The Scientist was the exact opposite of a chatty person, so if you were to see him walk into the room, don't expect him to chime into your conversation unless it is to his benefit. This was the case one Tuesday morning when he walked into the West Branch T.I.B.A. break room for coffee.
"...probably saw someone that just looked like him," one of The Scientist's lackeys said.
"No, you don't understand," the other one said (The Scientist didn't bother with names, they just took up brain storage that could be used more effectively), "I've been studying cryptids since fourth grade; I think I would know how to distinguish a relatively built man from a Sasquatch."
The Scientist stopped pouring his coffee and turned his head slightly to hear the conversation better.
"He was over seven feet tall with the hair and the eyebrow and everything!" the other continued.
"Just a hormone disorder dude," the first said. "I can count the number of people with disorders like that in my life on one hand; it's not as incredible as you're trying to make it sound."
As the second lackey tried to convince the first of what he had seen, The Scientist left for the camera room with a half-poured cup of coffee and a clipboard about The Telekinetic on the counter.
The camera room was a large room that was tapped into every public camera on the West Coast (with the consent of the government of course). After hours of following the second lackey on street cameras, The Scientist finally saw the lackey freeze in his steps and stare at someone or something at the other end of the street. He searched for another camera that was angled the direction of the lackey's stare and something stuck out instantly. A figure, taller than any man The Scientist had ever seen and possibly ever will see, with ape-like characteristics walking among the crowd as if he actually thought he belonged in it.
The Scientist called in the nearest Pincher and showed him stills of every angle he could get on this ape-man and said he wanted him in the facility by the end of the week. The Scientist left without another word and the Pincher was dashing from end to end of the room collecting as much information as he could about this new Test Subject.
"...probably saw someone that just looked like him," one of The Scientist's lackeys said.
"No, you don't understand," the other one said (The Scientist didn't bother with names, they just took up brain storage that could be used more effectively), "I've been studying cryptids since fourth grade; I think I would know how to distinguish a relatively built man from a Sasquatch."
The Scientist stopped pouring his coffee and turned his head slightly to hear the conversation better.
"He was over seven feet tall with the hair and the eyebrow and everything!" the other continued.
"Just a hormone disorder dude," the first said. "I can count the number of people with disorders like that in my life on one hand; it's not as incredible as you're trying to make it sound."
As the second lackey tried to convince the first of what he had seen, The Scientist left for the camera room with a half-poured cup of coffee and a clipboard about The Telekinetic on the counter.
The camera room was a large room that was tapped into every public camera on the West Coast (with the consent of the government of course). After hours of following the second lackey on street cameras, The Scientist finally saw the lackey freeze in his steps and stare at someone or something at the other end of the street. He searched for another camera that was angled the direction of the lackey's stare and something stuck out instantly. A figure, taller than any man The Scientist had ever seen and possibly ever will see, with ape-like characteristics walking among the crowd as if he actually thought he belonged in it.
The Scientist called in the nearest Pincher and showed him stills of every angle he could get on this ape-man and said he wanted him in the facility by the end of the week. The Scientist left without another word and the Pincher was dashing from end to end of the room collecting as much information as he could about this new Test Subject.
The door opened; a bell chimed.
"Come in," called out a voice from the restaurant kitchen.
Roy knew that he was only inches shorter than the unusually high door frame, but bent forwards anyways in case he managed to grow a little too fast over the last ten minutes of walking. Here he was, a bigfoot, a private investigator, a hairy Freelancer in a loose-fitting polo shirt and khakis. He was an anomaly, more human than he would like to admit.
And more human in that he was interested in being a selfless hulking stalker-beast, as was the Freelance Police manual code. Roy was a notable patron of Mr. Ermes Fierro's restaurant, which served only the best Italian cuisine in the city. Between crime-fighting excursions here, Roy found solace in a nicely-filled plate or three of pasta primavera.
Now Mr. Fierro, six feet and in his chef's attire, pushed open the kitchen door. His chubby face lit up upon seeing Roy's significant form. "Roy, my boy!!! Oh, how lovely it is to see you!"
"Hey, Ermes," Roy greeted with a short wave. "You called, and I'm here. What's up?"
"Oh, it's terrible, very terrible," Mr. Fierro immediately lapsed. "The restaurant...someone's trying to sabotage it. They're trying to get me out of business, Roy."
Roy shook his head, as Mr. Fierro bowed his. "Who would do such a thing, Mr. Fierro?" the bigfoot asked. "I mean, you've got like the best tiramisu cake this side of, well, California. And that's worthless to saboteurs."
Mr. Fierro sighed. "I suppose. But I've been getting threatening messages lately. Notes in my mailbox. First they type up threats, then they cut-paste letter threats, then they insult me in Sicilian with the most horrible cursive on graphing paper! They demand money from me, and I haven't done anything wrong! I don't give in, and now my restaurant's falling apart all because of these...of these..." His face scrunched up; Roy didn't like it when it did. When Mr. Fierro got mad, Roy felt more sorry than terrified of him.
"Is there anything I can do, Mr. Fierro?"
"No, Roy." Ermes sunk into the stool behind him. "Well, there is one thing you can do-"
---
It was a simple task. Roy would go shake down a possible perp; it was the first time in forever he was granted permission to do so. His height, mass times velocity in fist power, supposedly inherent sneakiness and guttural roaring talent would shake this goon up.
Roy walked with long leg strides and long arm swings; he loomed a head and a half over the rest of the sidewalk shufflers. Oh, they've seen him before, he supposed. He knew their reactions well. Was he the guy who stopped that robot from blowing up half of Los Angeles? Hard to say. Being a Freelancer also made him more infamous, a tall tale hero among humans, and, more or less apprehensively, the bigfoot community. A bigfoot solving crime? Risking his life and possibly the rest of his kind to help out humans, aliens and mythical creatures from a whole slew of things? Was that even possible? A myth among mythical creatures who more or less were derisive of humankind, one could say.
