Nenonen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
essenceborn) wrote2022-03-22 03:31 pm
essenceborn) wrote2022-03-22 03:31 pm
Nen's world oneshot
cw: medical experimentation, death, ppl turning into goop, the futility of LifeTM, oh my god this is just depressing
1.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
The words cut through Twelve like a blade. They stare.
"Thirteen is…?"
"They experienced an intracranial hemorrhage and expired at 03:16 after attempts to stabilize them failed. So from today onwards, you will be moved to a single-occupancy room." Professor Koskinen says it without inflection, the words clinical. Cold. Twelve stares and it doesn't feel real, but the expression on his face doesn't change as he flips through their medical chart for the day. As if the whole thing is inconsequential. "Have you finished eating?" he asks. Twelve watches his eyes skim back and forth. Impassive. "Your lung biopsy has been postponed in light of the circumstances. You'll be joining the others for psychological evaluation."
Twelve can feel their hands curl into fists. Their fingers have no feeling.
Professor Koskinen puts down the chart and holds out a hand. Twelve doesn't think. Their hand reaches back out and takes his. A conditioned response. They follow his lead, down the halls and past door after glass door. They can hear the sound of their bare feet slapping against the floor with each step. Feel the calloused skin of the professor's palm as it scratches against their own. Each step feels less real then the next.
The others are already waiting when they enter the White Room. It's circular. Two, Three, Six, Seven, Ten, and Eleven are already seated on the floor. Professor Koskinen lets go of their hand and Twelve wordlessly takes a seat next to Ten.
A woman is sitting on a chair in front of them. Her voice is softer than Professor Koskinen's.
"Good morning everyone. By now you should all be aware of Thirteen's passing. A truly unfortunate event, but an opportunity all the same. Today I will be asking you a series of questions. I want you to answer with whatever comes to mind. Anything at all."
"What are these questions for?" Six is the only one to speak up.
The woman smiles. "To measure your response to grief." The pleasantness in her tone prickles Twelve's skin with goosebumps.
Calisthenics. Physicals. A lab technician in a thick hazmat suit draws their blood in a hermetically-sealed room. The day is over fast, so fast it feels like a blur. None of it seems real. Twelve is shown to their new room where there's one only bed instead of two. They stand above it and stare. Thirteen is dead. Thirteen is deceased. Thirteen is gone. A single pitch tear rolls down their face, and alarms start to blare.
The next day feels numb. The day after that, too. Daily consultations with the woman are added to their routine. She's particularly interested in what Twelve thinks of when they cry. Five days later Twelve has their lung biopsy. They spend a day in recovery under observation. Ten sits next to them for the evening meal. They hold hands under the table.
Grief fades in time, the woman tells Twelve. Ten days since Thirteen's death. We're very interested to see how it affects your mental and emotional states. Please, don't hold anything back.
Twelve sits alone during free time and watches the twins Six and Seven as they stack translucent cubes atop each other, one at a time. Eleven stares at images on a screen. Twelve feels empty and wonders if they will ever be full again. Thirteen's absence is a physical thing. It hurts. A piece of them is missing. A constant they had grown used to. One that feels like they can't bear to live without.
The next day, alarms go off without warning and the world is swallowed by black.
2.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Twelve stares.
Professor Koskinen looks at them. Continues when Twelve does nothing. "They experienced an intracranial hemorrhage and expired at 03:16 after attempts to stabilize them failed. So from today onwards, you will be moved to a single-occupancy room."
Why is he telling them this? Twelve knows this. Thirteen is dead, died two weeks ago. Why is he telling them again?
He brings Twelve to the White Room. Two, Three, Six, Seven, Ten, and Eleven are already there. They stare at Twelve as they enter, and there's something in their gaze that makes Twelve uncertain. They sit down next to Ten and the woman smiles.
"Good morning everyone. By now you should all be aware of Thirteen's passing. A truly unfortunate event, but an opportunity all the same. Today I will be asking you a series of questions. I want you to answer with whatever comes to mind. Anything at all."
Seven speaks. "We know about Thirteen. You told us all of this already."
The woman pauses. Shares a glance with Professor Koskinen. "Well, I suppose that's a good start. Seven, please. Continue."
