#scientist caretaker

[cryptidwritings]

Comfortember #7 : comfort item

Masterlist

content: implied past experimentation and torture, mutation, inhuman whumpee, scientist caretaker, death mention, needle mention.

...

"The thing in pod eleven won't calm down. Whenever any of us walk past, it starts attacking the glass."

Caretaker looked at the guard, "eleven?"

"Yes."

He turned back to his computer and did a quick search through the outdated database. His teammate assured him that the encryption would be cracked in a few hours, but until then the information he could glean without a secure login was sparse.

All he could see was a brief description. height: 4ft 3in. Weight: a meager 50 pounds. Temperament: Hostile.

"Take me to it," he insisted.

The guard escorted him down two floors where the elevator descended from the open air to surrounded by solid rock on either side. When the elevator opened, he felt like he had stepped onto a new planet.

A series of blue and green lights flickered throughout the space, pointing at pod-like structures with glass that bubbled outward. Only a few were still lit, though when they had arrived, every pod was packed with... things.

Caretaker had helped lead the takeover of this facility. It was supposed to have been decommissioned over two decades ago, but was kept running by dirty money and a sick man's thirst for cruelty beyond anything Caretaker had ever seen. It was this cruelty that led Medic to make the tough decision to put most of the specimens out of their misery.

The report stated that only three were viable. Of the few, two had functional systems but with little to no response besides the occasional garbled sound.

As Caretaker approached pod eleven, he could see the naked frame huddled in the center of the floor, combing its fingers through its thick mop of tangled hair that fell well past its shoulders. It looked up as it heard his footstep along the concrete.

Caretaker was met with hatred as it barred its teeth and hissed, then lunged forward, smacking into the glass with a horrible thump.

The guard reared back in surprise, but Caretaker stood firm then crouched down to look the thing in the eye. If it weren't for its slightly elongated pupil and light purple cornea, the thing could have easily been mistaken as human. Maybe at one point it was.

It continued to bang on the glass, going so far as to slam its own head against it hard enough to draw blood. Then it began to pace, staring at Caretaker with the eye of malice and murderous intent with blood dripping down its forehead.

Suddenly Caretaker's walkie sounded off. The hack was successful, and he was needed.

He stood, and nodded to the specimen.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he said, noticing how that statement made the thing growl again, "we can sit and chat. Or just sit."

He turned to walk away, and heard the thump of its body hitting the glass again. That was alright. It was good, because this specimen had Fight, and if it had Fight, that meant it wanted to live.

"Get it some new clothes."

"Yes, sir."

He went back and the new clothes were in tatters, and it was pacing. Caretaker took a seat on the ground, and the specimen stopped pacing, then sat as well, looking into the scientists eye; mocking him.

He sat across from it, and it sat across from him. He studied it, and it glared at him, and after an hour the scientist would get up and tell the thing it would be back again the next day.

So on it continued for another week, then two. The pods were dismantled around it; it's less violent pod-mates moved to another wing for rehabilitation.

This change had little emotional effect on it. Though as more days passed, he would find it sitting on the ground versus hunched over itself.

Then one day, Caretaker walked in to the almost barren room to find the specimen waiting for him, wearing the new clothes, and it looked up at Caretaker with its first semblance of an awkward, but genuine, expectant smile.

On that day, Caretaker wanted to give it something. Something it could use, but not break or use to hurt itself.

He sat on the ground and smiled a bit before reaching into his jacket. The thing saw and watched with careful apprehension, even leaning back and away, as if waiting for something to come through the glass and attack it.

Caretaker went slow, keeping one hand up as he finished revealing what was in his pocket - a whistle. He lifted it to his lips, watching the specimen carefully.

He blew, and the sound of an owl's hoot came out of the end, and the specimens eyebrows stitched together, looking at the object with fascination.

Caretaker did it again, and then offered it through the food hatch.

It stayed there for a moment, and the specimen came closer and timidly reached for the object. It touched the plastic and reared back, hiding behind its own arm for a moment before peeking back out and eyeing the scientist.

It then reached out and grabbed the object, twisting it in its hands as it studied it carefully. Eventually it brought it to its lips, and gave a small blow. The noise hooted in its ears, and something came alive within it.

"It's a bird caller," Caretaker explained, "outside, it can attract real owls if you're patient enough. Maybe one day you can try it."

Specimen looked up at that. It's eyes darkened with skepticism.

Outside. Outside was for humans. Outside was for white coats and needles and fire and excrutiating pain. Inside its pod, it was safer. Not safe - it was never safe - but white coats don't go inside the pod.

It shook its head, but held on to the object, not knowing why, but knowing it didn't want to let it go.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Taming The Tiger

I know I’ve been silent on here for a while, and there’s a lot of reasons for that (mostly college. oops). But! I’m back! And with a new series!

Taming The Tiger tells the story of Doctor Elizabeth Ada, an expert in the field of contemporary sentient artificial intelligence. Frequently at odds with the Committee for Ethics in Sentient Artificial Intelligence, Doctor Ada believes in the humanity of AI and that they deserve kindness and respect. The Ethics Committee, however, considers sentient AI to not be only on par with animals, but with dangerous ones. They believe that the only way to train an AI for service is through beating it into submission.

Desperate to get Doctor Ada off of their back, The Ethics Committee prepares an ultimatum: If she can take a broken, violent, aggressive AI and prepare it for service within three month’s time, they will accept the humanity of AI, and treat them humanely.

Doctor Ada accepts, only to be given an impossible task. Or, more so, an impossible person: ALEXS class service AI unit #189.

Will Doctor Ada’s methods work, or will Unit #189 prove unfixable?

Containing: Artificial intelligence whumpee, inhuman whumpee, female whumpee, defiant whumpee, pet whumpee, doctor caretaker, scientist caretaker, dehumanization, whumpee distrusting caretaker

Part One Coming Soon!

(I don’t draw much, but I wanted to make some designs for both major characters in this story)

Doctor Ada:

Unit #189:

[bandits-whump-collection]

A Caretaker who works as a behavioral biologist, studying how a nonhuman Whumpee behaves in captivity. Perhaps for conservation, perhaps for researching a creature that can't be observed in the wild for either party's safety.

An unintentional Whumper who breaks the Whumpee out of the lab, claiming to be "rescuing" them and denying them their needs in the process. Perhaps a special kind of food, or environment, or temperature that the laboratory could provide. They think they've done something good, that they saved an innocent creature from torture, but all they've done is condemn them.

[justsomewhumpee]

I'm thinking of an idea involving an inhuman (maybe part demon?) Whumpee and either a scientist or secret agent caretaker that has a mission to capture, or maybe do tests on whumpee but they just can't bring themselves to hurt them.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 102

 Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. In for ten seconds, out for eight. Alright. Okay. “Let me get this straight,” he didn’t motion to the three teens- or not teens even if two apparently looked like they were- but it was a close thing. “You-” 

 Phantom perked up, white hair flickering with what he was pretty sure were stars as they turned away from the window looking out into space. “-are two years old.” The fae-esque being who looked more like a fourteen year old gave a half-distracted nod. Which, for a toddler, they were paying attention pretty well. 

