Lab Rat (2/2) (Short series)

Lab Rat

Part Seven

They still aren’t here.  I wonder if I even met them for real now.  Maybe they were a dream also.  It would make sense.  Does that mean that the sky isn’t real?  Or the outside of houses?  I don’t know what I should think anymore.

My thumb was not healed… I hate those arms.  I never thought I would hate something, I feel guilty for hating anything, but I’m hurting too much to care.  The arms hurt me.  What did I do that made them so angry?

There is a strange metal box… thing, in front of me.  I open it up and a screen is on the first half, with buttons on the bottom half.  There are a lot of buttons with letters on them, some of them have groups of letters, and some have strange symbols.  There is a button near the screen.  I press it.  The screen turns on.  Is this going to be another game?  If it is I don’t think I will be able to play it. There are too many buttons to press.

A circle appears.  It has a light around it that spins in it.  This goes on for ten seconds before fading away.  When it is finished the screen lights up with a white middle part of the screen, and grey around the middle.  At the top left of the white middle a word begins to appear in a grey color, with a red color around the word.  It says “Hello”.

I don’t know how to spell very well yet but I know what Hello means so I push the buttons with the letters building the word.  My letters come up in a lighter grey color, but nothing behind them.  When I finish I wait for a reply, but nothing happens.  Do I press something after I finish writing the word?

I look at the buttons.  Most of them don’t make sense.  One says “Capslock”, one says “Shift”, one says “Tab”, and one says “Enter”.  I push them all but only Enter does something.  A ringing sound goes off from the box and my words move up with an arrow pointing at them.

The circle appears again, and is there for five seconds this time.  When it is gone new words appear from the box below mine, in the grey and red… version?  This time they say “How do you feel?”

I’m reminded of my thumb again.  It still hu-… my stuff.  Where… it’s gone.  Everything I got ready is gone.  The numbers, the-the clothes, the game… why did they take it? … Maybe this box knows.  “Where are my things” I… type?

The circle appears again once I press enter.  This will happen every time between this talk I suppose.  It now reads “They were taken”.

I reply “Why I needed them”

The box replied “You did not need them.”

“I wanted to show them to someone”

“Use ? when you are asking something.” It tells me.  Why does it want me to use that symbol?  The question symbol?  Is that a question symbol?  I suppose I have to use it.

“Do I put it to the end of this”

“Yes.”

“What do I do if it is not a-“ I don’t finish yet.  How do I spell Question?  Q…Q makes the K and W sound.  But do I need to use K and W instead?  Maybe I should ask that question first.  “How do I spell the word for asking?” I type.

“Question.” It replies.  Q-U-E-S-T-I-O-N.  I know something new, that’s good.  I forget about the word things though now.  I want to know about my stuff.

“Did you take my things?” I ask.

“Yes.”

Is this box connected to the arms?  Will it tell me the truth if I ask it?  Maybe if I use a question that will prove it.  I know it took my things but I never saw the arms doing that.  I know the arms hurt my thumb though.  “Did you hurt my thum?”

It replies with “\*thumb\*” What do these star symbols mean?  Why did it add a B?  Is it correcting me?  That doesn’t seem right.  Why would there be a B at the end?  I want to ask that but then it also replies “Yes.”

I feel a little afraid now.  I look up to make sure the arms aren’t coming for me again.  They aren’t, but I don’t know if they won’t.  I move under the table with the box.  I type on it “Why did you hurt my thum” I realize that I need to add a b, but the space is already made.  I realize from that that I was able to use the space without realizing that I didn’t think it would be needed.  But anyway I write “\*thumb\*” after that followed by “and take my stuff?”

“You needed to stop asking.  It is called ‘Discipline’.”

“Hurting people is not good.”

“Hurting people is needed.  Discipline is needed.  If you do not show discipline then people will stop obeying.”

I don’t understand how that makes sense but I don’t argue.  “But what about my stuff?” I ask a third time.

“Your things are put back away.  You can’t have them on you all of the time.”

“But I wanted to show them to people I know”

“You aren’t going to see your friends yet.”

Friends?  Is that what two people are called? “I had things on them that I needed to remember”

“Then you can do it all over again.”

I don’t know what else to tell this person, or what to ask them, at least when I’m talking about my things.  I still don’t see why they had to be taken.  Maybe this person knows about Mickey and Chowder though.

“Where are” I pause, then I add “my friends?”

“In their own house.”  The person replies.

“Will I get to see them again?”

It doesn’t reply.  I try to type after a little while but it won’t let me.  No words appear on the screen.  Maybe the person is writing something very long.  Minutes pass.  I don’t want to wait anymore.  I push the box shut and prepare to throw it… I set it down gently on the table.  I don’t want to break anything right now.

I go and eat.  Salad, bread, and Raench, just like every other day.  My mouth gets watery when I think about the sweet bread with the blue stuff on top of it.  Is my mouth supposed to do that?  It makes me thirsty so I drink some water.

I don’t even know if I am sad anymore.  I feel… useless… helpless.  I don’t even know why I am here.  I wish I had asked that before the person stopped replying.  I feel a little angry at them too.  Why is hurting someone a bad thing-  I- I mean… good, I mean… which is it?

I don’t like being hurt so it has to be bad doesn’t it?  Do other people like being hurt?  Being hurt means that something isn’t working, or that you are damaged and need to heal.  Do some people not want to heal?  Should they be allowed to heal if they don’t want to?  I don’t know, but the person on the box hurt me and I did not like being hurt.

He used that word “discipline”; hurting someone because they need to stop doing something.  But what was wrong about me asking questions?  No one told me that it was wrong, should I not ask things?  How will I learn new things if I don’t?

I want to stop thinking about all of these questions, they make my head hurt.  I walk out holding my head.  It feels kind of like sadness and anger… pain, but I’m not angry with someone I’m just… I don’t know the word for this, if I try to think of it my head will explode, I just want to stop… I don’t want things to be so… big and detailed.

I sit on the couch and stare at a wall.  I do this for a while.  I’m just thinking about the wall really.  I think about the paint on it, wondering how the paint got on it, how it got to be that color, what made people choose to use that colo- AGH!

I hold my head and stuff my face into a pillow.  So many questions… A beep… I hear a beep…

The box?  I get up and it IS coming from the box.  I open it up again.  All it says is “Yes”.  Yes… does… does this mean I get to see Mickey and Cho-

Whirring… that’s the last thing I hear before I’m hit in the back of my head.  Everything is black now.  At first it’s also quiet, but then I start to hear sounds… they sound strange… muffled.  They kind of get clearer.  They are close.  I think that one is asking a question… it’s… Mickey’s voice.

I didn’t even realize that my eyes were closed so when I open them I find myself in a different house.  It’s darker than mine and there are tall grass-looking things in strange cups… there is a couch, and another room where I’m facing.  I feel something soft below me.  I look down.  I’m on a couch.

I saw something while I started to look down though and I quickly look back at it… at him.  It’s Mickey.

“Good morning.” He says to me.  What is a morning?  Right now I don’t really care.  Mickey is here… isn’t he?

Maybe this is another dream.  If it’s still a dream then… “I don’t want this to be a dream!!”  Mickey jumps back… I must have said that out loud.  My eyes are wet, tears once again.

“This isn’t a dream.” He tells me.  He looks… scared.  I shouldn’t have yelled so loudly… I shouldn’t have yelled at all.

How does he know though?  If this is a dream he isn’t real.  How would someone who isn’t real know if something wasn’t a dream.  “How do you know?” I ask him.

Now he looks confused.  “I… I don’t think this a dream.” He coughs.  Is something wrong?

“Why are you coughing?” I ask.

“I haven’t been feeling very well lately.”

“You… you’re going to be okay though right?” Is he badly not feeling well?  If it’s bad then… what will happen to him?

“You’re not dreaming.” I look over to my right.  Chowder walks over.

“But how do I kn-“

“I know when I’m dreaming, and I’m not just a part of a dream.” He always sounds so angry…

“How did I-“ Why am I asking questions, I should… be happy, I-.

I grab on to Mickey and hug him again.  He hugs back.  I don’t let go.  He even tells me that I can now.  “No I can’t.” I tell him.  “If I do you’ll be gone again.”  I don’t want him to be upset with me but what if… what if he leaves…

Chowder starts walking towards me.  Is he going to pull me away?  I hide behind Mickey again.  Chowder groans angrily and steps back.  “I’m not going to hurt you.” He grumbles.

I guess I can trust him about that but… I’m still afraid.  Mickey asks if I’m hungry.  I barely hear him at first but I think it over and nod.  I can see more of their house that way.  He can’t see me nod I realize so I quickly answer “Yes”.

They lead me towards a door.  Everything looks the same as my house only with different items and color.  The stairs are in the same place, the kitchen is the same as well.  Do they have two treadmills?

When we into the kitchen I remember the Raench and the sweet bread.  “I have Raench in my kitchen.”

“You told us that the last time we talked.” Chowder tells me.  I did? … Oh that’s right, he told me about how I should be named Raench.  I don’t want to be named raench.  “Did I tell you about the sweet bread?” I ask.

“I don’t think so.” He tells me.  “What’s it like?”

“Um… It’s… like a circle… and it has blue soft sweet stuff on the top.  It’s also wrapped in paper.  Maybe you have one in your fridgerator?”

“Our refrigerator?” Mickey says to me.

“Is that a different type of fridgerator?”