Six and Seven exchange a look. Six is the one to speak up instead. "Thirteen died two weeks ago. Is this a cognitive test, professor?"
"Two weeks ago?" The woman's brows lift. "I'm not sure what you mean… The complications Thirteen experienced happened early this morning. Thirteen was unwell for some time. Is that what you mean, Seven? Six?"
The twins look confused. Ten, Two, Three--all of them do. Twelve doesn't understand. Why would they say this? Is it really a test?
Calisthenics. Physicals. A blood test in the same room with the same technician at the same time as before. It's all the same as before. Everything, like it's a dream happening all over again. The same biopsy, the same recovery, the same daily sessions that the woman becomes increasingly interested in. Things change on day nine: Six and Seven are taken for a series of tests and Twelve starts to wonder if maybe it's really nothing more than another kind of examination. After all, the others remember. Two is the youngest and doesn't recall things as well of the rest of them, but Three, Ten and Eleven are certain that they recall similar events.
Four days later the alarms go off and the world once again drowns in dark.
3.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Again.
"Have you finished eating?" Again. "Your lung biopsy has been postponed in light of the circumstances. You'll be joining the others for psychological evaluation." Again.
"I've already had my lung biopsy," Twelve tries to tell Professor Koskinen. He gives them an odd look, but dismisses them without so much as a blink.
"Six months ago, yes. We'll be doing another one later in the week."
Twelve doesn't understand, and when they get to the White Room and see the looks on the others' face, they know: this is not a test.
The doctors and researchers don't remember anything. They don't realizes that they're saying the same things over again, that the Test Subjects already know all this.
Again, Six and Seven are the ones to try and explain it to them. They're more succinct than last time. They insist, and this time the look the professor and woman share is more meaningful. They find it fascinating, and this time the twins are taken away for tests before the end of the first session.
Calisthenics, physicals, blood tests. Brain scans. Twelve's biopsy is delayed an additional two days, and when they finally return from rest, Ten and the others are waiting for them. Days pass. There are more tests.
Six and Seven never return, and on the thirteenth day the world sinks for a third time.
4.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
The others are waiting in the White Room when Twelve and the professor arrive. Six and Seven are back, but they don't say anything even as the woman begins to repeat herself anew. The session is almost the same as the first, but Six and Seven never speak a word. The woman concludes that they must be more affected by Thirteen's passing than anticipated. Six and Seven don't participate in calisthenics.
During free time Twelve and the others approach the twins
"What happened?" they ask. "You never came back."
"Do you remember what happened?"
Six squeezes Seven's hand so hard it turns white and only says, "Tests."
Biopsy. White Room.
"Tell me, Twelve. How are you feeling today?" the woman asks. She holds a clipboard and pen, but her eyes are only ever fixated on them. Twelve swallows.
"I feel…fine, ma'am."
"Fine?"
"Yes…"
"How are you dealing with the news of Thirteen's death? Do you think about it at all? The two of you were shared a room for quite some time." The woman's eyes are sharp. Like a scalpel, Twelve thinks. They feel raw. Exposed. The reminder of Thirteen's passing is an open wound that throbs with agony.
"I… I miss them," Twelve says.
"Oh? But you don't talk much about them during our sessions together," the woman replies. Her tone is saccharine, like the taste of anesthesia. Twelve's fingers curl.
"Did I answer wrong?"
"No, no, of course not. You should feel free to say whatever you like. There is no right or wrong answer."
"…" Twelve stares at the ground and says nothing.
A week later the world is dark.
7.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Don't tell them anything. They don't notice. Don't say a word.
9.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
When Twelve gets to the White Room Two is crying and screaming. The alarms go off and decontaminant shoots out of the vents above with such force that Twelve is knocked to the floor and breaks their nose.
They spend a week in isolation.
14.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
"So tell me, Twelve. How does Thirteen's death make you feel?"
Twelve hesitates.
The words ring in their ears: Grief heals with time.
It hurts. But not as much as before.
37.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Twelve wonders if they're dead. If this is what death is like: living the same thing over and over, day in and day out. Is there a way to escape it? A way to stop it? Six and Seven said never to tell, never to speak a word of it, but what if…?
"Subject Thirteen died four hundred and eighty-one days ago."
