Finnian awoke to a set of big, dark brown pupils staring him down.
"Ah, so you're finally awake, child," the young girl said in a manufactured, mature tone.
The girl standing over Finn was none other than Feyra. She had slipped into the room while he slept and spent the entire night watching him. Though 'watching' might not be the right word. What she was doing felt less like keeping watch and more like stalking a helpless target, silently observing every breath and movement as if she were a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"It must feel so nice being young," the eight-year-old mused. "We were all born free, and yet as we get older, we get tied up in more and more rules. Oh, what I wouldn't give to be young again."
The dramatic play, unfortunately, fell upon deaf ears, as all that Finnian could understand from her lamentations was the fact that she still wasn't very coordinated. Even with the few steps she had taken during her monologue, she had almost fallen at least twice. It even seemed that she was so adept at falling, that it didn't surprise her, she didn't stop once during her speech despite her loss of balance.
The look of confusion on the baby's face was quickly replaced with wails of… well, what seemed to be annoyance.
"Feyra, I told you to stop trying to wake up the baby!" Fionnlagh exclaimed in a more concerned than annoyed tone upon entering the room.
Fionnlagh had been in the next room continuing the morning headcount when he was alerted by the sound of the crying baby. In a normal situation, Fionnlagh would think nothing of a crying baby, after all, this was an orphanage, and this was by no means the first baby he had to take care of. However, there was nothing normal about the situation concerning this child. Not to mention, if the baby really was a gift from God, Fionnlagh had no intention of getting on the big guy's bad side. After all, who knows how they define neglect up there?
"I wasn't trying to wake anyone up; he just woke up by… What happened to your arm?"
In his haste, Fionnlagh had forgotten to cover up the lacerations left on his arm by the officer's flail. Though the cuts were raw, it was obvious to almost anyone that this was nothing more than a scratch. Almost anyone…
"Oh, this?" the old man said, raising his arm. "This… uh… I got this while cooking, that's it… cooking."
"May God forgive me for these lies."
"Was it from the Kaiju that made that crater? Is she coming back? Is she going to kill all of us? Did you have to fight her off? Did you beat her? Are you really just her in disguise, coming back here to get your baby?"
"What? What are you talking about? No… no to all of it."
"Oh ho, so if that's the case, then prove it. Tell me something only Father Fionnlagh would know."
"Something only I would know… hmm… Let's see… a few months ago, you stayed up fifteen minutes past bedtime. Why you did that, I don't know. All I know is that after those fifteen minutes, you passed out like a rock, so I didn't think too much of it."
Feyra let out an audible gulp.
"Please pray for my sinful soul so that I may be forgiven," she prostrated herself before the old man as her eyes began to well up with tears.
"Hey, come on now, I can't have two crybabies, can I? Hmm? When did Finnian stop crying?"
"What the fuck is that!?"
Upon waking up in another world for the first time, most people would be on edge. So, Finnian's reaction was, in a sense, both completely understandable and completely over the top.
"Oh… they're eyes… woooo. If I died again before I was even potty trained, I think I'd... well, I guess I wouldn't do anything because I'd be dead."
Tears began to well up in the baby's eyes.
"Oh, not again! being unable to control my tears is starting to get on my nerves."
A few moments later, the old man appeared in the room, and it was at that moment Finn realized he could use the situation to his advantage.
"If this old guy is able to get this big eyed girl off my back, then I can go back to the… the… I need to come up with a name for this. Maybe… oh, yeah. I will dub this memory dimension 'The Upside Down.' The name is a bit strange, but it will do."
Thankfully for Finn, the old man's unintentional diversion was a success. And thus, he returned to viewing The Upside Down, descending down from the ceiling in its usual fashion.
After all of that embarrassment, I was once again alone at my desk, looking at my phone.
The only reason I wanted my phone in the first place was to check the "Appendage Apostles" group chat.
So that was the first thing I did.
[The Hand: I'm telling you guys, the fingertips shouldn't extend beyond the hips; that's what looks best nine times out of ten.]
[The Chest: And what about that one time, huh? How do you know this isn't that one time? We've gotta make it so that the arms are longer.]
[The Hand: Who even invited this guy? All he knows is big booba. Someone kick him out of the chat. He's just here to step on people's toes.]
[The Chest: You just wouldn't get it, man. The intricacies, the imbalances, the deep and subtle blend of realism and perfection. I mean, who cares about hands anyway?]
[The Hand: You take that back, you nipple sucker!]
[The Chest: Now you're trying to insult me with a good time?]
[The Thigh: Alright, enough of the arguing. How much of the specifications have we completed?]
[The Back: Around 99%. In fact, we only have this last specification to look into: the hand length.]
[The Thigh: Just go with whatever The Hand picks; that's his field of expertise, and that's why he's in this chat.]
[The Back: Sounds good. Then we're all done; our specification is 100% complete.]
[The Thigh: Perfect, I'll send them off when I get back from work.]
[The Chest: Damn, I didn't even know he had a job.]
[The Hand: Yeah, me neither. Also, in your face!]
