A/N: Guys, stop translating the Esperanto. I know you can't understand what they're saying, but most of it isn't very important. The parts that are important will be revealed later on. Until then...quit ruining it for yourselves.

He continued to cough with every other breath, but after a while of pounding on his own chest, at least half the slimy stuff was out. He could breathe again. And when he was first able to breathe again, he had time to take in the sights. Smelling and hearing were no-goes since the slime had invaded everywhere, inside and out. But his eyes were functional and the very first thing he wanted to do was watch the only place he had ever known continue to be destroyed, burning and melting into what they had always thrown him in—the inferno kava. He even saw the inferno kava crumble down and burn. All he machines sparked and whined and screeched—they burned. It all burned. It all went up with the smoke. For the first time a new feeling welled inside him. He had lost his cage and everything he knew to that explosion, but they couldn't do anything more to him. They hadn't been covered in the thick slime like he was—they had burned. And he watched it all, knowing that in their last moments of life, they were finally able to relate to part of what he had been put through all these years. Now it was their turn to be the scared little lab rats and now it was his turn to sit back and mock them for following the instinct to flee in terror and pain as they burned to death. For the first time ever, he was the one on the outside. He wasn't trapped in that building, they were. Those who weren't had been shot into the air just like he had—they died. If they hadn't died then they would die from massive injuries.

He heard a sickening thud on the ground a little ways off and turned his head. It was the English-speaker. It was the one who had given him an order in a language he didn't know, and the one who would've punished him for it if not for the secondary Esperanto command to stand up.

Shockingly, the man wasn't dead. No, he was alive, but just barely. He was singed, seared, burnt...hurt. And now he lay on the ground moaning in the pain that the boy had been enduring every day of his life, as far back as he could remember. The man looked at him for what would surely be the last time and there was something new to his eyes, some kind emotion that was foreign to the boy—no, to the test subject. He wasn't a person to them, and he never had been.

Nun vi sentas malgrandan porcion de kion mi sentas ĉiutage. Nun vi povas rilati al la eta parto de mi kiu alkutimiĝis al tio. Ĉar vi helpis al mia suferado kaj timo, mi esperas ke vi mortos mizera morto...

Every word, every feeling, every thought, was passed between them in their eyes. It only took one look into the boy's eyes to know that the boy was enjoying watching everyone he knew burn to ashes right in front of him.

Mi malamas vin. Mi ĉiam malamas vin kaj mi malamas cxiun el via afabla.

The boy watched calmly as the man closed his eyes and relaxed his body. His chest stopped moving—he knew it would never rise again. Despite having been in that torture chamber all these years, he knew very well what death was. He had always been so afraid of it, even in the midst of inner warfare between instinct and order. Do this, do that... If he was such a mistake then why bother with him? Why didn't they at least chain his rings to a stake outside? They always talked about the outside, sometimes in front of him, other times not. But he could hear them and he always wondered what it was like and if he could ever understand it—if he would ever know it.

He heard the frantic screams of terrified scientists and observers. He wanted them to scream. They deserved it more than anything else. He knew they did. He never did have a dark nature and he never looked at the world ominously, but this time he was allowed to draw satisfaction from the scene before him. The irony of this all was that they were the ones dying from Projekto Nivelo Up.

And now he was finally being able to see what they had been talking about. There was herbaro all around him, so many green blades reaching up to greet him. Something told him this stuff wasn't a threat. And the way everyone talked about it, it didn't seem like anything more than another sight.

Well to him it wasn't just a sight. This was an amazing new experience that couldn't even be described.

He coughed a couple more times and observed the rest of his surroundings. Every single thing was new and foreign, which is when he realized that although there were so many things to see, so many places to go...he didn't know what to do. The whole ordeal itself was overwhelming yet at the same time pleasing. But now what? He had nothing. He was always told what to do and he obeyed instantaneously. He hadn't made any choices of his own. He didn't even know where to start...

He was halfway hoping one of them would survive and give him an order. He was completely lost without them and he knew it. He had been subconsciously waiting for something to happen that would tell him what he should do. But right now there was just... It was... There was nothing... The only choice he had ever made in life was made tonight—hitting his chest to get the slime out. And the funny part about that was, it was barely a choice anyway. His body acted on its own rather than listening to him.

Everything was too confusing right now. While he took satisfaction in hearing them all suffer miserable, agonizing deaths, he wanted that building back. Where else was he supposed to go? What else was he supposed to do? Who was he supposed to listen to now? How was he supposed to survive when he had absolutely no knowledge—aside from what herbaro looked like—of this outside place? He was taught instinct, logic to override some of those instincts, what ectoplasm felt like, and to follow orders. But what good was any of that if he couldn't use it anymore? Before the explosion that was common knowledge but now...

He drew a sharp breath when he felt someone near him—someone alive.

When he turned to look over his shoulder, he found another English-speaker. He was another one of them. He was living. He had found Eksperimento 428.

