"Yes?"

"I've finished assembling the Typhon candidate dossier," calls her secretary, Radha Gadhavi. "I can forward you the document or go over the highlights, if you have time."

"Come on in. Let's hear it."

"Sure."

The door opens, and in comes Radha. She taps at her tablet, and the office screen lights up.

"There are eight potential candidates in all, mostly made up of phantoms that display unusual human-like characteristics. One telepath, of all things. We picked up recordings of its thralls sounding... uncharacteristically happy. I don't consider it a serious candidate for the project, but it might be worth picking up for study."

She nods thoughtfully. "Yes, I agree with that assessment. Go on."

"There's one candidate in particular that I think's worth your attention. It's sparked some debate among some of the operators, over if it's a new Typhon subtype or not." On the screen, she displays an image of a human survivor.

"Well, colour me intrigued."

"Yeah. This isn't even the most notable part about it - as far as we can tell, it transforms between two forms." A picture of a humanoid figure made of black, smoke-like tendrils joins the other image. It looks taller, thinner than typical phantoms. "And while it's in the human form, it displays uncannily accurate human body language. We haven't picked up any vocalizations, but even without, it's accurate enough to fool other Typhon." She taps at her tablet again, and the images are replaced with a video.

On the screen, the same human survivor creeps through a clearing. A nearby bench twitches, and transforms into a mimic Typhon's natural form, leaping at the human. The human's head turns to look at it with unnatural speed, and reaches out to catch the Typhon with an arm that shifts to an inky black tendril. The mimic is caught out of the air, then consumed. The creature returns to its human shaped form, then continues on as if the attempted attack had never happened.

"This seems to be its primary tactic; luring other Typhon into vulnerable positions, then ambushing them."

"Interesting."

Radha smiles, a little. "It is that. And - I'm just going to let you watch the video I just got from the latest satellite check in."

Another video begins playing, this one from a more overhead view of a city. The camera zooms in on a humanoid figure slipping through the streets. While the image is grainy, the figure is recognizable as the human-like shape the Typhon takes on. It stalks forward, then its body language changes from human-like to an unnatural precision and stillness, and it looks at a nearby abandoned car. Shifting to black, the creature surgically breaks the window, then very deliberately depresses the car horn. Results are predictable. The camera turns to focus on a phantom rushing towards the sound out of an alleyway, then the video is contorted with static and the entire view shakes and pulls back as the camera flees out of range of the effect. When the video's restored to clarity, the camera turns back to reveal a technopath. The original Typhon is nowhere to be seen on screen, and the phantom and the technopath begin fighting.

A dark shape climbs above the both of them, and waits. Once the technopath begins to look like it's the likely winner of the confrontation, the shape leaps upon them both and rips them to pieces. It swells in size, shivers slightly, and then transforms to the now quite recognizable human form.

"So. It's smart, it's unusually good at pretending to be human, and it primarily preys on its own kind. Yes, I like this one."

"Me too. But frankly, ma'am? It's the scariest thing on this list, including the telepath."

"I don't disagree."

Nod. "Whatever you think is best, ma'am. But if we are going to get this one, I think it should be sooner rather than later. It's a drifter, it'll be hard to keep track of for long periods of time. We might eventually lose it. Not to mention that it'll have less chance to evolve into something we can't keep a hold of the sooner we get it. If we're getting it."

"Hm."

She looks thoughtfully at the screen.

"No obvious standouts like this among the rest of them?"

Radha shakes her head. "Mostly phantoms that are parroting the people they were made from in more promising ways. We'd have more ease of acquisition, many of them are pretty isolated, but - no. They're not nearly so thoughtful."

"I'll glance over the rest of the entries, but I think we've got our subject. Bring it in."

"Yes ma'am," she says, nodding.

A shuttle is dispatched. The military personnel on board are instructed to hit the specimen hard and fast, and they pull it off with expert precision. One casualty; injury nonfatal, sustained dispatching a wandering thermal phantom while preparing the subject for transport.

It's successfully brought to the containment station, where the experimental Typhon neurosurgery is conducted without incident. The scientists have long had enough practice on simple mimics to avoid killing the unique Typhon. The subject is hooked up to the simulator, and everyone collectively holds their breath to see if it dies, escapes and wreaks havoc, or if the experiment otherwise fails in an unpredictable manner.

Someone opens a pair of eyes, then looks around the room. He slowly sits up, a mildly puzzled look on his face. After a pause, he gets out of bed, and investigates the apartment in a manner reminiscent of a man who just woke up in someone else's home, and is very confused about it.

A messenger beeps, eventually, causing him to jump. Tentatively, he presses the button to pick up.

"Doctor Lewis! Sorry for the inconvenience, but could you come by the fitness center when you have the chance? The higher ups want to run a station-wide set of tests, something about checking for signs of stress from so long in orbit, apparently some people are starting to get a bit weird. They've commandeered the fitness center to run a psychological exam. No need to go right away, but sometime today would be great." The call ends, and the man stares at the messenger in utter bewilderment.

Hmm. Hard to tell how much the Typhon is understanding, past the obviously very well-constructed human persona. Maybe it'll become clearer later on.

The man continues investigating the apartment. He investigates it very thoroughly, checking the faucets, the toilet, the pantry, the closet, all of the assorted electronics. Eventually he runs out of things to poke, and he wanders cautiously out of the apartment. The hallway's deserted. He prods the access buttons for the door across from his, which of course doesn't admit him. He does this for all of the doors, then wanders down the hallway, looking cautiously at everything.

There's a sign that says 'Fitness center,' complete with an arrow. He completely ignores it, in favor of wandering around some more. Many things are investigated, though not as thoroughly as the apartment was. There's only a vague resemblance to a systematic search, it seems more like he's a very lost, very confused individual that is trying to find an answer.

