[09.06.2019]

Exceeded Expectations

When the emaciated monstrosity remained splayed flat-out and unconscious in the cell the whole morning, experimental observations were called off and Martin allowed to move on to lighter duties. In remote monitoring things looked quite the same; the pressure plates made no indication it moved an inch for hours. Fluctuations of a few millimeters implied a slow, deathly respiratory rate. A technician was made to keep an eye on this overnight.

When the sun rose early the next morning, 096 was exactly where they'd left it. So exactly it caused a great deal of concern. If it died (somehow), an equipment and personnel-dense project was done, and no closer to any interesting or functional data. So, Keaton called D-5575 up again to be fitted with the S.A.I. and given a range of medical and measuring equipment to re-enter containment and assess what was happening.

Martin stepped through the interior door and set down the clasped case; this was heavy stuff—and expensive—and it wouldn't do to put it too close to the creature to be kicked around or be a stumbling block. He glanced over to the wall where the observation slot was built-in: Still there. Very still; in fact, exactly in the position it had finally collapsed into down to the last digit. Very faintly the S.A.I. displayed some movement around the protruding ribs.

"Oof, c'mon Shy Guy," he murmured as he knelt down to get a better look and access to 096's head. "Get up and let's start bein' normal.

"Er, well, as far as you get to normal," Martin poked two fingers under its jaw seeking a pulse. He flinched as he noticed it; was 096 supposed to be so burning up? He would have thought cold, clammy, and appropriately creepy.

He moved on to the tools from his case in a hurry; a more high-tech pulse monitor he finally got attached to its long, scar-riddled finger which confirmed a heart rate slow and weak, and he pulled the large, skinny creature onto its side so he could more easily hold the thermometer still under its slack tongue. The result made him blink and startle. 39 degrees Celsius was a scarily high fever… at least, for humans.

"Doctor, can confirm something's happening to 096 on a physical level. I'm reading a 39 degree fever and a b.p.m. of 42, blood pressure about a 88 over 50. It is still passed out and didn't come out of it when I moved 'im."

"Copy," Johanna's voice came back low, pensive, "keep your guard up. Proceed to taking blood and skin scraping tissue samples as well as neurological function tests."

With a grunt of effort, D-5575 managed to push 096's limp form somewhat upright with back to wall, sitting with chin touching bony chest. Thankfully, the experiment had made it no heavier.

Martin didn't notice for his focus on singling out a vein in the crook of its arm for the blood sample. As the sharp point stuck in, 096's cheek twitched. Sensations of life swam out of the void of its dream state and into its extremities; if Martin had been a step back, watching it, he would have noted the toes gradually curl and relax.

The first the D-class knew it was coming around was the deep rasping breath it took when he made the scraping on its skin. Tools clattered to the floor as he jumped back.

"Damn!"

096's blank white eyes shot open and its entire body jolted, seemed as alarmed by the man's shout as the poor man had been of its sudden wheeze.

"D-doctor, do you copy?" Martin tried to calm himself as he scuttled back from the creature. What was wrong here—there was something. Not so much it jumped out, but some mannerism had changed, "096 woke up to the skin sampling. Real sudden, scared the shit outta me…"

"Is it entering an aggressive state?"

"N… no," Admittedly, as scary as this loss of predictability was it did not seem to have any effect on 096's well-known docile nature, "I'll see if I can keep going while it's awake."

The large man approached again. 096 sat mutely for a moment just as D-5575 had left him. As a hand gripped its near-skeletal wrist and raised the arm it seemed to snap out of a cloud of vapidity and twist its neck to better study the other presence in the cell.

"R-really don't like how you lookin' at me right now," Martin tensed and froze as he glanced up and locked headset with eyes. Its expression had changed from the norm of a slack-jawed, exhausted frown to one twisted into mild confusion. "Shy Guy, buddy, you're scarin' me."