The man took a deep breath and said, "Is this the pain you feel every day?"

His voice was ragged and harsh, but...not threatening. The man was dying.

"Listen to me," he rasped, coughing once before continuing. "If you do understand English, you are not just Experiment 428, you're a person. You deserve to live a life outside of a cage. I know-" He coughed again. "-that you feel comfortable in that cage, but it's not right. You were trained to follow orders. All of your orders were given in Esperanto-" Another cough. "-but now if you can understand me, I'm ordering you to get away from this place..." This time his cough was accompanied by a long, trembling breath. "...and hide. You were expensive. You were valuable. You've helped our research more than you'll ever know. But now, Project Level Up has failed. I know you're tired. I know you just want to lay here and get your strength back. But you don't have time for that. When the building exploded-" Loud cough. "-a signal was sent out. You'll have people looking for you. They'll want to complete Project Level Up and you'll have to go through all this again."

The man slowly dragged out a singed notebook and a half-melted stick and began scrubbing it all over the notebook. Observations. Even at a time like this he was taking observations.

When he was done, he ripped the piece of paper out and set it on the ground. He threw the stick away and pulled off what was left of his shirt.

The boy was expecting it to suddenly turn into a whip or anything that could inflict pain. But instead, he felt the shirt rubbing against him. He flinched from it and resisted the strong urge to curl up into a protective ball. It didn't hurt and that was what scared him most.

But it took seconds for him to realize that the pain was lessening. The slime was being wiped off. Why?

"What we did was wrong," the English-speaker said, going into a severe coughing fit immediately after. "This doesn't even begin to compensate, but it's all I can do." The man crumpled up the piece of paper into a tight ball and put it in the boy's hands, curling his fingers around it. "Take this with you."

Why did this man just give him a wad of paper? From the way he could only obey orders given in Esperanto, this man should know he couldn't understand English. The only words he found himself able to understand were "yes" and "no". "No" was the same for both languages, apparently—or at least, he assumed so—and "yes" sounded a lot like "jes". But everything else just... It was the way they spoke, their pronunciation, everything! They couldn't possibly expect him to follow or even know a command given in English. Right? He had never once been punished for being unable to follow orders spoken in English. At least they knew he couldn't comprehend it, and they probably took pride in not allowing him to learn a second language. He tried to pick up on it but the English-speakers didn't come over often enough and when they did, their conversations were fairly short.

The man coughed again as he threw aside his shirt, notebook, and half-melted stick. He bent down and helped the boy to his feet.

"Come with me," he wheezed.

The boy only lay back down and stared up at him. The boy's eyes were already sliding shut. Projekto Nivelo Up had drained him entirely and since he had no idea what the English-speaker was saying, he was overly ready to sleep—something he often missed out on. Besides, everyone had known the consequences of the project. They knew the effects it would have on him. The English-speaker would know all this. He would know what was happening to him. Maybe he could fix it...

"Please. I don't want to pull on your rings. You have to come with me."

Was he giving him an order? Where was the translator? Where was his trainer? He didn't know what he was supposed to do!

"You have to get out of here, Experiment 428! Do you really want to go through all this again?!" he yelled.

Normally he would've curled into a ball or at least tensed up, but he was just too tired to do anything right now. His body didn't want to move and he could feel his mind shutting down no matter how hard he tried to stay awake. Having the ectoplasm still in his body didn't help. It only exhausted him more to deal with the pain.

The English-speaker bent down and tapped on his cheek. "Can you hear me?"

The boy closed his eyes only to have them pried open by the man. "You have to stay with me; don't go to sleep yet!"

Mi ne scias, kion vi diras... Mi elĉerpita... Lasu min ripozi...

The man was loud, obnoxious, and he wouldn't let the boy sleep... All he wanted to do was close his eyes, just for a minute or two.

The man muttered something under his breath and grabbed one of the boy's wrists.

"Don't make me pull on your rings," he warned.

What was this man saying...? He didn't know English... He had to speak in Esperanto if he wanted him to obey anything... And why was he holding his wrist...? Why was the world going dark...? He felt so faint... It was horrible... The burning in his body was still there... It was hurting him... Shouldn't he have been caring about that right now...? He should... Why wasn't he...?

A sharp pain was felt in his hand but it was all too easy to ignore it. He couldn't physically do anything anymore. He was starting to feel himself drift off—even though he knew the English-speaker didn't want that.

He felt two arms slide underneath him and lift him up. It was the last thing he could remember before the world went black.

A/N

Well, what did you think? Good? Piece of crap? In between? On a scale of 1-10, what would you rate this story so far?

Well I'm stuck in a rut with Whatshisface but updated Flowers Will Grow, so this chapter came early! :)

Thanks for reviewing everybody! It gave a LOT of drive to write this chapter so fast! :3 Review more? Pwease? *puppy dog eyes* You know you can't ignore the puppy dog eyes...