“I don’t know.  Does your fridgerator look like this?” He points to a large box-like thing in the corner.  It looks exactly like my fridgerator… are refrigerators the same as fridgerators?  Maybe the inside is different.  I open the door… no it looks the same… maybe Raench is different too.

The sweet bread isn’t inside.  Maybe I could draw it if they have something for me to draw with.  “Maybe I could draw what the sweet bread looks like?”

“Okay.  I’ll get a pen and paper.” Mickey walks off.  Pen?  I guess I’ll find out what that is later.  I just realized that I’m alone with Chowder again.  I look up at him.  He always seems so… tall and scary.  I don’t want him to dislike me any more than he does already, so I try to think of something nice to say.  “Were you always very tall?”

“I guess so.” He shrugs.  He doesn’t look at me but instead begins looking through the frid-… refrigerator.  He must be hungry.  I wonder if he knows why Mickey was coughing.

“Is Mickey okay?”

“He’s fine… well mostly.  He has been feeling a little sick but that usually goes away quickly.”  I remember when I felt sick.  It was awful… but I did feel better after a while.  I hope Mickey doesn’t feel that bad right now.

Mickey comes back.  He’s holding a black stick, a small one, and paper.  Is the stick the pen?  It only makes sense.  He hands it to me.  I look at the pen.  It has a tip with a very small metal ball in the middle.  I don’t know how it is supposed to work but I set the paper down and begin drawing all the same.

Black liquid goes on to the paper when I draw.  It must be from inside the pen.  Will it stick on or soak through?  I’ll have to draw quickly in that case.  I do my best to draw the paper around the sweet bread.  It’s a… trapezoid, with jags around the top of it.  It also has lines down the sides of it.  After that I start to make the sweet bread inside of it.  I make a half-oval connecting to the top-edges of the paper-coating, then I draw squiggly parts at the top for the blue sweet stuff.

Both of them look at it strangely.  “I don’t know what that is.  I guess we haven’t seen it before.” Mickey notes.  Chowder nods and says “Did we really just spend two minutes trying to draw food?”

“I think so.” I tell him.  “Should we not have?”

“It doesn’t seem very important.”

Important?  What are we supposed to be doing that’s important?  All that I thought was important was finding Mickey and Chowder.  I know that I wanted to escape before but… I just couldn’t.  Nothing I could do helped me get out of these places.  Does Chowder have something more important to do?

“We don’t have to make sure everything is important right now.” Mickey says.

“We’re stuck in cages and we have maybe three hours before this all changes again.  We need to spend the time we have thinking of a way to get out.”

“Do you have a suggestion for how we will escape?” I ask.

“I would suggest we attack the arms when they appear again but none of us are strong enough to harm them.”

“Have you tried harming the walls?” I ask.

“Yes we did.” Chowder groans… or growls, I can’t really tell the difference with him.  “All metal, a really strong metal too.  Nothing we hit them with even made a dent.  We even picked up the treadmill and threw it into the wall.”

They were able to pick up the treadmill.  I look back at their arms for a moment.  I almost forgot how strong they both looked… well Mickey at least.  Chowder always seemed strong because of how… angry he always seemed.

“Did you try the roof?” I ask.  They both look at me strangely.  “W-was that a bad idea?”

“What did you mean about the roof?” Chowder asks.

“W-well that’s where the arms come from, right?  I tried to get into the hole it came from.  I was able to break it open and I was going to crawl through but I fell.  The arms must come from somewhere, maybe outside of the houses.”

“But we can’t fit up th-!...” I don’t know why he stopped but it gave me a sick-feeling.  … He wanted me to fit in and do it.  He wanted me to go where the arms came from.

Part Eight

“They’ll hurt me again.” I argue.  “A-and we don’t know if they’re really going to have a room, do we?”

Chowder seems more… s-…st-stubborn with his look about making me go into the ceiling.  Mickey seems upset.  They don’t tell me anything at first.  They must have been thinking it over.  So while they do that I also think it over.

I want to help but I don’t want to be grabbed by the arms again.  My thumb was still hurting.  What will happen if the arms get me this time?  Will they take me away from Mickey and Chowder again?  Will this be the last time I see them?  It scares me… I feel… bad… guilty for being afraid.  There is a word for this.  It means the opposite of not being scared.  I don’t like it.

Mickey and Chowder cannot fit… I can.  I’m the only person that can do this.  If it turns out to be nothing then this was a waste, and I could lose them again.  If it turns out to be something we might all be able to leave, away from these houses, and the arms.  I don’t know which I want to follow more right now.

If I can’t decide what is best for myself then I should decide what is best for them.  Mickey and Chowder do not want to stay here and they seem willing to be in danger if it means getting out.  I am not sure if they are willing so I ask them “Are you willing to go through this?”

They both seem surprised by my question, but they almost immediately say back to me “We are.”

Then it is finished.  “I will help then.”

The next set of minutes involve Mickey and Chowder arguing about letting me go into the roof again.  It was Mickey’s idea originally so I don’t know why he would be upset about it.  They finish arguing and decide for it.  A few minutes after this and they have opened up the ceiling from their house.

Mickey picks me up again and pushes me into the hole, shoving me through so that I do not fall through the edges, breaking them like I did last time.  This hole is small, only a short amount higher than I am, and very dark.

“Are you okay?” Mickey calls to me before I start crawling forward.

“I am.” I reply.  I begin moving forward, looking left and right at the walls.  It is the same dark grey in every direction but forward, which is a black color for as long as I can see.  I haven’t seen the arms yet, or heard them, but just thinking about them makes me nervous.  I have to stop for a moment, laying down as I take deep breaths.

I feel hot.  The tunnel is very warm and it is making it hard for me to calm down.  I realize now that I will not be able to calm down any time soon in these conditions and decide to go forward quickly.

I’m still breathing hard, but I scrape across the tunnel.  I have very little room to move my arms, causing me to bump into the walls and ceiling.  In front of me I see a wall after a while.  There are two paths from it, one going right, and one going left.  I do not know which I should go to.  I want to ask Mickey and Chowder but I don’t think I can turn around without hurting myself, or even if I should.  The arms will be here soon… I think.  I don’t want to waste time if they do arrive so I choose a random direction to go through.

Heading right I continue through the dull tunnel.  Nothing happens for minutes, and I feel sore from being on my hands and knees for so long.  I come to another wall with a turn, this one going only to the left.  There is no other option so I take that path.

I’m walking for a while longer when I begin to hear a scratching and a pounding from below me.  I don’t assume it’s the arms because they’ve never made those sounds, but it does seem odd so I move away from the spot.  It begins to crack open.  I see that Chowder has broken through it.

“You’re above the stairs.” He tells me.

“Where do I need to go?”

“If there is a turn that goes to the left you should keep going in that direction.”

“What if there isn’t one though?”

“I’m not sure.  Right now just try to get out of the house.  If you go past one of the main walls we’ll tell you.  Once you pass the house, and if you can’t go to the left anymore, try to break down the floor and see where you end up.”

I remember that I was able to break the ceiling before, but when I did that I was able to throw and wave my arms in a large area.  Now I’m in a small area and it will probably be harder. “Is there something I can use to help me break through?”

Chowder walks off.  He comes back with a table leg and hands it to me.  It feels heavy enough to break through the ceiling… I hope.  I return to my walk, but as I go, Chowder tells me “We’ll knock as we follow you.  When you stop hearing the knocking it means that you’re past the house.”

I thought he was going to tell me when I pass the house but I suppose this it better.  I am not sure but I want him to stay not-angry with me so I just keep crawling.  As I am going along the tunnel I become nervous.  More questions fill my thoughts.  Will I lose track of my directions?  Will I be able to turn around?  Will I be able to break through the ceiling?  What will I find if I do?  Will I be back at my own house and not see them again?

I keep thinking over these and become nervous enough to realize that I have spent at least thirty seconds crawling, going from turn to turn… and I don’t remember any knocks.  What I know right now is that there are none now.

‘This is too soon,’ I think.  ‘They need to tell me; I want to hear them again; where is Mickey?!’  The small tunnel starts to feel like it will close on me, crush me.  I don’t want that to happen.  I have… I have to get out of here.

I squeeze the table leg tightly then hit the ground in front of me with it.  It makes a small dent but not enough to break.  I hit it again.  Still nothing.  With every swing I become more and more terrified.  The tunnel is going to crush me!  I have to get out now!

My arms feel lose and weak, but at the same time I can’t stop myself from hitting the ground.  My breath is short and I become dizzy.  I am still hitting the ground beneath me, but it still will not break.  I need to stop or I will get too dizzy to continue; I will fall asleep again.  At the same time if I stop… I can’t stop, I have to get out, I have to get out!

I can’t aim or control myself anymore.  My head swings to the side just as I jerk the leg up.  It hits me in the face and I fall, dizzy, and seeing nothing but black.  I have fallen asleep again.  I know I am right now, I can feel myself being asleep.  There is no dream around me… unless this is the dream… blackness, tiredness, wanting to have a drink of water, heat, stress, and sadness.

I guess because I am aware of myself being asleep I wake up quicker when I feel something touching me.  My ankle is squeezed by something hard and cold.  It feels like fingers almo-…

No… no no no no no no no no no get a-

“-WAY!!” My free foot hits the arms hard.  The arm holding my foot hasn’t squeezed tight enough yet and so it’s pushed away from it for now.  It’s with me in the tunnel, and I have no idea how I will avoid the arms this time.