 “You-” Klarion looked up from where he was fiddling with the cuffs that had been on him, cat sprawled on his shoulder now that it was out of the carrier. “-are six?” Another distracted nod, the apparently-child seemingly enamored with the sounds the cuffs made when they clinked together. 

  “And you-” He turned towards Marvel, who shrank back before seemingly steeling themself. “-are in fact ten.” The… well they had thought demigod but apparently all three were some sort of realms-being, which had apparently made Constantine pale and start cursing before stomping out of the Watchtower. Another nod and shaky thumbs up. 

 Alright. Okay. They had in fact let a ten-year old join the league, which wouldn’t have been so bad if they had known. Especially the fact that apparently Marvel was only half-human, which suddenly explained so much about how he didn’t know so many things about a human life. Which-

 “You,” he turned towards Phantom again to make sure he was listening before returning his attention to Marvel. “And you have both lived at least a year in the human realm with human companions, but your-” He turned his gaze towards the ravenette in the center. The six year old apparently. “-experience with the human realm is literally just with the Light.” 

 Yet another distracted nod. Okay. Bruce was tempted to scream in a room for the entire situation that had cropped up from the single action of taking Klarion’s familiar and then the boy himself into custody. Then again, it was honestly a much better thing they had apparently caught this. 

 “Alright,” he sighed, suddenly feeling incredibly exhausted. “To make sure I have all of this correct-” Because it was already a shitshow and the amount of shouting had absolutely spooked the child. To the point he’d- according to Marvel- made what was apparently some sort of very distressed noise that had made both him and Phantom running. Or rather flying and portaling. 

 “-in the realms, people there make friends through fighting,” Bruce pauses to make sure he got that part correct. The origin of this entire misunderstanding with the chaos-lord. Lordling? 

 All three nodded, Klarion losing interest in the cuffs and starting to pet his cat. Familiar. Everyone had referred to it as a familiar and Marvel had appeared utterly horrified that they had taken said familiar away. Somehow he was the one the trio were currently trusting and weren’t doing the same towards any of the other league members. 

 “And you have been trying to make friends with the Jr team, which they have been taking as an attack due to this miscommunication.” Honestly they should have gotten more information, though he couldn’t exactly blame any of the teens, what with everything they were currently dealing with. 

 “... is there any sort of guardian or something you might have, that can be contacted? Or anyone that could help prevent a situation like this from happening again?” All three avoided his eyes, suddenly finding things like the table and walls very interesting. 

 Oh. Hm. This could be a problem.

[quasi-normalcy]

It's kind of weird when you consider that having Boimler and Mariner on Strange New Worlds will only be the first crossover between ongoing Star Trek series in 28 years.

[pxppet]

"Tell me, and do be honest. For what purpose did you steal me?" Elliot points the fingers of his touching hands at the scientist like a stereotypical Sherlock, a contemplative grin on his face.

They look up from the papers they had been shredding across the room, turning in their rolling chair to face the ALTR. "I told you, and while I don't mind telling you again, I wish it'd sink in: I saved you from that awful place. You lived a long, dreadful life and- and you're only 19, yet. It's not- I needed to-" They sigh, massaging their temple to knot out the stress.

Elliot picks at the sleeves of his sweater, distant. His entire right hand is bandaged in gauze from an 'incident' during his transport. But Elliot is used to incidents, particularly ones where he is the culprit. "Where did the clothes you dress me in come from," he tests, immediately getting his answer as the scientist stiffens and turns their chair away slightly, half going back to destroying documents, half considering if Elliot even needs verbal confirmation.

"From the store, Elliot. Remember the store, the big store I went into and you had to hide in the car?"

"Store," Elliot tries out the word on his tongue, giving a hum of approval. "So, doctor, was it a spouse or a chil-"

The scientist slaps their own leg in shock and turns around to look at him with eyes that shut him up immediately. When they see him shrink under the blankets with his wide, orange eyes, they immediately untense and correct themselves. "Im sorry, it's okay. It's- it's not polite to ask certain questions. I know the testers don't... hold back on you ALTRs, but out here, people don't ask such personal things."

"Have you ever experienced a terrible occurrence that impacted you significantly," Elliot mumbles under a breath, almost too faint to be heard. The colour is gone from his face, and he suddenly lies back down, quieted by being startled.

The scientist licks their lips, brow creasing with pity. "I have supplies for burritos tonight. It's something you've never tried before. It has meat. You'll like it." They turn back around and gnaw at their lip with guilt as they resume their tasks of covering up Elliot's vanishing.

"Doctor," he calls softly over the whirring of the shredder. "Thank you for letting me wear your child's sweater." He yawns, seemingly exhausted into frail sleep yet again. "I think it is the only clothing I've ever enjoyed. I will get no blood on it."

The blunt confession is the first outright thanks they've received so far, and their hands clench shakily around the papers. They blink away tears. What do you even respond to that with? What could possibly addendum such a genuine thanks?

They turn back to face him, mouth already forming words, but when they see him, he has gone back to sleep. They sigh. They will shred papers. Then they will make burritos. Then they will care for this strange and wild little ALTR as much as they can. No matter what.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Creeping Ambition

CW: Dehumanization, captivity, restraints, emotional manipulation, mad science, drugging, delirium/hallucinations, noncon touch (nonsexual), torture

For @whumptober 2022, day 1: adverse effects / “this wasn’t supposed to happen” and day 23: tied to a table

Signs of the Sea Masterlist

-

The following was attached to an email sent to Austin Howard, CEO of Howard Reston Health, by Dr. Rachel Lachlan

RECORDING 90

DAY 076 SINCE SUBJECT WAS ACQUIRED

There is a soft, slight hiss as the recording begins. Barely perceptible, it seems to grow slightly louder as the recording continues.

A woman’s voice speaks.

“This is Dr. Rachel Lachlan, recording for the purposes of later transcription, with Bahram Anvari assisting. Subject is adolescent mer and is a rare example of a young adult male. Today’s examinations are more practical than usual, I must admit. We’re not looking for any big breakthroughs in knowledge today.”

A male voice with traces of a long-ago English accent still clinging to the edges of each syllable speaks next. “We’re not?”

“No, Bahram.” The rattling of metal, sound of wheels rolling along a floor. There is a splash of water, the sound of it slopping against the sides of a tall plastic tub. A soft chirp and click becomes audible, questioning. While the young man murmurs a soothing nonsense reply, the woman ignores it. There is light beeping, four in quick succession, then the sound of a mechanism unlocking. Creaking as a door swings open. The rattling of wheels begins again. “Today is really more about observation, looking for the smaller details that our more difficult work may lead to us missing.”

“So we’re just going to… watch him?” 

Thump. 

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Please move the mer onto the examination table.”

