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Nestled in the orbit far above the troubled spires of Earth, the space station Nemea finishes its routine check in with its satellite network. Sorting through the data is made easier by a network of artificial operators, but it's still an extended process.
Three hours later, the door to Elizabeth Kirsch's office chimes.
"Thank you, Doctor Lewis. Excellent job. Please continue to the next room for the next test."
He awkwardly stands from his terrible hiding place, looking slightly sheepish, and continues on. The next room has two buttons, one blue, one red, and a small foot high wall between them.
"For this test, please press the red button, then press the blue button on the other side of the room as quickly as you can."
The man rubs the bridge of his nose, then presses the red button. At a leisurely pace, he walks to the blue button, hopping awkwardly over the wall. He looks at the scientists on the other side of the glass, holds up his finger, and aggressively depresses the blue button.
On the other side of the glass, the scientists look a little nonplussed. "I know they're tedious, these are important tests, Dr. Lewis. But - yes, all right, I can see you'd like to be done. Just one more test, in the next room."
He goes. In the next room, there's a chair and a computer terminal.
"Please, sit."
He eyes the chair suspiciously, but after a pause, sits.
"Take a look at the screen in front of you. I'm going to show you a series of questions, pick the answer that makes the most sense to you."
The man looks at the scientist, then back at the screen. A question displays on the screen. Without hesitation, he begins answering the questions.
You're planning a vacation. Go somewhere familiar you know you love, or try something new?
(a) [ Familiar ]
(b) New
You've been sentenced to death for your actions. How does this make you feel?
(a) [ Afraid ]
(b) Angry
(c) Calm
A runaway train is bearing down on five people who are tied to the track. You can cause the train to switch tracks, but there is another person tied to the second track.
(a) [ Switch tracks ]
(b) Do nothing
A runaway train is bearing down on five people who are tied to the track. You are standing on the platform next to an enormously fat man. Pushing him onto the track would stop the train.
The man stares at the question. Then he looks at the scientists, unimpressed. He looks back to the question, then answers.
(a) Push the fat man
(b) [ Do nothing ]
A runaway train is bearing down on five people tied to the track. You could stop the train by jumping onto the track, but you would die.
The man makes a face. He goes to aggressively press an answer -
- then stops. He frowns. He scrolls back through the questions, then sits back in his chair.
He looks at the scientists on the other side of the glass for a long moment. Then he looks back at his available questions.
Hesitantly, with great deliberation, he chooses the same answer he chose the last time he took this questionnaire.
(a) Jump on the tracks
(b) Push the fat man
(c) [ Do nothing ]
He crosses his arms. He fixes the scientists with a look.
And that is a sign of continuity of memory with the original. Similarity of personality with the original was already pretty clear.
"Very good. For this next part, I'm going to display an image -" Something dark and slithery moves near the coffee cup on the scientist's desk. The coffee cup gains an identical twin. The man that probably at least thinks he's Doctor Lewis flinches back, alarmed. "- I want you to take a good look at it. In a moment I'm going to ask you what... uh..."
Doctor Lewis is not paying attention anymore. He is instead looking desperately around the empty room for anything that is remotely heavy, and finding nothing of the sort, stumbles out of his chair and does his best to be on the other side of the room.
"... this my coffee?" continues the oblivious scientist, picking up a coffee cup and peering at it curiously. "It's empty."
The predictable happens. The mimic shifts from the form of a coffee mug and attaches itself to the scientist, reaching a slithering limb into the man's mouth and sucking the life from him.
"Oh my god," says another scientist. "Security. Security!"
'Doctor Lewis,' meanwhile, has stopped scrambling away from the glass in a very justified panic. He doesn't look at the glass at all, in fact. He quickly and calmly makes his way through the room with two buttons, then back to the hiding room with the worst hiding place of all time. He picks up the chair, then tosses it through this set of glass.
Security is shooting the mimic and its newly spawned brethren with great prejudice, but mimics are small and quick. They're having trouble hitting them in their panic. The other Typhon in the room makes its escape, leaping gracefully through the broken window and dashing out of the exit no one is looking at.
He dodges the second security team with casual ease, and makes his way from the fitness center.
Whereupon Doctor Lewis reasserts himself, or - is pushed forward for the Typhon's convenience. Whichever it is.
He finds a corner to hide in behind a desk. He buries his face in his hands and huffs, clearly upset. Then he glances at the computer terminal on the desk, stares for a minute, then desperately pulls himself into the chair. He navigates to Notepad, and begins frantically typing.