I still have the table leg so I can use that at least.  The arms grab at my foot again, both of them this time, but I pull myself back so that they will miss.  I then swing the leg at them but it only goes as far as my leg-length.  They near me while I crawl back, facing them with my back pointed to the floor.

They are moving slowly this time.  Are they waiting to corner me to make it easier?  They have not grabbed at me again.  They want me to be asleep again?  I don’t know.  I can’t look behind me or they may try to grab me again so I keep my eyes on the arms.

I see below them as they get closer that the floor becomes… brighter as they pass over it.  A square lights up each time they pass an area of the tunnel.  They aren’t spreading a light so why is this happening?

I almost have an idea but it’s interrupted when my back hits the wall at a turn.  They still do not charge at me, but I am not going to wait for them.  I leap to the left, the only direction the tunnel lets me go.  I would keep going but it won’t change anything, they will still get me.

I am able to turn though and am now facing where the arms will turn from, I will be facing them.  I hold up the leg, preparing to strike them.  I don’t think it will hurt the arms but I have very few other options.  As I wait I see that they are almost here when the ground at the corner begins to light up.

I have an idea now.  They haven’t fully turned yet, there is still a chance that I can make it.  With the leg pointed forward at my side I jump forward to the ground, and break through the ceiling and begin falling into a new house.

A pale-tan floor is about to smash into my face when I’m grabbed hold of by my legs.  The arms pull me back towards the tunnel but I am able to grab hold of a table very similar to my own at my house before they do.

My hands are hurting badly as I try to hold on to it, hoping it will keep me from going back.  The arms continue pulling; my legs feel like they are going to break apart.  I scream, I want them to let me go, I just want the pain to be over right now.  Instead a new pain shows up in my chest and stomach.  Something has jumped into me.

It has sharp fingers and teeth.  It’s biting me, ripping my fur and skin off.  I am not being held by the arms anymore, I am on the floor, and something is trying to kill me.  My arms are holding nothing and the thing—I do not know what because I am trying to stay alive—is leaning down to bite my neck off.

**I do not want that to happen.**

I slam my foot, claws included, into whatever part of the person I can.  I hit a leg I think.  I feel something wet exiting it.  The thing screams and retracts from me for a second.  I feel a sense of… anger.  I feel anger.

Somehow I have now hit the person back, I have tackled it, and I am using my own claws to tear at its face.  It is using its claws to grab hold of shoulders and pull back at me.  If it does I will be laying back and unable to move.  I grab hold of its ears.  It pulls harder, I tighten my grip.  The ears pop off, ripping off.  I do not see it, I feel it.

More screaming comes from the creature, it tosses me away as it runs about, jumping and screaming in pain.  It is clawing everywhere now, and I am regaining my breath.  I see my table leg on the ground… I know I should grab it, and defend myself with it, but for some reason I want to hurt the thing with my own hands.

I move forward towards it once I have stood again.  I am ready to hurt it more but… what am I doing?  I don’t want to hurt it, I just want to stay alive.  Before I can back off it looks back at me again.  I see what it is now clearly, or what it was.

Grey, and very full of fur.  LONG fur covers it.  It has small eyes, and used to have large ears which I remember are still in my hands.  I drop them.  “I’m sorry, you were-“  I leaps at me, it’s going to kill me.

I turn around and run away.  I head to the left, then try to run around the creature.  It does not let me.  It’s hand, it’s very large hand, shoves me to the side, but my tail keeps me from falling.  It was trying to bite my neck before so if that would kill me maybe it would hurt the creature.

It jumps at me, clawing again but I jump and it hits the ground.  When I land I am on top of it and my tail begins to wrap around its neck, squeezing as hard as it can.  I remember when I cannot breathe I fall asleep.  If I can make this creature fall asleep I won’t have to kill it.

It tears at me, trying to grab my tail and cut it.  I grab the creature’s hands with my own hands and push them towards the ground.  I am not strong enough to hold them down so I add my feet.  The creature is jerking and screaming.  It hurts to hear it, it makes me feel sick.  After a lot of shaking it finally stops screaming and relaxes.

I let go of the creature and run into the kitchen.  This house is exactly like my own.  I sit against one of the counters in pain.  My stomach has blood all over it.  Am… am I going to die?  I force myself to lift my shirt up a bit and place my hand on where I was hurt.  It feels… cut… painful… stinging, but not deep.  I do not know if this means I will live still.

The creature looked like one of us; Chowder, Mickey, and I… it had no tail but it looked like us.  Did… did it get so alone that it stopped working correctly?  Will that happen to me?  I remember feeling the anger towards it, wanting to hurt it.  Will that get worse in the future?  Can I stop i- “OW!”

I’ve squeezed my stomach while stressing over these questions.  I relax my hand and lower my shirt.  I know it hurts but I do not want to have sticky blood all over me.  I get up slowly.  When I push up it hurts a lot.  I see the sink and I use the water to wipe on my chest and stomach.  It makes them sting even more.  I’m crying from the stinging at one point.  I keep cleaning myself but the blood keeps coming out.  I need something to stop that.

I push my shirt against the wounds.  Maybe that will keep it from spreading with the blood.  I lay back and relax.  The creature may wake up again but I do not think he will find me, or have the energy to for a while.  I know I don’t.

At first I am calm but I remember soon after that the arms are still around, and when I open my eyes they are right above me.  They are not reaching for me right now… instead they… they clap… they are clapping.

Part Nine

I have so many questions while being led down these strange halls.  The kitchen opening up into a hallway; how long was it there?  Was there one in my house?  The halls are black with silver lines in the middle of them, glowing where we are, we being me, and the arms.

They told me to follow and I did not want them to hurt me.  I might die if they were to again, and I needed to be healed… they alwa- almost always healed me before, so maybe they were taking me to be healed.  I don’t know why they were taking me with them while I was awake, but it had to be for a good reason…

It is hard to walk when my stomach keeps stinging every time I take a step.  I have to keep myself from squealing every time.  I don’t know if the arms will be upset by it.  I remember the person I was typing with, and how they were controlling the arms, or maybe they are the arms.

I open my mouth to ask and immediately I remember what happened the last time I asked them something.  My thumb STILL hurts.  It does not hurt as bad as my stomach however.

More and more questions come to me.  Will Chowder and Mickey be alright?  Am I being set free?  Will I find out why all this happened?  Will they come with me?  Are they going to kill me?

So many questions continue until I realize that we are in front of a strange-looking door now.  It is grey, and has a silver circle in the middle.  The arms touch the circle and the door moves apart, splitting, breaking in half.  One half goes up into the wall, and the other goes into the floor.

As I walk inside this new room it seems to be very small.  There is a light above us, and buttons on the walls.  Is… is this a… pr-… prism… prisn… am… I going to be stuck in here as a punishment?  I did not enjoy the tunnels in the ceiling and this, while larger, does not seem much better.

I do not want to be stuck in this room but if I ask what is happening I’ll be hurt.  Maybe I will be killed.  But… which is worse?  If I die or if I am stuck in here my whole life?  I think I would rather be dead… at least then I could have dreams about things… I hope.

The door closes behind us and when right after the room feels weird.  I hear a strange machine-like sound.  I feel pushed… down… up, I can’t tell.  We are moving I think.  Are we going down?  I don’t want to let this keep going.

I look up for a weakness in the arms.  They are attached to the roof by a line.  If I break that off will they die?  I see tubes inside of a large tube at the top of it.  They look cuttable… harmable?  Uh- t-tearable?  I’ll figure that word out later.

I slowly walk to the side of the arms.  They do not turn with me.  I need to get the tubes from a blindspot in the arms.  I don’t think I can jump at that angle, I will need to bounce off something to get it right.

I leap up to the side of the wall, leaping off of it once I touch it at the tubes.  The arm turns sideways, grabbing at my legs, but I yank them up to my shoulders, holding on to the tubes for support.

It is a hard substance so I will have to break it.  I may be able to tear it with my claws so I try that.  As I do this I hear a sort of hissing noise.  I assume this is from the arms and cringe, assuming they’ll grab me again.  I am not grabbed however.  Instead I am moving forward with them.

I stop cringing and see that behind us is the small room.  We… we weren’t going to stay in there.  That is… relifing… reliving… u-uh….

I look around us, not realizing that the arms haven’t tried to stop me from being on top of them, or clawing at the tubes (which has not damaged them yet, and only caused pain in my hand).  We are in a large pale-grey room with… counters, around us.  They have buttons around them, and glass walls behind each counter.  Through the glass are rooms.  Other peoples’ houses…

We go through another door and are now in a slightly darker room.  It is rather empty except for a large long silver and shiny table in the center.  The arms grab me and pull me down, setting me behind one of the chair surrounding the table, also grey and shiny.

I make sure they do not grab my thumb when they put me down.  They leave and the doors close behind them.  Can I go back through the doors?  No… they do not open when I walk up to them.  There are no handles either unless I need to speak something to open them.  I doubt it since the arms did not need to, unless they whipped it… n-no wait… uh it’s wh-

“Would you like to sit down?”  I jerk my head towards the voice.  There is a man at the end of the table, sitting.  When did he get here?  He does not look like Mickey or Chowder.  He has no fur… well he has some on his head.  It’s silver hair, sort of… spikey at the front, and longish at the back, tied with a small rope I see when he turns his head slightly.  He is wearing a suit, a dark grey suit, with strange lines going down it, and gloves.  I assume he has pants too but the table blocks that from my view.

