... Dr. Lewis notices the addition to the cat poster. He sighs.

On he explores.

The offices are more of the same; the doctor wanders through them, scrounging for things that might be useful and letting the revenant handle the mimics masquerading as various objects in the environment. He acquires a standard issue company carrying bag, complete with obnoxious TranStar logo, in which goes the tablet and one medkit the doctor finds and pries out of a wall dispenser. Call him crazy, but it just seems like a smart thing to bring along.

The revenant investigates the medkit in a systematic fashion, opening the container and staring expressionlessly at the contents inside for several seconds. This seems to be all of the investigation it wants to do of the medkit, because it then closes it and returns it to the bag without further tampering.

It patiently waits for Doctor Lewis to be done investigating a supply closet, then leans over and retrieves the abandoned wrench poking out from behind a shelf. The wrench is inspected inscrutably, and then is placed into a side pocket of the bag that's within easy reach.

The wrench is frowned at, but not disturbed. Dr. Lewis gets out the tablet and types.

Above average levels of meddling, but not outside bounds of past experiences. Insistence on having a heavy object available at all times, which makes sense when I think about it. Simulation must be forcing it to stay in human form, because simulating the internal experiences of a body of a shapeshifting rapidly adapting space alien is a bit too much to ask of operators even with modern processing power. ... I wonder if it's nervous. Suppose that's not a useful question. Not like I have a way to tell.

The Typhon does not seem nervous as it calmly bashes two mimics to death in rapid succession. With the wrench. It just seems efficient and really good at bashing things with terrifying accuracy. The wrench is returned to its pocket once things are good and bashed.

... Without being cleaned. There is now black goo all over the bag. And Dr. Lewis's hands.

After getting as much of the Typhon's fluids off of his hands as possible: Next thing to teach Typhon: standards of bio-hazard containment. Typhons make terrible roommates.

Right, okay. They both seem to be done with this place now. Time to go. He accesses a map of the facility on his tablet, because if he's going to wander, he's going to wander responsibly.

!!!!!

Several seconds after the map is pulled up, the revenant seizes control and begins intensely staring. After ten seconds of this, it glances up at the ceiling, then back down at the tablet.

... It attempts poking the tablet. It can perfectly copy the gestures it's witnessed Dr. Lewis use, and does so, but it's mostly seen Dr. Lewis navigate word documents and e-mail. It successfully zooms in on a part of the screen, changes which floor the map is viewing, and then accidentally closes the map app entirely. It stares at the home page with its usual intensity, then carefully presses the button for the map. After another few false starts, which by the freezing and staring probably either confuses or annoys it, it figures out how to navigate an electronic map. Systematically, it looks through every. Single. Floor. It spends minutes staring at each level, occasionally zooming in on more complicated parts of the map, before zooming back out and returning to staring at an overall view of the floor itself.

Once it's finished, it returns the map to the floor they're actually on.

This is a smart Typhon. Which should probably be making Elizabeth nervous, but instead it is making her intrigued.

And Dr. Lewis gets pushed to the front again. He blinks, expression mildly puzzled, and glances at the clock. He frowns.

2/23/35, 13:32: I'm going to start logging times. Lost what looks like ten minutes after opening a map. Not entirely sure what it did, no environmental changes. Probably map related, not going to speculate further in the attempt to avoid paranoid overthinking. If I start, I don't expect I'll ever stop.

Back to the map. Okay. If this were an actual emergency and he were actually working here, what would he do? ... He'd want to get off this station filled with aliens that eat people, is what he'd want to do. But just making a run for the shuttle bay in a mad rush seems like a really terrible idea; while he's got his roommate to keep him out of trouble, he's hesitant to be in the same room as even simulated humans. It might just callously and casually kill them. The shuttle bay is not going to be empty of humans in a crisis. While he's nearly certain this is a simulation, 'nearly certain' is not certain enough for him to start risking lives.