But Roy saw himself as no legend. The cases he took on spoke for themselves. Such was the life of a Freelancer.
He stopped at the sidewalk corner. Without anyone to crowd around him waiting for the green light, Roy felt slightly, though not quite significantly, less awkward about his standing in society.
But he couldn't shake that feeling that someone, or something, was tailing him.
"Come in," called out a voice from the restaurant kitchen.
Roy knew that he was only inches shorter than the unusually high door frame, but bent forwards anyways in case he managed to grow a little too fast over the last ten minutes of walking. Here he was, a bigfoot, a private investigator, a hairy Freelancer in a loose-fitting polo shirt and khakis. He was an anomaly, more human than he would like to admit.
And more human in that he was interested in being a selfless hulking stalker-beast, as was the Freelance Police manual code. Roy was a notable patron of Mr. Ermes Fierro's restaurant, which served only the best Italian cuisine in the city. Between crime-fighting excursions here, Roy found solace in a nicely-filled plate or three of pasta primavera.
Now Mr. Fierro, six feet and in his chef's attire, pushed open the kitchen door. His chubby face lit up upon seeing Roy's significant form. "Roy, my boy!!! Oh, how lovely it is to see you!"
"Hey, Ermes," Roy greeted with a short wave. "You called, and I'm here. What's up?"
"Oh, it's terrible, very terrible," Mr. Fierro immediately lapsed. "The restaurant...someone's trying to sabotage it. They're trying to get me out of business, Roy."
Roy shook his head, as Mr. Fierro bowed his. "Who would do such a thing, Mr. Fierro?" the bigfoot asked. "I mean, you've got like the best tiramisu cake this side of, well, California. And that's worthless to saboteurs."
Mr. Fierro sighed. "I suppose. But I've been getting threatening messages lately. Notes in my mailbox. First they type up threats, then they cut-paste letter threats, then they insult me in Sicilian with the most horrible cursive on graphing paper! They demand money from me, and I haven't done anything wrong! I don't give in, and now my restaurant's falling apart all because of these...of these..." His face scrunched up; Roy didn't like it when it did. When Mr. Fierro got mad, Roy felt more sorry than terrified of him.
"Is there anything I can do, Mr. Fierro?"
"No, Roy." Ermes sunk into the stool behind him. "Well, there is one thing you can do-"
---
It was a simple task. Roy would go shake down a possible perp; it was the first time in forever he was granted permission to do so. His height, mass times velocity in fist power, supposedly inherent sneakiness and guttural roaring talent would shake this goon up.
Roy walked with long leg strides and long arm swings; he loomed a head and a half over the rest of the sidewalk shufflers. Oh, they've seen him before, he supposed. He knew their reactions well. Was he the guy who stopped that robot from blowing up half of Los Angeles? Hard to say. Being a Freelancer also made him more infamous, a tall tale hero among humans, and, more or less apprehensively, the bigfoot community. A bigfoot solving crime? Risking his life and possibly the rest of his kind to help out humans, aliens and mythical creatures from a whole slew of things? Was that even possible? A myth among mythical creatures who more or less were derisive of humankind, one could say.
But Roy saw himself as no legend. The cases he took on spoke for themselves. Such was the life of a Freelancer.
He stopped at the sidewalk corner. Without anyone to crowd around him waiting for the green light, Roy felt slightly, though not quite significantly, less awkward about his standing in society.
But he couldn't shake that feeling that someone, or something, was tailing him.
The Scientist halted his study of the other Test Subjects while his Pinchers apprehended the next subject. Each Pincher had a hidden camera attached to their clothing somewhere, and each camera's feed was linked to a computer in The Scientist's offices in every T.I.B.A. location across the country. The Scientist was staring intently at his computer screen which was split four ways to show the perspective of the four Pinchers assigned to this Pinch. The first was in the crowd with the new Addition, the second was sitting at a coffee shop hypothesized to be in the path of the Addition, the third was a couple blocks down from the Addition on a cross course with it, the fourth and final was on a rooftop with a tranquilizing sniper rifle aimed right at the chest of the Addition, in case it should try something... unnecessary.
Each Pincher was equipped with four tranquilizers that could take down three grown men, if any of them were to encounter the Addition and get into some sort of scuffle, they were to use them on the Addition. Each Pincher was also connected to a radio that linked all four to The Scientist.
"Subject within four meters," the first Pincher said.
"Wait for connection with Pincher-048," The Scientist said. "A minimum of three opportunities should be allowed for this Pinch."
"Confirmed," the Pinchers all said in unison.
The Scientist watched as the first Pincher crossed the street with the camera pointed to the next Addition in the upper right corner of his computer screen. Then he looked at the feed right below it to where Pincher-048 was walking down the sidewalk just a few blocks away.
"Visual lost on Addition," the Sniper said. "It walked behind a billboard."
"Does Pincher-243 still have a visual?" The Scientist asked without moving in his seat.
"Visual maintained," the woman said, her update was followed by a sip of coffee.
After a pause, the Sniper reopened the feed, "Visual reestablished."
"Pincher-048, approximate distance to target?" The Scientist asked.
"Fifty meters."
"Pincher-002, approximate distance from target?"
"Maintaining four meter distance."
"Disturber-004, status of EMP?" The Scientist said into another radio.
"EMP ready for use," the Disturber said.
"All units, prepare for recovery in 60 seconds. EMP to be unleashed in 45 seconds."
There was silence on the feed for 43 seconds after that, only interrupted by a sneeze from the first Pincher. When the EMP was unleashed, the feed went to static for exactly five seconds, and all The Scientist did during that time was wait. When the feed was reestablished, the video link was broken and the status of the Pinchers was barely audible because of the cries of the pedestrians on the street.