I decide that I should probably obey what he says… for now so I sit down on the chair in front of me, opposite to his side of the table.  I wait for him to say something else silently.  He says nothing at first; instead two plates with food move towards us from the ceiling.  They lower down in front of us.

By looking across at his plate it looks like he has the same food as I do.  It has lettuce, with the red triangles in it like before.  Raench is on it too.  Next to it is a sort of tan-colored… shape.  It smells warm, and upon poking it the material is squishy.  I look to my side and see silverware.

At the end of the plate is a cup of water, and to the left of the plate is a piece of paper… for cleaning afterwards I guess.  I don’t know why I should not eat this meal but something seems untrustworthy about it.  Maybe the pills are inside of it, and I will be taken away at any moment.

“You are hungry.  Eat.” The man tells me.  I suppose I have no choice.  I doubt refusing would help me in escaping.  I take the fork and poke through the squishy material.  It is too large to fit in my mouth so I set it back down and cut a smaller slice off.  The inside is much more white-colored and… strip-like; like you could tear it apart.  Regardless I put the piece in my mouth.

It is very juicy… sort of salty almost.  It is chewy also.  As I eat it though I get a feeling of disgust.  I do not know why but I don’t feel right eating this.  If I stop though he may be upset with me, so I swallow it.  My whole body vibrates and feels uncomfortable from it.  I do not feel nauseous but I do not think I am far from it.

I wipe the fork off on the paper to get rid of the remains of the bite and decide to eat the salad instead.  Once I finish it, I set the fork down and remain unmoving.  I am using my tongue to lick up the remains of the salad and raench from my teeth and mouth-walls.  I want to keep the taste in my mouth as long as I can to avoid the taste of the… lump, coming back.

After a minute of no movement the man tells me “You do not like the meat.”

Meat?  That sounds… right I guess.  I shake my head to him.  Is he being nice to me or mean?  Will he make me eat the meat?

“You can talk.” He tells me.  I was not trying to hide my ability to talk, I was just scared.  I do not think it would be good to not talk around him now though, so I say “Yes, I can talk.”

“How often did you feel different from the other two rats?” He asks me.

“Different?  I never thought I was different.”

“Really?  You did not feel weaker?  Smaller?  You did not recognize your gender’s traits compared to their traits?”

He talks so normally but it feels like a mountain of new words.  Gender?  “What is a gender?”

“A gender is the distinction between male and female; boy, and girl.”

I know boy and girl.  Girls have long hair and boys have short hair.  I have… a hair… what does that make me?  “Am… I a…”

“Girl.” He answers.  “I would explain more on what makes you specifically female but I doubt you would enjoy that conversation after eating.  Did you enjoy your chicken?”

Was the chicken the lump?  The meat?  Wait, didn’t he ask me that already?  “You asked me that already, didn’t you?”

“I did, and you have discovered that chicken is a type of meat, and you also failed to answer the first time.  I actually stated that you do not like meat, but I wanted to see how much of my statement you would catch.”

It is very hard to keep focused on what he is saying.  Something about not liking the chicken meat… “No, I do not like the chicken meat.” I reply.  “What… what do you want with me?”

“I want to educate you.”

“What does that mean?”

“To teach.  I want to teach you; teach you about life, death, people, things, food, drink, etc.  How much time we have to do that is unknown, but I feel what I cannot teach you, you will learn on your own.”

So he wants to help me then?  I WOULD like to know more about things.  He sounds… talks, like the person from the box with the buttons.  If he is the person from that, that means he was the one controlling the arms, and the one who was hurting me.  “Are you the one who was controlling the arms?  Did you hurt me?”

He doesn’t reply at first.  He instead decides to continue eating.  I don’t know if he heard me.  I think I will ask ag-

“No.” He says to me.  No?  I didn’t… expect him to say “no”.  It made sense that it would be him I thought… then again I do not know very much about him.  I don’t even know his name.  “What is your name?”

“What is yours?” He asks back.

“I do not have one…” I reply.  Saying this upsets me.  Chowder and Mickey have names but I do not.  I want one.  “Do you know how to get one?”

“I do.” He takes a sip of his drink after saying this.  “In this case you are named by someone.  I will name you.”

I’m not sure I want this man to name me.  He did give me food but… he seems… strange.  I don’t know how to describe it.  Will I be mean if I tell him that I do not want him to name me?  I suppose I should wait to see what the name will be.  “What is the name?”

“Oh I haven’t thought of it yet.” He answers me.  “You will have one soon enough.  Now you asked for my name so I will tell you.  For the time being you may call me ‘Crow’.  If you wish to have a full name ‘Melvin Crow’ will suffice.  Suffice means ‘it will do for the time being’.”

‘Full name?’ “What is a full name?”

“A more detailed way to tell the difference between people.  You will not be receiving a secondary or third name, you will have a first name and that will be all.”

“… Like how Chowder and Mickey have their names…” Thinking about them again makes me wonder about Mickey feeling ill.  “Mickey does not feel well.  Do you know why?”

“His body is attempting to revert to its previous state, but his core, soul, and memories, intelligence included, cannot do that without breaking his body.”

‘Soul’ That word sounds special.  It sounds like… life.  L-like a person, like a person’s own life.  Mickey’s life is breaking?  Doesn’t that mean he’ll-! “He can’t die!”  I yell.  I’m standing up, I’ve shoved the chair back, my hands are on the table.  I feel afraid, but not for me, I feel afraid for loss… I don’t want to lose Mickey.

“He will die.”

“You can’t change that?” I ask desperately.

“I might be able to, but I will not.”

He won’t help Mickey?  He does not want to help him… I am not willing to let that happen.  “Help him.” I demand.

“No.” He answers me.  I feel angry towards him, almost in the same way that I felt towards that… creature.  I am running across the table after him.  “He’ll die if you do not help him!”  Maybe if I hurt him enough he will give up and choose to save Mickey.  I try to jump over him and wrap my tail around his neck but my tail is grabbed and I feel a giant pain in my arms and back.  I’ve been thrown into the side of a wall.

I fall to the ground, dazed.  I try to get up but the man is holding me down with my chest to the ground.  He has one of my arms held up, being bent back.  It hurts a lot.  I shoulder feels like it is going to break.  All I’m able to do is scream and cry.  I need to help Mickey but I can’t move and I can barely think, just the pa- It HURTS!!

I am released.  The man is standing two feet away from me.  I stand up but I am not moving my right arm.  It is still hurting.  I wipe my face off with my left hand, but I am still crying.  “Why won’t you help him?”

“Life and death are unavoidable for anyone who feels physical pain.  You cannot escape it as you are mortal.  No mortal person can.  All you can do is delay it.  He will die, and I am not willing to use my resources to help stop that.”

“Resource-“ I have to change his mind.  “What has to happen to change your mind?!”

“You care very much for him.  Why do you care about him?”

“He was nice to me!  He helped me!”

“Would you want to save me if I were dying?  I helped you.”

I don’t know if I would.  He hurt me, but he did help me.  He isn’t one of us though.  Who is this… Crow person?  What does he do here?  “Why are you here?  What do you do here?  What could you have done?”

“I am your creator.” He answers plainly.  He… this man… m-made me?  He made Mickey and Chowder too then right?  That means that if Mickey is going to die…  “How long?”

“Why did you not finish your question?”

“How long will it be until I die too?”

“You will live much longer than he will.  Mickey was an imperfect experiment, Chowder was also imperfect, but he was also stronger.  He will live for ten more years.  You can have a set amount of days to be with them before they leave.”

“L-leave?” The days I was alone come back to me.  Those were not good days, I don’t want to be alone again, I don’t.  I don’t want to be alone again.  Crow is going to take them away?  “Why are they leaving?!”

“Mickey is going to leave to die.  Chowder is going to leave to go out to the real world.  You will also at one point.”

“Out… of the houses?”

“Yes.  With the real blue sky, and grass, and many different types of people.  You will no-doubt make new friends there.”

“But I don’t want new friends.  I want to stay with Mickey!”

“You are very selfish.  You don’t care about Mickey.  You care about being with him.  And you care even less about Chowder.”

I…  I do like Mickey more, but I want Chowder to be okay too…  “No.” That is all I can say.  All I can do is deny what he is saying.

“Then perhaps you would be willing to prove that?”

“Ye-!” I do not know where I get this idea, but I get it.  What if I told him that If I prove what I said, he would have to heal Mickey?  “If I do… will you save Mickey?”

“… I might.”

Is that a yes or a no?  “What does that mean?”

“It means that it is undecided.  Consider it as a possibility but not a yes.  It will depend on how quickly you prove yourself.”

“What do I need to do to prove myself then?”

“Kill the one that you truly care the least about.”

Part Ten

“You met our creator?”

I’m not saying anything to Mickey as he asks me this.  He has to sit down, he is getting sick faster, and the more I am not killing anyone the closer he is to dying.  I just feel too upset to talk.  I’m thinking of too many things and thinking about what will happen just makes me more upset but I cannot stop myself from thinking them.

I’m standing in front of him, and my eyes and head are pointed at the ground.  I do not want him to see my face, either of them.  I do not want to tell him that he will die.  I don’t want to tell Chowder… who I-

“I feel thirsty.” I say.  All of this thought is making my throat feel dry and sore.  I also want to be left alone at the time.  Chowder wants me to stay but Mickey says I can go.

I gulp down two glasses of water and sip on the third.  Chowder comes into the kitchen with me.  “I want to know what you found out.” He tells me.

“I… do not want to talk about it.” I say lowly.