Twelve doesn't go to the White Room that day.
38.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Machines. Scans. Scalpels. Cutting, "don't be concerned, Twelve. You'll only feel a slight pinch…"
Twelve falls to their knees and screams. Panic. Fear. Don't do it, don't cut me, please don't I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry--
Sedation. A panic attack. Stress-induced? Could be related to Thirteen. Twelve was always close to them.
White walls. The steady beep of a heart monitor.
Twelve stays there until alarms blare and signal their sweet release.
78.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
There has to be a reason they're the only ones who notice, Eleven says. But what that reason is, is anyone's guess. It's free time and Twelve has spent every moment of it with their hand curled around Ten's. Free time is the only time the six of them can speak to one another without interruption. They know better now than to risk being overheard. No matter how they've tried to explain it to the researchers, it only ends in one way. They've all made the mistake of trying it by now. Ten was perhaps the closest to any form of success, but in the end the blackness came and it was all for naught.
Thirteen days. Thirteen days, starting on the day Thirteen's death. Then rinse, repeat.
Does it mean anything? Does Thirteen have something to do with all of this? Is their death the reason for all of this…?
103.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Their loss is nothing but a dull ache now. Twelve and the others weather it. They've done this all before countless times.
White room. Calisthenics. Physicals. Blood test.
The surgeon nicks something during the biopsy. Twelve spends the rest of the loop recovering.
105.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
The surgeon fumbles the biopsy three more times before Twelve starts to realize something is wrong. The researchers are…off. Professor Koskinen pauses too long while reading their chart. The woman in the White Room asks the same question more than once. Someone forgets to bring Twelve their evening meal and they go to bed hungry. Something is happening to people in the labs. The humans. As far as Twelve and the others can tell, whatever it is isn't affecting them. They don't know why or what it is, but they know there's nothing they can do for the time being.
They hold their silence and the world sinks again.
113.
"Subject Three… Subject Thirteen is dead."
Twelve goes through eight more failed biopsies before the procedure is postponed indefinitely. Their lung collapses twice. During one attempt they almost bleed out. It's almost a comfort to be confronted by Professor Koskinen as he fumbles his words. He looks weathered now. His skin is pallid and the impassive, unbreakable demeanour he's always toted is starting to show cracks. When they head to the White Room he has trouble keeping up.
134.
"Ssbb…srreee……auh, guhhhh…"
Twelve stares down at Professor Koskinen and wonders when it was he became so small. Twelve knows he's still taller than them, but crumpled on the floor like this, his head lolled to one side and eyes bulging, that infallible superiority is lost. He looks…frail. Weak. Twelves watches him for several minutes, then turns and walks away.
The others are already in the White Room. Standing, waiting. Ten holds out a hand and Twelve takes it wordlessly as together, they turn to face the woman slumped in her chair and watch as black ichor runs in long tracks down her face.
175.
Twelve stares down at the black pile of sludge at their feet for a long time. It's an improvement over the half-dissolved corpse that used to sit there.
The lab is riddled with these now. Black splotches burnt into walls, thick puddles of ooze bleeding across the floor until they seep into the cold metal and stain it permanently. Some discolorations are shaped like the people they once were, but most are like this: formless distortions that fill the air around them with silver-black particles that rise and fall aimlessly without end.
Essence.
Twelve knows what that is, now. In a way they're always known, but never in a way they could articulate until Eleven had taken one of the researcher's key cards and unlocked the world beyond the confines of their regulated environment.
Essence is everything to them. In them. Twelve and the others were born from it with the sole purpose of trying to harness the properties it could grant humans. The researchers used Essence to hollow them out and fill them up. Twelve could never feel it before now, but it's everywhere. With no one to mind the sensors or initiate the decontamination protocols, the Essence seeps in and Twelve and the other can sense it. Feel it in a way that's as natural as breathing. Too much of it makes their head spin, but that's nothing compared to what it's done to everyone else.
Twelve meets Ten and Eleven in the White Room. They're pouring over a bound volume thicker than Twelve's arm.
"It's a book," Eleven explains. "I found it in Doctor Ophir's office."
Twelve blinks in surprise. "A book? But it's so thick."
"What's 'U. P. Nenonen'?" Ten asks, finger pointed at the letters etched in gold leafing on the cover.