The words "Addition" and "apprehended" were all that could be made out..
Each Pincher was equipped with four tranquilizers that could take down three grown men, if any of them were to encounter the Addition and get into some sort of scuffle, they were to use them on the Addition. Each Pincher was also connected to a radio that linked all four to The Scientist.
"Subject within four meters," the first Pincher said.
"Wait for connection with Pincher-048," The Scientist said. "A minimum of three opportunities should be allowed for this Pinch."
"Confirmed," the Pinchers all said in unison.
The Scientist watched as the first Pincher crossed the street with the camera pointed to the next Addition in the upper right corner of his computer screen. Then he looked at the feed right below it to where Pincher-048 was walking down the sidewalk just a few blocks away.
"Visual lost on Addition," the Sniper said. "It walked behind a billboard."
"Does Pincher-243 still have a visual?" The Scientist asked without moving in his seat.
"Visual maintained," the woman said, her update was followed by a sip of coffee.
After a pause, the Sniper reopened the feed, "Visual reestablished."
"Pincher-048, approximate distance to target?" The Scientist asked.
"Fifty meters."
"Pincher-002, approximate distance from target?"
"Maintaining four meter distance."
"Disturber-004, status of EMP?" The Scientist said into another radio.
"EMP ready for use," the Disturber said.
"All units, prepare for recovery in 60 seconds. EMP to be unleashed in 45 seconds."
There was silence on the feed for 43 seconds after that, only interrupted by a sneeze from the first Pincher. When the EMP was unleashed, the feed went to static for exactly five seconds, and all The Scientist did during that time was wait. When the feed was reestablished, the video link was broken and the status of the Pinchers was barely audible because of the cries of the pedestrians on the street.
The words "Addition" and "apprehended" were all that could be made out..
Roy's eyes were shut.
That was one intense dream he had- there was a mayonnaise sandwich in the corner of the room, which turned into a giant octopus when he got near it. And Poseidon came out of nowhere and impaled him with his electric trident, and Roy was bleeding molten lava.
He felt incredibly fatigued. His burly muscles were not responding quickly to his nature-bred reflexes; he could barely push his own eyelids open. What sort of pain medication...
Of course. The freaking tranquilizers. Bigfoot brand, Roy lamented.
But was that EMP blast really necessary? Couldn't they had just leapt up from above and held him down? Though Roy had to admit, that EMP played on the bigfoot instinct of avoiding bright lights. In hindsight, working on building immunity to this weakness should have been a priority during his time with Virollia and her crew.
Roy then recalled turning and punching one of the guys, and sweep kicking another. That was when he felt the first and second stings on his right leg, the third on his left arm, and a more intense fourth projectile pricking like a dart to his chest-
And that was all he remembered, as the world became a woozy tye-dye and the voices meshed into emotionless echoes.
Roy felt the cold air around him. His face now felt a bit warmer, more refreshed; though he could not flail his arms and legs much, he felt himself regain partial control of his heavy eyelids. Hesitantly, the bigfoot opened his eyes to see what kind of lockup he fell into.
That was one intense dream he had- there was a mayonnaise sandwich in the corner of the room, which turned into a giant octopus when he got near it. And Poseidon came out of nowhere and impaled him with his electric trident, and Roy was bleeding molten lava.
He felt incredibly fatigued. His burly muscles were not responding quickly to his nature-bred reflexes; he could barely push his own eyelids open. What sort of pain medication...
Of course. The freaking tranquilizers. Bigfoot brand, Roy lamented.
But was that EMP blast really necessary? Couldn't they had just leapt up from above and held him down? Though Roy had to admit, that EMP played on the bigfoot instinct of avoiding bright lights. In hindsight, working on building immunity to this weakness should have been a priority during his time with Virollia and her crew.
Roy then recalled turning and punching one of the guys, and sweep kicking another. That was when he felt the first and second stings on his right leg, the third on his left arm, and a more intense fourth projectile pricking like a dart to his chest-
And that was all he remembered, as the world became a woozy tye-dye and the voices meshed into emotionless echoes.
Roy felt the cold air around him. His face now felt a bit warmer, more refreshed; though he could not flail his arms and legs much, he felt himself regain partial control of his heavy eyelids. Hesitantly, the bigfoot opened his eyes to see what kind of lockup he fell into.
The Scientist watched his new Test Subject behind a screen in his office. He had custom made each cell to pertain to what he was studying, but this Addition came in so suddenly, that all there was to the cell was a big white room, about 20x20x20 meters in size with a bed, a treadmill, a small table, and a single door through which orders and meals were sent through. He had been staring at the sleeping Test Subject for hours and was relieved when the tranquilizer finally wore off.
He clicked a button on his phone that connected him to the Linemen and said into it "Bring him his meal and orders."
A few seconds later, he saw the door to the Test Subject's room open and one of the Linemen drop a plate and piece of paper onto the lone table in the room. He walked out without saying a word to the Test Subject.
He clicked a button on his phone that connected him to the Linemen and said into it "Bring him his meal and orders."
A few seconds later, he saw the door to the Test Subject's room open and one of the Linemen drop a plate and piece of paper onto the lone table in the room. He walked out without saying a word to the Test Subject.
Right, that Test Subject thought to himself. Give the big guy the cold shoulder. Well, it was to be expected, anyways; the sterile appearance of Roy's holding cell gave him the impression that he was submerged under heavy government stuff. That kind of stuff usually did not fare well with him.
With an apprehensive, deliberate slowness, Roy pushed himself from his bed. As he slowly shuffled towards the table (he was used to the shuffling part given his human interactions), he looked at the tray's contents. The bigfoot did not bother to reach out with his hand for the few morsels available on his plate, instead reaching for the small sheet.