Maybe he pushed to get a job on Talos I, despite his better judgement, and now his current state of brain is a result of unethical experiments that result from not listening to his better judgement. ... No, that doesn't make sense. TranStar was about as trustworthy as a used car salesman that dabbles in selling bridges in deserts and snake oil. He wouldn't work for them just to get to space, or for all of the money in the world, even taking into account the student debt he'll be paying off until he's eighty. If he would, he's got a lot more problems than just a confusing set of circumstances, he'd need to have his entirely personality rearranged. Which is of course not off the table, but neither should it be the first thing he assumes. He is not going to let the circumstances start screwing with his perception of reality. He has things to do.

Okay, so. Security is clearly not handling the alien problem very competently. Whatever evacuation procedures that are in place are either in shambles or uselessly opaque. He needs to focus on his own safety. So what are the major threats to his person? The Typhon, obviously, but it sort of seems like a lot of that's out of his hands. He can try to get his Typhon better equipment and not wander into any places that are really, obviously dangerous. After that is people panicking in various dangerous ways in his direction in the chaos. Not much he can do about that except avoid people, and he was already planning on that. So then it's the standard fears of living on a space station - vacuum, equipment failure, fire. Probably some other things, too, but he hasn't actually been in space before.

First order of business: find a suit that can handle vacuum, be in that if it's at all practical. He vaguely recalls TranStar making a big deal about how sleek and elegant their ultra-expensive suits are, time to see if those were empty words or not. He doesn't want to fling himself into actual space, but if things explode and suddenly there is vacuum, he would like to not find out what it's like to die in a simulation, too. Second order of business: probably getting the Typhon various things with which to defend the both of them. In a life or death crisis, he highly doubts the alien will let its pet human handle things.

Okay. He locates all of the airlocks on the station; they'd have spare suits available. Then he locates a security station; that would probably have something for the Typhon. He'll check any supply closets he comes across as he goes for anything that might be useful, but he thinks it's time he stops picking over every little thing in every little office. He does not have time for that.

He'll need to cut through the main lobby to get to the Hardware Labs. He can do that. Off he goes, typing as he walks.

2/23/35, 13:37: Since I don't know what your goals are here, I'm just going to go with mine, which are atrociously self centered. I figure that'll be fine by you, considering. Do hope I get you some good data; I'll attempt writing more internal experiences at some point. Need to be more assured of my own safety so I can think properly.

While he walks, he keeps track of the environment. Isn't he lucky that he was exactly the kind of nerd in school to read and walk regularly. Walking and typing's a bit harder, but he can manage.

2/23/35, 13:39: You know, it was never clear to me if Talos I was just the first place hit by the alien menace, or if it was the ground zero of the entire thing. It makes me wonder how accurate the simulation is. You did go to the trouble to find my name and standard password. I suppose I made that last one easy, but it's still telling. You could have just as easily had it on a sticky note in my quarters. Or maybe you couldn't have. As much as I know this simulation's about studying the Typhon that ate me, I'm part of that.

I won't know how accurate any of this is until I'm out, and I might never get out. Whether this is accurate or not, everything you did put in here is deliberate, by the nature of the medium. You want something - either me, or the Typhon, or both - to see what you put here. So I guess I should just go with it. Take what's here at face value even if it's about as trustworthy as, well. Anything else I experience, really. I guess then I should prioritize learning as much about this station as possible, after all of those other things I'm worried about. Hope your scenario's self consistent, because I warn you, I'm a nitpicker.

What a charmer. She sort of hopes she'll get to talk to him one day, despite the inherent practical difficulties.

"... typical disconnected amoral corporate bullshit, who does that asshole think he is..." echoes a voice from down a flight of stairs. It sounds distorted, warped. Like a bad recording of a voice instead of something made directly from a set of vocal chords.

The revenant returns the tablet to the bag, crouching and retrieving the pistol. It turns an ear to the voice, and listens thoughtfully.

"... wish Jenny could come here, almost as much as I hope she never does, nest of fucking vipers..."