There is a brief pause, and then Bahram Anvari speaks in a softer, sweeter voice. “Okay, here we go. Yeah, you know how to do this by now, huh? One… two… three… up!”

Harder thumps, and the sound of Bahram Anvari’s heavy breathing from exertion. The mer chirps, a sound that manages at once to be both plaintive and attempting cheerful. 

“There we go,” Bahram says. “Good, good job.”

“It doesn’t understand English or ASL.” Dr. Lachlan’s voice is dry and disdainful. “I don’t know why you bother with all that nonsense. It isn’t a person, Bahram.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Lachlan, anatomical studies of recovered specimens have shown that they have very similar neurological structures to our own.” Bahram’s voice might tighten slightly - it’s difficult to tell by recording alone. “There’s no reason to believe he can’t learn a language as easily as we do.”

“Bahram.” Dr. Lachlan’s sigh is audible in the recording. “What have I told you about over-humanizing the test subjects? He is not human.”

“Their scientific name is Homo haffru sirenia! They’re part of our family tree!”

“I have some disagreements about that classification, to be frank. With the gills and being fully aquatic in their natural lives, I would really call them Cetacea, class them alongside whales, not Simiiformes like us.”

“You’d be wrong if you did. Anyone who did would be wrong. He is clearly a branch of humanity-”

There is a pause. “Bahram. Are you questioning my understanding of taxonomy as it applies to a marine subject I have far more knowledge of and experience with than you do?”

“... I thought you said you’d never worked with them personally before this.”

There is another, much longer pause. “Bahram-”

“Did you? Did you work with mer before, in person? Not just observational?”

“That isn’t relevant to the current-”

“Zer nazan! Of course it’s relevant-”

“Bahram! I can dismiss you from this project if you would prefer, right now, and you may pack your things and go.”

A pause. “What?”

“I can continue onward on my own or hire someone new, if you would prefer. Or you can stop blithering and help me provide mankind with discoveries that could get both of us quite wealthy and well-known.”

“I don’t care about money, Dr. Lachlan. And I don’t care about getting my name in any publications, or-”

“But you value your parents’ regard, don’t you? I imagine that after you have already left your university education somewhat… ignominiously, that losing your first and only job immediately afterward would disappoint them further.”

Silence, broken only by the questioning clicks from the mer, which neither human seems to respond to. Bahram Anvari is the first one to speak again. “I… I’m sorry, Dr. Lachlan. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’ve been having some trouble… with everything.”

“I can see that.” Dr. Lachlan’s reply is clipped, irritated but no longer angry. “Does this mean I should be concerned about a repeat of your prior illness? I offered you an option that allowed you to gain the experience you need without having to attend classes, and even agreed to speak to Dr. Evans about forgiving some of your incompletes in order to allow you to return to finish your degree-”

“I know, Dr. Lachlan, and I’m grateful… it’s just-”

“Should I rescind that offer, Bahram? You know as well as I it will be quite impossible for you to gain employment within your chosen field without that bit of paper proving your capabilities.”

“No! No, I’m… I’ll be fine. I’m fine, doctor. I’m just… I’ll try to get better sleep. That usually helps a lot.”

“I will hold you to that. Now… let’s get him strapped down.”

Bahram’s voice has a note of reluctance and uncertainty. “... yes, doctor.”

For approximately sixty-seven seconds, the only sounds are the breathing of the two humans and the mer, and the sound of metal buckles clinking as the mer is strapped by tail and wrists against the table. The mer whistles in distress, but beyond some low shushing noises from Bahram, neither speaks to him. 

Dr. Rachel Lachlan’s heels click on the tile floor as she moves away from the recording device.

“Dr. Lachlan? What are you doing?” Bahram Anvari moves the microphone closer to the mer, and there is the sound of scraping and a brief burst of feedback and audio noise. 

Dr. Lachlan’s reply is faded and distant. A cabinet door opens and closes sharply. Water runs, and then shuts off again shortly afterward. “I’m prepping our observational study, Bahram. We’ll be observing the effects of a specific kind of sedative being developed for use in merkind.”

“For use in… why would we need that? I thought you said you didn’t plan to take any more-”

“I don’t plan to do anything, Bahram. My employer, however, may wish to gain further subjects in the future. And we want this to be as humane a process as we can make it. Now, you mentioned his right arm is no longer useful for syringe injection?”

“... right. He’s… his veins are totally tapped out on that side. We’re giving him too much-”

“Nonsense. We’ll try the left today, then.”

The mer whistles again. This time Bahram speaks to him directly. “It’s all right, just turn your… right. Just like that. Give blood, okay?”

“It knows that command, hm?” Dr. Lachlan laughs, a little wryly. “Like a dog learning what ‘roll over’ means.”

“Or a child," Bahram says quietly, "learning how to ask to be held.”

Dr. Lachlan makes a sound of disgust, but doesn’t reprimand him this time. Instead, there is a brief silence before the mer whimpers and Bahram shushes him again.

“Bahram, what are you doing?”

“He likes-... it helps him feel better,” Bahram replies, a little defensively. “He’s scared of needles - can’t imagine why - but if one of us is there with a hand on his head, it helps him.”

“You’re a lost cause, Anvari. Imagine how little we would know about the world if all our researchers had your bleeding heart.”

“We might know just as much, and have found it out in ways that didn’t involve terror.”

“Nonsense. And... there we go. It should only take a few minutes to take effect. Let’s clean up while we wait.”

“Yes, doctor. All right, buddy, you took the needle really well. Now-... here, yes.” Brief silence. “Good? See?”

“... are you signing to it again, Bahram?”

“Yes. He really does know a few signs, and-”

“Hmph. Hopeless indeed. Come here and help me.”

For approximately five minutes and forty-two seconds, no sound is heard beyond breathing, Dr. Lachlan’s quiet commands, and Bahram’s soft, deferential answers. Then, the mer whimpers and whistles, and the two humans go quiet. 

Rattling and thumps. Distressed clicks and whistles raise in volume and pitch. Audio briefly drops out as the mer’s keening is too loud and close and the microphone fails to fully record it and instead records a moment of static. 

Keening again. Table rattling.

“What is he doing? Dr. Lachlan, why is he doing that?”

“It’s thrashing, Bahram.”

“No, I see that, but… why is he-... hey, it’s okay, it’s-... ow!”

“Don’t get so close to it!”

“He bit me!”

“Shocking. You put your hand next to its mouth and it bit you. A wild surprise.”

“Dr. Lachlan… What’s wrong with him?!”

INCLUDED: FIGURE 3.2, PHOTO OF MER TAKEN FROM LEFT SIDE

“Hm. Well. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Dr. Lachlan’s voice is muffled, as the mer continues to wail, rattling and thumping against the table as he thrashes. The keens become shrieking, screeches that overwhelm the recording with feedback again and again.

SUBECT STRAPPED TO TABLE. SHOULDER BLADES AND TAIL AGAINST METAL. BACK ARCHED. DRIED AND WET SALTWATER ON FACE. MOUTH WIDE OPEN, FANGS GLEAM IN THE LIGHT PLACED CLOSE TO FACE.