He brought it up to his face, the worn-out tranquilizer clearing up the remaining difficulties in his vision. The words became clearer, and with one eyebrow raised, Roy read:
With an apprehensive, deliberate slowness, Roy pushed himself from his bed. As he slowly shuffled towards the table (he was used to the shuffling part given his human interactions), he looked at the tray's contents. The bigfoot did not bother to reach out with his hand for the few morsels available on his plate, instead reaching for the small sheet.
He brought it up to his face, the worn-out tranquilizer clearing up the remaining difficulties in his vision. The words became clearer, and with one eyebrow raised, Roy read:
"Let me start off by explaining where you are and what you are doing. You are in the West Coast Branch of Technologies to Increase Brain Activity (from here on in to be referred to as T.I.B.A.), a government funded facility which does exactly as its name implies. T.I.B.A. has received several grants from the government to conduct any tests required for research purposes. T.I.B.A. has received permission to abduct any citizen of the country who consents to the processes by signing a waver, and can abduct any unregistered or illegal citizen taking vacancy in the country; such is the case for you as there are no traceable records of you in any of the country's (known) databases.
"Today, your assignment is to test the limits of your endurance both mental and physical. In your room is a treadmill; it is linked to you through chips which have been attached to your chest outside your heart and lungs and to your neck nearest we could get it to your brain. Merely think it on, and it turns on to the speed you desire to sprint/run/jog/walk. On the treadmill is a monitor which shows you your heart rate and breathing rate; in order to obtain the desired information, we have recorded your height and weight and deduced that you must sprint, run, jog, or walk at a pace which will keep your heart rate maintained at one hundred and eighty four beats per minute. Once you have found that speed, maintain it until you give up.
"Your results will be monitored both by our computers which are synced to you through the chips on your body, and by our researchers who are watching you behind the one-sided mirrors stretched across the top of the walls in the room. You cannot hear them, but they can hear you. They will be monitoring you every hour of every day, so if you need anything, simply say it and they will do what they can to assist you. There is only one entrance and one exit to your chamber: the door through which this note and plate of food came; everything you request or receive will be given to you through that door. You will be given another assignment tomorrow. You only have to do this one assignment today and the rest of the day is yours. We expect the assignment to take approximately two hours. Start whenever you're ready.
"Failure to comply to the assignments given to you will result in consequence.
"Names are not important here. I am the founder and head of T.I.B.A., you may call me The Scientist if you ever have need of me. If you ever feel you have need of me, simply say it and give your reason for doing so; if it is a trip of value, I may come, if not, you will not hear from me."
"Today, your assignment is to test the limits of your endurance both mental and physical. In your room is a treadmill; it is linked to you through chips which have been attached to your chest outside your heart and lungs and to your neck nearest we could get it to your brain. Merely think it on, and it turns on to the speed you desire to sprint/run/jog/walk. On the treadmill is a monitor which shows you your heart rate and breathing rate; in order to obtain the desired information, we have recorded your height and weight and deduced that you must sprint, run, jog, or walk at a pace which will keep your heart rate maintained at one hundred and eighty four beats per minute. Once you have found that speed, maintain it until you give up.
"Your results will be monitored both by our computers which are synced to you through the chips on your body, and by our researchers who are watching you behind the one-sided mirrors stretched across the top of the walls in the room. You cannot hear them, but they can hear you. They will be monitoring you every hour of every day, so if you need anything, simply say it and they will do what they can to assist you. There is only one entrance and one exit to your chamber: the door through which this note and plate of food came; everything you request or receive will be given to you through that door. You will be given another assignment tomorrow. You only have to do this one assignment today and the rest of the day is yours. We expect the assignment to take approximately two hours. Start whenever you're ready.
"Failure to comply to the assignments given to you will result in consequence.
"Names are not important here. I am the founder and head of T.I.B.A., you may call me The Scientist if you ever have need of me. If you ever feel you have need of me, simply say it and give your reason for doing so; if it is a trip of value, I may come, if not, you will not hear from me."
The Scientist wrote:
"Let me start off by explaining where you are and what you are doing. You are in the West Coast Branch of Technologies to Increase Brain Activity (from here on in to be referred to as T.I.B.A.), a government funded facility which does exactly as its name implies. T.I.B.A. has received several grants from the government to conduct any tests required for research purposes. T.I.B.A. has received permission to abduct any citizen of the country who consents to the processes by signing a waver, and can abduct any unregistered or illegal citizen taking vacancy in the country; such is the case for you as there are no traceable records of you in any of the country's (known) databases.
Roy frowned. How many clandestine organizations had he run into already? And how did the President get away with this? Not that he was one to question the government's already questionable work ethics, but still, the rabbit hole just got deeper. For all his wretched luck, Roy wanted to thank his nameless hacker friend for the data wipe only several months earlier. It would be some time before an "amended" collection of data on him would resurface, and Roy no longer an "unperson." Yet in hiding from the shapeshifters, Roy had ended up here. It was wretched luck, alright.
He continued reading:
Quote:
"Today, your assignment is to test the limits of your endurance both mental and physical. In your room is a treadmill; it is linked to you through chips which have been attached to your chest outside your heart and lungs and to your neck nearest we could get it to your brain. Merely think it on, and it turns on to the speed you desire to sprint/run/jog/walk. On the treadmill is a monitor which shows you your heart rate and breathing rate; in order to obtain the desired information, we have recorded your height and weight and deduced that you must sprint, run, jog, or walk at a pace which will keep your heart rate maintained at one hundred and eighty four beats per minute. Once you have found that speed, maintain it until you give up.
It sounded fair to Roy. The idea of strenuous workout was never a bad idea. The chips, he contemplated with a sigh, were sort of a bad idea. The wireless aspect, though-
A ping! resonated next to him. The treadmill was on, its small LED panel active and bright green.
Roy blinked. He turned to the activating equipment, and "hmm"-ed. That was...convenient.
