It had been some time—maybe a matter of weeks—since Sam had hugged him. He wondered what would happen to her if another English-speaker found out. He liked the gesture. For once something actually felt good. It didn't hurt. She didn't crush him and stab him. No, she only bandaged him and then wrapped her arms around him. She could've done anything...but...she didn't. How could an English-speaker care about him at all, much less enough to treat him like he wasn't Eksperimento 428. In fact, he was beginning to think they had changed it. They kept repeating "Daniel" when they were—he assumed, anyway—referring to him. Sometimes that word would also be thrown in when they were talking to him. But if that was an actual name, then wouldn't that be acknowledging him as a person? If he was a person then was he still considered an experiment? They still spoke in English quite often, but he assumed that was more because they were just so used to speaking the language and less like they were trying to confuse him.

At least the effects of Projekto Nivelo Up had gone away. Well, almost gone away. All he needed was one long nap or two shorter naps during the day and he would be fine until night. It was definitely an improvement from before, where his naps were long and extremely frequent—he lasted a few minutes at a time tops.

"Ĉu vi ŝatus lerni la Anglan, Daniel?" Sam asked as she turned from her flat machine to him.

He quickly nodded. Honestly, he had been trying to learn English all along, but it was difficult to grasp. He'd picked up on several words already, but he doubted they were anything that important. He preferred to think of it as a start, just like when he learned Esperanto.

He knew that "thanks" meant "dankon". "Food" was "manĝaĵo". "English" was literally the name of the language—"Anglan". It was slow and painstaking, but he was learning. He finally had this golden chance to learn their language; he wasn't anywhere near willing to pass it up. The problem was, this language was so much harder than Esperanto. And this time, he had constant exposure to it. Maybe it was just because this whole "trust" thing was still new to him. Maybe, for some reason, he connected "trust" to the language. It didn't make much sense but then again, neither did they. Looking deeper into it, nothing made sense. Nothing was right. They were shaking up his whole world—did they know they were doing that? He was hoping—and expecting, to a certain extent—they would stop soon, if not immediately.

But for now, he distracted himself by repeating English words in his head. He didn't know what most of them translated to in Esperanto, but if he remembered the words themselves, then when they were translated, he would have an easier time connecting the two languages to one word. He also distracted himself—now that sleep was becoming less and less of an option—by doing the strangest thing he ever thought possible. Gaining his voice back. His throat had weakened so much that he could feel the muscles straining far beyond their limits. The strong possibility that he could never talk again was incredibly high, but he had to try. He'd been doing this in secret every day, but his efforts and aching throat were met only with failure after miserable failure. It seemed so hopeless. Every time he tried, and every time he failed, he leaned more and more towards giving up entirely. There was no point in suffering from a painful throat if the end result was the same. Still, he tried. It served as a big distraction for several hours while Sam and Tucker were gone.

Besides...he was tired of everything being taken away from him. He didn't want to become a husk. Now these English-speakers had given him all the chances possible to learn a new language—to give him something he never had, something so curious and new that he jumped at the opportunity—and with those chances, they gave him freedom...

To them it was nothing, but to him it was everything. And he would try to say these words, and speak this language. They were causing so many new instincts—or reactions to undetectable instincts, whichever one—to arise inside him. That curvy lip thing? They called that a "smile". And that tune Sam often made? They called that "whistling". He didn't give up on practicing this "whistling" either. Any sound was a good one. So far at all came out as a breath of air, but he would do it. Maybe it would take some time, but he would get the hang of it. And when he did, he would show his new accomplishment to Sam or Tucker, depending on whoever he saw first. If they wanted him to speak, surely they wanted him to make a sound. Even though he couldn't use his voice, if he could "whistling" then maybe they would accept that.

And now he had a trainer that was willing to teach him English. This was so much better than where he used to be—ten times more confusing, but it was an otherwise easy life.

Wait, what? No. It wasn't like he hadn't dropped his guard before. He knew better than to think anything was simply "easy". There were always trials, always punishments for failure of those trials. Nothing was ever handed out, even in the Outside.

At least he wasn't at the facility though... That was a small something to help put his mind at ease—to a tiny extent, anyway.

"Ĉi tiu estas komputilo," she said, tapping on the flat thing. "Computer."

So that was what that little thing was? That couldn't be right—all the ones he had seen were large and bulky, not small and slender. Maybe English-speakers just called it that...for some reason. Weird, these were weird creatures...

"Bed," she continued, this time smoothing her hands over her bed. "Lito."

Hm. With all these little words, English didn't seem like it should be that hard. So why was it?

"Floor." She pointed down to the floor. "Etaĝo."

"Computer", "bed", and "floor" were added to his memory—however long it would stay there had yet to be known.

She got off her bed and, after a short bit of tapping on the buttons of her computer, walked over to him. She squatted down to his level and gently took one of his wrists in her hands, pulling it towards her and up to where he could clearly see it.