A decision made, the revenant creeps silently down the stairs. It detours around the source of the voice, ducking behind tastefully opulent decorations and stalking closer to its prey. It gently deposits the bag in a safe nook, taking only the wrench and the gun. It scales a particularly tall bit of tastefully opulent decoration, and begins carefully aiming at the dark figure stalking through the halls. It has impressive aim for a marksman, especially considering that half an hour ago it wasn't very clear on how to use a gun. All four of its shots hits. Unfortunately for it, it is now out of bullets. It pulls the trigger again, and nothing happens.

The Typhon blinks, and looks at the gun. It attempts to pull the trigger again, and shooting a gun without any bullets is just as effective as it was the last time it tried it. Observers might imagine alien swear words from the way it expressionlessly stares at the gun. Four bullets were not enough to take down the enemy Typhon, just enough to make it angry.

After re-holstering the pistol, the revenant retrieves and readies the wrench. It watches the dark form of the phantom Typhon flicker forward, disappearing and reappearing closer to the revenant. When it's close enough, the revenant leaps from its perch and onto the phantom, and promptly begins beating it to death. While it does not quite have a grasp of how guns work, it's still pretty good at martial combat, even after losing the element of surprise. It wins. Unfortunately for it and Dr. Lewis, it does not make it out unscathed, taking a minor injury to a leg upon being tossed and not being physically capable of compensating quick enough, and an impressive amount of goop to the everywhere.

Its killing complete, the revenant goes to return to where it left the bag. When weight's put on its bad leg, it stumbles and freezes in confusion, looking with expressionless puzzlement at the offending limb. It sits and inspects the leg. After an extended moment of staring and some surgically precise poking, it attempts standing again. Nope, that leg is still injured, which elicits more puzzled staring. It sits again, this time inspecting the pistol and taking it apart a second time. For a long moment it looks at the empty magazine, then quietly puts the gun back together and returns it to its holster. It doesn't immediately get up, staying completely still and staring off into space. It blinks at mathematically precise and unceasingly regular intervals.

Once the unimportant bit of wall has been appropriately stared at, it carefully gets up, favoring the injured leg. It limps back to the bag, sits down, pulls out the medical box, and stares blankly at its contents. Then it closes the box and returns it, instead retrieving the tablet. It begins systematically pressing every single icon on the tablet. Dr. Lewis's entries get an addition from the revenant, bestowing upon the document its own insightful text:

Qwertyuioasdfghjkl
zxcvbnm,.

Followed by even more gibberish as the revenant begins testing key combinations. Once all of the keys have been good and pressed, it moves on to a different app. To press all of the buttons associated thereof. The Typhon is very thorough; even things that only vaguely resemble buttons get pressed, too. Just to be sure. It very clearly has absolutely no idea what it's doing, but it does a better job at figuring out what each program does than might be expected. The calculator app in particular inspires a long bout of fascinated experimentation, and by the time it's done playing with it, it's competently plugging in simple equations.

Eventually, this sort of behavior leads to accidentally turning off the tablet. It stares blankly at the dark screen, and attempts poking the screen. Since the Typhon has not poked the power button, this does nothing. The revenant attempts various gestures on the black screen, slowly speeding up as it runs through the various things it has learned, before it seems to have had enough, and does the obvious thing.

It'll get the human to do it.

Everything is covered in black Typhon goo. Especially the tablet. Why. He knows the answer already, actually, or can guess accurately enough. The Typhon killed something and then got curious. It was bound to happen eventually. But he is very unhappy about being covered in space alien fluids. Why is he in this situation. Oh, yes. Because he was eaten by a Typhon.

Ugh. Okay. First priority now: get to a bathroom, cease being covered in space alien fluids - ow.

... That follows too, really. Since they're both stuck in the same human body, instead of being a shapeshifter and a guy the shapeshifter ate, injuries would be shared. The Typhon killed something and was injured in the process, and this time Dr. Lewis gets to feel the effects. He huffs, annoyed. Right. Well. He can sit here and sulk and be covered in alien goo some more, or he can do something about it. One of them has to be responsible for cleaning up messes or they're both in trouble. By process of elimination, that's him. Okay.