"That's the person who wrote the book. It's their name."
"Their name? U. P. Nenonen?" Twelve tilts their head. "Why isn't it Professor U. P. Nenonen, or Doctor U. P. Nenonen?"
"I guess that's just what they wanted to be called. You don't need to be a doctor or a professor."
"Does that mean we don't have to be a number?" Ten asked. Eleven shrugged.
"It's just us now. I think we can be whatever we want."
Twelve grabbed the book and held it up. "In that case, I want to be Nenonen."
"Nenonen?" Eleven and Ten share a confused look. "Why?"
"Look," Twelve puffs out their chest and points. "It's spelled the same forwards and backwards. N-e-n-o-n-e-n, n-e-n-o-n-e-N."
"Isn't that someone else's name though?" says Ten.
"Not if everyone else is all melted," Twelve says. "I might be the only Nenonen left in the whole world, now."
Eleven and Ten consider this for a long moment as Twelve runs their hand over the book's cover reverently. They share a single, solitary glance, but in the end they decide they just don't get it.
280.
On day three thousand, six hundred and forty, Two gets a nosebleed. Twin rivers of black run down their face and despite their best attempts, it takes two days for it to stop.
293.
Two starts to bleed and won't stop. Not even cutting out their blood thinners helps. Anticoagulants are ineffective.
Three days after it starts, Two dies.
294.
Time resets.
Two is dead.
328.
Three and Eleven complain of headaches.
416.
Eleven's fingers and toes begin to turn black.
444.
Three starts to forget things. The headaches are worse.
Eleven can't walk anymore, so Twelve and Ten push them around in a wheelchair.
450.
Three has a seizure and the same black ichor that had afflicted the researchers begins to run from their eyes, ears and nose. Just like Two, the bleeding refuses to stop.
Within forty-eight hours Three's seizures cease. They no longer respond to outside stimuli.
502.
Three dies. Time resets.
516.
Twelve and Ten watch as Eleven lies on a bed, unmoving. Like the others, Essence leaks from every orifice. Their arms and legs are all but dissolved to black ooze, but still their retain their sense of self.
"I think it's different," they murmur, each breath a wet and futile struggle. "How it affects all of us. We were made from it. So we didn't die right away like everyone else…"
"Eleven..." Twelve's voice is thick. They feel choked. Ten squeezes their hand in a vice grip.
"It's okay," Eleven rasps. "I knew it would be like this…after Two. It's okay… It's okay."
Twelve and Ten stay with Eleven until time resets.
517.
The bed is stained black with sludge. Eleven is gone.
808.
Time resets and Twelve realizes that they don't feel the sting of Thirteen's loss anymore. It isn't gone, but the feeling is muted. Twelve stares at their palms and the black smears there. What is Essence? Why does it do this to people? Why would anyone make something like them?
Motes of Essence have almost completely filled the air in some rooms. More than half the lab is overrun.
Then, when Ten starts to cough one day, Twelve makes a decision.
Decontamination Protocol: Active. Warning, Warning, Essence Levels above safety threshold. Please prepare for facility-wide sterilization.
1201.
"Good morning, Ten."
Twelve takes a seat next to Ten and slips their hand into Ten's.
"I found a way past the security doors today. I got to see outside for the first time. You wouldn't believe it… There's another ceiling out there. It's so high up, even higher than the auditorium. It's all golden-grey and it looks like it goes on forever. There's this stuff that falls down, too. I looked it up in a book. I think it's called 'ash.' What do you think it smells like?"
"Oh, there's also these big tall things--buildings! They're like this, but on the outside. I think that's what the research tower looks like. There's one big building in the middle that looks like it's got a giant glass ball in it. I'm calling it The Bauble. Because it's shiny and sounds like bubble--bauble? Right?"
Ten doesn't say anything, but Twelve knows to expect it at this point. Ten hasn't said anything for several loops now. Ten can't say anything anymore.
But that's okay--Twelve will say things for them.
1213.
"Good morning, Ten."
Twelve sits alone and hugs their knees to their chest.
"Good morning Eleven."
The White Room is empty.
"Good morning Three. Good morning Two."
It’s so empty.
"Good morning Thirteen."
