far.

“Of course.” Expecting the response, Joey picked up a sugar cube with the tongs and placed it in the cup, then retreated with the tea tray. The mistress gave a simple nod, and Joey felt a slight thrum of pleasure through the doll body, Joey’s body.

Joey was a dutiful servant. Joey was very helpful at all times. There had been another time, not long before, when Joey had felt very anxious, but that was over. That was in the past. Properly synchronizing had replaced Joey’s worries with new priorities, like establishing their place in the household. Joe had worried about so many things: tactics, maintaining distance from enemy combatants, whether to trust Reshy, the jiggling feel of breasts moving, insults to his masculinity. Poor Joe: it all seemed rather silly now.

Now Joey knew they were just Joey, a servant like any other. Well, not exactly the same. They were newer, with more to learn. I must do my best to help mistress, they thought. And find the Jayakody boy. That was still very important, Joey felt with a deeper certainty. I must protect the boy.

After clearing the tea service and tidying the sitting room, Joey went downstairs and reported to the kitchen staff. The gaggle of female shades found Joey’s unassuming manner soothing and attentive; some of them were even in the habit of offering treats and food to Joey. They always declined politely. “My body doesn’t need to eat,” they explained.

“Such a good girl, that Joey,” commented old Mrs. Hawthorne, patting Joey’s shoulder kindly. Her hand was soot-black and textured like fabric, just like everyone here except Joey and Reshy. “A good servant never bothers others with personal needs, like eating.”

“Not like those greedy girls,” added another shade called Mrs. Birch with a sniff. “Get back to work and stop nibbling those berries, you lot!” Joey was unclear on how the shades ate, but food and drink alike disappeared when lifted to the blank spaces beneath their chins.

The younger maids tittered. “Joey is a perfect little helper,” they mocked. “So proper, a perfect little angel.”

“Yes.” Another giggled. “And modest too—she won’t even let us kiss her on the cheek.”

“Oh yes she will,” one of footmen laughed. “Watch now.” He stepped closer and kissed the side of Joey’s face, pressing his featureless chin against them; it was like being brushed by a blanket. Joey didn’t like the feeling, but saw no reason to object. But when the footman turned one of the shade girls and tried to do the same, leaning in for a kiss, the maid shoved him away with a squeal of disgust. Should I have done the same, thought Joey, to fit in? Despite how the shades teased them, it was so hard to know the proper way to behave in this place.

“Go on now, Joey,” said Mrs. Birch. “Don’t mind them; take the tea things to be washed. There’s silver to be polished next.” But when Joey moved towards the short flight of steps down to the scullery, one maid subtly slid a leg out to trip them. The other maids snickered as Joey stumbled forward, trying to keep from falling. The tray with the complete tea service tipped and flew into the air.

Joey planted their right foot on the ground, lunging with their right hand to snatch the teapot and pitcher as both plummeted towards the ground. They caught the tray of tea accouterments with their other palm, while balancing the heavy crockery in hooked fingers—all in time to prevent any of it from crashing onto the floor. Joey shifted the tray slightly to catch a teaspoon and a dusting of sugar crystals scattering through the air. The shades watched in awe as their new scullion effortlessly performed a feat of dexterity and coordination that would have left most humans sprawling amidst shards of china and spatters of tea leaves.

They looked up at the maids, whose jaws hung agape but mouthless; the shade’s faces were still black masks without features or expression, their eyes dull black spots, but they looked surprised. “That’s enough playing around,” Mrs. Birch snapped in annoyance, though it wasn’t clear who she felt annoyed with.

“Yes’m,” said Joey, eyes downcast. “I’ll just wash these things now—and polish your silverware, too.”

Mrs. Birch frowned at this. “You’ve done quite enough already today, girl” she said sternly, looking past the maids to the high window above. Outside, the spangled darkness of interstellar space loomed as a constant reminder of otherworldliness—to Joey, at least. The shades pretended their home had an ordinary day and night. “It’s nearly sunset,” Mrs. Birch remarked about a non-existent sun. “When you’re done with the tea dishes, go on to your room and have a little rest.”

“Right away, ma’am,” replied Joey, and hurried down the stairs to the scullery, teeming with the scent of soapy water and lye. When they finished and walked back towards the servants’ quarters, they found the head chambermaid, Mrs. Hawthorne, waiting in the side hall with a cup of tea; she smiled warmly and handed it to Joey.

“Joey,” she said slowly as the junior maid sipped, “Do you remember why you’re here, in the manor?”

They nodded in return. “Yes, ma’am. You said I should come work in the house, rather than out in the yard.” It’s all part of the tests, Joey knew, but the shades never talk about that; maybe they don’t know—or can’t know. Joey had to finish the tests to get Joe Craigan’s body back, as Reshy kept reminding them.