"Hh-hhh…" A soft whine croaked out of it, in perfect time to be a reply, and it turned its face away and raised its free arm to block view of its face from all comers with a gnarled hand. It wasn't a particularly complete shield, and it made no attempt to disentangle its other arm. Martin realized his jaw was dropped from puzzlement and clenched it again to focus on taking the sample while he could.

"Nnh," 096's hand lowered a few degrees. The blank orbs of its eyes were flicking around the space of the cell. Its movements sharpened and coordination returned, and it began to gather its knees back up into its usual sitting posture, "Hhh…"

"Easy does it, ain't nobody lookin' at you," Martin snuck another glimpse up at it as he hastily scooped skin cells into the vial and backed off. In a quieter voice he addressed his superiors, "Dr. Keaton, this is weird…"

"Please elaborate?"

"Ain't any record of this thing ever responding to anyone or acknowledging humans that ain't setting it off. I've never noticed it doin' that in the week we had it here. Today, it's acknowledging the hell outta me," he shivered, "In fact, it's doin' it now. I don't like it!"

"If you at any point feel threatened, retreat with those samples," Johanna said. "For now, let's have you try some modified stimulus-response awareness tests. And please, update on each so we can notate."

096's gaze had fixed on the ex-felon. Its hands flexed and twitched, fidgeting at random intervals as if surprised by the sensations in them. Nothing made sense. Its blank eyes squinted and blinked rapidly. He saw. No, he didn't, too dark… no, he was aware. That was it. Like before, time recalled hazily, he studied this presence coming closer in his not-sight. Why was this figure familiar?

"Alright buddy," Martin squatted down, square in front of 096 and just a touch out of its significant arms' reach. He raised up a small hammer-shaped device—a medical lamp, "Might as well try and get two-in-one. Lemme see if your eyes actually work…"

For a flash, not-sight was paired with sight before the flash itself grew blinding. The creature jerked back, one of its hands sweeping up in reflex as a shield. As quick as it had burst on it turned off, leaving 096 in a dazed fluster. He knew of the light—had felt it sting sharply in the eyes—but had expected it also to bring his not-sight pain. Once instinctual panic had subsided it was almost relieving. In the total dark he shook his head sluggishly before finding the familiar face again. His head tilted; quizzically, the man seemed more afraid now.

"Doctor, light reflex test was positive."

"Positive?" Dr. Keaton's stunned tone was palpable, "Interesting. Move on to verbal style assessments, please."

"How'm I gonna… never mind," he muttered to himself. It was obvious to him already that 096 was responsive to voice, or at least to it as noise. But still, asking it questions and expecting anything like speech or even appropriately-toned grunting seemed silly.

096 aimed its dumbfounded gaze downwards as the man scooted back into close quarters. Now where did he know him from? Yesterday, and before, and before… yes, him—who entered this safe space. Why he could not recall or comprehend. He was sporadically reminded of grapefruit odor…

"Hey!"

The creature startled in place at the shout, shaken out of slow-churning thought.

"Positive to loud voice stimuli," Martin said. 096's jaw hung open as it turned its head back to the shouter. Whoever this was wanted his attention, but what little mental energy he could find kept turning back to how he got here…

"Hey, 096," Martin spoke in progressively quieter volumes. He was getting used to the "Shy Guy's" incrementally less shy disposition, with time, "Hey, look at me now, big, tall, pasty, lanky dude. You still hear this?"

"Hhngh," 096 squinted hard. Focusing on the face—it was something else, similar but not this nonthreatening but loud fellow. The creature's temples started to throb and it raised both hands to try and rub the pain away. What was it?

"Positive to normal volume voice stimuli," Martin hesitated, "Er, you really sure I should keep goin' with this?"

"Yes, continue to touch and pain-response tests." To this, the D-class winced.

096's eyes snapped open as wide as they went, back straightening in a jerk of realization. Goggles. That's what it was. He sucked in a rasping breath that made Martin suddenly shoot his hand back from what he was doing.

