Loki was alone in the dark, naked, shivering, kneeling helplessly and waiting. They would come to rescue him soon, surely… Thor, his father, his mother, even. Someone out there cared enough about him to know he was scared and alone.
The smallest sound alerted him to the presence of someone. Something.
"Hello?" he called out to the blackness. Not even an echo responded.
Without warning, a knife plunged into the back of his neck, enough to slice skin and muscle, but not enough to go through bone. It moved its way down, slowly tearing him apart.
He was being bled out.
Loki let out an unearthly scream as it went down his spine, taking its sweet time, until it finally took itself out. Blood pooled around him, gushing in sticky waves with every heartbeat. In the logic of dreams and visions, he knew that the blood was not just blood. It was his lifetime seeping away onto the floor; his memories, his knowledge, his crimes, culture, songs, language, even the magic he'd learned at his mother's knee. All of it was being drained from him, every last bit of his mind.
Eventually, with the last congealing drop of blood, his name was lost, too.
He was no one.
And, despite the pain, he was… free. Absolved. There were no more terrors to plague him. It was done.
The light slowly returned, bright and clear. A machine floated towards him, shining like new chrome, so strangely beautiful that he couldn't even look at it, like some sort of terrible angel of mercy and death.
It reached out its arms, snakes made of little, transparent ropes, who stared at him curiously with beady, red eyes. He lifted his own arms for them, palms up.
A sacrifice.
They came to him and lovingly sank their sharp little fangs deep into his arms and legs. The pain was welcome. Necessary. Their throats turned pink for a moment with the very last residue of blood, then turned clear again as they pumped their crystal liquid into him: his new blood, as fresh as cold ice water. He shivered as it ran through him like a river. New knowledge poured into him, though not nearly as much as before… all that clutter and mess. Simple, neatly organized knowledge flowed into little cubby holes in his brain.
The nobody-man was finally safe. He belonged there, now.
"Time to wake up, L-7!"
He awoke, blinked the considerable amount of gunk out of his eyes. Got his bearings, moment by moment. He was face up, lying in a warm, clean bed, with sheets whiter than… he didn't have anything to compare them to, actually. All he knew was their color. They smelled comfortingly of something sweet and fresh. The bed was so, so soft, he never wanted to leave, but the little orange creature standing on the nightstand next to him piped up again before he could close his swollen eyes shut.
"Ah, ah, ah, sleepyhead!" she chided, wagging her finger in the air. She jumped and landed weightlessly on his pillow. "You've got a big first day! No time for nappin'."
He wonderingly reached up and tried to touch the odd little glowing woman, but amazingly, only stuck his fingers right through her flat, round body. He gasped and pulled away.
"That won't work, silly," she laughed, with her hands on what would have been her hips… if she had hips to speak of. "I'm only a hologram."
"What's-"
"My name is Miss Minutes. I'm an artificially intelligent program that projects itself as a talking clock, all over the Time Variance Authority. I oversee all of the employees here, new and old. I'll be your teacher, and your boss, and your colleague throughout the whole time you work here for us."
His head spun. "What does any of that mean?" His voice sounded strange to him. He'd never heard it before. It was deep and smooth. He liked it.
"You'll find out soon enough, L-7. But now, it's time to wake up and take a shower."
He lifted his head, but his neck was stiff and sore. His whole body felt swollen, from his head to his hands and feet. His right shoulder hurt especially, making him hiss with pain as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
"Is… L-7 my name?" he asked.
"It's even more important," she replied, jumping back to the nightstand. "It's your employee number. Don't forget it. Now… time's a wastin'! Tick tock!" With that, she suddenly disappeared.
L-7 looked around his new room, taking everything in for the very first time. The room was fairly bare, but cozy, the floor lined with short, orange shag carpeting that tickled his feet as he stood. There was an olive green lamp on top of a small, wooden desk against the wood-paneled wall, but most of the light came from ambient fluorescence from above, as if the ceiling was made of glowing, frosted glass. A paddle-like switch on the wall caught his eye, and he pressed it, which made the wall fold back on itself like an accordion. It revealed a closet with several sets of fresh clothes, the entire outfit hanging on each hanger, from the white, short-sleeved button down shirt embroidered with a brown, stylized 'TVA' logo, to the brown pants, to the thin, brown-and-orange striped tie. Two pairs of shiny leather shoes sat on the floor of the closet. A small rack of shelves held a new pair of pajamas on each shelf, and a drawer on the bottom was full of underpants and socks.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, there!" L-7 gasped and stumbled back, falling onto his bed as Miss Minutes appeared right in front of him, floating in midair. "Shower first!" She blinked out of existence once again.
