The orphanage was where our first memories were.

Life there didn't last long, barely a single memory existed of it. Brief flashes and passing voices, perhaps, but nothing concrete. Nothing real. Life 'began' for us when they came. Couples of all shapes and sizes came by, filling out paperwork, filling our minds with hope as they picked out the best of us, the most promising they could find. They promised to bring us to a better life, one where we would live happy, fulfilling lives.

The sharpest of us began to notice patterns. Certain behaviours or habits the couples made, matching with those of previous visitors who had taken Phil or Mandy home with them. It was nothing we could point out however, such minute details meant nothing to the caretakers, and it would simply be odd to point out how the couples simply weren't normal. After all, we wanted a home, and they were offering quite the deal.

When we were adopted, we vanished. The Mr. and Mrs. Muller that had filled out the paperwork and had passed the background checks simply never appeared again. Their bank accounts cancelled, their records simply stopping, sometimes even vanishing as well. Where did we go? Where did our adopters take us?

I still don't know.

It was underground, that much I could tell. Looking back, it must have been a massive facility. Tons of floors, sections, and divisions that separated rooms by purpose and authority. We were given the most basic form of authority possible, which, quite simply, was none. We were allowed to exist in the facility, in our 'new home' to as much degree as one can.