EYES WIDE.

SEE SUPPORTIVE DOCUMENTATION RECORDING INCREASED HEART RATE.

Primary audio file unusable for reference purposes for period of sixty-six seconds due to this loss of fidelity. 

SEE INCLUDED AUDIO FILE 62 FOR MORE ACCURATE RECORDING OF MER DISTRESS SOUNDS WHEN NEGATIVE PHYSICAL STIMULI IS APPLIED.

INCLUDED AUDIO FILE 62 FROM RECORDS: MER SCREAMING.

“What was supposed to happen? That wasn’t a sedative, was it, Dr. Lachlan? We’ve used sedatives on him before and this has never happened, so what did you give him and what did you think would happen when you did?”

“Bahram-... I would watch your tone-”

“What was it?!”

“... a deliriant.”

The pause that follows is not a silence at all. The mer continues to shriek in the background, audio crackling in and out, in and out. 

“You gave him something to make him hallucinate?!”

“My employer-”

The sound of tearing fabric overtakes all over noise.

“... wait, what’s that sound?”

Crashing, sound of metal against tile, glass breaking, more fabric tearing, and above it all, the mer’s high-pitched, keening screams. 

“Shit! Come here, buddy, it’s okay, come here-... oh shit-.. Stop, stop trying-... my ears, that hurts so bad, stop it-"

“The subject,” Dr. Lachlan speaks over the noise, voice strained with effort, nearly shouting herself, “has torn the restraints on the right side and from its tail and is now off the table and on the ground. It has destroyed laboratory equipment, including the restraints… also a variety of compounds intended for experimental use… several broken syringes, its travel tank…”

“Here, let me get that for you, just calm down, calm down, here we go… here we go-...”

“Bahram Anvari has undone the subject’s last remaining restraint from around its wrist-”

“He’s terrified! Whatever you gave him is hurting him!”

“It’s not hurting him… it… it just may be causing some sensory hallucinations-”

“No.” Bahram’s voice is firm. “He can see his pod-... his family. He can see them being harpooned like he was! He can see-... see their blood in the water-... he thinks he’s in the water. He’s trying to get to them to help! Here, here buddy, it’s okay, you’re just in the lab with me…”

INCLUDED: FIGURE 3.3. STILL IMAGE FROM SECURITY CAMERA LOCATED IN PLACEMENT SEVEN WITHIN LAB.

PHOTO OF BAHRAM ANVARI, SEATED. ANVARI HOLDS MER SUBJECT, WHO IS STILL APPEARING TO VOCALIZE. MER SUBJECT IS BLURRY DUE TO CONTINUED VOLATILE MOVEMENTS. WATER IS VISIBLE AROUND TILE FLOOR DUE TO OVERTURNED TRAVEL TANK. 

ALSO VISIBLE: GLASS SHARDS, SYRINGES, TORN NYLON, OVERTURNED METAL TABLE, AND DR. RACHEL LACHLAN STANDING NEAR SINK.

 “How can you know?” Dr. Rachel Lachlan’s voice remains calm despite noise and movement. “How can you  know that’s what it sees?”

“I just-... I just know!”

There is whispering, from Bahram Anvari, which cannot be understood on the audio recording. After approximately seven seconds of further vocalizations, the mer goes quiet, and then whistles exactly once, high-pitched for one second, then three shorter, sharper, lower notes.

“I know,” Bahram says, voice soft and gentle. “I know. We’re just here in the lab. It’s just us.”

“Bhhh… Bhhhh-rmmm.” The mer appears to be attempting to say Bahram Anvari’s name. This transcriber did their best to accurately reflect the pronunciation of syllables. “Bhhh-rmmm, hhhh-puh…”

“I’m right here. I’m right here. It’s just us, it’s just the lab. Your pod is still out there, they’re all right, it’s just us here… just us.”

“Bhh-rmmmm… mah-... mah-”

“I know, I’m so sorry, she’s not here.”

“Mah-”

“I know.”

A pause.

FIGURES 3.4, 3.5, AND 3.6. STILL FROM SECURITY CAMERA LOCATED OVER ENTRANCE INTO LABORATORY. PHOTO SHOWS JUVENILE MER HELD BY BAHRAM ANVARI.

FIRST PHOTO SHOWS MER WITH PALMS FACING SELF, CLAWS SPREAD, ONE HAND LOCATED THREE INCHES ABOVE THE OTHER. ONE HAND IS OVER LUNG AREA SLIGHTLY TO THE LEFT SIDE, ONE OVER UPPER ABDOMEN ON RIGHT.

SECOND PHOTO SHOWS SAME IMAGE, BUT NOW MER’S HANDS HAVE SHIFTED INWARD, ONE DIRECTLY ABOVE THE OTHER, CLAWS SPREAD, CENTRAL POSITION IN FRONT OF TORSO.

THIRD PHOTO SHOWS MER’S HANDS HAVE RETURNED TO THEIR ORIGINAL POSITION, CLAWS SPREAD, ONE SLIGHTLY TO RIGHT AND THE OTHER SLIGHTLY TO LEFT.

“I know, I know you are, I know… It’ll stop after a while, I promise…”

“Bahram.” Dr. Lachlan sounds genuinely unsettled for the first time. “What did it just do?”

“He said I’m afraid. Miah and I have taught him some ASL, I told you, Dr. Lachlan, he isn’t what you keep saying he is, he’s thinking all the time. He’s learning. He’s-... he’s just a kid-”

“It is a juvenile mer-”

“He’s a child. A humanoid child who has been abducted, and he’s scared and in pain and it’s… I’m part of it. It’s my fault. He misses them so much… He thinks about his mother, you know. All the time. It’s okay… it’s okay. I think about my maman, too…”

“It thinks about its parent?”

“Dr. Lachlan…”

“Fine. Its mother.”

“Yes. He’s… he’s barely more than a baby.”

“This juvenile is adolescent. It’s within two years of entering its first mating cycle!”

“Yeah, and so was I when I was sixteen, but I still asked for Maman when I was in a car accident! He wants his mom. What kid have you met who didn’t want someone when he’s scared and alone?”

“I… don’t interact often with children.”

“Yeah. I can tell.”

Dr. Lachlan’s reply is clipped. “... I can see that you won’t be reasonable about the current situation. I need to record my observations for my employer’s benefit. I think we’ll cut our experiment short for today. When you can, return him to his tank and clean up this mess.”

“Yes, of course, doctor, but… that’s it? That’s all you needed?”

“... yes. I’ve gotten what my employer needs to know.”

Dr. Lachlan’s heels crunch on broken glass and plastic as she walks briskly out the door and closes it behind her with a sharp click.

The audio recording continues on for some time, the only sounds those of Bahram Anvari speaking to the mer, and the mer’s chirping, whistling, and clicking responses. After approximately one hour and seven minutes, Bahram Anvari begins to clean up the side of the laboratory closest to the door.