Behind L-7 was a door which led to a much smaller, white-tiled bathroom. He supposed that's where the shower would be.
As he stood, specks of color on the perfect white pillow made him pause. They were reddish brown and very, very small, only on the bottom of his pillow, where his neck had lain.
He ran his fingers through short hair, rubbed the nape of his neck, and little brown-red flecks stuck to his hand. It felt weird, certainly, but maybe that was a normal thing that skin did.
The bright white bathroom tiles were cold on his bare feet. L-7 finally saw himself in the mirror for the first time, which was almost as startling as seeing Miss Minutes floating in midair. He was tall, light-skinned, with short, jet-black hair and green eyes, high cheekbones, thin lips, and a narrow, but nicely shaped chin. He brought up one hand and felt his smooth cheek. L-7 smiled at his reflection. He looked good. Really good. He liked his face very much.
Taking off his brown-and-yellow plaid flannel pajamas and boxer briefs, he looked around the room for somewhere to put them. A rectangle with a handle stood out from the wall with a plaque above it labeled 'laundry chute'. The door opened by shoving the handle downward, and a loud sucking noise came out of the black hole. He gingerly fed the scary vacuum hole his pajama pants, which gobbled them up greedily, sending them flying into nowhere. L-7 laughed, then did the same with his shirt, letting it flap against the suction like a flag before letting it go. It was especially funny to see his underwear get sucked down the hole. His next instinct was to try to put himself down there, to see where it went. He would be just skinny enough to fit. Maybe he'd land on a pile of soft pajamas?
As he was examining the inside of the dark laundry hole, L-7 noticed that his arms and legs were covered in a line of little red spots, with flecks of brown coming off of his skin when he rubbed at it, just like his neck. It didn't hurt much, but his fingers still felt a little stiff and swollen, even though he didn't look swelled up in the mirror.
His attention snapped back to the task at hand. Shower. Right.
The tubless shower had three metal tubes coming out of it, with a handle to adjust the water temperature. The one near the ceiling must obviously have been for water, but the other two smaller ones were labeled 'shampoo/conditioner' and 'soap'. Somehow, he already knew how to operate the shower, make it nice and hot, and how to hold out his hand to get a pump of the soap and shampoo, then how to use them on his hair and body. All the little brown flecks washed away down the drain, leaving his skin nice and clean.
He dried himself with a fluffy white towel, then picked up a toothbrush by the mirror, holding it under a tube labeled 'toothpaste'. There was a razor, too, and another tube for shaving cream, but his face was already smooth. He had no idea how he knew what those things were, since he'd never seen them before, or what order he knew to do them in. L-7 wondered, too, how much he didn't know. As he brushed his teeth, he tried to recall what he knew he knew, which was a peculiar thing to try to think about.
He knew how to talk. He now knew his number, L-7. And colors… all the rest of the numbers too, and a little math. He could name the objects in his room, all the letters in the alphabet. He could spell words and write them. And he knew how to get ready after waking up… to do what? That's where his knowledge stopped.
Back in his room, a plate with a block of some spongy foodstuff had appeared on his nightstand, an unappetizing dark green color. He poked at it and left a greasy little hole on the top. Someone-something must have put it there while he was in the shower. Or maybe there was another hole that food came out of?
Miss Minutes appeared on his pillow again.
"Now, you can go ahead and get dressed-" the closet door popped open, revealing his clothes again, "-eat your nutritionally balanced breakfast-" she gestured to the food block on the desk, "-and gather your training supplies." The drawer of the desk slid open to reveal a black-and-white composition notebook, pencils, pens, and highlighters, a folded up drawstring bag, and a great big, spiral-bound, paperback book labeled, New Employee Handbook: The History and Function of the TVA.
"Training?" he said, picking up and examining the fresh, new book, still completely naked in front of Miss Minutes. "Does that mean I'm going to learn things?"
"You won't if you're late!" she said, with a little wink. "You have exactly ten minutes and forty seven seconds to get to class. Go to the elevator, take it up to floor 1AA. When it's time to come back, remember that your dormitory is on floor BQ6, and you're in hallway three. Remember those letters and numbers. BQ6, hallway three. See you in class!"