Quote:
"Your results will be monitored both by our computers which are synced to you through the chips on your body, and by our researchers who are watching you behind the one-sided mirrors stretched across the top of the walls in the room. You cannot hear them, but they can hear you. They will be monitoring you every hour of every day, so if you need anything, simply say it and they will do what they can to assist you.
I'm not one for one sided company, thought the bigfoot. His mind, then eyes, drifted forward. Perhaps he was staring deep into a researcher's soul, unflinching, as if he were aware of the very nuances that guilt-tripped them. He'd have to remember that in case the opportunity to escape presented itself.
Quote:
There is only one entrance and one exit to your chamber: the door through which this note and plate of food came; everything you request or receive will be given to you through that door. You will be given another assignment tomorrow. You only have to do this one assignment today and the rest of the day is yours. We expect the assignment to take approximately two hours. Start whenever you're ready.
The treadmill started. Its bottom tread looped with a mild crawl speed.
Quote:
"Failure to comply to the assignments given to you will result in consequence.
One hundred eighty-four heart beats was a sinch, Roy supposed, for the bigfoot who never really kept track of his pulses.
Quote:
"Names are not important here. I am the founder and head of T.I.B.A., you may call me The Scientist if you ever have need of me. If you ever feel you have need of me, simply say it and give your reason for doing so; if it is a trip of value, I may come, if not, you will not hear from me."
So be it. The who, what, where, when, but not exactly why had been elaborated upon.
Roy grunted. He would have to wait, to understand what was going on before his ninety-five percent inevitable escape. Talking to the head honcho of this getup was out of the question in the early stages of Roy's imprisonment; the lesser researchers, he guessed, would be a bit more cooperative. Hopefully.
Putting the paper back on the tray, he leapt towards the treadmill. Its tread responded to his fight-or-flight desire to run, and sped up to match the quickened, lengthy strides of the oversized creature. Roy kept on pushing forward, occasionally gazing upwards, hoping to incidentally bore into the souls of the unseen researchers with a most devastating (and to Roy, incredibly hilarious) gaze.
The Scientist watched behind the high mirrors of the new Test Subject's room. Without realizing it, he had decided to stand right where the Test Subject shot his gaze whenever he looked up towards the mirrors. He wondered if the Test Subject could really have so great a sense of sight that he could see everything that happened behind the mirror.
He stood there immovable for hours just staring, wondering what he had just pulled into T.I.B.A. and what this would mean for research into the human psyche. It wasn't until he got a call from the other end of the facility about another Test Subject that he had to break his stare and leave the darkened room.
"I want the results on my desk before tomorrow," he said to one of the researchers as he opened the door. The response he was met with was barely even a nod, not even a turn away from the screen that showed the Test Subject's vital signs.
As The Scientist crossed the facility, he slowly shifted his interest from the new Test Subject to The Similar. Has the kid finally broken? Or will he figure it all out before then?
This was a common occurrence for The Scientist. He always thought of all his tests as the most important. He couldn't favor this... animal's tests any more than his others. He was so close to breaking the 15% barrier that he couldn't afford to get distracted from anything.
A whole is only as great as the sum of its parts after all.
He stood there immovable for hours just staring, wondering what he had just pulled into T.I.B.A. and what this would mean for research into the human psyche. It wasn't until he got a call from the other end of the facility about another Test Subject that he had to break his stare and leave the darkened room.
"I want the results on my desk before tomorrow," he said to one of the researchers as he opened the door. The response he was met with was barely even a nod, not even a turn away from the screen that showed the Test Subject's vital signs.
As The Scientist crossed the facility, he slowly shifted his interest from the new Test Subject to The Similar. Has the kid finally broken? Or will he figure it all out before then?
This was a common occurrence for The Scientist. He always thought of all his tests as the most important. He couldn't favor this... animal's tests any more than his others. He was so close to breaking the 15% barrier that he couldn't afford to get distracted from anything.
A whole is only as great as the sum of its parts after all.
Beep!
Two hours of quick striding was, to Roy's surprise, not too much of a challenge. His mind was focused on the treadmill, but it had locked up for the moment. The LED had temporarily turned yellow, possibly to demarcate the rest period. It felt like three hours, though. Time flies when one preoccupies oneself with flights of fancy, escape and the traumatic experiences of others in isolation, Roy thought.
So he dismounted the treadmill. It was best to do some cool down exercises, too- to that end, he pulled his legs back, did a few jumping jacks, did the Twist, reached for the ceiling...and then sat on his meager bed.
Roy supposed that there was not really much to do, unless he could start up the treadmill again. If possible, he could tend to his clothes- but there was no iron board or iron in the room, and he was technically naked, or at least in his true hairy form from top to bottom.
At least he left his gun at home. Not that he needed it for where he went earlier. And if they incinerated his polo shirt...
Roy slouched. It was an exaggerated human pose, with bigfoot proportions. Elbow on knee, hand on chin, he bent forward, thinking.
He could not see them, no matter how hard he tried to gaze into the one-way walls. After a short while, he pulled himself back, rolling into the bed, and found himself uttering, semi-softly: "I gotta read something."
Two hours of quick striding was, to Roy's surprise, not too much of a challenge. His mind was focused on the treadmill, but it had locked up for the moment. The LED had temporarily turned yellow, possibly to demarcate the rest period. It felt like three hours, though. Time flies when one preoccupies oneself with flights of fancy, escape and the traumatic experiences of others in isolation, Roy thought.
So he dismounted the treadmill. It was best to do some cool down exercises, too- to that end, he pulled his legs back, did a few jumping jacks, did the Twist, reached for the ceiling...and then sat on his meager bed.
Roy supposed that there was not really much to do, unless he could start up the treadmill again. If possible, he could tend to his clothes- but there was no iron board or iron in the room, and he was technically naked, or at least in his true hairy form from top to bottom.