My name is Doctor Howard Lewis. I was eaten by a Typhon on August 14th, 2035. Since then I have only been conscious in bursts and flashes, in different unfamiliar locations. I have no idea how long I've been in this state. I am aware of the following:
- Humanity is having a bad time of it, in at least four separate major cities. And one space station. If this is not a simulation, anyway, see below.
- The Typhon that ate me finds me useful, and brings me out when it wants a convincing human to do convincingly human things.
- Usually it wants me to convincingly be human at other Typhon to lure them into attacking, where (I believe, but have little evidence of, please verify) it dispatches them.
- I cannot speak out loud. I don't know if this is a result of the Typhon lacking the ability to let me make vocalizations, or if it would rather not have to deal with a screeching human person whenever it wants bait.
- I seem to be a reasonably accurate representation of myself; I have continuity of memory and the narrative of my life is coherent and makes sense, up until I was eaten by a space alien. Once that happened, it became much less coherent, but still ultimately makes some degree of sense.
- I just finished a questionnaire that I filled out a month before I was eaten, and I think someone is trying to verify if I'm me. If you are reading this: reducing something as complex as life and death decisions to simple numbers misses so much nuance that it makes the entire set of questions rather useless to anyone of passable moral intelligence, I find them exceedingly tiresome, and also, you cannot stop a train with a fat man that is not how physics works.
- The date on this computer's clock is from before I was eaten. Current running hypotheses, from most likely to least likely:
1. My roommate and I are in a simulation created by whoever's verifying my identify. We are being studied because seriously who wouldn't study us we're fascinating. What I am writing is probably being read and dissected by a team of brilliant scientists that are attempting to save the world, in which case, I apologize for my improperly formalized documentation.
2. My mind is slowly falling to pieces. The madness has begun. It is likely either natural degradation as a result of being run on Typhonware, or I have accidentally taught the Typhon all it needs to know from me while I am whole and sane, and has decided to move on to systematically taking me apart. If it can do that. If you are reading this: please verify if it can do that.
3. The clock on this computer is wrong. Highly unlikely, the programs on this computer look state of the art for the time - all are recently updated - and they match up with the clock.
I am going to act under the assumptions that this is option 1, because that is the one that makes me feel the best about my own sanity and means I don't have to go have a meltdown in a corner about my impending unraveling after already dying once already. Furthermore, acting under this assumption and being proven correct means that I can get whoever's on the other side valuable documentation of what it's like to be on the inside of a space alien, and coordinate on getting them things they need for making sure humanity is more than space alien dinner.
I assume that if you're in control of this simulation you can just commandeer a word processor and reply. Therefore: Hey, guys. As much fun as it is to be surrounded by more space aliens, can we instead not.
"Ma'am?" asks Radha, a little nervously. "Should we, um. Reply?"
"Good question," she says. "I'm inclined to be cautious since I don't know how much the Typhon understands what Dr. Lewis is thinking, and breaking the integrity of the simulation this early seems to run counter to the point of the exercise. But I'm tempted. If I spot an opportunity to sneak in a plausibly deniable message I might take it."
Radha nods. "I'll tell the operators to keep an eye out for something like that. They uh, pretty unanimously think this Typhon's a new subtype. Do you want to name it, or go with the name a creative tech thought of? He said the name revenant felt, uh. Appropriate. What with - Dr. Lewis himself."
"I'll let everyone know, then. I expect the technician will be smug."
Dr. Lewis, meanwhile, is writing out his experience of being eaten by a Typhon.
Well, if nothing else, I might as well document this for my own sanity, if not for the good of all humanity.
I'd been trying to make my way to my car in order to get out of the city, when something landed on me from above. I'm afraid I didn't have any time to observe any of its physical characteristics, it all went too quickly. I was pinned, and some kind of acrid substance was forced into my mouth and down my throat. I'd be tempted to describe it as 'like water' because that's what the - outside of it was like, fluid and mobile, but there was too much structure to it. Like water or tar that had been put under high pressure, then animated. Or like it had decided to animate itself.