"But-"
She was gone again in a flash. He supposed he wouldn't have much time to ponder anything if he was going to keep up with her commands.
L-7 hurriedly got his clothes on, though it was difficult with his sore shoulder, stuffed the salty food block in his mouth, gathered his supplies into the drawstring bag, and pressed a button next to a door, which slid open.
It revealed a wide, slightly curving hallway, made of concrete and festive, orange checkered tiles, lit with a line of warm lamps shining from above. Doors lined both sides of the hall: minor, rectangular indentations in the stone, with a plastic plaque next to each of them. The one directly across from his read, 'D-132'.
"1AA, BQ6, hallway three. 1AA, BQ6, hallway three…" he whispered to himself. Something told him there were going to be lots of new numbers to learn.
The door across the hall slid open just as his own shut automatically behind him, and a young woman timidly walked out, holding her drawstring bag close to her chest. She was dressed identically to him, though her hair was cut into a short bob with bangs that made a perfectly straight line across her forehead. She was petite and very well proportioned, with olive skin, dark brown eyes and hair just as black as his. As she turned her round face to him and put her hair behind her ear, she revealed a deep, scarred gash across her face, ruining her perfect complexion.
"Do you know which way we're supposed to go?" she asked, quiet as a mouse.
He shook his head, but just then, a glowing orange arrow appeared above them, floating in the air just like Miss Minutes. It pointed to his right. They both saw it, and obeyed, walking close to each other down the hallway.
The hall seemed to get narrower and more curved the further they went. Other new employees opened their doors and joined them as they made their little journey. One freckled, red-haired man, as tall as L-7, but even skinnier, had a terrible green bruise under his left eye.
"How'd that happen?" L-7 asked him, pointing at his eye.
The redhead shrugged and replied, "I dunno. Slept wrong I guess."
"I think I did, too." L-7 tried his shoulder again and held back another hiss of pain. It still burned if he lifted it up too far. He adjusted the strap of his bag, which was cutting into his sore muscles.
They soon reached the end of the hall, which fed into a round, central terminal with two large elevators, back to back. Other hallways, numbered from one to six, drained out into the big room, and more employees sleepily filed out of them and waited, book bags in hand or slung over their shoulders, everyone wearing the exact same clothes and haircuts. There were about thirty of them in all. One of the elevators dinged and opened its doors, so he and the others from his hallway, plus several more, stuffed themselves inside like sardines.
The floor buttons were arranged in a way that made no alphanumeric sense: the one at the bottom was BQ6 and the top was I5W, with seemingly random arrangements of two letters and a number for each floor. Someone found 1AA and pressed the button, and the elevator moved up for a few seconds, then lurched to the left, briefly squishing everyone against each other.
As the elevator trundled along, L-7 noticed that many of the new employees seemed to be sore or hurt in some way. One woman would lift her leg occasionally, like it hurt to put weight on it, another man kept a hand protectively over his ribs, under his armpit. The bed he'd come out of was so soft and comfy, he had no idea how it could have sprained his shoulder so badly, but apparently it was a common problem. He wondered if anyone else had those weird little ruddy specks on them that morning, too.
A woman on the other side of the elevator caught his eye… or rather, the huge, purple bruise on her neck did. She winced every time she swallowed, self-consciously touching her throat. She looked even more tired than everyone else, and sadder too. Her blonde hair was perfectly straight and bobbed, just like the other women, and she was very slender, her skin the same color as his. As her gaze flicked over to him for a moment, he caught a glimpse of intensely green eyes. They held something in them, something important, some hidden concept he didn't have words for. She looked away quickly, her head down.
For some reason, L-7 was enchanted by her. He couldn't look away. A strange, giddy feeling formed in his chest and gut, and sent a chill down his spine. He liked looking at her almost more than he liked his own reflection, despite the nasty bruise. She was pretty, but if he was being perfectly objective, she wasn't the most beautiful woman on the elevator. That title would probably go to D-132, whose… assets… were much larger and fuller. And yet, he couldn't stop staring at her, not D-132.
The blonde woman gave him another look, and a scowl, huffing and letting her hair cover the side of her face again. He'd been smiling at her like an absolute idiot. The second he realized it, he quickly wiped the grin off his mouth and faced the front, trying not to let his gaze wander back to her.
Someone from behind him gasped. "Look!" cried a man's voice.