"Hh—hhnaa—" The creature half gurgled and half squawked, its clasp on its own head tightening. Martin fought a wave of nausea that came with the urge to push himself further back. The sign it had been triggered was its entering into heightened emotional distress, right? His focus lingered on its painfully-defined ribcage puffing in greater and greater movements. Hyperventilating. He raised both hands—a lame calming gesture he assumed on reflex.

"Hey—hey—I ain't even touched you yet," he said in a rush, "Wh-what's wrong, Shy Guy?"

He almost didn't believe the reply. Mostly because it was a reply.

"Th—ghnaa—the—" 096's hands steadily loosened from his temples and instead slithered down to largely obscure his protruding cheekbones and brows, "Th-the eyyes...!"

Anxious and confused, Martin sat dumb with shock a moment. A numb finger trailed up and tapped his S.A.I. as he connected the dots. He fumbled for the radio.

"Doctor—I dunno what's up, but—"

"Slow down," Johanna consoled, "Keep your composure. Now, what is it?"

"096 spoke."

"…" The radio crackled for several long seconds, "Yes, original reports indicate it will sometimes babble incoherent syllables when entering distressed—"

"No, no, no," Martin interrupted. "I mean spoke spoke. Multiple clear English words, doc!"

"D-5575, are you serious?"

"I ain't lying," Martin seethed, "here, I'll keep the channel open. Listen yourself."

096 sat rigid against the wall, pressing into it. Bewildered by the voices. There were more than the loud one with the goggles—someone was behind him, through several walls. One was speaking with the loud one—all tense voices. Watching through the walls, but unseeing. Where was he? What were they doing?

"Shy Guy, hey," the creature forced his attention once again on the loud-voiced one, "Hey, say that again? What's wrong?"

It was tough to tell who was more frightened by the scramble of events that followed. Martin leaned forward just a few centimeters, reaching to prod the entity on the shoulder. He felt the oversized, bony fingers clamp over his wrist before the headset was able to even image the rapid movement.

"W-aah!" Martin struggled to his feet and reflexively tried to peel 096's hand from his arm. Instead, its other hand flew forward and grabbed that wrist too, now holding him fixed at a bent arm's length, raised so high he nearly had to stand on tiptoe.

"Hnngh, hnn—nonononono—" Its whimpering soon froze the D-class's escape attempts. Something he'd acquired in working with frightened animals told him the creature was on a knife's edge, and would only do harm if pushed over. He went limp, though not still. 096 was shivering so hard that the ex-felon was being rattled about, teeth clattering.

"Eh—eyes," he rasped. Martin grimaced. The thing's voice sounded so unfit for its monstrous appearance—almost young—with the exception of a weak, laryngitic quality, "Nnngh, no, no, no eyes—gghl—no…"

"E-easy, buddy," Martin squeaked out, "It's just a headset. No eyes. It's okay."

096's murmurs trailed off into a stifled series of moans and sniffles. Martin was lowered a few degrees, regaining a steady footing. He tilted his head down to the radio clipped onto his jumpsuit.

"You believe me now, Doc?"

"Yes," Dr. Keaton was almost overpowered by the background conversations over the channel, "Are you in danger?"

"Nah, but… gimme a minute." 096's grip was loosening as its sniffling turned to shaky gasps, but by no means was D-5575 strong enough to wriggle out yet. "C'mon Shy Guy, buddy. You gotta calm down and let go." The creature twitched, head raising and facing the man with pale eyes locked onto the receivers of the S.A.I. No longer a vapid, glancing look—checked-out, semi-conscious. A rivulet of motion was tracked lacing across its cheekbones, "That's it, ease up and lemme go."

"Nghh…" With slowing breaths, he dredged up the name, "Gh—Ge…orge?"

But now, consciously and subconsciously, the thing knew better; reality clubbed down hard. George was long-dead. This was not the eyes, not an enemy, but could never be George. 096 released Martin immediately, favoring cupping its face as it burst into fresh sobs. Sobs of thawed memory, and abnormal energy.

His own panting overpowered by the sound 096 was making, Martin gathered his samples and tools and fled the cell in uncertainty.