"You’re remarkably well-adjusted for someone raised by monsters." The counsellor’s body was humanoid-shaped — two arms, two legs, a single head — and its polymer skin was shaded in soothing colours: light blues, creamy beiges, soft lavenders. Instead of finding comfort, Amalia felt uneasy. The colourful patches looked like bruises. She couldn’t take her eyes off the symmetrical smears of purple across the counsellor's curved cheeks. Its thin lips pursed and she realised it expected a response.

  "Umm, thanks. I think." Her cheeks flushed, partly from embarrassment but mostly because she was confused. Her family weren't monsters. She wrapped her arms around her middle — her grey whisper-thin jumpsuit crinkled like paper — before she remembered the gesture looked defensive and instead rested her hands awkwardly on her knees.

  “The Greenscape Penitentiary for Female Beings have no records of your birth,” the counsellor said in its gender-neutral voice. It clasped its fingers together to signal it was recording, eyes flashing red to indicate its camera was now active. Was it curious? Or did its curiosity come from the officials watching through its eyes?

  Amalia shrugged, uncertain what the counsellor wanted her to say. This wasn’t news to her. When she was born she hadn’t just slipped through the gaps in society. She’d been swallowed by the darkness lurking beneath the civilising guidance of UniCorp. UniCorp was one of many privately-run companies that held vast portions of the universe under their thumbs. She should’ve died within minutes of her first ear-piercing cry. But as her mother bled out, having no strength to even name her, five strangers had stepped forward and saved her life from the prisoners who would’ve eaten her whole. Five new mamas who’d raised her and loved her as if she truly was theirs.

  She pressed the tips of her fingers into her knees, the pressure grounding. As a child, Mama Baena had created a sing-song rhyme about how they’d adopted her, gently wiggling Amalia’s pudgy little fingers one by one as she sang.

  “One scooped you up, all wet and howling. One closed your mother’s eyes, all blank and unseeing. One disrupted the digital feed, all proof and truth erased. One became a physical shield, all arms wide and impassable. And one became a sword, all claws and teeth tearing.” And Mama Baena would run one of her eight massive furry paws up Amalia’s neck and tickle her until pealing laughter echoed throughout the prison.

  “I wouldn’t know anything about any records,” Amalia offered, breathing slowly and steadily.

  The Pen was where the worst of the worst, the depraved and the disturbed, were sent to rot. For most, a newborn garnered no sympathy. For some, Amalia represented a meal, and for just over seventeen rotations within Pen’s hull, she remained so. Without her mamas, Amalia would’ve been dead a hundred thousand times over. But now UniCorp wanted to take her away from them, depending on the outcome of this session. Amalia couldn’t figure out how to act to ensure she’d remain here, in the only home she knew. So she kept as still as possible, as if the counsellor would leap upon any perceivable weakness.

  "According to UniCorp, you don’t exist, so please confirm your designation for the record." The counsellor smiled. No teeth, just an unbroken fence of white, no tongue to form words.

  "Well, I guess I'm Amalia Lore."

  It wasn’t the first time she'd been asked. The Warden had been horrified when she’d realised the full extent of the Pen’s mistake, echoing back her name in horrified bewilderment. She’d been quick to contact the higher-ups at UniCorp. The privately owned corporation specialised in state-of-the-art penitentiaries, scattering hundreds of fully automated AI-guarded prisons across the galaxy. None of the UniCorp officers had wanted to take responsibility for her as they decided what to do with her. Every time she changed hands, the officers would confirm her designation in stunned disbelief, like doctors checking to make sure they had the right patient for an amputation.

  She wondered if they were expecting her to change her mind. Give another name. One not stolen.

  "You sound … uncertain," the counsellor said.

  Was the counsellor mocking her? Or was it genuinely concerned? She pictured the AIs she’d grown up with, always featureless, their voices the same static tone, and being the focus of their attention had always been a Bad Thing. It was up there with accidentally surprising Mama Maw while she sharpened her claws, or meeting a newbie without a chaperone in a dark corner. As punishment, the AIs could withhold meals or isolate a crim in the dark for long, lonely cycles. Once they’d even shocked her, electricity contorting Amalia’s limbs into arched angles of frozen pain until Mama Baena swept to her rescue like a barely contained avalanche of muscle.

  “I’m not.” But the truth was, Amalia was more than uncertain. Her chair edge dug into her thighs, the balls of her bare feet pressing into the metal grating. It was an effort not to sink through the floor the way Mama Wisp had trained her, her molecules vibrating fast enough to pass through solid matter. She was mostly human, but being raised by multi-species mothers resulted in a warped idea of what being human actually meant. Her weight shifted minutely, ready to propel her any which way in less than a heartbeat. The door behind her was closed, maybe locked, but that wouldn’t stop her. She'd learnt from the best, after all.

  But no one had prepared her for this. Before UniCorp had arrived the day before to conduct the standard twenty-rotation audit, she'd never even dreamt of leaving home — hadn't thought it was possible. Nobody left the Pen unless it was in a body bag shunted off into the unforgiving grasp of space. Well, almost nobody. Overnight her whole world had realigned and she'd been desperately seeking her footing ever since.