“I said you belonged inside because you’re a gentle soul, child,” the elderly shade continued. “When Mr. Grantham had Billy strapped for cutting down the wrong stand of saplings, what did you do?”

Joey remembered well—it had happened a week ago, not long after they’d arrived at the estate with Reshy. “I asked him to stop, that it wasn’t fair because I had been with him and made the same mistake, and that I’d take the punishment instead if he wanted to hit someone. But that stopped him. I don’t know why.”

“Because you were too kind for your own good,” Mrs. Hawthorne reproved Joey. “You had only been working at your duties a day or two. You couldn’t have known where the property lines were—but you knew that Mr. Grantham wasn’t thinking clearly at that moment. That showed compassion for your fellow servants… and so we brought you inside, where you belong. Now come along, and give me a kiss goodnight on the cheek.”

Joey’s synthetic flesh, suffused by a human soul, warmed at the kindness. They leaned forward and pressed their lips gently against Mrs. Hawthorne’s cheek; of course, her skin was the same black, fuzzy substance as all the other shades, but Joey fancied they could feel the soft texture of her cheek beneath their lips. “Thank you for everything,” they said. “You’re a wonderful housekeeper.”

***

Up the side stairs that only led to the servants’ attic, Joey slipped quietly into the closet that served them for a room. The rest of the serving girls had to sleep in a common dormitory, but Mrs. Hawthorne and Mrs. Birch had insisted that Joey have their own quarters. It’s part of why they all resent me, Joey had decided. They know I’m treated differently, that I am different.

Reshy looked up from where she was reclining on the small mattress, two floppy arms behind her burlap head. “Done with fetching and carrying for the lords and ladies already? Quick… what’s your name, your real name?”

They did this every day when Joey returned. “Joseph Craigan. Weapons Sergeant, retired. Served in Alpha Company, 3rd Battalion, 5th Special Forces Group, then for Special Activities Division, the Ground Branch. Went on loan to British SAS before honorable discharge. Silver Star, Intelligence Cross, Distinguished Service Cross. Nicknamed the Reaper, but I never liked that nickname. Should I go on, Reshy? I’m happy to continue.”

Reshy scrutinized them. “I know you have all of Joe’s memories. That’s been clear over the last week. But you don’t think of yourself as him anymore, so I have to check.”

Joey gave her a pleasant smile. “That’s all right, Reshy. Be sure you can trust me—our mission is very important to both of us, whether I’m Joe or Joey.”

“You’re not really Joe anymore, are you?” Reshy shook her floppy head. “You don’t think like him. It’s like you’re someone new who just… knows everything about Joe. Why is that, do you think?”

Joey blinked. “Well, I’m the same person, even if I think of myself a little differently. That must be the body, right? I turned the dial up, and now I’m… me. Someone who can handle manor service, no problem.” They smiled and curtsied, as if to demonstrate.

“Joe had to go so that I could arrive and help. I’m always glad to help.” Joey felt it was important to reassure Reshy, but the little doll was being difficult again. “We should get some rest now,” Joey continued. “Tomorrow will be another busy day, I imagine.”

“How many days are going to go on like this, Joey? With you just… slaving away in this creepy simulation? I realize your mental reinforcement has you fixated on being helpful, but do you really find it that pleasurable?” The little sack doll flailed her arms in frustration.

“I’m just doing my part.” Joey looked away from Reshy, settling onto the bed at one side. “There’s a boy here, and we need to find him. That’s important. Someone, probably that demon, took away your body. And Joe’s—I mean my body, yes? That’s important too; it’s just plain wrong.”

“So what exactly makes you feel it’s so important? Our bodies, sure… but you seem to care about our bodies much differently than you did a week ago. Joe and Joey both care about the boy, but why?”

“Look, Reshy. I don’t want to be stuck in an artificial body any more than you do. Of course, I remember my life, it’s just that… Joe was so angry and frustrated about it all the time, and the body felt terrible to him. I can handle it much better. All that rage was… counterproductive?” They shrugged, the slender shoulders of the doll body’s frame rising and falling.

“What about that Jayakody kid?”

“I—I’m not sure.” Joey wrinkled their forehead. “The Jayakodys hired Joe to find him, but there’s also something… I feel like I’ve got to protect him.”

“Aha! As I suspected,” chirped the little doll. “Let’s try something again. Close your eyes and try to remember when you were younger. Back in high school, for instance. Joe Craigan, in high school.” Ever helpful, Joey closed their eyes and nodded for Reshy to continue. “Do you remember I was asking you about your first girlfriend? What was her name?”

“Oh yes,” said Joey. “I remember. Her name was Jo. Or… wait. Josie? Or Jocelyn? Why are you asking me this, Reshy?” Their voice grew strained and plaintive. Joey realized how different their voice sounded than when they’d first awakened, when they’d spoken with the pleasant, feminine cadences of an automated assistant.

