VIRUS

Chapter 1: Ululation

DISCLAIMER: Dollhouse belongs to... Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy....I dunno, but not me

Adelle DeWitt carefully scrawled in neat cursive on the yellow legal pad. It was a note to herself, nothing more, but the pad carried the gorges of pen strokes that recorded the whims of the rich and the requests of the powerful.

Seeing the gorges on the pad was a simple reminder of what she did at Dollhouse.

The ripping of the paper from the pad was the last noise that Adelle's office heard. It was late, and even though she spent most of her time there, it certainly didn't entitle her to live there. The residents there had much more….contained accommodations.

To be most assured, Dollhouse never slept. The lights were darkened, and the actives were all nestled comfortably in their bed pods, but that was an illusion for the real activity.

DeWitt took a careful look around Dollhouse, scrutinizing every dark corner as she was accustomed to do as she left for the night to scrounge a few hours of rest. As far as she could tell, she was the only one present in the spacious chamber of Dollhouse's central area. She took quaint steps down the stair case, as if in avoidance of waking a child's slumber.

One child was not asleep, and not for DeWitt's doing. A howl resounded with agonizing furor through Dollhouse, a cry that could wake the dead. DeWitt stopped dead in her tracks and whipped out her phone, Mr. Dominic's contact number programmed for speed dial.

The cry resounded once more.

After a few digital beats, Dominic answered groggily. "Dominic here."

"Mr. Dominic, we have a problem," DeWitt commanded her chief of security.

Dominic's groggy tone sobered. "On my way."

Once gain the howl circulated through Dollhouse. It was coming from the east dormitories.

DeWitt shook her head, disregarding the notion of following the harrowing cry. She was this Dollhouse's head, it's voice in it's business transactions, not it's limbs, which carefully monitored the actives' vitals on outings and other such. She knew enough about the imprint process, but if the cry was indeed coming from an active, she would find herself quite useless to amend the situation.

Carefully, her heels clinked in the direction of the east dormitories. If on-site staff were there, she could coordinate the situation.

The howl continued as she proceeded down the hallway and even as she took her first steps into the pentagonal room that served as the dolls' bedchambers. Not one member of Dollhouse's staff was on site. How could she be the only one to hear the feral moaning?

DeWitt reached into her bag once more and procured her phone. The second number on her speed dial was Mr. Brink.

The phone dialed twice before the imprint neurologist picked up.

"Yeah," he said oddly, as if his mouth was filled with cotton balls.

"Mr. Brink, we may be dealing with an active failure," Dewitt snapped. "I need you here immediately."

Topher's answer was a bit more energized. "Oh, I'm here. Guess I got…sleepy."

Dewitt rolled her eyes. "Good. I'm in east dormitories."

"On my way, ma'am."

DeWitt slipped the phone into her bag once more and inched herself closer to the bed pod were the cry was resonating from.

The agonizing moans became slightly stifled cries, as DeWitt reached the bed pod.

"Gamma," she read aloud. The active moaning was Gamma. Dewitt vaguely remembered his last engagement: moderate risk, corporate espionage deal. Gamma's tormented form could be seen through the frosted glass that covered the pods. He was clutching his head.

Dewitt immediately looked for the override switch to open the bed pod.

"Don't let him out."

Dewitt spun to meet the voice behind her. It was Echo.

"Echo, what are you doing out," DeWitt asked pleasantly.

Echo's gaze was fixated on Gamma's bed pod.

"Don't let him out," she repeated, a bit emphatic for a active in its tabula rasa state.

DeWitt stepped in the path of Echo's gaze and centered her eyes on Echo. "He's in pain, Echo. We need to help him."

Echo shook her head, almost like a petulant child, but there also seemed to be fear seeded behind her brown eyes.

"You won't help him, he's sick."

This caught DeWitt's attention. "Sick?"

Echo nodded vigorously. "And I don't want to scream like he does." Tears began to stream down Echo's face as she crumpled to the floor.

DeWitt saw the active before her, unsure of what she should do. These dolls were most comparable to children.

So, like a child, DeWitt rocked the crying Echo until Topher and Dominic arrived.