#patients zero

Am I crazy? This sure looks like a living room: not very different from my one at home. There’s a sofa, a table, and works of art that admittedly caught my vision immediately. I’ve liked to think that I’m not a leech for moving media, so not seeing a television or the like here is pleasing. There are dimly lit LEDs as large as me, a rug across the ground over there as large as me, and an actual fan even larger than me. Sure, it nearly takes up a whole wall like a fireplace would, but the latter would be unconventional. It’s blowing out heat, so it must switch between hot and cold. The only thing missing is a collection of literature of varying genres, but I doubt printing that small is even possible. Besides that, it’s like it was made for me.

But that’s just it. That’s fucking weird. It’s made for me, and how small am I now?

I must be going insane. This can’t be real. This room can’t possibly be mine—Oh. Oh shit.

That’s a kitchen over there behind me. A real kitchen – well, as real as it can be with its counters and cabinets. But it’s the actual cooking stuff that made it real: the primitive tools in the corner for refrigeration and cooking – some solar funnel/pot thing, I think – and the bruised yet familiar food scraps from my past life stacked in a triad of pyramids next to them. Wait, past life? I say that like it’s been forever since I was… ambushed… by someone big enough to make a place like this if they’re careful.

I’ve got to get out of here. But what is here? First things first, I should probably get my ass off the floor: this uncomfortably perfectly-sized floor.

O-Okay. Up and at it. The floor isn’t an ocean anymore. Appliances don’t have as much of a chance of killing me now. If I go this way, then I can sit at this table right here and contemplate all the dumb stuff I did to get here… wherever here is, not to mention there are enough chairs to fit a whole family or a group of housemates. Housemates. AmI alone here? Why am I here? Why do I keep asking myself these questions rather than just looking for the answer?

I’m irrational. This is irrational, but I must make the most of it. No, screw it, do I even have a choice? Well, with all these grabbable, sharp things around, I guess the answer’s technically a ‘yes.’ But. I’m not that depressed. I’m not. Not *sigh* that depressed. I’ve fought this long for others’ lives before and my own at this level, so why stop now? It’s not like I’m not used to being like this. It’s just this current situation that’s new… and heaven knows how much I love surprises… and rambling. Where was I? Oh, right.

If I go that way, now, then I can go to a surprise upstairs with who-knows-what… or who-knows-who. Would they really bunk me with someone else? I wasn’t one for strangers at full size, so how would they think I’d manage one on this scale!? They’re the ones that are short-sighted, not me. Ugh, I can’t wait to deal with that possibility. Though, maybe I don’t have to.

There’s the door. Huh.

I know I just got out of some stasis a moment ago, but it only just occurred to me that all the windows are covered and presumably closed. There seems to be no light peeking out of anywhere, either, so either it’s still nighttime, or I’m enclosed somewhere cut off from the world. No, the latter’s always going to be true here, now that I think about it. I don’t know where here is, but I do know it sure isn’t out there. There’s no use in not verifying it, though.

I guess that I shouldn’t be surprised how what should be a small door doesn’t have a lock. Yet, it has a hinge – two of them? Okay. Am I too dumb for not checking the windows? No, just crazy, but I knew that already. What’s crazier, though, is how I’m simultaneously right and wrong upon opening this door.

This is a small house, and this sure doesn’t look like a lab, a ward, and especially not that basement. To be honest, I kind of expected there to be grass or an equivalent on the ground here. Ground. I say that like this place containing me isn’t on a freaking table right now. Well, to be fair, they brought in real grass, plants, and stuff for the diorama dwellings, so I guess it’s not that weird. But those were for hundreds if not thousands of people on several stations. This is just me… and a house for me… on a table.