So, so empty.
"Good morning, Nenonen."
Nenonen clenches their eyes shut and tries not to cry.
1.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
The words cut through Twelve like a blade. They stare.
"Thirteen is…?"
"They experienced an intracranial hemorrhage and expired at 03:16 after attempts to stabilize them failed. So from today onwards, you will be moved to a single-occupancy room." Professor Koskinen says it without inflection, the words clinical. Cold. Twelve stares and it doesn't feel real, but the expression on his face doesn't change as he flips through their medical chart for the day. As if the whole thing is inconsequential. "Have you finished eating?" he asks. Twelve watches his eyes skim back and forth. Impassive. "Your lung biopsy has been postponed in light of the circumstances. You'll be joining the others for psychological evaluation."
Twelve can feel their hands curl into fists. Their fingers have no feeling.
Professor Koskinen puts down the chart and holds out a hand. Twelve doesn't think. Their hand reaches back out and takes his. A conditioned response. They follow his lead, down the halls and past door after glass door. They can hear the sound of their bare feet slapping against the floor with each step. Feel the calloused skin of the professor's palm as it scratches against their own. Each step feels less real then the next.
The others are already waiting when they enter the White Room. It's circular. Two, Three, Six, Seven, Ten, and Eleven are already seated on the floor. Professor Koskinen lets go of their hand and Twelve wordlessly takes a seat next to Ten.
A woman is sitting on a chair in front of them. Her voice is softer than Professor Koskinen's.
"Good morning everyone. By now you should all be aware of Thirteen's passing. A truly unfortunate event, but an opportunity all the same. Today I will be asking you a series of questions. I want you to answer with whatever comes to mind. Anything at all."
"What are these questions for?" Six is the only one to speak up.
The woman smiles. "To measure your response to grief." The pleasantness in her tone prickles Twelve's skin with goosebumps.
Calisthenics. Physicals. A lab technician in a thick hazmat suit draws their blood in a hermetically-sealed room. The day is over fast, so fast it feels like a blur. None of it seems real. Twelve is shown to their new room where there's one only bed instead of two. They stand above it and stare. Thirteen is dead. Thirteen is deceased. Thirteen is gone. A single pitch tear rolls down their face, and alarms start to blare.
The next day feels numb. The day after that, too. Daily consultations with the woman are added to their routine. She's particularly interested in what Twelve thinks of when they cry. Five days later Twelve has their lung biopsy. They spend a day in recovery under observation. Ten sits next to them for the evening meal. They hold hands under the table.
Grief fades in time, the woman tells Twelve. Ten days since Thirteen's death. We're very interested to see how it affects your mental and emotional states. Please, don't hold anything back.
Twelve sits alone during free time and watches the twins Six and Seven as they stack translucent cubes atop each other, one at a time. Eleven stares at images on a screen. Twelve feels empty and wonders if they will ever be full again. Thirteen's absence is a physical thing. It hurts. A piece of them is missing. A constant they had grown used to. One that feels like they can't bear to live without.
The next day, alarms go off without warning and the world is swallowed by black.
2.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Twelve stares.
Professor Koskinen looks at them. Continues when Twelve does nothing. "They experienced an intracranial hemorrhage and expired at 03:16 after attempts to stabilize them failed. So from today onwards, you will be moved to a single-occupancy room."
Why is he telling them this? Twelve knows this. Thirteen is dead, died two weeks ago. Why is he telling them again?
He brings Twelve to the White Room. Two, Three, Six, Seven, Ten, and Eleven are already there. They stare at Twelve as they enter, and there's something in their gaze that makes Twelve uncertain. They sit down next to Ten and the woman smiles.
"Good morning everyone. By now you should all be aware of Thirteen's passing. A truly unfortunate event, but an opportunity all the same. Today I will be asking you a series of questions. I want you to answer with whatever comes to mind. Anything at all."
Seven speaks. "We know about Thirteen. You told us all of this already."
The woman pauses. Shares a glance with Professor Koskinen. "Well, I suppose that's a good start. Seven, please. Continue."
Six and Seven exchange a look. Six is the one to speak up instead. "Thirteen died two weeks ago. Is this a cognitive test, professor?"