The sound of a secondary travel tank being wheeled in, one squeaky wheel differentiating it from the original, now broken one. 

“Oh, right. The audio. Let me turn this over, bud, and then we can get you back home-... back into the tank, anyway. I can get the glass out of your tail in a second. Oh, man, you are so heavy…”

One final whistle from the mer.

“Yeah… you’re welcome. I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass later.”

RECORDING ENDS.

-

Copy of email sent to Austin Howard:

BODY:

FROM: dr.rachel@hrh.org

TO: howard.austin@hrh.org

SUBJECT: Breakthrough!

Mr. Howard,

I thought you might find something of value in this transcribed recording of my latest session with the juvenile mer subject. I have attached images and audio files that support the transcription, which I believe will be of immense benefit.

Frankly, this justifies our entire mission.

As you can see, the juvenile is learning American Sign Language due to repeated contact with my assistant and our friend’s daughter. While that is fascinating, there is something far more important in this recording.

Note, if you will, that Bahram Anvari appears to have some understanding as to the mer’s thoughts and access to specifics as to its reasoning that he shouldn’t. 

He won’t tell me how he gained this knowledge, but I think our hunch is correct.

The mer are telepathic, Austin!

And ours… is talking to Bahram.

Yours,

-

Dr. Rachel Lachlan, D.Sc

Head of Applied Experimental Research

Howard Reston Health

dr.rachel@hrh.org

(555) 683-4310

“Every great advance in science has issued from a new audacity of imagination.”

John Dewey

BODY:

FROM: howard.austin@hrh.org

TO: dr.rachel@hrh.org

SUBJECT: Re: Breakthrough!

Dr. Lachlan,

I was excited to review the transcript of your session. Now, having listened to it and looked over your notes, I’m downright goddamn thrilled. 

My secretary will be giving you a call in about twenty minutes. I intend to make a visit to your laboratory and see the juvenile in person. Schedule a particularly strenuous, frightening, or painful experiment for that day, and ensure Bahram Anvari assists you.

Let’s see what this little fish can do.

Thank you as always for your invaluable contributions,

-

Austin Howard

CEO, Howard Reston Health

h.austin@hrh.com

(555) 334 - 2309

“Ambition can creep as well as soar.”

Edmund Burke

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @thefancydoughnut @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog @justabitofwhump @crystalrainwing @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @orchidscript @whump-tr0pes @hackles-up plus @whumpworldld for whumptober tag list

[redd956]

Mad Scientist/Lab Whump Ideas

A whumpee who cares for their whumper, who used to be a mad scientist until he got a taste of his medicine

Determined and unethical mad scientist whumper trying their insane hypothesis against whumpee(s)

Whumpee is non-human, therefor Whumper believes their actions are atoned for

Caretaker is a colleague of Whumper’s

^ But Caretaker is also just as mad

Tiny whump = Mice Experimentation

Whumper is doing his deeds behind the backs of his higher-ups or fellow colleagues. Perhaps even taking out his bidding in an incredibly makeshift lab

That moment when Whumpee escapes the lab

Mad scientist whumper having created Whumpee as an result of a crazed experiment (I personally think undead whumpees, slimefolk whumpee, and other uncommon nonhuman whumpees belong here)

But like slimefolk whumpee

Have I mentioned slimefolk whumpee

They’ve been condensed into a giant tube, sadly staring at whumper.

A combination of impractical nonhuman whumpees break out of the lab with each others help, now they lean on each other as caretakers.

[ladyblogofficialreporter]

This… this is android whump irl…

This is a robot called ‘Can’t Help Myself’ made by artists Sun Yuan and Peng Yu in 2016. The robot is designed to keep a blood-like hydraulic fluid within a certain radius while it leaks out of the robot. If it fails to do this, it would stop working, since there’d be no fluid left to keep it running.

Every day, the robot would sweep the liquid back. At first, it was relatively easy to contain, so the robot had time to perform little programmed ‘happy dances’. It did this every time it managed to do its job and contain the fluid.

However, as time went by, it got harder and harder to contain. There was more and more fluid leaking out each day, less and less time for dancing. Eventually, the robot had no time left for happy dances, constantly trying to keep itself alive.

In 2019, the robot couldn’t contain the fluid anymore, meaning there was nothing left to keep it running. That was when it was revealed that the robot had been slaving away for three years, struggling to keep the hydraulic fluid in… when there was no hydraulic fluid to begin with. The robot had run on electricity the whole time. The fluid had nothing to do with it. It’s entire purpose was meaningless and it had spent three years for nothing.

…

Someone write this.

[leyswhumpdump]

Hidden Ink #14: Hand Warmers

It’s getting late, I haven’t updated in a few days and I want to finish this arc soon. Hopefully it’s not a weak instalment.

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Bad / frustrated caretaker, survival stress, dubious science (I did my best on the research), some swearing.

Summer soon disappeared without a farewell. Almost overnight, green turned to yellow and air that had once soothed with warmth now bit with chill. Mika found it impossible to ignore the signs of the changing season; they existed in the dry rustle of underfoot leaves, the dwindling birds, the clouds his breath made on the coldest days. A thick layer of snow would blanket things before long. Mika thought of the impending winter with a shudder.

Ari had made no further mention of Dakrii. In fact, he’d talked very little in the weeks since he’d shown Mika the backpack. Talked little, but observed everything. A wary pair of eyes had followed Mika around the cabin, lingering on him even when they could no longer see each other. Each time Mika went out, he could have sworn Ari followed him in spirit.

He wondered what was eating at Ari. Not the leg—the wound was most of its way to healed now, although the baby scar tissue made Mika wince each time he saw it. If Mika had to guess, Ari’s mission was still very much on his mind. He’d have sympathised more if it had aligned at all with his own; the wilderness waged constant war, and one could never afford to lose a battle. This did not seem to have sunk in for Ari, who preferred to curl up indoors and contemplate the contents of his bag. Sometimes he looked through his papers and made notes in margins. Mika couldn’t see how anything was so damn important it took precedence over basic survival.

“Will you put those down?” he found himself snapping, as an autumn gale blew through the cracks in the cabin walls. “I know you’re all nice and toasty in here, but this fire”—he pointed into the roaring hearth—“is only still going because of my efforts. I swear if we run out of firewood, your books and notes will be first to go up in flames.”

Ari might not have caught all the words, but he caught the message. He tucked the notes protectively against his chest, watching Mika with that guarded look that grew more frustrating by the day. “You want me do?” he said.

“I don’t know! Something. Anything. Just help a little more, please.”

“I want help.”

“Yeah, I know, and I agreed to help you, didn’t I? This fucking Dakrii business, and it’s not like I’ve fed you or clothed you or rescued you from anything. We are short—short on basically everything we need for winter, and all because you eat and don’t contribute. And unlike you I’m actually trying to survive, and I will put you out into the snow before I let you kill me.”

Ari blinked. “No,” he said quietly. “I want help you.”