A table in what looks like a… a bedroom? I mean, I think I can make out the mountainous shapes of a bed, nightstands sandwiching it, and I think a dresser across from them, but it’s freaking dark in here. I’m surprised I can see that far away. Those LEDs boxed in my walls shouldn’t be able to reach that far, even if their brightness was somehow magnified through the cracks between windows and the door, yet here they are. Despite that, there’s no denying I’m in some resting place for some giant somewhere. Somewhere.

I could be freaking anywhere, but where?

I do know one thing: it’s damn fine that I don’t have a fear of heights. That helped me back there with the commons, so it’ll help me here, too. But, god, damn it, that drop is large. I bet it was intentional, along with my placement here. With the back edge cut off by the wall and the front sharply opening to this no man’s land of a room, I don’t have many options of escape.

I hear a heater running like a radiator under a window on one side of this table, and I’d rather not get burnt to cinders today. I could test my luck descending the curtains, but I don’t think I’m in proper form to climb or slide down. The opposite side is blocked by a chair in the corner. Falling onto a cushion might not be a bad idea. Maybe there’s a vent I can get through behind there. Hmm.

Screw it. I’d rather risk seeing my maker than wait for them to come to me. Chair, it is. It seems like the only way to go. But, should I take a leap of faith or weigh my options? Eh, watch with my luck, and this room’s patron comes back in and throws something atop of me – maybe even themselves. A smudge on somebody’s ass: that’s not legacy worthy. At least if I’m up here for some time, then I can probably make it back in the house and use it for even a smidgen of protection.

Hopefully.

Huh. Should I be bothered by how my steps aren’t clicking across this surface? I mean, they never did in the basement, but there were plenty of people around causing noise and whatever. Here, I’m alone… at least for now. That should be calming, shouldn’t it? Alas, as I continue forward, the curve of what-now-looks-like-an-accent-chair crests over the horizon and—

Oh, curse me.

So, I was right in being worried about possibly being suffocated to no end in colossal clothing. But, of all of them, did it have to be scrubs? I’m no color aficionado, but I do think that’s how that health-centric blue is supposed to look in this lighting—er, lack of light, I should say. Of course, they’re not just any scrubs, either. Any sensible physician would know to discard of their scrubs in at least a hamper to be washed after use or just use a new pair. These look like cast-offs like mad.

I’d put money down on them being his. That monster brought me here, didn’t here? Then, me being here would make sense: I’m where he lives or, at least, stays so he can watch me like some project.

Looking back at this rather extravagant house for a subspecies like me, who knows how much other preparation has been done since he acquired me? Is he why I’m hurt like this? Speaking of hurt, wasn’t I beeping before, and that led to all of this? It’s stopped now, and so was I, but is replacing it with pain much better? If I run away, then how do I know that the beeping won’t restart and lead to an even greater demise?

I’m curious, though, considering he could’ve ended me earlier while I was presumably incapacitated if that were his goal. But what if he may have plans for me, instead? What if he’s planning for me to run away, and that’s why he’s away, probably watching from afar? The basement had cameras whether they wanted us to know they were there or not, and I bet there’s some in here, too, with night vision, thermals, and all that other fancy gobbledygook. Ugh, it’s dark and distant in here, but damn it, I’m going to find one if it’s the last thing I—

Are you kidding me?

Do not tell me that’s been him this whole time. Him, and he’s that? Well, that’s poetic as hell, isn’t it? He was going to take me out beforeall this crap started. Now, he’s going to do me in here, instead, screwing me sideways and 1-upping me even more so.

In my visual pursuits of a camera, the last thing I expected to find was an I.D. To surprise me even more, I recognized the face on it. I remember my first time seeing it.

I was on a lunch break, just reading in my journals about Match Day – how it had been the largest amounts of matches in history or whatever – and then Doc Adams suddenly broke the fun and excitement, coming in with a list of our future interns. One of them was him. If it had been just a few years prior, then I would’ve been excited. After all, there’s nothing wrong with more doctors, right? But, Adams, the louse, has… had been trying to get me out of the doctoring game since.