  She didn’t want to leave.

  "It's my mother's name. They named me after her, when she died." The words didn't hurt her. They never had. "My birth was never recognised, not officially anyway, so I've been using my mother's ID."

  "Indeed," the counsellor intoned. “The deceased Amalia Lore. ID number NGQ3-AC-SIV-K4-AL-GD24122416.” The numbers and letters outlined her mother’s place and date of birth. Amalia pressed them into her mind, repeating the pattern over and over, desperate to increase the meagre amounts of information she’d collected. “Her death went unrecorded and the system identified you as your mother, consigning you to multiple life sentences in the Greenscape Penitentiary for Female Beings. The error was overlooked until now.” The counsellor hummed its sympathy, its smile still fixed. “Why don’t you tell me about your mother?”

  "I never knew her. I only know what the others told me."

  "For the record, these others are Doctor Terra Knight, whose genetic experiments left a quarter of the dwarf planet Sarsleo's population blind; Matron Maw, whose taste for human flesh is only surpassed by her desire to add to her -- is this right? -- collection of cat figurines?; Will-o-Wisp, the greatest thief of this century; Amphisbaena…”

  “Baena,” Amalia interrupted, but was ignored.

  “Amphisbaena, who committed the genocide of her own people; and let us not forget Thadea d’Gamble, whose ability to sniff out lies made her UniCorp’s most ruthlessly effective agent Agent until she decided to pluck the hair from her superior's body, strand by strand, before moving on to his nails and teeth. She was released six rotations ago to serve society in an undisclosed manner, but her actions have by no means been exonerated. These monsters are the parents of whom you speak?"

  "They're my family." Amalia crossed her arms again and slouched low. She missed Mama Dea with all her heart, but she was glad at least one of her mamas had left the Pen. "They raised me."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “But for what purpose?” The counsellor pondered, quiet as if making a note for later consideration, but the judgement explicit in its words lit a spark in Amalia. She surged to her feet, her fists pressing hard against her thighs.

  “You don’t know anything!”

  The counsellor leant back, keeping the young woman in view. Its expressionless face triggered a roaring in Amalia’s ears that drowned out her own sharp hissing breaths. Her knuckles popped as her fists tightened and the thin material of the jumpsuit crackled against her skin. She was one step away from ruining everything. Revealing all her secrets because she couldn’t control her anger. Her mamas would be so disappointed in her.

  Automatically, from rotations of practice, Amalia took a deep breath and recited in her mind the names of gods who’d been all but forgotten. Kafsnghari of the Enduring Cold. Seyedehtarannom of the Crawling Chaos. Drirathiel of the fated end. Amalia exhaled slowly and closed her eyes, imagining Mama Baena’s warm, rumbling voice leading her through the hundred names, teasing her gently as she stumbled over sounds her vocal box had never been designed to make. Thirty or so rotations from now, when Mama Baena’s fur finally faded from malachite green to a grey olive and her teeth were worn to nubs, she would join her people on her final star journey. Amalia would be the last to remember and even then the gods would be assigned to the demeaning task of soothing her anger.

  When Amalia reached Baliaronasyth of the Heated Hearth, her breathing was even, her hands loose at her sides, and her anger a controlled humming beast warming her chest. She opened her eyes — only moments had passed — and sat back down.

  “You don’t understand what it’s like,” Amalia said, her words sharp, more burning ice than fire.

  “Why don’t you tell me then?” the AI said and Amalia still couldn’t gauge whether it was genuine in its sympathy, but for the first time since the grey/orange-clad officers had swarmed her home, Amalia had the chance to put things straight.

  “My first memory is of wandering down a long hall, the grating cold beneath my bare feet.” Amalia was three, maybe four rotations old, because Mama Maw was still trimming her hair short enough that she couldn’t tear it out. It was a habit she grew out of not long after, but she remembered wearing the green beanie, made from Mama Baena’s fur after her last molt.

  “Someone was singing. Soft and sweet, a hook sinking deep into my mind. I’d slipped away while my mamas were sleeping.” Mama Dea had acted on a sudden urge to check on Amalia, and when she’d found the child’s nook empty, they’d all feared the worst. They were right to.

  “I can’t remember most of what happened, just the singing and then the pain. It went dark. The kind of red, pulsing dark from pressing your palms against your eyes. I was wrapped in a crushing force that was hot and wet, and I could hear a thumping sound, steady as a heart. Then light. Light and a bellowing roar.”

  Amalia never learnt the prisoner’s name. Just that she’d arrived on the Pen during the previous shipment and hadn’t had the time to learn any better. “When she devoured me whole, she had no idea my mamas would come for me.” Amalia traced the needle-thin silver scars across the back of her hand. Every inch of her skin was covered in them, barely raised but she could feel them.

  “They came for you?” The counsellor glanced up at the camera in the corner, its hairless brow creasing in distress. What was it saying to the officers listening in?