Eventually, he does reach the fitness center, but more by chance than anything else.

"Doctor Lewis," says the cool, synthetic voice of an operator, from a hovering white and green box. "Thank you for your prompt arrival. If you could please follow me, we can begin the test and have you out of here in no time at all."

The man stares at the operator as it floats off. After a quick glance around the room, he hesitantly follows.

The tests are set up in such a way that one can complete them while being supremely confused about what is going on. The subject is ushered into a room with a glass wall separating him from a small group of very human scientists.

He doesn't react to this. Doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate, doesn't leap at the glass in a hungry rage. He's just docilely ushered into the room, where he stares at the scientists on the other side of the glass in confusion.

"Hello, Doctor Lewis. Don't worry, this won't take long. The first test is just moving a set of boxes out of the red circle. Please press the button to begin."

For a few seconds, he just stares at them in open bewilderment. Then he sloooowly looks at the button, then back at the scientists. After a pause, he wanders over to the button, and presses it. Three boxes are deposited into the red circle, marked on the floor, which are also stared at in confusion. Then he picks up a box, briefly investigates it, and deposits it out of the circle. The next two are not inspected, but are deposited outside of the circle.

"Excellent job!" says the scientist. The door to his right opens. "Please proceed to the next room for the next test."

He proceeds to the next room, which contains only a small chair and another button.

"This test will be timed, starting from when you press the button. Instructions will be relayed when you do."

... Button press?

"Please find a place to hide in the next fifteen seconds."

??? what??

The man stills, and looks expressionlessly at the scientists. He doesn't blink. His gaze is piercing, and more than a little unsettling. It's hard to tell if he's even breathing.

Then the stillness ends, and he looks around the nearly empty room in dismay. After a pause, he crouches ineptly behind the chair.

Interesting.

"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 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:

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.

"Oh no," Elizabeth murmurs to herself, "I like him."

"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."

"Revenant. I like it."

"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'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.

"I really appreciate Dr. Lewis," she says thoughtfully.

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.

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.

What a delightfully sensible individual.

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.

Hmmm... no, no sign.

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.

... 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.

... Dr. Lewis takes a moment to adjust to his new environment, checking the map for his location. Oh, look. The Typhon brought him to where he wanted to take them.

He smiles, clearing his throat in lieu of gleefully giggling; a trick he learned for teaching college students. There is a certain level of professionalism required, there.

Okay, there, that was all the gloating he needs, was the Typhon just proving a point or is he expected to do something?

Yes, it appears so. That's a locked door in the way of the important parts of the security station, looks like it requires a keycard. It'd have to be a fairly common one, anyone from security stationed in this section would have something to open it. He must have missed it on the security guard he'd gotten the pistol from, or maybe his hunch about them being ubiquitous among security staff is off. He'll backtrack if he has to, but he'd rather not. There's probably another dead security guard somewhere nearby, he can look for a keycard there.

Wait. Hold on. He missed something. Where did this cannon come from, and why is his bag clean and also filled with strange canisters. What the heck is this thing for? He's a little afraid to check, but he probably should, just to be responsible. ... Nnnnnhhhh, nope, his discomfort with guns extends even to atypical guns. How about he not shoot anything with it. That sounds like a smarter plan. Instead, he looks for a serial number, and then checks on his tablet to see if there are any entries on it in the TranStar system. Yep!

Apparently it's a Gelifoam Lattice Organism Obstructor (GLOO) cannon. This strikes him as a somewhat awkward acronym that is entirely the result of someone thinking of a clever name for the gun, and then abusing the English language in an attempt to justify it. Not that he's complaining, GLOO cannon's an adorable name. Just - the acronym is more than a little ridiculous. So it shoots some kind of glue-like gelifoam that polymerizes shortly after leaving the gun, and is highly nonconductive and resistant to changes in temperature, invented specifically for use in space and can be used as a stopgap to seal leaks. It does this via the set of heat coils on the gun that trigger a chemical reaction in the gelifoam that changes it to a -

The Chemical Engineering Professor has just been nerdsniped. He is fascinated.

The revenant tolerates this for a while, but after ten minutes of enthralled reading with no end in sight, grows impatient enough to take over. It opens the drawing program again, draws the rudimentary firearm symbol, then returns control.

Blink. Oh. Right. Yes. That thing. The keycard. Yes. He will just. Put his nerd glee on hold then, won't he. (But it's so cool!!!)

Wow, his plan is working way better than he expected it would. He's established enough of a line of a communication that the Typhon can successfully remind him of things. This is good, even if it's slightly embarrassing.

He goes back to hunting for a keycard.

He should probably be a bit more concerned about how deserted the place is, it wasn't that long ago that the station was operating normally. He's sort of not caring very much, though. It's probably a simulation. It makes sense that they'd shoo all unnecessary people as quickly as possible in order to save on processing power. If it's not, he's been the puppet of a Typhon for subjective months, at least, wandering through the ruined cities of humanity and getting attacked by various Typhon. So this tragedy can sort of just get in line, really.

There's a bit of hallway that is more than a little bit on fire. Dr. Lewis might be tempted to pass this over, except, that is definitely a corpse dressed in a security guard uniform, in that fire. Luckily for him, the GLOO cannon's gelifoam is built to handle fires. He can just put those out with a light dusting of gelifoam, while thinking about how scientifically brilliant the GLOO itself is instead of about how the cannon is intimidatingly gun shaped. Then he can just carefully search the smoking, hardened foam covered body for any keycards, like so.

He finds one! He's so pleased with himself.

(The revenant thinks this was not enough ammo collection for its taste, and accordingly takes over to steal the ammo out of the dead guard's pistol, and also goes through his pockets for any more. Bullets are found. The revenant returns control.)