It’s because he knows that I’d be better at his job than him, and the supervisors at the system H.Q. have been telling us both this. I can’t help that I love – loved– helping people directly so much to not replace it with a tedious desk job, even if it looks over pretty much everyone else in the hospital. Thus, his solution was to put more and more people in our ranks to dilute the focus away from me. It worked for a while until someone had a symptom that they didn’t know how to treat, but I did.

Despite my knowledge, this new guy was perfection, though, and from across the ocean, no less. I bet Adams creamed his pants at him on the list: this—What’s his name again? Oh, yeah: this ‘Mikul Merchant’ or whatever. I wonder how many bribes Adams had to make to get him. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? The first day for the interns would’ve been months ago, and the kid and I are both here, apparently, with him ruining my life just as much if not more so than he would’ve been without this wretched disease.

Though, if he was already on this continent way before then, then he must’ve been excited, too. After all, I’m sure his home country has its own center like this where he could’ve been. Why was he here, and how in the world did he turn out to be a carrier, too?

Upon registration, everyone is given I.D.s, but rather than having the random number sequences and barcodes the others get until they’re rendered useless by dwindling heights to where they can’t carry the damn thing, carriers’ listings are just ‘zeroes’ with a Q.R. code. I’m positive that’s how that self-deprecating squad of bugs found me and put their emotions out on and into me. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one here, so why would they charge me rather than someone like him? Well, besides his youth, foreignness, and relative handsomeness that may correlate with them, unlike me, he’s a carrier of and might as well be immune to both strains.

Curse this minute minutia. Curse my imperfections. But, most importantly, screw this—!

*CLICK* God, no.

Before I can even blink, a beam of light blinds me, revealing the previously dark side of the room and thus allowing me to see that this isn’t just a bedroom but more like a hotel room. A vanity adjacent to a closed closet appears. It’s spanning across the wall opposite me, this table and chair, that house of mine, and the window. How I didn’t see the reflection of this house in the mirror beforehand is beside me. But, no other reflection aside from my own hasn’t yet come into view, which makes me wonder if this is genuinely that giant’s room.

I know I used to come across my team’s scrubs in my office on occasion, so who’s to say that a lead person isn’t just keeping subject/’Doctor’ Merchant’s clothing with them for testing or safekeeping? Though, I don’t think that just throwing them across a chair shows its direct importance or proper sanitation practices. Or, maybe there’s another type of experiment going on. Perhaps it’s just dealing with me and what I do in this new location? Either way, that doesn’t answer whose room this is or why—

Never mind. There, he is. I’m here with him. I should stop doubting myself. No, this is the one time I should challenge anything and everything I’ve ever known.

Emerging from what I assume is a bathroom, a lanky, lean embodiment of a supposed human comes through. Supposed. Humans aren’t meant to be that large. It’s almost godly – the glow of his mostly bare, solely-pants-wearing, towel-draping-necked form – but I’m not glorifying a monster, checking his face and onyx hair over the sink and counter like he hasn’t done anything wrong. His auburn skin with no marks in sight is so nourished like he’s been able to bathe sensibly and get proper sunlight. There’s not one eye bag or wrinkle like he’s never had a single stressor in his life: the pampered, pompous prick. I’d almost say he’s prettier in person, but beasts are never pretty.

If you’re here, then you should be under all the stresses. Yet, here you are, flouncing around almost naked like you aren’t contracted with and spreading disease! If that’s the case, then why the hell am I here, trapped with you—!?

You… You… You’ve got to be kidding me. I mean, it was only a matter of time, but… don’t fucking dare.