Mika, who’d been ready to let out whatever else he’d pent up, stopped short. He forced himself to breathe out some of that rage. “Then do that,” he mumbled, trying to regain the mental balance that being wrong-footed had cost him.

“How?”

“By—” He stopped again. Ari had tried to follow him hunting, the dragging limp in his gait set to alert half the forest. Tried to help with cooking preparations, on days bereft of the mental energy to explain how to skin a rabbit in a way Ari would understand. Tried to tidy the cabin, putting things away in places they did not belong and disturbing things that shouldn’t have been disturbed. And how had Mika reacted? With annoyance, anger, ingratitude. Ari had tried so hard not to be useless, and Mika had thrown every effort back in his face. “Oh, forget it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mika huffed into his hands. He’d been out in that wind just a few minutes ago, and the tips of his fingers had turned whitish blue. They faced a bitter winter, if this early autumn was anything to go by. “I’m going back outside,” he said.

At least the wind soothed the sweat from his continuing attempts to hack logs into pieces small enough for the fire. Each successful strike of the axe offered a tiny hit of dopamine—dopamine that chased away the fidgets that had burst out at Ari. By the time it was dark he had enough firewood to burn for a few days, and the day felt a little less fruitless. He paused at the cabin door, gathering his thoughts into an apology, and went inside. “Ari, I’m—what the fuck is that smell?”

Ari gave a guilty start. He’d been stirring a pan above the fire; Mika peered inside and saw that whatever had been inside, it had boiled away and left scum. He didn’t need to move his head closer to know that was where the acrid tang was coming from. “Whatever that is, it’s… beyond fuckin’ saving. Ari—”

Ari held up a pleading hand. “No! Please,” he added, and poured the remnant fluids into a bottle Mika didn’t recognise. “I help you.”

Mika crashed into the fireside chair, listening to the howling wind outside. He put his hands against the fire, willing the numbness away. His tight grip on the axe handle had left the little tendons stiff.

He wasn’t aware he’d fallen asleep, rather than simply resting his eyes. But when he woke up, his neck and shoulders aching and the heat roaring against exposed skin, the worst of the smell had dissipated. Ari stood in front of him with a tiny seethrough bag in one hand. Mika wrinkled his brow. The bag’s contents came a little close to piss for his liking.

“I uh, I try? Try this, before.” Ari’s eyes gleamed. He passed the burningly-hot bag into Mika’s hand. “For you. When you go, um… go out.” He mimed rubbing his hands together.

“Why are you giving me a hot bag of…” Mika gave up trying to understand anything. “Okay. Thank you, Ari. Clean up that pan you used. I’m going to bed and getting some proper sleep.”

Ari nodded, looking downcast. Mika stumbled to bed, rubbing the crick in his neck as he went. Damn, he really needed to take back the pillows. If Ari wasn’t intruding into the space Mika rested his head, he was hoarding them in the night like some kind of squirrel. He was going to have to reassert some boundaries, otherwise winter would find him frozen outside the sheets while Ari slept in a swaddle of warm, happy contentment.

But even the pillow did not do much for his comfort. He found himself awake after Ari had fallen asleep, staring blankly at the stars through the cabin window. Then his eyes drifted to the nightstand, where Ari’s strange little creation seemed to mock him. He leaned across Ari, trying not to disturb him, and closed his hand around it. Intending to bring it closer, to squint at its fuzzy shape in the grey semi-darkness as if it might offer some answer. Somehow, the touch of it confused him. He paused, sure he’d imagined it—then, when he realised he had not, he pulled it onto his lap and held it in his hands.

Hours on, the bag was still warm.

Part 15

Taglist: @heart4brains @mechanical-caracal @the-blind-one-speaks @thegreatwhodini @wolfeyedwitch

[whump-a-la-mode]

Armistice - Part One

Oops random burst of inspiration

Summary: A team of agents investigate a secret weapons lab and find something unexpected.

Contains: Living weapon, scientist whumpers, inhuman whumpee, lab whump, secret agents

Warnings: Dehumanization, cages, military themes, guns, pet whump, living weapon, gunshot wounds

Start Transmission

“I fail to see how this level of security is necessary.” Colonel Blaire, a tense man who had spent too much time in the sun, commented. 

“I assure you, Sir, this is very necessary.” Doctor Cecil, walking right at the Colonel’s side, replied. “We would not be going through these procedures if there was any doubt.”

The two traversed a short stretch of hallway. They had just passed through a large, steel door, affixed with a mechanical lock and key. Another door was up ahead. Doctor Cecil removed an oversized brass keyring from her lab coat, taking the next key-- they were numbered, of course-- and inserting it into the proper hole. The door opened.

“Whatever this thing is, you’re certain it has military usage? Much more of this rigamarole and I’ll have you fired for wasting my time.”

“Most certainly.”

Another key. Another lock. Another key.

“And at what point do you intend on telling me what this thing is?”

“I do not intend on telling you, Colonel. I intend on showing you. I guarantee, it will be well worth the wait, and worth your trouble.”

The colonel only grunted in reply.

The last door required a physical key, a keypad code, as well as remote permission given by someone, somewhere, sitting at a computer. Beyond said door was a room that most would consider unremarkable. The walls had been reinforced first with steel, then with a covering of rubber. 

At the center of it all was a cage, covered in a black tarp.

From beneath the tarp came a snarl.

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“How far out are we?” 

Agent Alces leaned over the shoulder of her team’s pilot, Agent Puda, who didn’t seem all too pleased with the incursion.

“Less than 1000 klicks. Under an hour.”

“How long till we need to batten down the hatches?”

“30 minutes. The crew should be in their seats in 45.”

“Got it.”

The pilot expected that to be the end of it. However, to his surprise, his superior sat down in the empty co-pilot’s seat next to him.

Puda knew exactly what that meant.

“You’re worried.”

“Of course I’m worried.” Alces muttered. 

She fidgeted with her watch. Half of her body had already been put on, excluding her helmet-- as well-engineered as those things were, they were notoriously uncomfortable for long-term wear. That left her short hair, the color of wheat, free to flow. 

“There’s a hell of a lot to be worried about.” She continued. “This isn’t going to be an easy op.”

“Is there such a thing as an easy op?”

“There’s easier ops than this one.” Alces sighed. “We’re going after an unknown object at an unknown facility, guarded by unknown forces. We don’t know what kind of weapons they have. That’s not to mention the American military is rumored to be going after the same thing.”

“Yeah.” Puda grimaced. “We’ve sure had easier ops. You’re sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s our mission. They wouldn’t send us on a mission if they thought we couldn’t manage it.”

“Sure.” The pilot had always been a bit skeptical about their employer.

In a sense, their employers were the whole human race. In a more realistic sense, their employer was an internationally-funded law enforcement agency known as SABRE. 

It was the job of SABRE to maintain international law, mostly in the areas of human rights. Small jobs went to local authorities. Big jobs went to Interpol. Unwieldy, dangerous, stupid jobs went to SABRE.