[The Chest is typing…]
When it comes to Synths, since it's not entirely clear what constitutes the "best" person, there's a voting system in place where people can express their preferences for the kinds of Synths they want to introduce into the world. The more votes a specific model receives, the greater influence that model has during the creation process.
But it's not just about what types of models we want; we can also determine how many of a certain type of Synth exist in this world. For example, having a few Synth rockstars might be fun, but if we made all the Synths rockstars, who's going to handle all the other essential jobs? Not to mention, the market would be completely saturated. That's why it's so important to influence both the quality and quantity of Synths.
Once you get enough votes, voila! The Synth you want comes to life. You can even choose where these Synths will show up, making sure they fit in perfectly with the world you're shaping.
The plan I devised was straightforward, and actually quite common.
Buying votes.
You essentially purchase people's votes and tell them what kind of Synth model to create; however, in my case, people flocked to me, giving their ideas. Men and women alike wanted to give their input into what was quickly being dubbed "The True Perfect Synth." In the end, I barely even had to spend a day's wage.
"So, this is it, the culmination of my lifelong quest for the perfect pair." I thought to myself as I looked down at the specifications.
As anyone who appreciates fine dining knows, although the main course is the centrepiece of the meal, it doesn't stand alone. To truly shine, it requires a symphony of flavours; the appetizer, the entrée, and even the dessert must all harmonize to elevate the overall experience of that main course.
And that is why I invited the others, people inspired by my passion for thighs, eager to share their own admiration for their chosen appendage. My Appendage Apostles. Those who were masters of creating courses other than the main; with the main, of course, being the thighs.
Although it was kind of annoying that they were all going for pure hotness rather than harmony. I, on the other hand, simply believed that the female form better harmonizes with the thigh, enhancing it beyond anything that would be possible with a masculine body.
"So I was able to do it. To reach the summit. My life's goal was about to be achieved.
"Unless…
"Don't tell me I was ripped away just before I got to see it. That would make sense though; my will is living on because the perfect pair of thighs eluded me.
"Don't worry past me; I will achieve our goal!
"The perfect pair will be ours!"
Finnian then, seemingly unknowingly, fastworded The Upsidedown to display two days in the future, the arrival date of the Synth, or so he thought.
The city centre was much more amazing than it used to be. Now clean and filled with bright lights, this was all because of the most recent technological revolution. I always wondered what the world would have been like if the reapers never existed. Would we be more or less advanced now?
With these thoughts in my head, I arrived at the requested drop zone for the Synth. Normally, the Synth factory tells you what time your Synth drops, but in my case, they were extremely vague about everything, saying that it should drop sometime in the afternoon.
"Useless. If I can't even trust them to give me an accurate time, then how am I supposed to trust them when it comes to making the perfect pair?"
"Come on man, calm down. I'm sure it will be fine."
My internal monologue did little to calm my nerves or my excitement. That was probably why I was so surprised when two warm soft hands appeared in front of my face, obscuring my vision.
"Guess who?" questioned the unknown voice from behind me.
"Ah!" I blurted out.
"Oh no, I'm not 'Ah.' Are you cheating on me with someone named 'Ah'? If so, I just might have to kill her… hahaha just kidding."
"Uh, no, I'm not cheating. I mean… What? We aren't… huh?"
"What the hell is happening?"
As the woman, quite a bit taller than myself, unshrouded my eyes, I turned to face her. And as I did so, I knew exactly what I was looking at. After all, I made her.
"Synthia! Is that you?"
The question was more a rhetorical expression of shock than anything else; I knew exactly who she was.
That long, dark hair styled in a high ponytail, with some loose strands framing her face, giving her a slightly messy, windswept appearance. Those slightly broad shoulders that did not protrude but rather cascaded down with the rest of her features. That chest that sloped perfectly downward, coming to a perfectly abrupt, rounded stop. That stomach, slightly revealed through her all-black Synth uniform, toned yet having an air of softness to it. It was all just as I had envisioned, as we had envisioned.
And then there were the thighs. Oh boy, the thighs.
Her thighs were full and robust, measuring around 28 inches in circumference at their widest point. The skin had a smooth, sun-kissed texture that glistened softly, showcasing a warm golden hue. A slightly softer appearance was achieved by the balanced distribution of body fat, which helped accentuate the underlying musculature.
The quadriceps were distinctly defined, each muscle group well-developed. The outer quadriceps tapered gently down towards the knee, forming a subtle peak at the top, sculpted perfectly.
The hamstrings on the back of the thighs displayed a gentle curve, with the biceps femoris, semitendinosus, and semimembranosus clearly visible but not overly pronounced.
It truly was perfection.
Synthia leaned forward. "You really like my thighs, don't you, mister?" she whispered into my ear. "Well… don't you want to feel them too? Hmm?"
I left constructing her personality largely up to crowd-sourced suggestions; after all, I had no intention of keeping Synthia. After seeing perfection up close in all its 3D glory, that would be enough for me. But this personality; was this really what they programmed into her?
And what was this about feeling them? To think, simply catching a glimpse was all I wanted at first, but now I had been offered so much more. How could I refuse? And the best part was this wasn't even the final offer.