It hurt less than I'd been expecting it to, actually. I'd seen a few of the little Typhons that change into objects kill some of my colleagues, and from the screaming, I'd assumed it was agonizing. It's really not. It was easily the worst experience of my recalled existence by at least two orders of magnitude, but not for the pain. I think it hooked into my nervous system, because I started feeling sensations that didn't make any sense all throughout my body, all at once. At one point, the tips of my fingers felt like they were on fire, while my arms felt like they were in ice water, while my toes felt like something was crawling on or in them. Then they'd all switch places at different intervals, fire would feel like ice, acid, insects, skewed perception of gravity, or one of the numerous more exotic sensations I am unfortunately not eloquent enough to put to words. I think even if I had time to try to map out everything I felt, I wouldn't be able to capture it.
My limbs started twitching in ways I couldn't control. I recall attempting to struggle, but as the process went on, my body wasn't fully under my control anymore. Or, if it was, all of the mapping my brain had made for how to move had been rearranged. I'd attempt to move an arm, and my leg would move instead, if anything managed to move at all. I don't know if this was coincidence as the Typhon learned how to move my body or not. Either way, what little control I had evaporated over time, and my body twitched at its own volition. Then, my mind - slid. Like extreme vertigo after taking strong pain medication. I had enough time to wonder if it was changing my brain's biochemistry before I lost consciousness.
I'm nearly certain that these were the last things I thought with my own brain. Thinking now is - it's not noticeably different in the functioning, exactly. I think like I always did, or at least I believe I do. Instead, it's like it's clearer. More focused, without that pesky biochemistry to get in my way. I haven't actually yet felt hungry, in all of my time of being a Typhon's pet human, but I would hypothesize that if I did, it wouldn't impact my brain function. The brain is at the mercy of the body, tethered to the fickle whims of hormones and chemical cocktails, except mine isn't any more. I'd actually think it was completely amazing, if it wasn't for - all the rest.
Since my change in species, my perspective of time is - well, like a man who is being abruptly switched off, moved around, then later switched back on. I don't perceive anything that goes on while I'm not - out front. One moment I'm somewhere, the next I'm somewhere completely different, the weather is different, and I can surmise that an unknown amount of time passed while I was away. I have no way to prevent this, though I can sometimes cause it, but what will convince the Typhon to take over isn't predictable. I have some suspicion that attempting to harm myself would motivate the alien to prevent it, but as far as I'm aware, I haven't yet been motivated to try it. I acknowledge how flimsy this statement is when my mind is at an alien's mercy. Sometimes I have some warning, the Typhon will take control of a limb and move it somewhere it wants it, or I'll feel a shiver up my spine. Most of the time, I don't.
There's a pattern to how often it happens and how long the jumps are. When it's working on something, I'll have shorter jumps, in the same room or same set of areas. Occasionally the jump in consciousness will be very short - I'll notice the location of my eyes or head has changed, and nothing else. Sometimes I can figure out what exactly it's trying to do; I'll try to get a list together of my guesses and evidence when I have a bit more time to think about it. In short, I believe it prioritizes gathering information, particularly on its own kind. Whenever it's done, the jumps in time will be lengthened, and I'll be somewhere completely different.
Occasionally it will 'steer' - I'll turn to go one way, and a moment later I'll be turned in a different direction. It hasn't yet tried to get me to do anything really specific, mostly it just drops me places as bait and seems happy enough to let me wander around, with occasional steering. So far I've complied. I've been trying not to do anything too useful, for fear of it learning how to do it on its own, and using the new knowledge to eat people. I've avoided flinging myself at computers to document my experiences for this purpose, but I think that if this is a simulation, it's worth the risk in order to get you as much data as I can.
He pauses, rubs his face, and continues writing with a much darker expression.
This probably goes without saying, considering the stakes, but if it doesn't: I am in a Typhon. My state of humanhood is up for debate, how much I am being controlled by the alien is unclear, and I don't know how much it understands. Could be all of it. As much as I know I'm a person, as much as I am probably coming off as a person, please do not let that stop you from - from whatever is necessary to keep as many people alive as possible. Whatever that is. I'll maybe complain about it if it's as unpleasant, but ultimately, what I want doesn't matter. Maybe try not to be needlessly cruel to me, but whatever list of consents I make is a little bit meaningless when you take into account that I might be cleverly being manipulated in order to open up other humans to being eaten. So. Yeah.
There's a sound from his left, and he jumps. A stapler twitches -
- and the revenant swats the mimic out of the air. It almost daintily retrieves a nearby clipboard, then follows after the mimic. It's dispatched with brutal efficiency. With the clipboard.