“That is not a good reason.  You say that you met our creator then you just stay silent.  What did he tell you?”

“Will you hurt me if I do not tell you?”  I do not know why I feel less afraid of Chowder now.  But I begin to feel afraid again as soon as he makes that angry face again.  His hands are in tight fists.  He might hurt me, and Mickey will not be able to stop him.

“I am not answering that question.” He growls at me.  “We sent you there for a reason, and now you are back here with information we could use.  Did you find an escape?”  I do not reply.  I do not want him to know until I am sure of what I should do.  “Did the creator tell you new words?”  I still remain quiet.  “Did he say anything about Mickey?”

My head drops while I cringe.  I shakily place my cup down.  I am still not talking but Chowder knows.  “… What did he say about Mickey?”

He will not leave me alone now.  He knows too much about it.  Maybe… no, if we try to trick the creator he will use the… arms.  “He… Mickey is dying.”

Chowder does not say anything to me for a while after this.  In fact he actually leaves the room.  I am alone for three minutes.  I know the time because I count the seconds.  I do this so that I can stop thinking for a little while.  I want to think of a plan but the more I try I just get more upset, and unable to think clearly.  So I count.

When he comes back, Chowder asks me “Did he tell you a way that we can save Mickey?”  I nod.  I hope he does not ask what the way is.  I know what I will have to tell him, and then heh WILL hurt me.  He still asks though, and I am not surprised.

“Mickey… his s-soul is trying to keep his body normal, but… his body is turning back to… before, I don’t know what the before is.  He can be made well for a while, but it will not be forever.  Still… the creator can do it…”

I want him to say that he will fix it.  I want Chowder to leave, talk to Mickey.  Mickey has to know what to do.  Maybe Mickey can talk to the creator.  No, of course not.  “You were going to say something else, were not you?”

I correct him in my head ‘weren’t you’ but I do not say it out loud.  That will just make things worse.  So… I walk out.  Mickey waits outside and looks over to us.  I say us because Chowder obviously follows me, still asking what I was going to say.  Once I am evenly between both of them I reply quickly “He said that he would save Mickey if I killed” I have to take a deep breath before continuing. “…killed the person I care the, th-the least ab-bout…”

Chowder sits on the couch with his hands cupped and pressed against his face.  His eyes keep moving everywhere, sometimes looking back at me.  When they do, I flinch.  Mickey is less stunned but that may be because he cannot get very excited without hurting himself.  I know that Chowder is going to ask who it is.  It is going to happen at one point, so I might as well say who. “It’s Chowder.”

He looks so… sad now.  He isn’t crying but his eyes are closed, his breathing is loud, and he looks… crunched, I think that works there.  I do not know how I could have made it better, or said it better.  I don’t think I should have said anything at all.  I want to tell him that it wasn’t the… truth.  But it was the truth.  I am not a liar, at least not yet, but should I lie?  Should I tell him a lie to make him happy again?

“Then…” Mickey says, sounding out of breath, “I need to die.”

I feel my ears stand straight upward as I turn my head quickly to face him.  He wants to die- he’s willing to die?  B-but he can’t, I don’t want him to die, he’s been so-

I see Chowder, just a little bit, in the corner of my right eye.  Suddenly I feel ill, weak, and… guilty.  I do not sit on the couch, I do not want to be near either of them, I feel like I’ve betrayed them both, so I sit on the floor.  Chowder was not nice to me, but he was never… he never hurt me, he helped me a few times.  Why can’t I care about him like I care about Mickey?

We are not talking to each other.  We are not moving either.  I do not know what they are thinking about but all that I can think of is how upset I am with myself.  At one point though, Chowder says to us “We kill the creator then.”

Mickey and I are both quiet when he says this but he has our attention.  “I doubt you care about him as much as you care about me, so why not just kill him?  You met him once already.  If you get close to him you can kill him.”

I think it over.  It’s true I do not like the creator much at all, but… he is our only chance of saving Mickey.  “But who will save Mickey?  Do you know how to do that?”

Chowder looks down at an angle, groaning and sighing.  “Maybe you could get him to tell you?  Find him again, talk with him, and see if he tells you. Once you find out you kill him and we fix Mickey.”

“But what if I can’t remember how?  He listed a lot of things wrong with Mickey and I do not remember most of those.”

“If… you write it down,” Mickey adds, “then- wait we can’t let her do this.”

“Why not!?” Chowder turns his head quickly towards Mickey.

“What if he tries to kill HER?” Mickey replies.  “What if he uses the arms to kill her?  She hasn’t killed or beaten those before, have you?” He directs to me.

I shake my head.  “I saw… tubes, at the top of it that could… maybe be broken, but I was not able to.  If I could stab it with a knife I might be able to stop it but I am not sure.”

“Well you should keep a knife either way.” Chowder informs.  “For anything.”

“Chowder, why don’t you go?” I ask.  “You are much stronger than I am, and you know what has to be done.  I don’t want to forget everything and ruin this.”

“You have to go because you are the only one who can fit, and you’re the only one he might trust enough to get close to.  And when you are close enough, you kill him.”

“You… you want me to betray him?”  I do not like this idea.  I do not want to kill anyone and I do not want to betray anyone.  I do not know why Mickey has to die or why someone else does instead, it does not make sense to me.  I just wish the creator… CROW, would let him live and… let us leave, together, all three of us.

“He betrayed you.” Chowder sounds more angry now.  I guess he is angry at the creator so I am not frightened this time.  “He made us didn’t he?  Now he’s not even willing to keep us alive??  If he were a real father he would want to keep us safe!  If you trick him, you’ll be giving him what he deserves.”

If I tell him that I will not do it, Chowder will just become more angry-… angrier, so I say nothing.  I wish there was something else that we could do.  Crow wants to keep his, his resources, but if we save Mickey he will lose some of them.  Could I get him more resources to save Mickey?  I guess I will have to wait until I see him again to find out then.

“She doesn’t want to do it, Chowder.” Mickey says with a deep breath.  “I appreciate your concern but we can’t make her do that.”

“Someone has to.” Chowder replies angrily.

“Why?  If the creator dies how do we know we can save me?”

“We make him tell us.”

“How do you know he isn’t watching us right now?  He could kill us himself right now with those arms.”

Chowder made an angry-sighing sound, crossing his arms and turning away from us both.  No one was going to kill anyone, and if no one was going to kill anyone else then Mickey was going to die.

Right now I have to decide on what I am willing to do.  Killing the creator will not save Mickey, so he will die either way.  It all comes back to the original problem, killing Chowder.  I remember fighting with the creature, the one who attacked me.  It wanted to kill me.  Would I be allowed to kill it?  I would have to find it again, and I think I might be able to remember how to get to it.

“I think I know who can die.” I say, breaking the silence.  Both of them look at me strangely.  “When I was looking for the escape, before finding the creator, I found another house.  There was a creature that looked like us.  It attacked me, it almost killed me, but I managed to make it unconscious.”

“A cr- were you hurt?” Mickey asks, attempting to stand up but being pushed down gently by Chowder.  I do not want to worry them but I suppose they should know.  I lift up my shirt to my stomach, showing them the tears on it from the creature.

I feel… strange, doing this, and I quickly pull my shirt back down.  I look away, still feeling strange, and it is not a good kind of strange.  “No, you aren’t going back to that creature.” Mickey tells me.

“I-if I can… k-kill it, this time, it has to count, does it not?” Remembering how terrifying it was fighting the creature, remembering how terrifying it was to feel so… upset and angry with it, makes me feel ill, but I stand still.  “I care less about the creature than I care about Ch-“ I stop myself and quickly say “both of you”.  I hope Chowder does not figure out what I almost said.

“What happens if you die though?” Chowder asks.

“Then… won’t that count also?  Mickey will still live, will he not?”

“That depends on if you care about yourself more than us or the creature.” Chowder replies.

I am confused by this.  I never really thought about how much I care about myself personally.  I have always been upset that I have had to be alone, but does that mean I care about me?  I… I don’t know.  “I don’t know if I do or not.  I- I don’t want to,” I have to force the word out “die, but… I want Mickey to live.”

Chowder tells me that he and Mickey need to talk alone so I leave.  I go to the restroom and wait inside.  It takes six minutes for them to finish… a-and then find me.  Chowder opens the door and almost steps on to me, but he jerks back before his foot lands on me.

“S-sorry I thought I-… w-what did you decide?” I stand up.

“You… you will need a weapon and protection.”

“Protection?”  What do we use for that?”

“We can bend the metals and make different clothing parts for you to put on…”

“And the weapon?”

“We have more than enough knives that you can use.  Are you sure that you want to do this?”

I am about to think about it but I stop myself.  I cannot think about doubt or second-thoughts now.  “I just want this to be over and done.”

Chowder nods and walks back to the living-room.  I follow.  We spend the rest of the day making protection for me.  These plate-shaped things made of metal are found in a drawer.  Chowder bends them around my arms.  They slip around a bit but they have stick at the ends that I can use to his things with.  We sharpen these.

We find other metal plates, one that is a rectangle shape.  It is much harder to bend but we are able to fit it around my stomach.  Unfortunately I am unable to move well with it wrapped around me, and it is taken off.  They get a large amount of shirts and they connect them to mine.  If I am scratched at, at least my shirts will be hurt and not me.

At the end my legs, my arms, and my stomach, are protected.  I hug both Mickey and Chowder before going.  Chowder hugs me back.  I tell him that I am sorry for being so upset towards him, and he tells me the same thing.  After this is over we can all leave maybe, like we wanted to in the first place.  My last words to Mickey are “I will keep you alive.”