  “Of course they did. You don’t get it. They love me.” Amalia’s anger shifted to something cooler, a mix of frustration and annoyance.

  “And what happened to the prisoner who...” The AI hesitated then chose its words carefully. “Who harmed you?”

  “They made sure she never hurt anyone else again.” Only when Mama Terra had explained the incident to Amalia had she understood why her nightmares screamed of dark, sharp places. The scientist had refused to coddle Amalia. She’d described in detail how the Tak prisoner — a being who almost challenged Mama Baena in size and had a voice as hauntingly beautiful as she was disturbingly ugly — lured Amalia close enough to wrap her many-scaled legs around her. The Tak had dislocated her jaw and swallowed Amalia in one bite.

  Mama Dea’s sharp nose led all five mamas to the Tak. Mama Baena had pinned the Tak’s many limbs and Mama Maw had sliced her open from throat to groin. Amalia had slithered out of the gutted belly, body still and lifeless. Mama Terra had explained to Mama Wisp how to phase her small hand inside Amalia’s chest and wrap it around the child’s heart, pumping until the organ remembered how to beat on its own again. Amalia hadn’t spoken for cycles afterwards and Mama Terra admitted she’d worried Amalia had been broken in a way the geneticist couldn’t fix. Strangely enough, hearing the events from Mama Terra brought an end to her nightmares of the dark.

  “If it weren’t for them, I’d be dead.” Amalia frowned, adding in a low growl, “No thanks to you lot.”

  The counsellor was silent for a moment. It was impossible to guess what it was thinking, or who was spying through its senses.

  "We digress," the counsellor continued after a beat. "What did they inform you regarding your mother?"

  Amalia slumped into her chair as the last of her annoyance fizzled out. All she wanted was to curl up against Mama Baena’s furry side and sleep for a cycle.

  "Not much." It was the truth, but even if she’d known more, she wouldn’t have shared.

  "What do you know?" The counsellor persisted, leaning forward, its blue brows pinching together eagerly. Its cool hand rested on Amalia's forearm. Calm washed through Amalia's system, a tingling warmth that flowed up her arm and settled into her chest. Her wariness dissipated; she felt good.

  "Just that I look like her." Amalia tucked a lock of honey-dark hair behind her ear, unable to keep her contented smile hidden. "She was quiet and preferred to keep to her cell at first, not really socialising. No one knew my mother was pregnant, maybe not even her, but when she found out, for sure I mean, she made the choice to keep me." It was the part of her mother's story she’d always liked best. Amalia was her mother's secret.

  "She could've reported her pregnancy — maybe it would've gotten her a transfer or a shortened sentence — except she loved me. That's what they said, anyway." Amalia ducked her head and peered beneath her eyelashes, just like Mama Dea had taught her, to elicit the most amount of sympathy. It’s all in the delivery, my little magpie, she’d taught her. Amalia wasn’t sure if it worked on AIs though. "What did my mother do to get life in Greenscape Penitentiary? She never told anyone, and, well, the Pen was for..."

  "Monsters. Your mother's crimes are classified." The counsellor retracted its hand.

  "Oh." More than one crime, then.

  A discordant chime sounded, indicating the session was almost up. Anxiety buzzed through Amalia, washing away the artificial calm the counsellor's touch had injected through the pores of her skin.

  “It has been determined that your mental and emotional quotients are average and/or above average despite your social development delays. Your integration into the general populace has been approved.” The AI had no need to breathe; her words washed over Amalia in a constant stream of noise.

  "On behalf of UniCorp," the counsellor stated, leaning back and clasping its hands together again, "we would like to take this moment to again apologise for your unlawful twenty-rotation detainment in the Greenscape Penitentiary for Female Beings and remind you that, as a condition of your release, you cannot disclose any information regarding the penitentiary or the events that may have occurred there."

  The door behind Amalia slid open to reveal a UniCorp officer dressed in the customary gunmetal grey and burnt orange uniform. The officer’s hair was closely shaven above her right ear, where ports had been inserted. Tattooed circuits disappeared down her neck beneath the skin-tight uniform. Amalia suspected the circuits were connected to the device grafted into her forearm, blinking an array of lights and symbols.

  Amalia turned back to the counsellor, desperate for some last comfort. She felt like an airlock was opening up beneath her, threatening to jettison her into space. "I'm not ready!"

  "A weekly stipend will be awarded to you," the counsellor added, "and you will be transported directly to the nearest habitable spaceport."

  "Can't I stay in the Pen?" Amalia asked, ignoring the officer moving to stand beside her, not touching but clearly wanting Amalia to stand up.

  "To continue your detainment would be against UniCorp’s mission statement and codes of conduct," the AI soothed, sounding compassionate. Amalia would take any sympathy she could get, reaching out to grip the counsellor's wrist. Cables and wires flexed beneath its skin, like pulsing veins; a mimic of real flesh, but the texture felt too rubbery and cool.

  "But what do I do now?" Amalia whispered.

  The counsellor's face softened further and it lifted one hand to gently touch Amalia's cheek, sending another boost of calm through Amalia's skin.

  "Whatever you want."