At least he left his gun at home. Not that he needed it for where he went earlier. And if they incinerated his polo shirt...
Roy slouched. It was an exaggerated human pose, with bigfoot proportions. Elbow on knee, hand on chin, he bent forward, thinking.
He could not see them, no matter how hard he tried to gaze into the one-way walls. After a short while, he pulled himself back, rolling into the bed, and found himself uttering, semi-softly: "I gotta read something."
The Scientist closed up the last page of The Hound of the Baskervilles for the eighth time in a week. He could recite the book in his sleep, if he ever slept that is, but he was apparently still missing something in it that kept him from diving deeper into The Similar's mind. What was it? Was it Watson's inability to peer into Holmes's mind and therefore conjure up his own ideas about the drug addict? Or perhaps it was the fear of an actual Hound coming into existence? Maybe it wasn't something in the book at all.. Maybe it was something in The Similar's mind that--
Before he could reach an epiphany, The Scientist was interrupted by a Researcher.
"He wants something to read," the Researcher said.
Without bothering to see what department the Researcher was from, The Scientist pulled a random book off his shelf and tossed it at the researcher. He didn't want or care to know who was addressing him, he just needed to be alone again before the epiphany was gone forever. After the door to his office closed, he sank back into his mind and notes.
When he realized that it was gone and not coming back, he pulled up his glasses and rubbed his eyes before looking at where he had taken the book from. Jumping out of his seat and dashing out the door, he drastically started a chase for whoever was in his room just seconds ago.
He looked left, then right. When he saw a Researcher holding a book turn left at the end of the hallway, he dashed in that direction. Once he caught up to the Researcher, he pulled the book from her hands and looked at it. It was a book about two vampire lovers trapped in walls sealed with Holy Water.
The Researcher blushed and quickly took the book away from him saying, "It's for my daughter, okay? She's real into stuff like this!" before walking away hurriedly in the other direction.
The Scientist just froze. In a fit of annoyance, he had broken his most important rule about Test Subjects and books: under no circumstances are any of the Test Subjects allowed to read even a sentence from Thoreau..
Before he could reach an epiphany, The Scientist was interrupted by a Researcher.
"He wants something to read," the Researcher said.
Without bothering to see what department the Researcher was from, The Scientist pulled a random book off his shelf and tossed it at the researcher. He didn't want or care to know who was addressing him, he just needed to be alone again before the epiphany was gone forever. After the door to his office closed, he sank back into his mind and notes.
When he realized that it was gone and not coming back, he pulled up his glasses and rubbed his eyes before looking at where he had taken the book from. Jumping out of his seat and dashing out the door, he drastically started a chase for whoever was in his room just seconds ago.
He looked left, then right. When he saw a Researcher holding a book turn left at the end of the hallway, he dashed in that direction. Once he caught up to the Researcher, he pulled the book from her hands and looked at it. It was a book about two vampire lovers trapped in walls sealed with Holy Water.
The Researcher blushed and quickly took the book away from him saying, "It's for my daughter, okay? She's real into stuff like this!" before walking away hurriedly in the other direction.
The Scientist just froze. In a fit of annoyance, he had broken his most important rule about Test Subjects and books: under no circumstances are any of the Test Subjects allowed to read even a sentence from Thoreau..
The world awakens and becomes tall. Or at least the trees.
No, no. That won't do. That was a most pretentious starting line. Roy opened his eyes, waved a hand to dust off the mental figments floating around above his face and below the ceiling and started again:
Be still, child! And listen-
Climb up.
And up.
Until-
The door opened. Roy blinked, and turned his back towards it.
It closed again. Roy turned; nothing in the room changed, except for the ambient noise. As a matter of fact, two voices sounded off a good ways from the door- from the words that he could hear, they were talking about...reading...Ralph Waldo Emerson?
One of the voices was probably a guard stationed outside his door, if Roy criminal profiled the guy correctly with the gruff voice. The flatter voice, then, must have belonged to a lower-rank scientist.
The voices outside quickly diverged to soft hushes about transcendentalism, which quickly zig-zagged into a brief spiel of Walt Whitman's love life. The voices grew dim enough for Roy to become disinterested; and so, disinterested, he went back to making up his own mental free verse about a home he would probably never see again.
He shooed some more mental figments away just as the voices trailed off.
Several seconds later, the door opened again, and someone threw a small book across the floor. The door shut as the book landed next to Roy's bed.
He sat up, bent down and gingerly picked up the book with his rugged fingers. A label on the front: "APPROVED FOR CONSUMPTION" in typeface. The illustration on the front was decent, but what could the T-Rex be trying to eat, besides the human teenagers, those rambunctious scamps? On the spine: Choose Your Own Adventure number...what? The label blocked the rest of the spine.
Well, it was better than having to read a fascist scholarly journal, Roy supposed. He turned to page one and began to read.
...
Wait a minute. Roy blinked. He bet that the scientists would notice his heart rate spike.
The fool he was, he had turned to page one-hundred and ninety five out of morbid curiosity. Even he, in all of his story-time wisdom, did not see this twist coming.
Henry David Thoreau was the main antagonist all along?!
No, no. That won't do. That was a most pretentious starting line. Roy opened his eyes, waved a hand to dust off the mental figments floating around above his face and below the ceiling and started again:
Be still, child! And listen-
Climb up.
And up.
Until-
The door opened. Roy blinked, and turned his back towards it.
It closed again. Roy turned; nothing in the room changed, except for the ambient noise. As a matter of fact, two voices sounded off a good ways from the door- from the words that he could hear, they were talking about...reading...Ralph Waldo Emerson?
One of the voices was probably a guard stationed outside his door, if Roy criminal profiled the guy correctly with the gruff voice. The flatter voice, then, must have belonged to a lower-rank scientist.