First step: what happened to the leg? He's the wrong kind of doctor to competently handle injuries, but he has ever in his life sprained an ankle before. A medical operator will be able to handle that competently enough, he just needs to find one. He turns on the tablet, pulls up the map, and looks for the nearest medical station. And the nearest bathroom, because ceasing to be covered in alien goo is also pretty important.

The bathroom is closer, so he doesn't feel bad about that one going first. He will be clean.

The Typhon kills a mimic on the way there, but doesn't otherwise create any detours. One might suspect it's curious about what Dr. Lewis is going to do.

So, is it anthropomorphizing to read complex reactions into the behaviour of the alien mind behind that expressionless face, or is it just good observational skills?

She's increasingly suspecting the latter.

Soon enough, Dr. Lewis is as not covered in black goo as he can reasonably make himself in a public restroom that doesn't contain a shower or a change of clothes. It's better, but not precisely good. He sighs at himself in the mirror, but this will just have to do. It'd be a bit much to trek all the way back to his room for a shower and a change of clothes. Maybe he can find a fabricator that'll make clothes somewhere. To the medical bay!

They make it there without incident. Having a map's pretty useful for these sorts of things.

There is no medical operator present in the medical bay, which is a bit concerning, but there is a station where he can request a new one. He does that. The machine starts assembling the operator chassis -

- and the revenant blinks and stares for half a second, then turns on its heel to upend and hide behind a nearby table. The station dispenses the newly assembled medical operator. The revenant waits, wrench at the ready, then... nothing happens. It peeks its head over the table.

"Hello! Do you have an appointment?" asks the glorified flying hard-drive with medical instruments attached.

What.

"I'm sorry for the mess, I really don't know what happened! I'll log a complaint onto the server and strive to have better service for you next time."

... The revenant slooooowly stands, staring at the operator.

Why is he behind a - you know what, whatever. Clearly his life now involves waking up in really bizarre circumstances, might as well get used to it early.

He sighs heavily, carefully picks his way out from behind the upended table, and stands within the operator's scanning distance.

"Scanning..." says the medical operator. "Sprained ankle; nothing I can't fix. One moment!"

Dr. Lewis sits on the patient bed (thankfully not upended) and dangles the injured ankle in the operator's direction. He retrieves the tablet and - sigh. Okay. The Typhon also messed around in notepad. Great. Okay. Sure, fine, whatever, he won't erase the gibberish, he'll just. Start a new line underneath it.

2/23/35, 2:24: The Typhon seems to be getting experimental. I might be tempted to speculate, but it's hard to give unbiased observations at the moment. I'm sure that the team of scientists that is no doubt picking apart every microsecond of this simulation will do a better job of it. Right now, all I have to observe is that Typhon goo is kind of itchy. And really gross. Insightful, I know.

He rubs his face, in lieu of being able to clean his glasses. He misses his glasses, which he acknowledges is a weird thing to miss. The Typhon didn't stand for imperfect vision for very long. This is not a useful thing to be thinking about while he's trying to get his head together enough to write.

On the bright side, it didn't attack the operator. That speaks well for maybe getting it to not attack everything that looks even vaguely threatening. Still not going near humans if I can avoid it. I wonder if I might be able to build up some kind of trust with it. I'd certainly like to; it just seems less unpleasant for the both of us if we can figure out how to work together. Not even mentioning how much of a breakthrough it'd be for, uh. Typhon in general.

I'll try to make friends. The key to that will likely be communication, so we can work together competently. I'm willing to get it things it wants that aren't, uh, eating people, but I'm making guesses after the fact with limited information. I prefer working with something a bit more concrete. Okay, professor, what's your lesson plan for teaching the alien how to talk to you?