Confused, L-7 and everyone else turned around to a jaw-dropping sight. The tunnel they'd been in had given way to a window on one side of the elevator, showing an amazing, vast city, full of pipes and tubes and spindly buildings, transports floating through the air like spaceships, floors upon floors upon floors of hallways in the far distance, labeled with the same, random alphanumeric system on the elevator buttons. They were traveling horizontally somewhere above the very bottom, but the place was so incredibly huge that it seemed they were barely moving at all.
The most awe inspiring sight, though, was a statue as big as the entire place, the top of it barely visible through the elevator window. It was a man made out of concrete with a blank expression, wearing a crest around his neck and flowing robes. Everyone "ooh"d and "ahh"d and pointed at the new sights, chattering excitedly… everyone but the blonde woman. Her eyes were round and amazed, but she also seemed almost afraid. She touched her bruise again, keeping her hand over it protectively.
L-7 took the opportunity to move towards her as everyone else crowded near the elevator window to gawk at the scene. He looked out the window, too, stealing little glimpses of her, waiting for a good moment to speak.
"That statue's cool, right?" he said, trying to act casual. His mind blanked when she didn't react right away. "It's… big."
"It's really, really big," she whispered roughly, then swallowed hard and winced again.
"I'm L-7," he blurted, grinning stupidly, then forcing himself to keep cool.
"She said my number was L-63."
"'She?' Oh, yeah, Miss Minutes, right. Obviously." He chuckled nervously, but she didn't smile back. Her eyes never left the window. The butterflies in his stomach grew stronger by the second. He wished he knew how to do something that would make her pay attention to him.
"Did you get those little spots on your arms and legs, too?"
She whipped her head around and stared up at him, lips parted slightly in surprise.
"You too? They hurt."
"Mine don't hurt so bad. Look, they're pretty much gone-"
He put his arm up in front of her to show her where the spots had been, but she suddenly jerked away and cowered back in fear.
"No! I don't want to see."
Her yelp made some of the new employees turn around and stare. L-63 crossed to the far corner of the elevator, away from everyone, squishing herself hard against the side, her face turning bright red.
L-7 was dumbfounded. He hadn't done anything wrong. He just wanted to show her that he was fine.
Perhaps she just hurt worse than the rest of them. That bruise did look absolutely awful.
The magnificent city disappeared again as they went through another tunnel, to a chorus of disappointed groans. The elevator lurched gently to a stop and the doors opened to a high-ceilinged foyer, framed by an impressively large concrete archway, etched with elegantly interlocked geometric shapes. It was layered into smaller and smaller archways, as if the walls had been set inside of each other, which guided the new employees up a set of wide stairs, funneling them in front of a double door made of wood. Shiny, bronze letters over the door read, "Employee Training Theater". There were no other halls or doors on that floor, nowhere to go but a row of elevators and the entrance.
They gathered together, waiting, now buzzing and chatting and giggling as another batch of new employees flooded out of the elevator. Seeing that statue had everyone excited, their aches and pains seemingly forgotten. L-63 only pressed her back against the wall, looking nervously at the elevators depositing more and more employees into the foyer. L-7 wanted to stand next to her, but he had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate it much. There were plenty of perfectly happy, normal people to talk to, make friends with, but his attention kept going to her.
In a few minutes, there were about one hundred people in the foyer, and the place was deafeningly loud with everyone talking at once.
"Hello there, trainees!"
Miss Minutes' cheerful, friendly voice boomed from overhead, startling everyone into silence. L-63 actually jolted, as if she feared something might come out of the ceiling and snatch her up. L-7 chuckled a little, despite himself.
"Welcome to your very first day of employee training," her voice continued. "Looks like we've got a great big batch of y'all, so please pay close attention. Your numbers will be displayed at your seats today, but you're expected to memorize your place. This is where you'll sit every day for the entirety of your training period."
L-7 was confused, as there wasn't a single seat in the foyer, wondering if Miss Minutes had made a mistake… or if he had made a mistake already. It all made sense, though, as the double doors opened into a huge, cavernous lecture hall, lined with long, continuous, curving desks that layered downward to the very front, where the TVA logo was projected onto a bare, white wall. There were two doors at the front, to each side of the projection. At every desk sat a small, orange, round computer, like a shiny plastic ball with a bit of it cut off the front, and a little plastic tag with everyone's assorted numbers.