“This place has been scrambling your memories, Joe. Or the body has. Your Joey persona must result from neural-aetheric lace modifications, altering your soul’s equivalent of brain chemistry. Otherwise… you wouldn’t get more stressed out by that question than by sexual harassment from undead automated cosplayers. On top of that, you’re losing track of some memories.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Reshy.” Calmness returned to Joey’s pretty features. “I don’t know why I’m so good at following orders and performing my duties. But it’s got to be part of the test, right? That’s how we got in here; I passed the shades’ criteria. You wanted me to turn the dial up because you knew that, didn’t you?”

Reshy narrowed her eyes at Joey, which simply meant that her stitched-on eyebrows lowered, and her button eyes moved together. “Yes. Figured that out, eh? I suppose you’ve had time to think it through, and you’re a lot… calmer about it than when you were in combat mode, recklessly charging in.”

Joey watched placidly as Reshy paced the thin mattress. “Obviously, there are tradeoffs to synchronizing you further with the body; it keeps changing you. But unless we can hack the system somehow, or break in like burglars… passing the tests is the easiest way further in, and that’s where we need to go. Someone, maybe that demon, designed these tests for doll bodies like yours. Unsurprisingly, advancing the doll body’s unique synchronization is part of the tests.”

Joey placed their hand on the dial at their hip. “Would you like me to turn it now? I know you’re tired of waiting for me to investigate the manor. They let me upstairs to serve the lady, and perhaps if I synchronized more—”

“See, this is what I mean!” The little stitched mouth twisted into a grimace. “Joe was incredibly reluctant to switch to Sync Level 4, and he may have been right. Now you’re eager to do it.” Reshy started grumbling in a lower voice, and Joey leaned forward to hear her. “How can I be sure your behavior mods haven’t been screwing up the soul’s skein and matrix all along…?”

Joey put a hand gently on Reshy’s rough forehead, and the sack doll stopped speaking, surprised. “Reshy… give me a little credit? I understand now why you wanted me to synchronize further. You wouldn’t tell me, but I felt it the last time. Turning up the sync level is how this body recharges, isn’t it? And if I were to turn it back down…”

“Hm.” Reshy’s mumble was grudging. “I’m not sure what would happen. But the energy source seems to be external and connected to the tests. I don’t think we can cheat it by turning your dial up and down, and you might actually lose energy. Still, you must avoid syncing higher unless it’s completely necessary.”

“I understand.” Joey nodded and unfastened the laces of her uniform. “It’s time for bed now. We should rest.” Neither of us truly needs to rest, Joey thought, but it’s better to have some quiet time to think. To pretend as all the other beings here are pretending, instead of talking and fretting and worrying all night long. Reshy uttered not a word of protest and curled up next to the pillow as Joey undressed.

Joey pulled the white apron and headdress off along with the black uniform, and folded them neatly to stack under the bed. Beneath, the doll body wore only a simple corset and stockings over thin white undergarments. The old-fashioned nightclothes covered more skin than the tattered leotard they’d first worn, or typical modern underwear. Bending their arm joints easily around their back, Joey tugged the hooks and laces on the corset free. Immediately, they felt a lessening of pressure as the automatic flow of air in and out of the body’s lungs became easier.

Interesting that my body needs to breathe, Joey mused as they worked their way free, when the bodies of the shades clearly don’t. They only pretend to eat, drink—just part of the illusion, simulating life by maintaining a façade.

Settling into the bed by Reshy’s small, silent form, Joey smoothed the cotton undershirt and bloomers. Their body felt delicate and pliable, but comfortable, with none of the nauseating aches of Joe’s dysphoria. This body lacked the scar and wounds of Joe’s body. Instead, Joey now existed in a homeostatic container of living tissue, hard frames, and electronics that just mimicked the appearance of a human. Homeostatic container, they thought. Where do I know that phrase from? In any case, Joey didn’t feel their shape was alien, not anymore.

Joey didn’t need to sleep either, but it was nice to close their eyes and get cozy. They rolled onto their side and slid one hand between their knees, caressing the cotton over their mound through the underclothes. The flesh there was soft, sensitive—more so than in the heavier, rounder Level 3 body. Their shape was still what Joey thought of as doll-like, a smooth triangle of tissue with only the hint of a cleft. For no particular reason, they thought of Joe’s mother. She’d been a kind woman who had struggled to make ends meet and had often tried to be the mother and father to Joe and to her younger daughter, Alicia.

Joey wondered what Alicia would think, seeing them like this. Probably she’d just laugh if she could see me now. Bro, how did you get so cute? Joey closed their eyes and let their thoughts drift into the still night air of the manor.

