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The cloying warmth of the incubator level wraps around you as you attend to the latest batch of ancillaries. To your right, an ancillary lays half-assembled, a meshwork of scaffolding awaiting the action of the cellular print-heads. To your left, a near-finished corpus undergoes final pre-synchronization checks, large-bore nerves twitching in response to graded electrochemical stimuli. You tap gently on on the armored glass separating the sterile section from the walkway, indicating the anatomical landmarks where subfascial plates and synthetic muscle groups will be inserted into bone or woven into collagen.

Hibiscus exhales as she watches the rapid play of the alignment beams and the reciprocating print-heads.

<This is how ancillaries are born. I assumed you were curious.>

"I still am." replies Hibiscus. "Made as adults. Do they...ever feel like they miss anything?"

<...perhaps they do. I do not know. But in return, they will never question if they are needed, or wanted.>

You turn away.

<Their boarding armor is being fabricated three levels below. I will assess.>