"Two weeks ago?" The woman's brows lift. "I'm not sure what you mean… The complications Thirteen experienced happened early this morning. Thirteen was unwell for some time. Is that what you mean, Seven? Six?"
The twins look confused. Ten, Two, Three--all of them do. Twelve doesn't understand. Why would they say this? Is it really a test?
Calisthenics. Physicals. A blood test in the same room with the same technician at the same time as before. It's all the same as before. Everything, like it's a dream happening all over again. The same biopsy, the same recovery, the same daily sessions that the woman becomes increasingly interested in. Things change on day nine: Six and Seven are taken for a series of tests and Twelve starts to wonder if maybe it's really nothing more than another kind of examination. After all, the others remember. Two is the youngest and doesn't recall things as well of the rest of them, but Three, Ten and Eleven are certain that they recall similar events.
Four days later the alarms go off and the world once again drowns in dark.
3.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Again.
"Have you finished eating?" Again. "Your lung biopsy has been postponed in light of the circumstances. You'll be joining the others for psychological evaluation." Again.
"I've already had my lung biopsy," Twelve tries to tell Professor Koskinen. He gives them an odd look, but dismisses them without so much as a blink.
"Six months ago, yes. We'll be doing another one later in the week."
Twelve doesn't understand, and when they get to the White Room and see the looks on the others' face, they know: this is not a test.
The doctors and researchers don't remember anything. They don't realizes that they're saying the same things over again, that the Test Subjects already know all this.
Again, Six and Seven are the ones to try and explain it to them. They're more succinct than last time. They insist, and this time the look the professor and woman share is more meaningful. They find it fascinating, and this time the twins are taken away for tests before the end of the first session.
Calisthenics, physicals, blood tests. Brain scans. Twelve's biopsy is delayed an additional two days, and when they finally return from rest, Ten and the others are waiting for them. Days pass. There are more tests.
Six and Seven never return, and on the thirteenth day the world sinks for a third time.
4.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
The others are waiting in the White Room when Twelve and the professor arrive. Six and Seven are back, but they don't say anything even as the woman begins to repeat herself anew. The session is almost the same as the first, but Six and Seven never speak a word. The woman concludes that they must be more affected by Thirteen's passing than anticipated. Six and Seven don't participate in calisthenics.
During free time Twelve and the others approach the twins
"What happened?" they ask. "You never came back."
"Do you remember what happened?"
Six squeezes Seven's hand so hard it turns white and only says, "Tests."
Biopsy. White Room.
"Tell me, Twelve. How are you feeling today?" the woman asks. She holds a clipboard and pen, but her eyes are only ever fixated on them. Twelve swallows.
"I feel…fine, ma'am."
"Fine?"
"Yes…"
"How are you dealing with the news of Thirteen's death? Do you think about it at all? The two of you were shared a room for quite some time." The woman's eyes are sharp. Like a scalpel, Twelve thinks. They feel raw. Exposed. The reminder of Thirteen's passing is an open wound that throbs with agony.
"I… I miss them," Twelve says.
"Oh? But you don't talk much about them during our sessions together," the woman replies. Her tone is saccharine, like the taste of anesthesia. Twelve's fingers curl.
"Did I answer wrong?"
"No, no, of course not. You should feel free to say whatever you like. There is no right or wrong answer."
"…" Twelve stares at the ground and says nothing.
A week later the world is dark.
7.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Don't tell them anything. They don't notice. Don't say a word.
9.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
When Twelve gets to the White Room Two is crying and screaming. The alarms go off and decontaminant shoots out of the vents above with such force that Twelve is knocked to the floor and breaks their nose.
They spend a week in isolation.
14.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
"So tell me, Twelve. How does Thirteen's death make you feel?"
Twelve hesitates.
The words ring in their ears: Grief heals with time.
It hurts. But not as much as before.
37.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Twelve wonders if they're dead. If this is what death is like: living the same thing over and over, day in and day out. Is there a way to escape it? A way to stop it? Six and Seven said never to tell, never to speak a word of it, but what if…?
"Subject Thirteen died four hundred and eighty-one days ago."
Twelve doesn't go to the White Room that day.
