You are Subject 12. You were kept locked in a room as long as you could remember, where scientists would come, and no matter how hard you tried to fight, they would hold you down anyways. But now you have been offered freedom, of a sort, from a strange pair, here on the street.

You are Subject 12, and the relationships of society, every intricacy between classes and inside classes, do not matter to you. The only relationships you understand are master and servant, captor and and captured. You were part of one, and now you are part of another; you are not sure how happy you are about this, and whether or not you actually have more freedom yet. Whether or not there is a difference.

Your room is gone, your prison. So is the pain of needles and testing and no freedom at all. Everything you knew is upset, and you're fairly certain you don't mind.

Your title, the only thing you had that made sure you were You, Subject 12, is gone, replaced by a weirdly common name. You are suddenly Finnian, and apparently, you are going to be a gardener. Never mind the fact that you have never touched a plant in your life, they would like you to learn, and the tall man in black will teach you. They told you their names, but your brain is fuzzy, like water flowing around. You're not good at remembering things.

Your master is 1/3 of a foot smaller than you, which is surprising, since you only stand at five foot four, according to the simple examination the man in black gave you. He was thankfully brief and didn't pry much; he let you borrow his jacket to hide the hospital gown you wore. It was large on you, but you wrapped it close, loving the feel of something so… not clinical.

Your growth was stunted by chemicals injected into you at a place you only remember as The Facility. But your employer has no reason such as that; he is merely a child. You know he's called an earl, but earls and dukes and counts and viscounts and wealthy merchants are all one big blob to you, the "richer than me" blob. You don't really know what it means that he's an earl, just that he's a child, and that he is way smarter than you are.

He can easily read the novels by Wilde and Bronte, while you struggle to learn how to write your own name, which is only four letters: one "F", two "i"s, three "n"s, and an "a". He is reading documents and writing eloquent letters while you try to figure out the difference between p and q and d and b. And he is about half your age, assuming you are in your late teens or early twenties, which is a fact you're really not sure about, since your birthday was never celebrated. In all honesty, you're not quite sure you have one. He is much smarter than you are, and he is half your age, and you feel incredibly, incredibly stupid.

The tall man in black is patiently telling you again that g-a-r-d-e-n makes a garden as in where you will spend the majority of your time. He patiently re-explains that a bed is both where you sleep at night AND where you plant flowers, and that you write it b-e-d and not d-e-b, and that yes, you must learn the difference between u and n and m and w, and p and q and b and d, because you need to know how to read seed packets, and no, Finnian, substituting a word that you know that looks similar is not good enough, because semi-sunlit and semi-shaded flowers are different than full sunlight and full shaded flowers, and perennial and annual flowers are different, too, and you need to know how frequently to water them.

But the words just won't stay still and organize themselves for you, no matter how hard you try, no matter what you do, and you've tried explaining this to the man in black (who you are beginning to remember as Mister Sebastian)but he just smiles and says to try again, until you just want to break down and cry because you just can't do it! You are Finnian, and you are confused, and you are frustrated, and you are incredibly scared that they are going to decide you are too stupid and send you back to being Subject 12, and you can't stand that thought.

You are Finnian, and you are awkwardly sitting on a plain bed in a room you share with two others. You like that; in The Facility, you were usually isolated. Now you have companions. But it's still awkward, and you run a hand over your shaved head nervously. Only one of your roommates is actually here, and he's a bit scary looking. Intense, with shaggy blond hair and bandages on his face. He has a cigarette, a delightfully unclean small. Your last bedroom smelled like disinfectant and other medical supplies, smells that would cause you to panic.

When he finally talks, it's with an accent you've never heard before. All the scientists were british. You cock your head, and realize that he had been talking to you, and now you're confused again. He repeats himself.

What's your name?

Finnian, you say, the sound rolling off your tongue, sweet as candy. Yes. You are Finnian now.

Nice to meet you, Finny, he says.

Finnian, you correct. The boy (whose name still escapes you, embarrassingly) and Mister Sebastian gave you a name, and you like it.

Fine, Finnian, he agrees, but by his tone you can tell he's going to call you Finny again anyways. You guess you don't mind, as long as he doesn't call you S-012. My name's Baldroy, he says, but you can call me Bard.

Bard, you repeat, then say it a couple more times, rolling it around in your mouth. You didn't know anyone's name at The Facility, just in case one of you escaped- as you, Finnian, once Subject 12, did. That way, you couldn't sell them out to the yard, even if you wanted to. Bard seems amused; you suppose most people don't sit repeating other people's names. I'm bad at names, you try to explain, then point at the empty bed. Who sleeps there? You ask, but you're pretty sure you know.

To your surprise, Bard tells you, Tanaka.

Who's Tanaka?

He's the steward.

What's a steward?

You're not bright, are you, kid? You blush. It's not your fault. Can't he tell that by your clothes? Just joking, Finn…ian. A steward's like a butler, sorta.

Like Mister Sebastian, you mean.

Right. You suppose that makes sense. Mister Sebastian can't take care of this entire big mansion by himself. That's why you're here, after all.

What do you do?

I'm the cook. What about you?

I'm a gardener. That's what they said. Where does Mister Sebastian sleep?

You've got a lotta questions, kid. He's got a private room.

Oh. You ignore the part about having lots of questions. You would write down all the answers, if you could write. But you can't, and you're sure you'll have to ask half of these over again, but you're so curious about this world outside The Facility, you can't help yourself. Are there any others?

Servants?

Yeah.

Only one. Her name is MeyRin. She's a maid.

Will I get to meet her?

I don't doubt it. There IS only four of us.

Ok. You lie down on your bed, exhausted by the day's events. They had found you last night, and you had been working with Sebastian all through the day. Well, working with him, and sometimes alone when Sebastian went to attend to your Master. You haven't had much to eat, your stomach used to small, plain meals, barely enough to keep you alive; you couldn't stomach much of the fancier food that Mister Sebastian brought you, but you didn't want to say so and look ungrateful. Hey, Bard? You ask, your voice tiny and timid.

Yeah?

Were you found by Mister Sebastian and the young master, too?

He stays quiet for a bit. Just Sebastian.

Oh. You pause, mulling this over. Are you happy to be here, too?

Yeah. I am.

You are fairly certain that you like the way things are going, now. You fall asleep on the plain little bed.

You are Finnian, once called Subject 12, the gardener for your new young master. And for the first time in your young life, you have big hopes for your future.