He found his tag two spots from the aisle, near the back of the room, and to his secret delight, L-63's seat was on his left. She found it and gave him a little frown as she bumped his rolling chair out of the way to get to her seat… on purpose, he reckoned.
The lanky redheaded man sat to his right, whose number was S-10, and D-132 sat directly in front of him. L-7 caught S-10 leaning over his computer to catch a glimpse of her cleavage, then sat back again when L-7 noticed him leering.
Once everyone was inside, Miss Minutes appeared at the front of the room, making a nice, orange glow under the projected logo, about human sized this time.
"Everyone settle in, find your seats, and let's give ourselves a great big TVA 'Good morning'!"
"Good morning, Miss Minutes," mumbled everyone unsurely, but in unison.
"Aw come on, y'all can do better than that! Go-od morning!"
"Good morning, Miss Minutes!"
"That's what I like to hear. Fresh, new employees ready for their first day of life at the TVA."
Brassy, synthesized muzak began to echo around the room as the letters of the projected TVA logo started to spread out, change size, and transform into the entire title instead of an acronym: Time Variance Authority. The whole class murmured with anticipation. She paced leisurely at the head of the classroom as she spoke.
"Since it's your first day, and I'm going to be throwing a lot of information at ya' all at once, don't feel overwhelmed. Y'all will be here eight out of the nine days per Null-week for the next two weeks, learning everything you'll need to know to be excellent employees before being placed into your careers. I would suggest jottin' down notes for every class, though. It'll help come test time."
Everyone took her cue and there was a shuffling noise as the entire class reached into their drawstring bags and took out their notebooks and pencils, including L-7 and L-63, though she seemed to be the last one to do it.
"Now, without further ado-" she suddenly jumped at the wall and became part of the projection, a two dimensional cartoon instead of three. Everyone gasped in wonder. "-Let's jump right in! First, what is this place, anyway? The Time Variance Authority is an organization located outside of time and space that dictates the proper flow of time in the universe, making sure that nothing disrupts the sacred timeline. It's a big, complicated job, so this is a big, complicated place, as you've probably seen through the elevators. There are nearly nine hundred and fifty thousand people working here at any given moment."
The projection changed to show the TVA, in all its glory, that huge statue standing at the helm. Miss Minutes gestured to the statue.
"You probably also wondered, 'Who is this guy?'" The statue turned into a real man, with dark skin, short, curly hair, and royal purple robes, his expression as blank as the statue. The TVA disappeared, the background replaced with sparkling, swirling cosmos.
Her voice became reverent. "This is Kang, the Timekeeper. Crafter and master of the TVA. Our venerable creator. How lucky we all are to be made especially to serve him, and to fulfill our hallowed purpose through his will. For all time, always."
L-7 perked up at the word 'purpose', though he had no idea why.
"Repeat after me, class… for all time, always."
"For all time, always."
Saying those words had a soothing effect. L-7 had a purpose. Even thinking about that lit up a part of his mind. It meant direction, a place to belong, even though he would obviously be a very small part of a very large institution.
He wondered if L-63 felt the same way, but she seemed to be more concerned about someone coming through the doors behind them, where they'd entered the classroom. She kept glancing over her shoulder for no reason. Gosh, why was she so jumpy?
"If the Timekeeper made the TVA, then how did the Timekeeper come to be? He was the only survivor of a bloody, multiversal war, one in which the merged timelines of different universes would fight to the heat-death of their own galaxies for control and resources. Kang was the eventual victor, merging the remaining timelines into one, the sacred timeline, which ended the time war once and for all. Sometimes, though, that timeline is violated, and begins to separate when it shouldn't. This is called 'branching'..."
Miss Minutes continued, the cartoons and diagrams on the screen depicting her lecture as she spoke about pruning and nexus events and variants. He'd been interested for the first few minutes, but she was right: it was a lot of information. The notes L-7 had been jotting down soon turned into doodles… little faces, shapes, trying out different writing styles for his employee number, with fancy curly-Q's and block letters.
Her lecture seemed to have an opposite effect on L-63. She ignored the door and started writing lots of notes, scratching almost furiously with her pencil. L-63 had an entire page and a half written down while L-7 had filled his first page with nothing but doodles and a few lines of worthwhile information.
L-7 started chewing on his pencil, rolling his chair back and forth, tapping his fingers, doing anything he could to fidget around. Everyone else seemed to be able to look to the front and pay attention, even S-10, who was no longer trying to peek down D-132's shirt. L-7 wasn't worried though… he could catch up later. He just wished everything wasn't so boring on the first day.