I am put back into the ceiling.  The arms are not around so far.  For some reason I do not think they will be following me this time.  So I keep crawling, and crawling, until I reach the house of the creature.

The roof to the area of the creature is not repaired, and I quickly drop down into the room.  It is repaired, looking like all the others.  I see nothing of the creature yet.  I have two knives in my hands, one long and triangular, and the other the same though smaller with jagged lines on it.  I keep them in front of me, and constantly turn in different directions in case the creature is near.

The kitchen may be the place where it is now.  It must be eating so I walk towards it.  I feel afraid, but not as afraid as I did before.  I am more prepared and I beat it last time.  I hope it will be easier.

I realize that the creature may tackle me if I rush into the room, so I stand to the side of the door and knock on it.  I wait for two minutes before knocking again.  Suddenly I feel more stressed.  What if this creature was smart like us?  What if it knows I am trying to kill it?  C-can it smell me?  Can it see me?  I do not want to go into the room now.

I look around for something that may help me contain the creature.  I see the living-room table.  If I place that in front of the door then when the creature tries to attack me it will crash into the table instead… but the table will also make noise.  The creature has not attacked me with my noise yet however so… ugh.  I feel… irritated, annoyed, stressed.  I have to choose something.  Either choice may be dangerous so really there is no right or wrong one.

I begin to drag the table to the door.  At first it isn’t very loud.  It makes a brushing sound against the carpet but nothing else, but when it gets on to the wood floor right in front of the kitchen door it begins to make a very loud rubbing noise.  It sounds similar to a horn, and it definitely has had to catch the attention of the creature.

I lift the table up so that it is leaning against the door from top to bottom.  Next I reach over and grab the handle from the side.  I slowly turn it, then throw the door open.  I can hear it in my head, the table slamming against the creature then on to the floor.  I expect this to happen so much that I actually almost stab the air after opening the door… but nothing has happened.

I look inside.  No creature.  The middle-counter is large enough to hide the creature though so maybe it is behind it.  I move the table aside, and walk in.  My knives are out and ready, shaking in my hands.  I decide to stand on top of the counter and look down at the other end.  The creature is not there either.

For a moment I am able to relax.  I decide to get water since I am alone for now.  I feel too light-headed not to.  After a short drink I walk back out to the living-room.  If this house is the same as mine then there will be a bathroom, a bedroom, the work-out roo- the… the bedroom… m-maybe he is asleep…

I start to rush up the stairs to where the bedroom should be, but my large thumping with my feet makes me realize that I need to be quieter.  I slowly step now, making long stretches with my legs across the stairs and the upper-floor.  I find the bedroom, and once the door is open I do see something inside of the bed.  It breathes slowly, and peacefully.  It is the creature.

I walk over to it quietly.  I do not want to risk being seen so I go to its back.  I raise my knives.  I… I have to kill it now.  I have…

My hands shake so much that the knives fall out of my hands, one hitting the floor and the other landing partially on the floor and partially on my foot.  It cuts me but not badly.  I do not notice the pain very much, I… I sink into a sitting position on the floor.

I really really really really really really- I don’t… I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this I don’t want to “do this!”  I’m yelling this now.  I am crying again.  I know this creature tried to kill me, but it… I still… it hurts.  It feels wrong.

I start to breathe slowly, in and out.  I keep telling myself that I have to do this, I have so save Mickey.  I slowly pick up the knives.  I am raising them above the creature.  “I have… if I don’t… he… he will…”

I see the creature turning, but the knives are already being pushed down towards him.  Screaming.  There was screaming.

Part Eleven

It is still screaming from after the two knives stuck in its chest.  I cannot stand to listen to the screaming.  I yank the knives out, and fall backward.  I feel weak.  My arms will not lift, and my legs will not either.  The creature still screams, and as it continues to do so I feel weaker and weaker.  I feel so ill; I want to leave the room but it’s like the screaming is keeping me here, making me listen to it.  It is a punishment, like what the arms did to my thumb, and I deserve it.

I cannot even bring myself to speak, to say sorry to the creature.  I try to and all that comes out are whimpers.  The creature is whimpering as well, slowly, as it dies.  I do not want it to die, I never did.  I will not feel better when it does die.

My head slides to the side, pulling the rest of me towards the ground.  I fall, resting for the moment, and still unable to move.  My hand is in front of my face, and lying next to it is one of the knives, red and wet.

I cannot look at it.  I need to shut my eyes.  I feel so ill from seeing it that I may throw up again.  I squeeze with my eyelids, and slowly I am able to close my eyes.  I feel the same amount of illness and sadness but at least it is not getting worse now.  I only see black in front of me.

I want to fall asleep again but what will happen if I do?  I need to make sure that Mickey is alive.  I need to make sure that the creator saved h-

A whirring… the arms are here?

I find myself able to open my eyes, and stand up as well.  I still feel ill, but not as weak.  I must be afraid enough to?  Either way, it does feel… a little better to be able to move I guess.

The arms open the ceiling and move down in front of me.  They do not touch me, and instead they move over to the dead creature.  After a short while of staring they turn back to me.  “This does not count.” A voice says from the arms.  It is the creator’s voice I can only assume, I do not remember it well enough.

Why would this not count?  I did not care about the creature as much as anyone else and I… killed it.  “Why?”

“This is a beast.” They, or he, say… says… uh- “Beasts do not have souls.”

How am I meant to “know what does and does not have a soul?”

“See if they can speak.  Pick up your weapons.  You are not finished yet.”

I look down at the knives, with the creature’s… the “beast’s” blood still on them.  It was hard to stab anything in the first place.  N-now, I, I have to do it again?  Why does he want me to kill things?!

“WHY DO YOU WANT THEM TO DIE?!” I scream.  It feels like I am watching someone else picking up the knives and attacking the arms.  They of course grab hold of me, but I am still struggling, trying to stab at the tubes at their top.

The arms then begin to drag me into the ceiling and through the tunnel further.  I am still struggling, I am so upset that I have practically forgotten about my question.  When the arms actually answer it seems to instantly wake me up from my anger-state.  “You are not old enough to understand yet.  If you are lucky you will never understand.”

I am dropped into another room.  My protection makes a clang against the floor when I land.  I hurts but I am able to stand up again.  I look up but the arms have already left.  I am in a new house, and there is most-likely a new person to kill.

I am less afraid this time.  If this person IS a person and not like that creature then they will probably be less violent… and… and easier to kill.  ‘I have to do this for Mickey’ I keep telling myself.  It feels like something heavy is on top of me, and when I keep getting closer to finding the person the weight becomes heavier.  Because I am standing it feels like it is crushing me, my bones cracking, my body breaking.

The kitchen is empty.  The next place I can check is the bedroom.  I turn around to walk out of the kitchen but the door begins to open.  The… the person is coming inside?  No- no, I, I-I have to hide!

I run to the side then quickly go behind the counter.  I hear the person’s footsteps.  They are very close.  I look over to my right where they move towards.  The person is at the fridge.  The person is taller than I am but not very much more.  He is… I think it is a he… a-anyway, he is grey, and he looks like Mickey, Chowder, and I.  He has the same ears, face, tail, and such.  He is less… strong-looking than Mickey and Chowder.  His arms and waist are much skinnier.  He is not wearing any clothing except for small pants.

The person is pouring water into a cup.  He takes a sip and moves towards my location.  I have to move.  I try to sneak to the side but my feet slip from my crouching-position and I fall flat on my face.  The person hears this.

“Who a-“ I do not know why he has stopped talking.  I do not get up, I feel too… ashamed, and afraid, to do that.  I feel a tugging from my hands though… h-

I try to tighten my grip on the knives but he has them already.  I move quickly to get up, and turn around to face him.  He is not holding the knives but instead he has placed them on top of the counter.  I try to talk but all that comes out are stutters and stammers.

“You were going to hurt me with these, weren’t you?” He asks me.

“He… s-said I had to.” W-will this person attack me now?  He has my knives and he knows I was going to attack him.

He has not attacked me yet, and asks me “Who is ‘He’?”

I don’t know whether I should tell him that.  Should that be kept secret?  I don’t remember being told to keep it a secret… “The person who made us.”

He gives me a confused stare.  “Why would he want you to do that?”

“I don’t know… but if…” He doesn’t even hurt me and I was going to kill him… I can’t do this,  I can’t kill him…

I fall to the ground supporting myself with my hands.  “I’m sorry!” I keep yelling while shaking my head.  He hates me, he has to.  My face is wet from crying again, I’ve been doing that so much it starts to hurt.  Why does someone have to die?!

He pulls me up.  H-he’s going to stab me now, isn’t he?  I-!

“It’s okay.” He tells me.  He has his hands gently on my shoulders.  He doesn’t look angry, he looks… s-supportive?  C…cofort… comforting…like uncomfort only… comfort.

“What happens if you don’t do what the maker says?” He asks.

I find it hard to make myself calm enough to talk normally.  When I start taking deep breaths they are short and jagged-like. “I… my, f-friend is dying, and the m-maker said, I h-had to…” Every time I say that word it hurts more.  I cannot bring myself to say it again.

“… kill me, to save your friend?”

I nod.  I do not know what else I can do.  What should I do?

“What is your name?” He asks.

I sigh.  “I do not have one…”

“Oh!” He seems startled.  I become startled by the loudness of his voice and jump a bit.  “Sorry.” He continues.  “Um… are you hungry?”