He considers, then switches from the word processor to the camera app. He takes a picture of the medical operator, just about done with his ankle, then takes a picture of the gun. He drags both pictures to a rudimentary drawing program, a different tab for each. Next to the operator, he draws a plus sign. In the tab with the picture of the gun, he draws an extremely rudimentary gun, in the form of an L rotated 90 degrees to the right. Then, hoping that this is enough for the Typhon to get some kind of idea of what he's talking about, he goes to the map, fiddles with the settings, and - aha. Yes. He can draw on this. Good.

The medical bay they're in gets a little plus sign on the room, along with all other medical bays marked on the map. Security checkpoints get the little stylized gun. This way, they'll (maybe) be on the same page about their environment and what parts of it's important. He's not really sure how to relate the complexities of 'I think we need a spacesuit' but he doesn't need to create a perfect communication system from the start. He just - needs to prove the concept. Draw the Typhon in with something that's obviously applicable, before he starts introducing more complex topics.

The medical operator's done with his ankle, and soon enough he's done with his rudimentary art. He leaves the tablet where it is and scrunches his eyes shut. Okay, Typhon. Your move.

For a long moment, the revenant just looks at the map, staring with unmoving eyes at the little scribbled cross. Then it closes the map program and puts the tablet away.

It stands and tests its weight on the now uninjured ankle, looking at the medical operator thoughtfully. It looks at the bag, then back at the medical operator. The medical operator would not fit in the bag, perhaps fortunately, because the revenant looks sort of like it might want to try it anyway. Instead it just continues looking at the medical operator thoughtfully.

Then it picks up the bag and leaves, heading for the nearest security station.

Oh, Dr. Lewis is good. This is a positive development.

The revenant moves faster than Dr. Lewis's more cautious, methodical pace. Occasionally it pauses thoughtfully upon entering a room, but it seems very at home in a hostile environment where everything could attempt to kill it at any time. Mimics die without incident and without even really delaying the revenant at all.

Something else delays the revenant in its quest, though. On the way to the security it spots the corpse of someone who looks like they got swarmed by mimics and lost, but not without putting up something resembling a fight. The scene isn't particularly notable, except for what the person put up a fight with. One mimic is frozen mid-attack, coated and trapped in hardened grey gelifoam. Clearly the revenant thinks this is worth investigating, and detours to take a closer look. It kneels down to peer at the trapped mimic, struggling in vain to escape. Then it raises its trusty wrench and promptly finishes it off.

It locates and retrieves the fallen device responsible, investigating it with its usual efficiency; the device is taken apart, stared at, then put back together perfectly, just like the pistol. Once this is complete, the revenant tests the cannon on an unsuspecting section of wall. The wall's covered in a rapidly expanding and lumpy grey foam that quickly solidifies into something that looks impressively sturdy. The revenant tests it; it's weak to sustained concentrated force, such as from multiple blows from a wrench, and it's strong against force that's more spread out. It sticks to the wall very stubbornly, with enough force that the revenant can easily stand on it. This discovery begins another set of tests of how sturdy it is when one is standing on it, and after some scientific hopping trials, the hardened gelifoam proves itself up to the task. Someone could reliably trust it with their weight, if they had the balance and coordination for it. Whether the revenant believes this a good way to get around isn't clear. Once the device and its foam is fully investigated, it starts searching the area for more of the canisters that function as ammunition for the gelifoam cannon. Apparently it's learned its lesson.

It finds a bag that matches the one it carries, except for how it's not covered in black goo and is filled with a number of such canisters. The revenant inspects it critically, then unpacks the bag Dr. Lewis salvaged and moves everything into this new one. It does not stop to explain its reasons. This job done, it resumes heading towards the security station.

The security station is easy enough to find, but unfortunately, the door is not so easy to unlock. The revenant is perfectly capable of opening a door, but not one that requires a keycard. It attempts to open the door, fails, attempts to open the window (with the wrench), fails, and then stares forlornly at the weapons on the other side of the glass.

Then, of course, it gets the human.