He took another pencil out of his bag and put them both, tip down, on the page, kicking each of them upward like little dancing legs to entertain himself. L-63 glowered at him for a second, so L-7 took the opportunity to stick the eraser end of both of the pencils under his upper lip and make a face at her with his pencil-fangs hanging out.
She was not amused. She rolled her eyes and went back to her furious scribbling.
"All right, y'all, let's stop to review what you've learned so far." The lights came up a bit, and the screens of their little computers blinked on. "On the screen is a question to test your knowledge. Please type the answer into your keyboard, then press the enter key. You have thirty seconds."
L-7 stopped fidgeting, shot through with panic. Test? They were having a test already? He leaned forward to read the question on his tiny screen.
When a variant branches the timeline, what is this event called? (Two words.)
A blinking line appeared below the question, waiting for an answer. The keyboards clicked around him as everyone typed. L-7 frantically scooted close to L-63.
"Hey," he whispered. "Hey, what's the answer?"
She clicked the enter key on her keyboard, and the question and answer vanished before he could tell what she'd typed.
"I'm not telling you," she whispered back with a scowl. "She said it like, ten times."
"Yeah, but I wasn't paying attention."
"Obviously."
"Come on," he whined. "Please tell me, L-63."
"No!" she rasped, putting her hands protectively over her notes.
"L-63, L-7, what's going on?"
Miss Minutes had appeared on the desk space between their seats, small again, and looking sternly between the both of them. Some of the other students stared at the three of them bemusedly.
"I was only-"
"He tried to get me to tell him the answer, Miss Minutes!" L-63 interrupted, giving him a glare. He pouted and sat back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Did not," he retorted.
Miss Minutes closed her eyes and shook her head-well, her body-and clicked her tongue at L-7.
"Taking answers from your neighbor during a test is cheating, L-7, which is strictly forbidden. Cheating can get you a demerit. Trust me, you don't want too many of those. I'll give you a couple more seconds to type an answer… your answer, not your neighbor's."
She was gone again, reappearing inside of the projection, waiting patiently for everyone to finish up.
L-7 grumbled and typed a bunch of nonsense gibberish into his keyboard before hitting enter. The screen went blank, and he stuck his tongue out at L-63, who studiously ignored him.
What was her problem? Why was she so grumpy? It was like she didn't even want to make any friends.
"Let's see the answer!" said Miss Minutes, and the word 'nexus event' appeared above her. L-63 and D-132's screens lit up green, but L-7 and S-10's screens blinked red, with an angry beep.
"Damn it," said S-10, wincing, running a hand through his hair and frantically erasing something in his notebook. So it wasn't just L-7. It was hard for some people to keep up, even while taking notes. L-7 picked up his chewed up pencil and tried to get himself to pay attention, since little miss too-good-for-everyone wasn't willing to help him. Even though he was mad at her for being an obnoxious tattletale, he still kind of liked her.
The lights came down again, the projection brightened, and everyone quieted and shifted in their seats.
"Now, I bet the biggest question on y'alls minds isn't about how the TVA got here, but how you got here. Well, each and every one of you was created right here at the TVA, in our Pod Hatching System."
The image on the projection looked like a vast, round plate, with lots of little ovals arranged symmetrically within it. The machine glowed an ethereal blue color, with a sort of mist shrouding the top of it. The image flipped and shifted to a side view, which revealed a thick main rope of wires and cables coming out of the top of it, smaller cables feeding into each little oval. It looked like a seed pod hanging upside down.
"Each growth pod is labeled from A to Z, and with numbers one through nine hundred and ninety nine… almost twenty six thousand combinations. This is where your number came from, and it's completely random, mixed up with every new batch of employees. We start with carbon and a healthy mix of genetic material, feeding that into each pod, meanwhile stimulating it with electromagnetic pulses until it creates an embryo… that's you!"
The image zoomed in on a single pod, and the process played out on the projection as she described it. L-7 tried to draw the machine as she talked. This was actually fascinating to him.
"Next, we feed the embryo nutrients through the liquid in the pod. That embryo grows, and grows, and grows, until it makes a fully mature humanoid being."
The tiny, strange homunculus in the pod grew into a baby, then a fully formed cartoon adult, naked and sleeping in the fetal position.