Before I can even comprehend it, his almond gaze snaps on me like a locked crosshair in a gun’s sight. I try freezing in place, but I’m sure the vanity lights are making my eyes glow like a beady animal’s, so it’s all in vain. Aside from that, I didn’t think he had even noticed me at first, but then he had squinted his eyes and cocked his head like an inquisitive dog trying to hear. Just to test my luck, he even acknowledges me… or whatever he thinks I am if he doesn’t know for sure for some reason,

“H-Huh?” He sounds so soft, almost… Nope, I’m not going to say that. There’s no way he actually cares. I… I’m nothing in comparison. He’s taken out souls larger and smaller than me, so what difference would I make? “Is something there?” See? ‘Something.’

I’m a thing now.

I almost thought he’d salivate for his new toy, treat, or whatever I am to him. He’s already been a predator in public upon thousands of eyes. How much craftier will he be, all alone? I’m not going to wait to find out. Even if that’s what he’s expecting me to do, I don’t care. It’s fight-or-flight, and the former is definitely out of the question.

“W-Wait!”

He just amputated someone – a child – like… like… like nothing I’ve seen before. Meanwhile, all these guys are practically unfazed, that is if ‘unfazed’ applies to ‘being a sheep so that you don’t die’. They look fine. Look fine. That’s obviously not the case.

When it comes down to it, each small society on each Lilliputian, Laputan island is one of three sets of people.

One, there’s the group not taking any chances. They’re all stowed away in their homes, shelters, and other places in which they can hide. Am I a part of that? No. I’m accepting his arrival as a reality, no matter how much I don’t want to.

Two, you have those are just going on as normally as they can, doing their best to forget he’s there. How exactly do you ignore a beast that’s anywhere from thirty-six feet to thousands to you? I don’t know. So, I’m not going to try.

But, the last leg of the trifecta consists of those bold enough to address him directly. No, wait, is it bold? Is any of this abnormal? These divides were around for every other scientist that’s ever been in here. I guess it’s just strange to me that they’re still here while he’s still here, especially those helping him do checks and stuff.

From the grandest scheme of things, he’s following the usual scientist routine. Checking the infrastructure of the tiny towns. Collecting the bins of bio-wastes to presumably be tested if not just immediately thrown out. Retrieving small samples of even smaller products people are making or growing for themselves. Yadda, yadda, yadda. He’s getting nothing from me, though.

I’d rather wallow in my own trash than give myself up. Hell, I’m already doing that. But, looking closer, there’s something… off, and I mean more than just his get-up.

This computerized compartment in the floor is one thing – him dropping or flinging all his ‘finds’ and samples in there. Them including people too damn sick or broken to be cared for by any of us, er, these guys, is another. But what’s really grinding me is how he doesn’t seem… very human for a human, and I don’t think I’d be surprised if he was truly a robot.

For one, why the hell is he so stiff? I get petite persons and products or whatever should require precision. But if you’re plucking up people and places like they’re toys and throwing them to be sent who-knows-where, then why bother being precise!? On top of that, all his skin’s covered, and any sort of emotion from him is too difficult to decipher. Who’s to say he’s not just cold from a hidden metal exoskeleton?

His lining the streets (or entire neighborhoods if referring to the tiniest here) with a finger like a sand signature and then grinding whatever sticks to the latex to dust makes me lurch. May all unfortunate spawn thrusted here be left untouched from this hell, whether in this basement somewhere or stuck in a triage or something.

It’s my job—was my job to save lives, bring them in, too, when I could. I couldn’t bear the thought of— No. No. Not doing it.

Anyway, all I can say is that if he’s looking for me, then he’s doing a damn good job in hiding that. So many times, my heart has stopped from him coming over to this table, currently pausing in front of it, gazing around at structures and onlookers around me. My entire vision encapsulated with a sickly aqua sky or sea so wide is surely anxiety-inducing. The shallow breaths thankfully blocked by his mask and the loud ruffles from that almost-as-loud blue only punched the immensity of his girth harder. 

If we had locked eyes at any point, then aside from me being found in this broccoli floret of a tree in this flowerbed of a ‘park’, I… I… I don’t know what might’ve become of me. I just know I’m too old for this shit.