The voices outside quickly diverged to soft hushes about transcendentalism, which quickly zig-zagged into a brief spiel of Walt Whitman's love life. The voices grew dim enough for Roy to become disinterested; and so, disinterested, he went back to making up his own mental free verse about a home he would probably never see again.
He shooed some more mental figments away just as the voices trailed off.
Several seconds later, the door opened again, and someone threw a small book across the floor. The door shut as the book landed next to Roy's bed.
He sat up, bent down and gingerly picked up the book with his rugged fingers. A label on the front: "APPROVED FOR CONSUMPTION" in typeface. The illustration on the front was decent, but what could the T-Rex be trying to eat, besides the human teenagers, those rambunctious scamps? On the spine: Choose Your Own Adventure number...what? The label blocked the rest of the spine.
Well, it was better than having to read a fascist scholarly journal, Roy supposed. He turned to page one and began to read.
...
Wait a minute. Roy blinked. He bet that the scientists would notice his heart rate spike.
The fool he was, he had turned to page one-hundred and ninety five out of morbid curiosity. Even he, in all of his story-time wisdom, did not see this twist coming.
Henry David Thoreau was the main antagonist all along?!
The Scientist blinked for the first time in a few minutes. He leaned back into his chair and pushed up his glasses so that he could rub his eyes. It's a wonder what staring at a computer screen for five hours can do to your eyes. He was sure that the only reason he had to wear glasses was because of how long he sat in front of monitors.
He looked back into The Telekinetic's cell and saw that a small bust had moved from one corner of the room to the center. One cell away, The Similar tossed and turned in his bed; in the corner of the screen, his face could be seen, wide awake and slightly concerned. The Insomniac was in his corner as per usual, shaking in the bright blue light. On the other side of the wall, The Insomniac's "bunk-mate" lay on his bed, staring up into the virtual sky with a heart rate of 46.
The Scientist turned to the last monitor; it showed the latest Addition. He decided to dub him The Instinct as he planned to learn more of instincts from this Subject. He was sitting and appeared to be enjoying his book. Thank God he had told some of his researchers about the Thoreau Rule a week before, otherwise, "unhealthy" ideas might have begun to brood in The Instinct's mind. But it wouldn't be long before he'd ask for more.
The Scientist go up out of his chair and started to browse his bookshelf for appropriate books. The Hobbit, Lonesome Dove, and a book about hydro-electrics were all taken off the shelves and placed on his desk. He reached for The Great Gatsby but pulled back when he remembered The Similar would have to do a research project on it pretty soon. He pulled one last book off the shelf about fourteen kids trapped in a supermarket during a fallout and tossed it on the pile out of disgust for how bad it was.
He sat sown at his desk and pulled out a notebook. He started making lists of what all the Subjects would do tomorrow, stopping at Instinct. Tapping his pen cap on the paper, he looked out his window to try and think of something. When his eyes met those of a squirrel in the Courtyard, he scrawled the idea down before it would be gone and then leaned back into his chair. When he looked back at the Test Subjects, all but The Insomniac seemed to be asleep.
02:14. This was how it usually went for The Scientist when he brainstormed. He barely even realized he had torn through ten pages of orders. He collected his notes and headed out of his office.
The design of the building made it so that whenever The Scientist needed to exit the building, he would have to pass by all of the Test Subjects' cells. This was of his own design; this way, he could check up on all of the Subjects before he started work for that day and after he had finished. He stopped by each door and ordered the Linemen to let him peer in to check on them all. This was habit, but even then, something made him stop and think about checking on The Instinct.
"Anything I can help you with this morning, sir?" The Lineman asked.
The Scientist rubbed his eyes before answering, "Give me a quick peer into the cell."
"Sure thing."
Only two of the hundred lights in the hallway were on, but the cell was still darker. The Scientist stared through the chute he had opened in the door until his eyes adjusted to the dark. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary but feeling like something wasn't quite right, he left the door and headed for the parking lot without saying goodbye to the Lineman.
He looked back into The Telekinetic's cell and saw that a small bust had moved from one corner of the room to the center. One cell away, The Similar tossed and turned in his bed; in the corner of the screen, his face could be seen, wide awake and slightly concerned. The Insomniac was in his corner as per usual, shaking in the bright blue light. On the other side of the wall, The Insomniac's "bunk-mate" lay on his bed, staring up into the virtual sky with a heart rate of 46.
The Scientist turned to the last monitor; it showed the latest Addition. He decided to dub him The Instinct as he planned to learn more of instincts from this Subject. He was sitting and appeared to be enjoying his book. Thank God he had told some of his researchers about the Thoreau Rule a week before, otherwise, "unhealthy" ideas might have begun to brood in The Instinct's mind. But it wouldn't be long before he'd ask for more.
The Scientist go up out of his chair and started to browse his bookshelf for appropriate books. The Hobbit, Lonesome Dove, and a book about hydro-electrics were all taken off the shelves and placed on his desk. He reached for The Great Gatsby but pulled back when he remembered The Similar would have to do a research project on it pretty soon. He pulled one last book off the shelf about fourteen kids trapped in a supermarket during a fallout and tossed it on the pile out of disgust for how bad it was.
He sat sown at his desk and pulled out a notebook. He started making lists of what all the Subjects would do tomorrow, stopping at Instinct. Tapping his pen cap on the paper, he looked out his window to try and think of something. When his eyes met those of a squirrel in the Courtyard, he scrawled the idea down before it would be gone and then leaned back into his chair. When he looked back at the Test Subjects, all but The Insomniac seemed to be asleep.
02:14. This was how it usually went for The Scientist when he brainstormed. He barely even realized he had torn through ten pages of orders. He collected his notes and headed out of his office.