The revenant glances once around the office space, head moving in unnaturally too-precise motions. It stares expressionlessly at the computer Dr. Lewis was typing at for an extended moment, unblinking. Then, seemingly coming to some kind of decision, it turns, walks over to a nearby desk, and picks up a potted plant in a heavy looking pot. Then it takes it back to the desk Dr. Lewis was typing at. It sets the plant down on the desk, sits, and stares inscrutably at the text.
Dr. Lewis blinks. He frowns at the plant, then glances around. When he spots the remains of the mimic and the black-splattered clipboard, he looks at the plant with new eyes, and frowns at it more thoughtfully. After a pause, he saves the text document, then picks up the potted plant and begins cautiously looking around the office space.
He finds the company tablet he seems to be looking for. After carefully setting down the potted plant, he attempts to log in on his own company account. He copies the account naming scheme from the person already logged in, instead with his own name. He hesitates for a few seconds at the blank password box. Then he types in the password he lazily uses with every account he's had since he was in college, because remembering multiple passwords is hard. It works. This is unsettling, but then, so is everything else about his life now. He's sort of glad he has terrible password security, actually. Makes this easier.
Tablet and potted plant in hand, he returns to the terminal, e-mails the saved text to himself, and promptly deletes the version on the terminal. And clears the recycling bin. He doesn't want to have to explain any of that to simulated fake-people.
I'm just going to not worry about teaching the Typhon new things on the basis that if this is a simulation, you can kill it if it gets uppity, and if it's not, I'm probably getting dictionary cracked by an alien that can rearrange my entire mind at its whim, so proper information security is a little pointless anyway. Okay? Okay.
His tablet acquired, he begins carefully searching through the deserted offices. He brings the potted plant, if only so the Typhon is not tempted to use the tablet to kill the mimics that will inevitably pop out of the environment to try and kill him. Ha, joke's on you, mimics, a Typhon already got him!
There is a coffee cup located in the middle of the floor. This is not where coffee cups go. He gives the coffee cup an unimpressed look, then sets down the tablet and looks expectant.
The revenant does not bother with the potted plant. The mimic is dispatched with liberal application of viciously precise stomping.
Dr. Lewis gives his now goo covered shoe an unhappy look. He retrieves the tablet, and resumes searching the area.
There are corpses. Dr. Lewis looks at them unhappily, but with the expression of a man who has seen a number of corpses already. One of the corpses is of a security guard. He looks at the security guard's pistol.
Hey if you guys really don't want me to pick up this pistol and probably teach the alien about guns give me some kind of sign. Not that it needs guns. Just. I might.
The doctor politely waits, then very cautiously picks up the firearm. He gingerly inspects it, keeping the business end pointed not at all at himself, and looks very much like an academic that has never seen a gun before in his life, let alone used one. He's not going to go looking down the barrel of the gun, but. Gosh that sure is a thing he has no idea how to use. This was almost certainly the worst idea ever. This gun is more of a danger to himself than to anything that wants to kill him.
He has brief visuals of accidentally shooting open a window and venting himself into space while attempting to juggle a potted plant, a tablet, and a handgun. That - no. Juggling a handgun is a terrifying idea. Having a handgun is a terrifying idea. He doesn't know if it's loaded or not and is kind of afraid to check. Instead, he steals the security officer's belt and holster and is just. Going to have the gun, and not touch it at all. Yes. Good. He gently puts the potted plant down in a place it looks like a potted plant should go. The Typhon will just have to get over its inability to bludgeon its kin to death with a potted plant, there are plenty of clipboards around.
On he explores.
- Nope.
The revenant stops, and does not display any of Dr. Lewis's hesitance towards the handgun. It inspects it with expressionless curiousity, notes the construction of the grip and the location of the trigger, and either by intelligence or luck, does not look down the barrel. It seems to test the weight of the gun, then freezes thoughtfully. After a pause of breathless stillness, its eyes flick around the environment.
It raises the firearm, points the barrel at a nearby chair, pulls the trigger, and absolutely misses. The Typhon goes still.
Then it begins systematically dismantling the firearm with single minded determination and focus, barrel carefully pointed away from anything that should not be shot. Once the gun is fully dismantled to its component parts, the alien stares at the disassembled pieces, and then puts it back together with impressive speed and efficiency. Thoughtful-stillness, then it raises the pistol again, this time with a form that is much more suited for aiming a gun, with one hand on the weapon itself and the other steadying aim. It aims at a poster, and promptly complicates the represented cat's attempts to 'hang in there' by giving its stylized head a new hole.
Seemingly satisfied, the Typhon returns the gun to its holster.
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