“I…” Why is he asking if I am hungry?  I… I was told to kill him shouldn’t he be mad?  “A-aren’t you mad at me?”

“Maybe I should be, but no, I’m not.”

“B-but the knives and if-“

“We…” He takes a deep breath, looking sad almost.  “We can talk about that later, okay?”  He looks directly at me with a serious face.  “Now do you want to eat something?”

I suppose I would be hungry normally but this whole situation has made me feel too ill to be hungry.  “I… don’t think I could… I don’t feel very good.”

“Well you would at least need some water, right?  That’s good for when you feel sick.”

“Sick?... is that another word for ill?”

“Yes.  There are a few others aside from that but that’s not important.” He walks past me and opens the fridgerat- refri-… that.  “I was coming in here to eat something myself, and make some coffee.  I hope you don’t mind.”

I am very confused by his actions.  There has to be a reason that he is doing this but I do not know it yet.  I don’t even reply to him because of how strange this seems.  For a moment… for a moment I look over at the knives.  He has his back turned and they are right there… I could-

“NO!” I yell.  I pick up the knives and throw them away.  I don’t know where I do not care where they fall or crash into, I just do not want to see them again.  The person is startled, he jumps up and turns quickly around.  He looks over at me with wide-eyes, then notices the knives stuck inside one of the cupboards.

I start stammering “I’m sorry” again.  When I get past my apology I try to explain, but the person puts a hand up.  I stop.  “You don’t have to apologize.” He tells me.  “You don’t… like those knives, do you?”

I shake my head repeatedly and quickly.  I don’t stop so he has to hold my face still before slowly letting go.  “I think you should sit down.  C’mon.” He leads me out to the living-room and sits me down on the couch.  “I’ll be back in a minute or two okay?”

“O-… yes…” I say id…idly.

“There are some books on that shelf if you like reading.” He points to something at my left before walking off.  It IS a bookshelf.  I decide to walk over to it.  Many colorful books are on it… thick books.  I pull one out and open it.  The title letters say “34 a n d a h a l f p a r a b l e s”

“Thirty-Four and a half par a’ blis” I sound out.  I open it.  There are many listed words going downward on it with little dots attaching them to numbers.  The first one is called “The Sower”.  It is attached to the number five.  I notice numbers at the top of the pages… so… page nine.

On page nine it has the words “The Sower” in big letters.  Below it many many words.  I try to read them, sounding them in my head.  “Thee re one’ss wa’s ah so-“ I cannot read this, I cannot understand it… I put the book on the table.  Maybe the person can read it correctly?

I feel terrible.  He is being so nice to me even though I was told to kill him.  What am I going to do anyway?  I’m wasting time and Mickey is dying.  I failed to kill the person, I couldn’t, I don’t want to, but something has to happen.  I’ll lose Mickey otherwise.

He comes back, wiping with mouth off with a cloth and holding a cup, each in a different hand.  “Find anything that you like?” He asks.

“I am not very good at reading.” I say back.  “I tried to read this book,” I hold up the parablis book “but I don’t think I used the right sounds for the words.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

That would be interesting.  I… guess I should let him.  “Alright.” I hand him the book.  He sets his things down and sits next to me.  He turns to the Sower story and begins to read.  “There once was a sower who went across a field.  As he went across the field-“

“E-excuse me.” I interrupt.  “B-but what is a sower?”

“Oh.  Hm…” He puts his hand to his chin, looking down.  “It’s… a gardener… you know where lettuce comes from?  Salad and such?”

I shake my head.

“Well,” He continues, “All vegetables and fruit come from seeds or roots.  Seeds are much smaller and grow into the plants which become vegetables.  The sower is the one who puts the seeds in the ground so that they can grow into plants.”

“I think I understand…” I am a bit confused still but I do not want to make him stop again.

He nods and continues reading.  “As he went across the field he scattered seeds around the floor.  Some seeds fell on hard soil.  These seeds grew quickly but because of their soil they dried up and died quickly, their roots were not strong or deep enough to survive.  Other seeds fell where thorns grew.  They began to grow with the thorns but eventually were choked and pulled down by the thorn-vines.”

“But didn’t the seeds need to grow?”

“They did.  That’s what this story is about.” He clears his throat and continues again.  “Some seeds however fell on good soil and grew very strong and tall.  They became wheat—wheat is a plant that is used to make bread—and this wheat fed thousands.”

“So… it’s a happy ending?” I ask.  I’m not sure what this story means.  Is it meant to mean something?

“This story talks about how seeds of Faith are planted.”

“Faith?”

“Faith is a sort of trust.  You cannot prove something but you still have enough trust to believe it’s real.”

“But… what should I believe is real?”

“You can have faith in many things.  You can have faith in someone to do the right thing, you can have faith that there is always something watching over you, you can have faith that everything will be good in the end.  I have faith that there is definitely someone watching over us, but only if we have faith in that.”

Do these seeds have something to do with faith?  He said they did but how?  “How do the seeds have faith?”

“Well,” He begins, “the seeds that fell among the rocky soil?  Those are the seeds that begin with a lot of faith, but they soon lose that faith because of bad times or persecution.  The seeds that are with the thorns choke because they are pulled down by others who doubt.  People tell them they are wrong and not to have faith.  They have doubt, so they lose their faith.  But the seeds that fell on the good soil became strong and dedicated to their faith and helped others because of their fate.”

“So… this story wants us to be like the strong seeds?”  I ask.  He nods to me with a smile.  “But… how do I have faith for my friend?  He… he’s dying.”

“You can have faith that he will have a better life after death, or that he will be saved.” He gets up and begins to place the book back on the shelf but them he stops and hands it to me instead.  “I think you can use this.  It will help you in the future.”

I nod and hold the book closely.  “Th-thank you…”

He nods again, this time with a sigh.  “Someone has to die to save your friend, right?”

“Yes…”

“Alright…  Do you think you can eat something now?”

I still do not feel well.  “No… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright… Oh!  We still need to give you a name, don’t we?”

I just remembered that myself.  What will we do for my name anyway?  “How do we do that?”

“Let’s see… is there something you like doing?”

I never thought about things I enjoyed doing I suppose.  I liked the swings I guess… and for a little bit I liked that game.  I liked being with Mickey and Chowder.  I think I liked the stories and figuring out words the most.  “I like… words, figuring them out on papers and books.”

“Okay… well we can’t call you book-worm, that’d be rude.”  He stays silent for a while.  Sh-should I be thinking of a name too?  U-um… book?  Paper?  Words?  Letters?  Parablis?  Rea- W-wait… “I never found out what your name was.”

He stops and looks back to me.  “Oh that’s right, I never told you did I?  My name is Mason.”

That sounds like an interesting name.  “Does it mean something?”

He shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Most names do but I’ll never- I never found out.”  I don’t know why he corrected himself but I guess it doesn’t matter.  “Now…” He walks about for a bit still thinking, saying “Hmmm” sometimes.

“Do you like the name Rea- w-wait no, no, that’s a boys’ name… Pap-… Do you like the name Parable?”

“What does that mean?”

“Parables are stories that have a lesson basically.”

I think about the lessons I have had to learn.  They do not bring happiness.  I do not want to be reminded of them when someone says my name.  “C-can I have a different one?”

“Alright... Well there’s Paige, do you like that name?”

“That’s a name?  I thought… the pages on the book…”

“It’s both.  A page on a book is spelled P-A-G-E.  Paige the name is spelled P-A-I-G-E.”

“Is… that to make sure there’s a difference between the names?”

“Yes- well I think so.  I suppose you’ll find out one of these days… do you want that name?”

I don’t really feel like the name means anything large, but it doesn’t bother me.  I would like to have a name, and it does sound nice.  I nod.  He smiles to me again.  “Good.  From now on when people ask who you are you can tell them that name.  It is your name and that means you are special.”

I manage to smile back.  I… I have a name now.  I hope Mickey will get to hear it.  “Now,” The per- er- M-Mason, says, “I think you might need to get back to your friends now.  Okay?”

I immediately remember what will happen if I come back and someone isn’t dead.  “But that means he’ll-“

“Just-“ He interrupts before closing his eyes and calming down “… try to trust me on this.  Okay?  I can make sure your friend will be okay.”

“H-how?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.  I’m sure he will want you back.  Do you have everything of yours?  I’m guessing you don’t want those knives back.”

“No… I have everything.”

“Good.  I hope you have a nice day with your friend.”  Mason walks away back into the kitchen.  I look up at the hole I came from.  It is still open.  I should leave now.

I am about to jump up to the hole but I hear something from the kitchen.  It sounds like a cutting noise, followed by a large groan… o-or a scream.  Is Mason alright?  I walk to the kitchen and open the door.  Mason has his back turned to me but he doesn’t look hurt.  “Are you okay?” I ask him.

“… Yes…” He replies.  It sounds hard for him to say this, like he has to force the word out.

“A-are you sure?” I start to walk over to him.

“Yes!” He says loudly.  I stop walking.  His breathing sounds low and stutter-like.  He looks like he’s holding his chest.  Did… d-did he  “Please go.” He tells me while slowly beginning to sink towards the ground.  He stabbed… he stabbed himself- he’s going to die!

“B-but you’re d-“

“Your friend,” He grunts, “ne-needs… y-y-you…” He slumps into a sitting position.  I don’t want to leave him, I want to help him.  Why does everyone have to die.

“PLEASE let me help you!” I yell back, immediately tearing with a sore-throat.

