I push myself up into a sitting position, the thick army blanket hugging my arched knees on which I rest my arms. Looking down to the street far below my high-rise condo, I watch the bustle of morning activity. Market stalls line the bricked pathway beneath flashing neon signs, selling various foods and trinkets. Pedestrians linger and mull at the stores, indecisive. Others hurry past; office workers, trash men, mother’s clutching children’s hands, hoodlums. How many synthetics are cleverly disguised within the crowds? They look human, too human and yet underneath, are they really human at all?

After all, synthetics were taught to think on a higher level by humans themselves, I think to myself as I stumble out of bed, letting the blanket fall to the floor. So why can they not have a soul? Just because the soul is an unmapped area of the ‘human’ psyche, it does not mean that machines are insusceptible to having souls, does it?

Modern synthetics are not the useless robotic slaves of the twentieth century. That age has been and gone. Synthetics are now fully functional and operational, intelligent beings that can distinguish their own actions as well as others. So why are they a breed apart from humans, just because beneath their fleshy shells they have wires instead of veins, an auxiliary power unit instead of a heart? I ask myself as cross the room to the open plan kitchen and flick the switch on the coffee pot. The coffee pot whirs nonchalantly as the black sludge behind the glass jug begins to boil. Obviously, a coffee pot does not have a soul; it is not self-aware.

Synthetics can breathe, hear, smell, touch and taste, just the same as any human. The only thing that separates the humans from the synthetics is that synthetics cannot reproduce. Some synthetics see this as a blessing while others; others have varying degrees of jealousy. Does this not suggest the presence of a soul? The want -nay, the urge- to reproduce? A green light blinks on the hot plate and lifting the coffee pot, I watch as my cup is filled with steaming black liquid.

Synthetics blend in with humans so well now, compared to twenty years ago when synthetics were nothing but a by-product of enslaved nuts and bolts. Not that they were synthetic, they were the prototype of what was to come. In many ways they were and are inferior. It appears as if synthetics are one with the society around them but are they really? Or have they become such commonplace that no one pays close attention to them anymore? Does this not define equality leading to one’s social standing as a near human?

I cross the room again while plucking up a pair of denim’s off the grey carpet and tugging them on, I enter the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, I can see myself in the mirror above the sink: pale hazel eyes, small model nose, thin curved lips, all crowned by shaggy dark brown hair. And yet, I can barely tell the difference between myself and a human. Synthetics are not born for any specific reason or made for any specific job role. They are born in tanks and when ready, told “go live” and are thrust into the great white world. From that moment on, the synthetic is left to play with their own destiny. Does that not suggest the evidence of a soul?

Splashing water on my face, I feel the cool freshness it brings to my skin. After all this, do I – do all synthetics- have souls or are we just replicas enslaved by humanity and overly ignorant of it? Why does one’s own existence merge with politics after a time? We have no on/off switch. We cannot be controlled like the robots of old. We live and we breathe. We fight and we die. Do we stand united or divided with the humans of this great planet?

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