38.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Machines. Scans. Scalpels. Cutting, "don't be concerned, Twelve. You'll only feel a slight pinch…"
Twelve falls to their knees and screams. Panic. Fear. Don't do it, don't cut me, please don't I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry--
Sedation. A panic attack. Stress-induced? Could be related to Thirteen. Twelve was always close to them.
White walls. The steady beep of a heart monitor.
Twelve stays there until alarms blare and signal their sweet release.
78.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
There has to be a reason they're the only ones who notice, Eleven says. But what that reason is, is anyone's guess. It's free time and Twelve has spent every moment of it with their hand curled around Ten's. Free time is the only time the six of them can speak to one another without interruption. They know better now than to risk being overheard. No matter how they've tried to explain it to the researchers, it only ends in one way. They've all made the mistake of trying it by now. Ten was perhaps the closest to any form of success, but in the end the blackness came and it was all for naught.
Thirteen days. Thirteen days, starting on the day Thirteen's death. Then rinse, repeat.
Does it mean anything? Does Thirteen have something to do with all of this? Is their death the reason for all of this…?
103.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
Their loss is nothing but a dull ache now. Twelve and the others weather it. They've done this all before countless times.
White room. Calisthenics. Physicals. Blood test.
The surgeon nicks something during the biopsy. Twelve spends the rest of the loop recovering.
105.
"Subject Thirteen is dead."
The surgeon fumbles the biopsy three more times before Twelve starts to realize something is wrong. The researchers are…off. Professor Koskinen pauses too long while reading their chart. The woman in the White Room asks the same question more than once. Someone forgets to bring Twelve their evening meal and they go to bed hungry. Something is happening to people in the labs. The humans. As far as Twelve and the others can tell, whatever it is isn't affecting them. They don't know why or what it is, but they know there's nothing they can do for the time being.
They hold their silence and the world sinks again.
113.
"Subject Three… Subject Thirteen is dead."
Twelve goes through eight more failed biopsies before the procedure is postponed indefinitely. Their lung collapses twice. During one attempt they almost bleed out. It's almost a comfort to be confronted by Professor Koskinen as he fumbles his words. He looks weathered now. His skin is pallid and the impassive, unbreakable demeanour he's always toted is starting to show cracks. When they head to the White Room he has trouble keeping up.
134.
"Ssbb…srreee……auh, guhhhh…"
Twelve stares down at Professor Koskinen and wonders when it was he became so small. Twelve knows he's still taller than them, but crumpled on the floor like this, his head lolled to one side and eyes bulging, that infallible superiority is lost. He looks…frail. Weak. Twelves watches him for several minutes, then turns and walks away.
The others are already in the White Room. Standing, waiting. Ten holds out a hand and Twelve takes it wordlessly as together, they turn to face the woman slumped in her chair and watch as black ichor runs in long tracks down her face.
175.
Twelve stares down at the black pile of sludge at their feet for a long time. It's an improvement over the half-dissolved corpse that used to sit there.
The lab is riddled with these now. Black splotches burnt into walls, thick puddles of ooze bleeding across the floor until they seep into the cold metal and stain it permanently. Some discolorations are shaped like the people they once were, but most are like this: formless distortions that fill the air around them with silver-black particles that rise and fall aimlessly without end.
Essence.
Twelve knows what that is, now. In a way they're always known, but never in a way they could articulate until Eleven had taken one of the researcher's key cards and unlocked the world beyond the confines of their regulated environment.
Essence is everything to them. In them. Twelve and the others were born from it with the sole purpose of trying to harness the properties it could grant humans. The researchers used Essence to hollow them out and fill them up. Twelve could never feel it before now, but it's everywhere. With no one to mind the sensors or initiate the decontamination protocols, the Essence seeps in and Twelve and the other can sense it. Feel it in a way that's as natural as breathing. Too much of it makes their head spin, but that's nothing compared to what it's done to everyone else.
Twelve meets Ten and Eleven in the White Room. They're pouring over a bound volume thicker than Twelve's arm.
"It's a book," Eleven explains. "I found it in Doctor Ophir's office."
Twelve blinks in surprise. "A book? But it's so thick."
"What's 'U. P. Nenonen'?" Ten asks, finger pointed at the letters etched in gold leafing on the cover.
"That's the person who wrote the book. It's their name."