“Trust me… P-Paige… g-go to your friend.  I’m… s-sorry that this…”

“Th-that this…?” I start towards him again.

“It’s… too late and it’s what’s needed.  Please… PLEASE… go to your friend.”

I stop walking towards him.  I know why he did this… I… I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for this.  “Th-thank you…” I force out during my sobbing.

“You’re…” He stresses with more deep breaths, “W-wel…welc-…c-…ome… Paige…”

I hear his body beginning to thud before I see it and am not able to watch so I turn.  Hearing it alone makes me feel as if I have started falling forever and am about to die from splatting on the ground.

I force myself out of the kitchen and brace myself against the couch.  He… he barely knew me and he did that… he killed himself so Mickey could live.  Wh-what happens to his body?  I can’t bear to go back inside and look at it.  I wish I was strong enough to but… I’m just not.  I need help…  I need help…

…

…

…

…

I don’t know when I fell asleep but when I wake up I find myself back at my original house.  I am on the couch.  Someone is here though… it’s the creator… the Melvin Crow person.

He is not looking at me directly, but he knows I am awake because he tells me one thing… one sentence… “It was too late.”

Part Twelve   Finale

She acts according to how any normal stress-filled organic being would.  The death of her friend was truly unfortunately.  Of course she has no idea of what would actually happen if I attempted to heal him.  It was a very favorable chance to test her moral abilities.

Neither of her allies, DmE-6, or DmE-8, grew mentally enough to develop distinctive stable moralities.  I expect DmE-6 will become consumed by his mental-personal state, having the same eventual result as our late DmE-1.  Still though, he IS salvageable.

I was hoping that DmE-3 would have shown his development in the face of death.  Instead he chose the way of the Pacifist .  The depth is th- was there, but mental barriers seemed to be keeping him from allowing his full spectrum of core and personality to bloom.  He was one out of many.  This was almost a loss, but in the end it did reveal to us one success in DfE-2.

DfE-1 was so unbearably fragile in the same way that that DmE-4 was.  Their heart-rates sky-rocketing, breathing becoming almost comparable to that of a quickly-sounded purr, except for they were not enjoying themselves.  DfE-1 was almost stable after the first three days, but her mind could not process everything, especially when it came to lack of activity.  The adult mind wants to know that they are in control.  They cannot bother with things like “imagination”, they constantly worry about the next problem they must solve instead of how exciting solving it may be.  That is why a child was called for.

DfE-2 DID show high amounts of stress, worry, and sorrow, but it was not only much more appropriate than when the others had, but her emotional spectrum was not as limited.  She enjoyed being curious, happy, playful, and had a definite moral stance, while the others would simply collapse and begin dying, she would actually make decisions.

And now she will be alone.  I could attempt to repeat the process I suppose, but she already has implanted her emotional attachments onto DmE-6, 3, and 8.  Anything new would most-likely be ignored.  I have decided that she is ready to go out into the world, and I have chosen a specific Mobius for her to grow up in.  She will arrive in an orphanage naturally, and I will be observing her activity daily.

She found a name for herself.  She now calls herself “Paige”, after a parable book she found.  I will allow her to keep the book for now.  The expression she gave when I approached her was simply heart-breaking, her eyes nearly bloodshot with how long she had been crying, to say nothing of the tear-stains themselves.  Of course I expressed no emotion to her.  There has been enough of that.

She was quite hostile, blaming me for not saving her “Mickey” friend, and asking over and over why I did not save him.  I simply told her that there was nothing I could do to save him.  Had I done so he would not have been the same person, and she would have become even more upset.  I can’t have my main success break down again.

Upon hearing this news she was less vocal.  She required someone who could sympathize with her, or comfort her at the very least.  “Chowder” is currently being detained, as he was becoming increasingly hostile.  He will be shipped away, sold to some other area; the Glatorian may be able to use him in their “Holy-Crusades”.

She said that she wanted to be able to tell Mickey that she had a name now.  It is understandable that she would want him to know.  She wanted to see Chowder afterwards but he was in no mental state for visiting.

She has stopped crying now and has decided to eat some more.  I informed her of her options.  I see no reason to not give her preference over her future.  It will not affect me so I may as well make it easier for her.  She said that she wished she could forget.  I am tempted to grant her that wish.  Perhaps she will need some removals of certain memories.  She does not require memories of the video game, but it could aid her in future endeavors regarding her new home’s media.

The murders, the kills; those I could take away.  She will be most unsuitable if all she does is mope about the death she has seen.  I will change that.

Mevrik has created an extremely unpredictable chain of events with his creation.  One can only hope that others do not discover the ritual for creating another.  Still, his mistake has led to many beneficial breakthroughs.

She looked hilariously confused by these doors.  And now there she is, sitting at the table, silent and still.

“What?”

“I have come to offer you something.  You do not enjoy remembering all of these events, do you?”

“… N-no…”

“I can have you forget some of them.”

“But… I don’t want to forget about… th-them… about Mickey or-“

“You will still remember the people you’ve met, but you won’t remember any of the death.”

She is hesitant to answer of course.  It is only natural.  Of course she will never fully forget these things.  They will come back to her one day, but at that point she will have hopefully matured mentally.

“I… don’t think I can live remembering everything.”

“Do you trust me with your well-being?”

Once again she is hesitant to answer.  The fact alone that she eventually asks me “Did you try to save him?” is more consideration than most would give.  Now as for the answer I would give her I must give thought to this.  If I simply lie to her it will be done, but I must have absolute loyalty, and structure to that loyalty, given the opportunity for her to return to my presence, and possibly employment.

Since I cannot lie I will speak a half-truth.  “I realized that I could not save him regardless.  Still, the life you took was useless.  The creature was doing nothing productive.”

“But… Shamus… he…”

“Shamus took his own life.  In truth I did not expect you to kill him.  It was a test, and you passed it.”

“I… h-how?  You wanted me to kill him didn’t you?”

“No, I wanted you to make your own decisions under pressure, and you did.  Preserving life for future use is much more beneficial than simply killing something.  His death was unfortunate but it was not your burden to bear.  Do you feel responsible for his death?”

“I… I feel… sad.  I wish I had done something.”

“You could have done nothing.  You did not have the knowledge needed to save him, and you did not have access to the possibility of achieving said knowledge.  Your sadness is appropriate but you must learn to move forward from it.  When a moment of depression emerges, it is not within the possibility of any being with a soul to not feel it, though some choose to mask it.  But to allow it to take control of you only leads to ruin.  In this case, Shamus would most-likely have wanted you to live on learning from his book, spreading kindness and joy.  You cannot do so if you sulk.”

“… I have an idea of what that word means… W-w-what will happen… h-happen to Chowder?”

“He has become too violent to stay here.  His mind will go mad if cooped up.  He will be transferred like you, but I doubt that your paths will ever cross in the future.”

“… I will be alone again…”

“At first.  Over time you will meet people, and you will become allies with them once again, perhaps finding someone your age to embrace in romance.”

“Rom… romanc-ce?  Embrace?”

“Love, Paige.  When you find someone that fills your mind with wantings, desires to be with them, hold them, and feel worried for them constantly, to find someone that you are drawn to in a way that a bond of marriage would, take control of that moment.  You will not experience it for a time, and you will have no idea how to until it happens.  I am not aware of if you have this ability, so we shall see if it is indeed possible for you.  Do not waste your chance if it does become possible.  Do not let it slip away.”

“How do you know about it?  Did you feel it once?”

“… No, not romantic love.”

“A different kind then?”

“One that comes from the protective nature for one’s sibling, in my case a younger sibling.  They have been dead for thousands of years.”

“… Is that all I need to know?”

“For the time-being, yes.  Are you ready for the death-memories to leave you?”

“… Yes.”

“Good.”  She is of course asleep during the process.  She groans occasionally but the process never reaches a critical moment.  I choose to have her memories of myself distorted, my appearance, her memories of our encounters, but I leave the advice given, and the name she knows me as.  That is sufficient I think.

She requests to see her “Chowder” friend before departure.  DmE-6 is not violent around her thankfully.  They actually hug, both crying, and both sad to see the other leave.  Formalities continue until DmE-6 is taken.

Soon Paige’s own shuttle is ready and she steps in silently.  She has a silver and pink flower atop her head, no doubt given by “Chowder”.  For now her mind is filled with merely simple thoughts and vast curiosity.  In time they will become much more complex.

“What was the point of this experiment?”

“Well, my Dearest, I was originally recreating the events of Mobian-Evolution, but after success in that regard I moved on to further experimentation with Slender-Venom.  This is the result.”

“And did you mean your words then; ‘not romantic love’?”

“I left that at an impasse for you to decide if that is the direction of which you would like this to navigate.  Is that what you would like to pursue.”

“… I would.”

“Then the answer is clear.”

“Does she remind y-“

“No.  I know you would think she would, but they are very much different.  Oh I may have fondness towards the young female, but she is nothing like the girl I knew all those years ago.”

“No… I suppose not.  She is your daughter in a sort then, yes?”

“Indeed.  I cannot, and see no reason to, mask that I do like the sound of having a sort of offspring that does not despise my being.  Speaking of which, we have yet to repair the influence over our dear leopards.”

“Then that is our next objective.”

Fly.  Fly away, Paige.  Live in a life that has no connection to ours.  Live in a place where anything abnormal or supernatural is not the result of Servers, or a Council, Chaos Energy, Slender Venom, or the like.  Seek none of those things.  It is a better life to live without them.