"I'll tell you what…" Her soft lips were now fully pressed against my ear, cupping her hands around it so that no one else might lip-read what she was saying. "I'll even let you lick them…"
…
Composure. Resolve. Dignity. All things I once had—gone in an instant.
"Uhh huh, I wanna lick on them, please," I said, tongue out in anticipation.
"I feel like I should feel embarrassed, but is that not the most reasonable reaction to that question?" The baby mentally questioned the air around him.
"Shh, not so loud, silly boy."
She moved her mouth away from my ear and gestured for me to follow her. A buzz from my phone in my pocket attempted to interrupt this moment, but I didn't let it.
After walking for some time, we arrived at a love hotel in the middle of the district.
"Don't worry about paying; I already reserved a room for us," she said in her usual playful tone. I ignored the buzzing sound of my phone, as we both had been doing for the duration of the walk.
The room was small and sparsely lit, with walls painted a deep red. A king-sized bed with rumpled white sheets was positioned in the centre, flanked by nightstands holding flickering candles. A large, round mirror hung above the bed, reflecting the soft glow of the overhead lights.
"Don't you need to get ready?" I questioned.
"No, there's no need," she said, rolling up her shorts and sitting on the bed, lightly patting her lap, indicating for me to… sit in it? No, no, that wasn't right; she wanted me to sit with her thighs on either side of my head!
"Dear God, I'm in heaven." I whispered.
I did as she commanded and placed my head between her thighs, sitting on the floor beneath her.
And then I began to feel.
It was like I had never felt anything true or real before in my life, like all existence that I had ever touched was a lie. The sole truth was what lay before me now. This was truth; this was reality. My hands cascaded up and down, as gently as possible, as if rubbing an ancient magic lamp, scared it might shatter, with the genie inside being lost forever.
I held my breath, feeling the weight of this newfound treasure as I savoured each delicate contour beneath my fingertips. With every cautious movement, I imagined the stories hidden within, longing to uncover the secrets it had to offer. The world around me faded into a blur, leaving only the pulsing connection between my touch and the glory in my hands, a bridge to a truth I had yearned for but never truly grasped.
"That's enough touching, don't you think? Why don't you see what I taste like?" She leaned in closer. "I think you'll like it."
Then, again, my phone buzzed. Fearing that it might ruin this perfect moment, I decided to reach into my pocket to turn it off, and that is when I saw the message.
[Synth Corp.: Your Synth has not yet been dispatched. Sorry for the delay. The new dispatch date will be sent to you shortly.]
...
There are times in life when you must question. When you must interrogate your surroundings and find reasons for the discrepancies. And there are times in life when you must leave questions unanswered.
Tonight... tonight was an example of the latter.
Getting back into her thighs, I now felt a compressing force on the sides of my head. It was nothing, surely. Just the usual snugness, right? But as the seconds passed, the pressure grew, slowly tightening like a vice. My temples throbbed, and a slight dizziness crept in, though I brushed it off.
Maybe I was just overthinking it.
I shifted slightly, trying to adjust, but the sensation only intensified. The weight of her thighs seemed heavier now, pressing down harder, each breath feeling a little more strained than the last. My chest felt tight, and a bead of sweat formed on my brow. I blinked, trying to focus.
"Hey… It's getting hard to talk down here… Hey, can you hear m…"
As I looked up, I saw within that girl's now lifeless eyes a strange mark: eight black arrows protruding from a circle with a black outline and a red interior. This woman, whom I thought was my Synth, was really my reaper.
Feeling the bones of my skull begin to crack and shatter under the force of her thighs, only one thing came to mind.
"I came here to complete a task. And I am no quitter."
With the last of my might, I extended my tongue toward her thigh. Blood streamed from my mouth, the pressure causing my ears to ring and my sight to turn blurry and red. I felt a wave of despair wash over me, convinced that I wouldn't make it, that today I was destined to be a failure.
In that agonizing moment, time seemed to stretch, the world around me fading as I teetered on the edge of oblivion. The taste of iron filled my mouth, mixing with the frantic rhythm of my pulse, and for a split second, I wondered if I would succumb to the darkness closing in.
However, in that blazing moment, with all odds against me, and in the jaws of death itself, I tasted victory.
I won.
And then I understood everything.
My entire aim in life, it was foolish, I had been a child. Does a master chef simply have one meal that he finds superior to all others? No! Of course not. The multiple tastes, and palettes, and combinations that are possible, the chef of the highest calibre understands that perfection itself is rare, yes, but also inexhaustible.
Perfection is not merely a singular instance; it represents a class of beings. It embodies an ideal that transcends any individual manifestation, encompassing a spectrum of forms and attributes that can be achieved.
And this spectrum is not static but dynamic, with perfection coming and going based on one's own emotions and surroundings.
I get it.
I finally get—
At that moment, the room of the love hotel that Finnian's past self was residing in became empty, with the two disappearing; not in a puff of smoke or a flash, but simply becoming nothing, instantaneously.
The Upside Down receded once again, restoring the ceiling that it had destroyed.
And with monk-like tranquillity and unparalleled determination, Finnian thought words so true that they made everything else he had ever said before seem like a lie.
"I know what I must do."