Who do you think keeps cleaning up after all the UFOs?

“What do we know, then?” Puda questioned.

“Didn’t you come to the briefing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And did you… Listen?”

Puda didn’t respond to that one, focusing instead on the radars and dashboards of the cockpit.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Alces rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t unused to this particular behavior from her pilot. She was lucky that he was working at all. 

“Alright.” She started. “SABRE’s intelligence sources have been indicating that a lab in Nevada has been working with an unknown weapon. Whatever this weapon is, the lab is absolutely refusing to cooperate with international weapons testing and regulation requirements.

For all we know, they could have the next Manhattan project in there, and the American brass has already caught the scent. We need to figure out what they’re doing.”

“So, we don’t even know if what they have is dangerous?”

“Not necessarily, but the half-meter thick steel walls around the facility would implicate as such. Officially, we’re only going down there to make sure that they start complying with international regulations.”

“And what are we doing unofficially?”

“Figuring out what they’re doing, figuring out if it’s illegal, and, if it is, putting a stop to it.”

“Do they know we’re coming?”

“Of course not. That’s the whole point of a surprise attack.”

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After an absurdly lavish dinner, complete with wine bottles that, for most, would cost an entire year’s salary, Colonel Blaire was being treated to a show.

Alongside Doctor Cecil and a cohort of her white-coated compatriots, the colonel now stood behind a panel of one-way glass, several inches thick.

After so much buildup, their project was overdue for a demonstration.

The room beyond the glass was large, rectangular, and outfitted with padded mats along the wall, similar to those one might see in a wrestling gym. The center of the room was occupied by a ballistics dummy, the kind made of a clear resin, meant to demonstrate how something would penetrate the human body. On one side of the room, a closed gate led to another chamber.

“You have already heard about this weapon’s hardiness.” Doctor Cecil began. “Forget about supply lines, this thing can traverse extreme climates for days on end, requiring only minimal supplies. With extraordinary navigational senses, it does not rely on radar or radio signals. This weapon could travel deep into any enemy warzone, undetected.

And, when it gets there…”

The lights in the chamber beyond the glass brightened. The gate began to rumble open.

Before it opened all the way, something scrabbled underneath, managing to escape into the chamber beyond. 

It took exactly 3.78 seconds for the ballistics dummy to be turned to a pile of resin scraps.

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SABRE Team C landed in a clearing in the forest.

For all his nonsense, there was a reason that Alces put up with Puda: The man could land their plane damn near anywhere and not so much as scratch the paint.

Alces, along with the rest of her team, were seated in the cockpit in their individual seats. Once the landing gear steadied, she took off her seatbelt. 

All in all, there were six of them. Puda, of course, was seated at the front, nearest to the controls. The rest were arranged in a semi-circle, with Alces in the center.

Doctor Kuhli was on the far right, a brown-skinned woman with her black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. For all her nagging, everyone on the team understood full-well that she was the main thing keeping them alive. She was their doctor. She was also the one who usually kept Doctor Munty from eating the chemicals from his lab.

Doctor Munty, of course, was the team’s science officer. One might be surprised to learn that a field team would have any need of a science officer, but he had justified his usefulness time and time again. With how many unknown compounds and chemicals they encountered, it was good to have a genius with a lab. He was seated on the far left.

The other two spaces, between Alces and the doctors, were filled by the team’s two field agents: Agent Reeves and Agent Savini. At the moment, both of them looked nearly identical, wearing black uniforms and helmets. If their visors weren’t raised, Alces would’ve had a hard time telling the difference. With their faces visible, however, the differences between the two were stark. 

Agent Reeves was a short woman, chronically underestimated for her size and blonde hair (it wasn’t that color naturally, but SABRE continuously refused to allow her to dye it pink, so they compromised.) Her bangs were a mess under her helmet. It was almost odd to see her without her usual collection of barrettes and scrunchies, but, quite obviously, those didn’t work with a tight-fitting carbon fiber helmet. 

Agent Savini, on the other hand, was tall, muscular, and more than a little standoffish. He was the dream of any SABRE recruiter: Strong, disciplined, smart, and unflappable. Alces didn’t know if she had ever seen him smile, but he had never failed to carry out a single of her orders. His only flaw was a small dependance on whiskey and smokes, but Alces could hardly complain. 

She had a damn good team behind her. They could do this. They would do this, and they would all make it out alive.

She just had to lead them through it.

Lights on the dashboard turned off one by one as the plane settled into a resting state. Meanwhile, Alces moved to the front of the room, addressing the rest of her team with her pilot close at hand.

“Alright.” She began, clearing her throat. “This isn’t going to be an easy op. I want everyone at their best. We’re going to stay together. We don’t know what we’re going to find in there. That makes extraction hard. There’s a chance we won’t be bringing anything out of there at all. We may also be seizing the next advancement in lethal military technology.

Puda.” The pilot turned to listen. “You’re going to drive me, Reeves, and Savini in the UTV as far as you can. Meanwhile, Munty, you’re going to fly the drones out ahead of us. We’ll stay in contact while you find us an entrance. If they won’t open it for us, then we’re going to breach it.

Kuhli, I want you preparing a secure facility back here, ready to contain whatever we find, if anything. You might have some patients, if any weapons are fired.

Does everyone understand?”

Everyone nodded, muttering their acknowledgement. Damn, Alces loved her team.

“Let’s move out!”

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“I hope you liked what you saw.” Doctor Cecil folded her hands in front of herself, seated across a boardroom from Colonel Blaire.

The Colonel’s expression was as firm as ever. However, his earlier anger had melted away, leaving only stoicism behind.

“You have fulfilled your promise. You have quite the weapon.”

“Do you think it will be enough for what you desire?”

“Enough? Yes, yes, more than enough.” He drummed his fingers. “But there is only the one.”

“Only the one, for now. We believe that we can acquire more. We simply require additional funding.”

“More funding. You must understand the risk of bringing this information to my superiors. Laws will need to be changed. But… I will talk to them. I will let you know if you can have your funding.

Until then, I want more data. More tests. This thing needs to be proven six ways to Sunday.”

Doctor Cecil was clearly less than pleased with the answer. She most certainly wasn’t pleased when the door to the boardroom burst open.

Her heart jumped right to her throat at the appearance of three strangers in military garb. Their faces were concealed beneath black helmets and tinted visors. The rest of their bodies were equally concealed beneath vests and carbon fiber elbow pads.Their weapons were clearly intended to intimidate.

Dammit. Dammit! Doctor Cecil leapt to her feet, knocking over the chair she had been sitting in. The colonel across from her did the same.

“Woah, there.” The three strangers were arranged in a triangular formation, with one at the front and two slightly behind, one on either side. It was their presumed leader, at the front, who spoke. “No need to get spooked.”

“Who are you?” Doctor Cecil growled.

“You have no authorization to be here.” Colonel Blair added.

“We do, actually.” The leader of the incursion reached into a specially-placed pocket, revealing a badge. 