"Their name? U. P. Nenonen?" Twelve tilts their head. "Why isn't it Professor U. P. Nenonen, or Doctor U. P. Nenonen?"
"I guess that's just what they wanted to be called. You don't need to be a doctor or a professor."
"Does that mean we don't have to be a number?" Ten asked. Eleven shrugged.
"It's just us now. I think we can be whatever we want."
Twelve grabbed the book and held it up. "In that case, I want to be Nenonen."
"Nenonen?" Eleven and Ten share a confused look. "Why?"
"Look," Twelve puffs out their chest and points. "It's spelled the same forwards and backwards. N-e-n-o-n-e-n, n-e-n-o-n-e-N."
"Isn't that someone else's name though?" says Ten.
"Not if everyone else is all melted," Twelve says. "I might be the only Nenonen left in the whole world, now."
Eleven and Ten consider this for a long moment as Twelve runs their hand over the book's cover reverently. They share a single, solitary glance, but in the end they decide they just don't get it.
280.
On day three thousand, six hundred and forty, Two gets a nosebleed. Twin rivers of black run down their face and despite their best attempts, it takes two days for it to stop.
293.
Two starts to bleed and won't stop. Not even cutting out their blood thinners helps. Anticoagulants are ineffective.
Three days after it starts, Two dies.
294.
Time resets.
Two is dead.
328.
Three and Eleven complain of headaches.
416.
Eleven's fingers and toes begin to turn black.
444.
Three starts to forget things. The headaches are worse.
Eleven can't walk anymore, so Twelve and Ten push them around in a wheelchair.
450.
Three has a seizure and the same black ichor that had afflicted the researchers begins to run from their eyes, ears and nose. Just like Two, the bleeding refuses to stop.
Within forty-eight hours Three's seizures cease. They no longer respond to outside stimuli.
502.
Three dies. Time resets.
516.
Twelve and Ten watch as Eleven lies on a bed, unmoving. Like the others, Essence leaks from every orifice. Their arms and legs are all but dissolved to black ooze, but still their retain their sense of self.
"I think it's different," they murmur, each breath a wet and futile struggle. "How it affects all of us. We were made from it. So we didn't die right away like everyone else…"
"Eleven..." Twelve's voice is thick. They feel choked. Ten squeezes their hand in a vice grip.
"It's okay," Eleven rasps. "I knew it would be like this…after Two. It's okay… It's okay."
Twelve and Ten stay with Eleven until time resets.
517.
The bed is stained black with sludge. Eleven is gone.
808.
Time resets and Twelve realizes that they don't feel the sting of Thirteen's loss anymore. It isn't gone, but the feeling is muted. Twelve stares at their palms and the black smears there. What is Essence? Why does it do this to people? Why would anyone make something like them?
Motes of Essence have almost completely filled the air in some rooms. More than half the lab is overrun.
Then, when Ten starts to cough one day, Twelve makes a decision.
Decontamination Protocol: Active. Warning, Warning, Essence Levels above safety threshold. Please prepare for facility-wide sterilization.
1201.
"Good morning, Ten."
Twelve takes a seat next to Ten and slips their hand into Ten's.
"I found a way past the security doors today. I got to see outside for the first time. You wouldn't believe it… There's another ceiling out there. It's so high up, even higher than the auditorium. It's all golden-grey and it looks like it goes on forever. There's this stuff that falls down, too. I looked it up in a book. I think it's called 'ash.' What do you think it smells like?"
"Oh, there's also these big tall things--buildings! They're like this, but on the outside. I think that's what the research tower looks like. There's one big building in the middle that looks like it's got a giant glass ball in it. I'm calling it The Bauble. Because it's shiny and sounds like bubble--bauble? Right?"
Ten doesn't say anything, but Twelve knows to expect it at this point. Ten hasn't said anything for several loops now. Ten can't say anything anymore.
But that's okay--Twelve will say things for them.
1213.
"Good morning, Ten."
Twelve sits alone and hugs their knees to their chest.
"Good morning Eleven."
The White Room is empty.
"Good morning Three. Good morning Two."
It’s so empty.
"Good morning Thirteen."
So, so empty.
"Good morning, Nenonen."
Nenonen clenches their eyes shut and tries not to cry.