***

Joey stood in a green garden with an endless horizon, watching the flowers as they blossomed and rotted away again in an instant. As soon as they saw the blossoms burst open on the next bush along the path, the leaves began to curl and fall on the bush by their side. There was no sun overhead. They turned away from the flowers, looking for anything familiar. There was no moon either, nor stars in the black sky overhead.

Then they saw it: a pair of hands on a tall bush ahead of them. Joey watched in awe as the pale, feminine hands picked a flower and slipped the stem inside the waistband of a loose white skirt; then the hands disappeared, and the skirt. The bush went back to being a bush, with no sign of anyone having been there.

They stepped forward, hoping to help whoever the leaves concealed, and reached towards the bush. Before they touched the foliage, a hand shot up and grabbed theirs; Joey gasped and drew back. Then the hand came out of the bush—a different hand, attached to a boy with curly hair and nut-brown skin. “Did you see me?” he asked.

Joey nodded, taking his hand. “Of course,” they replied. “You’re Romesh. I’m looking for you.”

The boy blinked, looking perplexed. “Do I know you?”

“Not exactly. My name is Joey.”

“And you’re… looking for me?”

“Yes. It’s very important.” Joey felt warm as they held hands with the boy, and realized how much they’d wanted to be with him. “I need to keep you safe.”

Romesh grinned at Joey, revealing teeth like small white pearls. “I’m getting out of here tomorrow night. I found the way.” His fingers tightened on Joey’s, and he tugged gently, trying to lead them to a clearing ahead, where some significant force had torn the ground up and knocked trees over. There was no breeze here, but the plants seemed to waver, as if something was breathing.

Joey felt an inexplicable sense of alarm. “We have to get out of here,” they said to Romesh. “It’s not safe.”

“Don’t worry,” Romesh said with a grin. “I have a plan. You’re not one servant, are you? Maybe we can escape together.”

The ground shifted, and Joey pushed Romesh behind them. A gray, misshapen hand pushed up from the churned earth; it had too many fingers, and the skin was moving, sliding along bone and sinew. A face appeared, with a mass of tentacles writhing around empty sockets for eyes and a ragged, flapping orifice for a mouth. Joey grabbed Romesh’s arm and pulled him away. The Chaos Demon?

“Reshy!” Joey cried out, thinking of the only help they’d had in this place. But they heard no answer, not from Reshy and not from the demon, which crawled silently over the ground towards them. A ticking sound pierced the quiet, like a stopwatch, abruptly filling their hearing.

“We have to run!” Joey turned to Romesh, trying to pull him away, back the way they’d come. “It wants to take us apart again!” They pulled, but Romesh’s hand felt slippery, gloved in sweat. He was looking over Joey’s shoulder now, at the demon.

“It only wants oblivion, Joey. Peace. We’re all the same that way.” Romesh’s hand, impossibly strong for his size, pulled Joey towards the bulbous, oozing demon. The hideous mass raised its arms, more tentacles seething out of its armpits. Joey struggled and kicked, trying to free themselves from Romesh’s grasp. The ticking sound grew louder.

“Your dial is winding down, Joey.” Romesh looked back at them. His eyes were shiny and reflective, like glass orbs. “You don’t have long to cut your strings—to learn to be a real girl.” He laughed, and then he and the demon faded away together as Joey fought to pull him back.

Then Joey woke up, gasping, on the narrow bed in the servants’ quarters. A dream? They took a deep breath, awareness returning that they didn’t need to breathe, or sleep… I shouldn’t have been sleeping. Or perhaps my mind has needed sleep all along?

Reshy was lying still next to the pillow, looking for all the world like a stuffed toy. “Reshy?” Joey whispered. When she didn’t stir, Joey poked her softly in the side.

“What? Come on, I was resting…” The little burlap head turned to regard Joey. “Not all of us can recharge with a fancy dial hooked up to this testing facility, you know? I have to conserve what I’ve got…”

Joey smoothed a stray stitch on Reshy’s face and frowned. “I know. I just had a dream. About Romesh, and the Chaos Demon.”

“A dream? Interesting. Maybe that’s good for your sanity. Maybe I should try it.” Reshy sat up and stretched, then flopped back down into the same position, as if exhausted. “That is, if I still have any sanity left. Try to find out what’s upstairs, okay? If there’s an entrance to the part of the complex where they took me before, I figured it’s either in the cellars or somewhere with higher security.”

Joey nodded. “Don’t worry, Reshy. I have it the plan memorized. The cellars are mostly full of potatoes or wine, but there are plenty of off-limits areas in the upstairs.” Stretching and hearing some of the doll body’s joints pop into place, Joey rose to get dressed for the day. They could barely see their uniform in the thin light seeping in from the attic window, but after a week, they knew how to dress in the darkness of the meager chamber.