Too old. Too tired. Too frustrated. I shouldn’t be here, damn it.

Alas, he’s no longer taking up space in front of my hovel. He’s closed the floor hatch and distanced himself from all of us, not even halfway past the door anymore. Though, I don’t think he’s leaving.

He’s just standing there, posed inquisitively like a statue in an art museum somewhere. Is he pondering his next move on us – on me?

It’s almost been a full minute now, and—No, wait, he’s breaking his stupor now, scanning the room like a panoramic camera.

He’s too far to see his eyes, as if I would’ve been able to see them through the plastic, anyway. He couldn’t have been an arm’s length (for him) away from me earlier, and I couldn’t see them then.

His scan eventually ends with him going solid once again, looking to the ground with his hands on his sides. A minute then passes, and nothing happens. Another, and nothing.

Okay, that robot concept is looking really promising.

What, is he charging? Is he powering his thrusters or something? Why would he just stop and wait? It’s not like I’m going to come out of hiding to see for myself. At this rate, it’d be more likely for a—

“Security: raised to Level Three clearance,” an actual robotic voice sounded from an intercom, echoing from lab wall to lab wall.

Some of the unexpectant flinched in the surprise of the message, and others flinched from its volume. While both were a surprise, sure, I can’t say that I was scared by them—well, not as much as some of these suckers, anyway. I got used to emergency situations in my previous profession, especially how long I was in it, and the motley of beeps, alarms, and panic that complement them. However, those generally occur to the patient, not the operator himself, i.e. me.

Aren’t these walls already blocked mad thick from the outside with bulletproof walls and it practically being a fallout shelter? Why would it – they – we need more security?

“Commencing specialized RFID tracking test,” the announcement continued. “Please stand by for possible trace recognition.”

Recognition? Tracking? Isn’t RFID like a sensor or something? Did we get to using those at the Clinic? I feel like I’ve heard it referenced before somewhere, but I—

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

A series of beeping sounds cuts me off, very similar to an EKG. Blaring eruptions… and they won’t stop. Why won’t it stop? Why is it here!?

It doesn’t echo, but I see a few souls nearby look around for a source and come up confused. So am I. Even one walks under my spot in this tree and gazes up in these branches. Yet, they don’t know I’m here. They eventually walk off, probably thinking they’re crazy. I’m sure they’re not.

I hope I am, though.

The beeps sound like they’re right next to me. Below me. Maybe even in me. Slightly muffled but doubtlessly apparent. But God, damn it; there’s nothing in sight.

I’m doing my best to not fall or move much, but the beeps seem to move with me with every pose I make. I’m practically one hundred percent sure that these signals and I, whatever they’re from, are one and the same now.

Well, whether or not we are, if these puny people are right under my nose and can’t detect me, then there’s no way the much larger one here would, right? All my good logic is telling me to not look at him and check. If I’m lucky, then maybe that dormant giant is still just that, and—

Oh, curse me.

His head is lifted, looking right this way.

Okay, that’s strike one, but that doesn’t mean he sees me or hears them: the sounds, I mean. For all I know, he might not know what these beeps are for. If I hide even deeper, then maybe I’ll be okay. Maybe they’ll go away: the sounds and this beast. A shot in the dark, maybe…. or the shot of my life, but it’s a shot to take, nonetheless.

Going back down shouldn’t be a problem. Keeping a grip on every usable crevice down this trunk here without shaking it should be simple. Heaven knows I’m light as hell. There’s just the overhanging threat of an unreadable behemoth possibly ravaging me because of an audible pseudo heart scan going through me right now somehow or some shit like that. No big deal at all.

Screw that. It’s the biggest of deals.

Note to self: never look toward your threat when you’re trying to pump yourself up to face – or, in my case, not face – it. It never works.

The only thing passing is him, coming back down this way in a power walk. There’s no denying it. He’s coming right for me. I can feel it, and I’m not waiting for him to get here, not while I still have a chance of getting away.