The design of the building made it so that whenever The Scientist needed to exit the building, he would have to pass by all of the Test Subjects' cells. This was of his own design; this way, he could check up on all of the Subjects before he started work for that day and after he had finished. He stopped by each door and ordered the Linemen to let him peer in to check on them all. This was habit, but even then, something made him stop and think about checking on The Instinct.
"Anything I can help you with this morning, sir?" The Lineman asked.
The Scientist rubbed his eyes before answering, "Give me a quick peer into the cell."
"Sure thing."
Only two of the hundred lights in the hallway were on, but the cell was still darker. The Scientist stared through the chute he had opened in the door until his eyes adjusted to the dark. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary but feeling like something wasn't quite right, he left the door and headed for the parking lot without saying goodbye to the Lineman.
04:15. Roy woke up, incidentally flinging the book on his face across the room with his sudden snap forward.
No lights. How long had he been sleeping? After the shock of the initial plot twist, the choose your own adventure bored him to bits. Such careless deaths, such calloused taunting of the reader for choosing the wrong choice. No foresight in between, either. It must have induced about five to six hours worth of sleep, he couldn't tell.
Dim to no lights- this was optimal for bigfoots and for other creatures who wished to remain in the covers of night. His eyes, when adjusted, yielded a bit more detail than an average human's.
Roy sat up. He wanted an alarm clock- he was too used to the mechanical notions of human time. At least bigfoot time was more ambiguous.
For the first time, Roy got up and went to the door. He tapped softly with his large fist. "Hello?"
"Quiet down there," the guard's voice responded back. It matched the gruff one he heard before.
"Oh, uh, sorry. I can't sleep."
"Not my business."
"Isn't it supposed to?"
"I'm not here to tuck you in."
"Ah, I understand."
No response, but then: "You seem eloquent for a hairy Neanderthal wannabe."
"Thank you," Roy said, unsarcastically as possible. "I get that a lot."
"Please go back to sleep," the voice on the other side implored, "or at least pipe down. I don't want you to distract from my watch."
Roy thought a bit, then said: "Okay. What's the time, though?"
"Zero-four-sixteen hours."
There was a pause, then Roy said: "I want an alarm clock."
"We'll see. Now pipe down." The bigfoot heard footsteps, possibly going to his left. Then something else occurred to him, and Roy quickly replied back: "I want a writing utensil!"
"Don't ask me," the gruff voice on the other side replied, more faint. Roy grunted. Perhaps vandalizing the Thoreau adventure would have to wait another day.
No lights. How long had he been sleeping? After the shock of the initial plot twist, the choose your own adventure bored him to bits. Such careless deaths, such calloused taunting of the reader for choosing the wrong choice. No foresight in between, either. It must have induced about five to six hours worth of sleep, he couldn't tell.
Dim to no lights- this was optimal for bigfoots and for other creatures who wished to remain in the covers of night. His eyes, when adjusted, yielded a bit more detail than an average human's.
Roy sat up. He wanted an alarm clock- he was too used to the mechanical notions of human time. At least bigfoot time was more ambiguous.
For the first time, Roy got up and went to the door. He tapped softly with his large fist. "Hello?"
"Quiet down there," the guard's voice responded back. It matched the gruff one he heard before.
"Oh, uh, sorry. I can't sleep."
"Not my business."
"Isn't it supposed to?"
"I'm not here to tuck you in."
"Ah, I understand."
No response, but then: "You seem eloquent for a hairy Neanderthal wannabe."
"Thank you," Roy said, unsarcastically as possible. "I get that a lot."
"Please go back to sleep," the voice on the other side implored, "or at least pipe down. I don't want you to distract from my watch."
Roy thought a bit, then said: "Okay. What's the time, though?"
"Zero-four-sixteen hours."
There was a pause, then Roy said: "I want an alarm clock."
"We'll see. Now pipe down." The bigfoot heard footsteps, possibly going to his left. Then something else occurred to him, and Roy quickly replied back: "I want a writing utensil!"
"Don't ask me," the gruff voice on the other side replied, more faint. Roy grunted. Perhaps vandalizing the Thoreau adventure would have to wait another day.
The Scientist came into work the next morning operating on less than an hour of sleep as per usual. As he walked past each of the cells that morning, he handed the Linemen the papers for the Subjects behind each of their doors. The Similar got nothing new besides a further reading in The Hound of the Baskervilles; The Telekinetic was ordered to Act on an object while she jogged on a treadmill; The Insomniac and The Dreamer were given the same orders, the only difference being The Insomniac getting no sleep where The Dreamer got all the sleep he needed.
Finally, The Instinct. The Scientist had spent all the time he hadn't sleeping studying the different behaviors of different primates, including Humans. He wrapped what he learned around what he had scrawled on the paper 6 hours before. The Instinct was again ordered to jog until he could go no further and would subsequently be offered a choice between two different plates of food: one offering food that could be found in the wild and be eaten uncooked, and the other offering food that was cooked; both being edible for both Humans and primates.
The Scientist went back into his office and sat in front of his monitors again. He watched as each Subject slowly rose and became more active with the coming of day. He didn't move from his seat until his watch went off telling him to eat lunch. From there, he got up and walked into the employee cafeteria where he sat alone and poured over his notes.
Finally, The Instinct. The Scientist had spent all the time he hadn't sleeping studying the different behaviors of different primates, including Humans. He wrapped what he learned around what he had scrawled on the paper 6 hours before. The Instinct was again ordered to jog until he could go no further and would subsequently be offered a choice between two different plates of food: one offering food that could be found in the wild and be eaten uncooked, and the other offering food that was cooked; both being edible for both Humans and primates.
The Scientist went back into his office and sat in front of his monitors again. He watched as each Subject slowly rose and became more active with the coming of day. He didn't move from his seat until his watch went off telling him to eat lunch. From there, he got up and walked into the employee cafeteria where he sat alone and poured over his notes.
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