"I'm sure many of you have noticed some bumps and bruises when you woke up this morning, perhaps even a little bit of blood. That is completely normal, and nothin' to be concerned about. This is a side effect of the hatching process. You see, when the pod is ready to be hatched, the nervous system needs to be stimulated and tested to make sure everything works correctly. Many times, it works too well."
Cables snaked through the glowing blue pod and attached themselves to the cartoon person, all over his arms, legs and back. The cartoon opened his eyes wide and started to twitch in hilariously exaggerated movements, until his knee smacked into the side of the pod. The man grabbed at his leg and bent double in pain, his knee swollen and red.
L-7 put two and two together. The cables were why he had those little dots all over him, and the brown flakes were dried blood. Having everything explained made him feel much, much better. He wondered, though, how violently L-63 must have been jerking around in her pod to get her awful bruise. She didn't look as relieved as he did, either, once again putting a hand to her throat and staring off into space. That must be what was wrong with her, in general: they overstimulated her nervous system or something.
A big metal clamp picked up the cartoon man by the middle, while the man still held on to his aching knee, then more clamps stuffed him into a pair of plaid pajamas just like the ones L-7 woke up in and deposited him in a bed. Miss Minutes, an even simpler, more stylized version of her with an alarm bell on top, started to ring, and the man sprang out of bed, got ready and dressed in record time, and stuffed the food block into his mouth. The animation paused.
"For the first couple days of training, you'll be given your meals in your room, two per day. This is to ensure all of y'all get the vitamins, nutrients, and electrolytes you need on those first few crucial days after hatching, to help your body heal and adjust."
"Miss Minutes?" L-63 piped up loudly, making everyone stare at her. L-7 panicked again. He hadn't even done anything!
Miss Minutes jumped from the screen to the top of L-63's round computer, her eyes half-lidded with a vaguely annoyed expression.
"L-63, when we have a question, we raise our hands to be called on. Okay?"
She shot her hand straight into the air.
"I'm already here, but… yes, L-63?"
"How do we know things if we were just in a little pod the whole time?"
Miss Minutes smiled again and gave her a wink.
"Very good question," she spoke to the rest of the class while perched on top of her computer. "When y'all were growing in your pods, your brains were growing and changing, too. We programmed you with a base level of knowledge, to give you a level playing field to start. As your individual strengths, weaknesses, and personality traits come out over the training period, we can assess you to see where you fit within the TVA."
"But couldn't-"
Miss Minutes spun around and gave L-63 a look.
"Oh." She raised her hand again.
"Yes, L-63?"
"Couldn't they just program us with all the stuff they wanted us to know?" She coughed and winced, her voice cracking into a whisper on the last word.
Miss Minutes held a big, white hand under her chin. "Another very good question. That's just too big of a job, even for the TVA. Your minds need some space to grow and learn on their own. Once you're out of your pod, they do that just fine."
L-63 took another breath, like she was never going to shut up, but suddenly, a three dimensional alarm bell appeared over Miss Minutes' head and started to ring, just like in the cartoon. Miss Minutes tapped it, and it stopped and vanished.
"Well, trainees, looks like class is almost over!"
"But I have more questions."
"Put a pin in 'em, hun, and we can go over them tomorrow."
Miss Minutes leapt back to the front of the classroom, person sized again. Everyone shuffled their things around, packing up to leave.
"Now before y'all go, let me give you your assignment. Your homework is to read the first chapter in your Employee Handbook and answer all ten questions at the end. Don't forget to put your employee number on the top of the page so you can hand it in tomorrow."
Ten whole questions! That seemed like too much to L-7. He couldn't even answer one.
"I'm just pleased as punch to have such an inquisitive class!" she continued. "I know we'll get some great minds from this group. For all time…"
"Always!" The entire class answered enthusiastically, in unison.
"Fantastic! Go and enjoy the rest of your day."
The mob crowded into the foyer, anxiously chattering about their first assignment and all of the new things they'd learned. L-7 caught snippets of trainees' conversations as he pushed past them, looking around the room.
"I think your room is right next to mine…"
"Did she say how old the Timekeeper is?"
"That food block was kind of gross, I hope we don't have to eat it for long."
"Really? I kind of liked it…"
L-7 found L-63 smooshed into the corner again, next to the elevator on the end of the row, clutching her book bag in front of her, waiting for the next one.