"Ring," she told him, pointing to the ring. "Ringo."

Ring... That word was used so much when he was near other English-speakers; the ones that didn't act like her. Now he knew what they were. He remembered some of their conversations with the bilingual scientists. If he could learn the rest of this language, he could find out more about these rings. So far all he knew was that they had been put on him to manipulate him and maintain control. That could've been all there was to it.

But couldn't they have found another way to do that? It didn't make much sense...

Wait a second. They didn't just want control and manipulation, they wanted him restricted. He could hardly do anything with these rings on. They wanted him to become submissive—so much that there wouldn't be a second's hesitation in obeying an order. They didn't want him to think or feel; they wanted him to be a mindless drone. He was supposed to become exactly like one of the machines—something that had no way of differentiating between right and wrong, good and bad, likes and dislikes. This whole thing was meant to make him into something he didn't want to be.

But if Projekto Nivelo Up was completed...

But he was starting to think that maybe these two rather odd English-speakers didn't want that to happen. They might not even know about it. He wasn't blamed for the explosion, but that could be passed off as unawareness. But then he tried to get the ring out and disobeyed Sam. She should've had a harsh and painful punishment lying in store for him because of that behavior, but instead she hugged him and as he discovered shortly after, cried for him. That wasn't right. If the other English-speakers knew about that, they would correct her. The same could be said for Tucker—he would be corrected merely for harboring an experiment.

But if they knew they were wrong to act like this—towards him no less—then why did they continue to do so? He wasn't anything special or important, and he most certainly wasn't fit to be treated like another English-speaker. So why?

And was it just these two or was the entire Outside like this? He had no intention of allowing himself to feel comfortable in the Outside, but in this room the atmosphere was different. It wasn't something he could explain, but it wasn't a bad kind of thing. He did feel a little more comfortable—which ultimately meant safer—here. He wasn't nearly as alert when he saw Sam or Tucker as he was with anyone at the facility. But why wasn't he as alert? He didn't try to track their every movement like before. In fact, they could come within two feet of him and he wouldn't even care.

It wasn't right. None of this was right. They weren't supposed to be like this but for some reason they were. They didn't even use his rings... By now they should've, even if it was just once.

The girl tapped her chin thoughtfully, as though she was trying to think of another word to translate for him.

"I have so many questions to ask you..." she sighed. "Sadly, none of them are yes-or-no. There's no way for us to understand you, is there?"

Her last sentence was more of a statement than a question. Unfortunately the huge rift in communication was too much of a problem. They were trying, he could tell, but the rest was up to him. If he couldn't talk, they would never understand his thoughts—they would never know why they were confusing him. And on that note, he would never be able to ask them about their foreign actions.

"Mi havas tiom multajn demandojn al vi demandon..." she said after tapping on the "computer". "Malfelicxe, neniu el ili estasjes-aŭ-ne. Ne estas maniero por ni komprenas vin, estas tie?"

As much as he hated to admit it, probably not. Unless he could find a way to use his voice, she was right. The only thing he could do, as of present, was nod or shake his head—which could only be done if it was a yes-or-no question. There was no way to explain anything to them unless he could actually talk to them.

He sighed heavily to show her that no, there was no chance of real communication. Not as of yet...

"Guess I need to start learning Esperanto..." she mumbled, probably more to herself than him.

Once he learned English, at least he would know what they were saying.

But a problem bothered him with that thought. They would find no use for him if he couldn't speak. He wouldn't be able to tell them anything—that made him about as useless as a ruined experiment. They would either kill him or send him off somewhere else. It was only a matter of time before they decided he wasn't worth it anymore.

She yawned and got up. "I'll go get some food."

He watched as she left, closing the door behind her, and began to strain his throat again. Every time he tried to speak, all that came out was a breath—a very long, forced breath. It had slowly begun to get more and more strained as time went on, but it only proved that he was overworking his throat. Occasionally he would start coughing and have to stop. During the time he was recuperating, he practiced whistling. When he felt he could try again, he tried again—only to fail every time.

He could talk before, many years ago, so surely he had a chance of talking now...right? Even if it was a very slim chance, it was still there...maybe. But there was such a strong chance that it wasn't there and that he really couldn't do it... It made this whole plan seem pointless, and if he couldn't talk after all, no matter how much he tried, then the only thing he was gaining from this was a sore throat.

And a sore throat just to test what looked to be an absolutely hopeless goal just wasn't worth it at all. He could practice to whistling instead.

A/N

Guys, before you point out the mistake that isn't there, he terms it "whistling" instead of "whistle" or "whistles" because he doesn't know English and therefore doesn't know the different tenses of "whistling". So whether he means "whistled", "whistle", or "whistles", he doesn't know anything but "whistling"—so naturally he won't term it any other way.