SABRE. Of course it had to be SABRE, of course it had to be now.

“We’re here to enforce Chapter 89, Article 3, Subsection B of the international SABRE weapons treaty. All military research facilities are required to register, undergo international third-party inspection, and disclose all weapons possessed. That’s along with Subsection C-- All experiments with potential deadly weapons must be pre-approved.

This is an unauthorized, unsupervised, illegal weapons research facility. So, you’re going to give us the grand tour, then you’re going to shut down until you comply with national and international law.

Is that understood?”

Beneath that visor, Doctor Cecil just knew there was a sly smile.

She knew, of course, the illegality of her operation. She had just been hoping to change the law before that was revealed.

“I understand.” She replied, evenly. 

Reaching a hand into a pocket, she pressed a button, calling for emergency security assistance. With backup on the way, she pulled out a handgun.

“But I don’t think you understand exactly how much danger you’re in.” She continued, coldly.

Given what her operation involved, she had cut no corners on security. As the intruders hesitated on their next move, footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Gunfire filled the hallway.

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When the smoke cleared, Alces checked her troops. Both Reeves and Savini were still on their feet, even as they gasped for air a bit.

It had been a harsh shootout.

Looking around, she spotted four guards on the ground. All breathing. SABRE didn’t train their agents to kill if there was another option. Still, they were wounded, and would need a hospital sooner rather than later. 

Alces took a step forward. Her field agents took one in turn. She was damn lucky to have the agents that she did.

She hoped that her show of force would work to intimidate the woman in a lab coat in front of her.

“Alright. No more of that.” Alces did her best to keep her voice calm. No one had to get angry, here. “By the way, you are definitely under arrest now. 

You have a weapon. You are going to show us where it is.”

The lab-coated woman’s eyes shifted back and forth. Alces knew what that meant.

She was ready for the woman to run, but didn’t have time to react. The doorway was too wide. Before she knew it, the doctor had burst out of the room, right past her and her agents.

“Dammit!” Alces exclaimed. “Reeves, you stay with him.” 

She pointed at the man in the boardroom. He was definitely military. 

“Don’t let him go anywhere, and take his gun. Savini, you’re with me.”

“Got it, boss!” Reeves gave a big thumbs-up, before pointing a big gun at the big military man.

With a tilt of her head, Alces indicated for Savini to follow her as she moved out in the hallway.

Time to chase down a scientist.

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Doctor Cecil whipped around a corner, her own hot breath rushing back in her face. Stupid SABRE, stupid stupid stupid! Of all days, why did this have to happen today?!

Little did they know, they had no clue what they were up against. They thought they were dealing with a gun, or a gas, or a bioweapon.

Stupid agents.

She could hear their footsteps pounding behind her. They would catch up to her, that much was inevitable. She just had to get to the containment unit before they did.

She skidded to a stop in front of one of the many doors in this highway. All at once, she regretted the security measures she herself had mandated. There was nothing to be done for it now, though. At least she had practice in getting the key from her pocket, putting it in the lock.

Once Doctor Cecil was through the door, she slammed it closed. It wouldn’t lock automatically, but it would slow her pursuers down, ever so slightly. She had a head start, and she wasn’t being weighed down by god knows how many pounds of military-issue.

One door after another. They finally arrived at the final one. She had never typed in her keycode so fast, and she had never before been more glad that she kept someone always stationed in the security chair. If she was lucky, the rest of the guards would be here soon.

Not that she would need them.

Doctor Cecil swung open the last door, revealing the same room as she had formerly to Colonel Blair. The weapon had been returned to its cage, covered again by its tarp.

She couldn’t wait to see those SABRE pencil pushers torn to shreds. Pulling out one last key, she raced to the cage, tore away the tarp, and undid the padlock.

The door swung open.

The weapon leapt free.

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Alces and Savini skidded to a stop soon after the scientist did. 

This had to be it. This was the weapon. Of course, the scientist would attempt to use her own deadly creation against her attackers.

Alces held out an arm to prevent Savini from getting any closer. Whatever this thing was, it shouldn’t be able to harm them. Their helmets acted as respirators, their bodies covered from head to toe in the best gear any currency could buy. Any chemical, any bioweapon, they could handle it.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the scientist swung open a cage of some sort. 

The person that lurched from the cage was thin, but muscular, shaggy blonde hair raggedly cut. Muscly bulk rippled beneath their neck as they snarled. Their body was covered only by a cotton undershirt and a pair of shorts.

A person.

The weapon wasn’t a contagion. It wasn’t a gun. It wasn’t a chemical.

It was a person.

“Go!” The scientist snapped.

The person charged. 

Agent Savini discharged his weapon.

[jackalxhearts]

regarding that last post, i don't think people realize that if someone says "job that doesn't produce something" they probably don't mean a teacher, physicist, counselor, historian, etc

they more than likely mean a type of middle manager, executive assistant, business consultant, or one of the numerous other white collar jobs that could disappear and not significantly change the function of society. (Not to mention the financial sector. If we're doing the thought experiment where money doesn't exist, then it's gone.)

people vastly underestimate how many jobs exist like this.

communism =\= no more technology or academia

It's not an anti-intellectual idea to pose that an HR person at an investing firm would become a gardener under a type of communism. 💁🏼

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Okay, so this is really cool! You have this phenomenon where some plants grow edible appendages to their seeds to entice ants to carry them underground where they can safely sprout. And then you have wasps which lay their eggs on the leaves, stems, and other parts of plants and trigger the growth of galls (swellings) which both feed and protect the wasp larvae until they reach maturity.

The boy who was watching the ants noticed they were taking wasp galls underground, too. Further exploration found that the wasp larvae were unharmed inside the galls; the only thing the ants had eaten were edible appendages similar to those on the seeds they collected. The wasp larvae stayed safe inside the ant nest, feeding on their galls, until it was time to emerge and head back out to the surface.

So it turns out that the edible portions of the galls have the same sorts of fatty acids as the edible parts of the seeds. And those fatty acids are also found in dead insects. Scientists think that the wasps evolved a way to make the galls they created mimic the edible portions of the seeds to get the ants to collect the galls. This isn't the only example of wasps making use of ants as caretakers for their young, but it's a really fascinating example thereof--especially if you consider ants evolved from wasps at least 100 million years ago.

[heartfullofleeches]

Slime Darling gives themself large tits to give their exhausted caretaker [scientist yan] a soft place to rest their head whenever they manage to pull them from their work and they don't feel like heading up to bed. Alas their caretaker is a pathetic virgin loser and leaves the slime heartbroken when they decline the poor thing's sweet gesture. Slime darling cries as their caretaker keeps them at arm's length because they want cuddles, but scientist yan knows if they give in and allow Darling to snuggle up to them in that form they'll do things that would taint their sweet slime's in innocent and native ways. Eventually caves and gropes Darling's chest who sees no further meaning behind it and just glad to have their friend paying attention to them again. Slime darling is peak thembo and I love them