He really should have learned his lesson from class, but that urge to talk to her, to be next to her, was still just as strong as it had been the first time he'd locked eyes with her. If he couldn't entertain her or talk to her like a normal person, though, then he was going to get her attention anyway, however he could.
She didn't catch sight of him slipping into the same elevator as she did. She took the far wall, as he predicted she would, so he made sure to hide behind the other trainees. Someone had already pushed the BQ6 button, but other people pushed different buttons, too. A screen at the top of the door indicated which floor they were stopped at, and the elevator button lights blinked off as they paused at each dormitory, in seemingly random order.
Finally, when the elevator had thinned a little and she seemed to be distracted by the view of the TVA, he snuck right over to her, brimming with anticipation.
"Hey!"
She gasped loudly and jumped a foot in the air, and L-7 burst into laughter.
"Oh my god!" he said breathlessly as her face turned bright pink. "What did they do, implant springs into you?"
She growled and turned away from him again, practically bristling.
"Why won't you leave me alone?" she muttered.
He shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I dunno, because I don't feel like it, weirdo."
Her eyes grew as wide as they could. "I-I'm not a weirdo!" she stammered. She glanced at the other trainees. All eyes were on the two of them, waiting to see what would happen.
"Yes you are," he said casually, with a scoff. "You won't stand in the middle of a room, you don't want to talk to anybody-"
"Just because I didn't let you cheat off me-"
"-and you were the only one with any questions," he continued over her. "You're totally a weirdo."
The moment of smug satisfaction he got from that didn't last very long. Tears sprang to her eyes as she kept looking around at everyone else in the elevator. He didn't know what he would do if she burst into tears. He hadn't planned that far.
Instead, she gave him a scowl unlike anything he imagined a human face could make, and stamped directly on his foot. He let out a very unmanly yelp, the students gasped, and one or two of them giggled.
L-7 let his mouth hang open. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't let that stand, or risk losing face in front of everyone.
Without thinking, he reached out and poked the bruise on her throat. He didn't think he did it hard enough to really hurt, but she screeched and covered her neck, the tears that had come to her eyes falling freely.
L-7 regretted it instantly, unsure of what to do. Before he could apologize, L-63 turned red, dropped her bag, grabbed him by the front of the shirt, and shoved him backwards, sending him toppling into the other trainees. He cracked the back of his skull against the wall as he fell. Several trainees tumbled to the floor with him, everyone yelling in panic.
The elevator dinged and opened to floor BQ6. L-7 looked up, dazed, to see L-63 stomp past him.
"Don't you ever touch me again!" she screamed down at him, roughly wiping the tears from her face. She ran through the terminal and down hallway two, fists clenched at her sides, no book bag in her hand or on her back. She'd left it on the floor.
L-7 reached out and grabbed it, scrambling to stand, feeling a bit dizzy.
"Hey, hey wait!" he yelled, but she wasn't stopping for anyone or anything.
The elevator door started to close. He pressed the 'door open' button and ran after her down the hallway, but only caught a glimpse of her vanishing behind her door. It closed just as he got to it. He lifted his hand to knock, but then let it fall again. It was no use. She wasn't going to open that door for him, ever.
He trundled back to the terminal and into hallway three, carrying her bookbag and his, then found his room and threw her bag onto his bed, which had been freshly made, the sheets changed. There were no more red dots on the pillow. Another food block had appeared on his desk, and L-7 stuffed it into his mouth, pacing the room, making a 'U' shaped track around the bed. L-63 needed her book and notes to do her assignment. She'd get in trouble without them. If he just handed them back, though, she'd probably blame him for stealing her bag, and then get him into worse trouble. And she was never going to talk to him again.
That realization made him stop in his tracks, made his heart seize in his chest. He'd really, really screwed up. He hadn't meant to make her hate him, to make her cry. L-7 groaned with frustration and flung his own book bag on the desk. His meager notes would be of no use at all for his assignment. He took out his fresh new book and started to read, but his mind was all over the place.
Suddenly, he had a wonderful, brilliant idea, one that would definitely put him back in L-63's good graces… if he did it right. Otherwise, he'd get them both a demerit. It was definitely worth the risk, though.
L-7 forced himself to focus carefully on his reading, flipping back to the multiple-choice worksheet at the end of the chapter, absorbing each question. If he got them wrong, it would be all the worse for her. Not to mention, he didn't want to be the dumbest one in the class.
He smiled to himself. This was definitely the nicest thing he'd ever done for anyone in his whole, short life.