The closer he gets, the more the ground begins to shake under me.

I make my way down to the lean-to I’ve carved into this tree’s trunk, having to crawl over to the floor-bound door leading to my true hideaway. It’s basically a minimalist shed with literally nothing but a door in it now, but it’s enough to do the job: get me to supreme privacy.

It still shocks me how no one’s come across this being here. It shocks me even more how small this den used to be to me, particularly when I first made it and it resembled a phone booth. It’s rather massive now, but there’s no time to concern with this.

I can feel him through the bark.

I get to the door and heave it open, glad to see the dirt-dug tunnel still intact. I don’t know if it was pure genius or stupidity that made me think to make my actual headquarters deep underground – well, as far down as one can possibly go on a hill on a table – past the tendrils that kept this protective plant standing. If it’s rather troublesome for me to get in, then it’ll have to be a little hard for him to find me in it.

Threading the needle, like I’ve never had before, I slip myself down into the void – my void – just as soon as the giant-gait-driven shaking stops. As I descend, I do my best covering my tracks, i.e. narrowing the width of the tunnel as I go with surrounding dirt so that it resembles a pore in the ground. However, I’d be crazy to say I hadn’t felt the increasing heat and a force pulling me slightly upward as I go down. He might not have found me, but he knows I’m close.

Curse this damn ringing.

What exactly is he doing up there? Feeling for me? Literally leveling the field until he comes across me? Surely, it just can’t be a natural gravitational pull from him. He’s big but not that big. It’s almost fantastical.

Hell, it is a fantasy: one I’d love to be released from, thank you.

After what feels like forever with a hunter on my tail, I eventually drop through the malleable metal box I’ve been calling my home. Box. To think that this once held test tubes or some other tools… Now, it’s practically a studio apartment – more like two meshed together if I’m completely honest. For what it’s worth, it’s been a circumstantially perfect spot that I can gladly call my own, unlike most if not all the others here. Though, I think that’s mostly because of the location.

Dwelling under what could be considered a cemetery is generally looked down upon in most social circles. But its existence is one secret that everyone, even the most compliant tinies here, has kept from them.

I hope I don’t ruin that with this cat-and-mouse chase. I hope to not join it, either.

There are dents and punctures in places where they probably shouldn’t be that scrap labels and stickers can only cover so well, but they give the place a sweet, literally rustic charm along with making the camouflage of being one with the ‘ground’ more plausible. It does what it needs to do and then some very well.

Hold my storage of leftover foods and pieces of furnishings from the surrounding enclaves on one wall. Let me rest and compose myself every day by another. Figure out some way of cleansing myself by the third – I haven’t optimized that as much as I should have. Maintain the little sanity I have left by the window on the last.

My window.

It’s just like theirs, but it’s mine and mine alone. I can’t believe I’ve had a growing plant there for this long. Hell, I can’t believe I made a window how I did. Maybe that’s why they’ve been coming after me: they know how I acquired the glass. No, they wouldn’t be that petty. They’d just—

*CRUNCH*

Jesus, what was that?

*BOOM*

No, what was that?

*BANG-BANG-BANG*

What the—!?

What are all these noises? Those upward forces are back again, too, but these noises are coming from all sides, not just above me. Well, not all sides; the window wall is still thankfully clear. I don’t think I’d be able to take seeing a—Wait, how in the world is the ceiling less deformed now?

I’m literally under a forest scattered with pygmy plants and deceased, decomposing diminutives. To get rid of that pressure, one would have to—

Oh, God. He is leveling the ground, one tree at a time.

The dirt’s probably giving way as he plucks each one up like a carrot or something. Loose pebbles or dirt clots are falling back down onto the pseudo-roof. Well, I hope it’s those rather than a body or two. I don’t know.

I can’t hear anyone reacting to this.

Surely, if the departed were being uncovered right now, then there’d be more audible chaos. My window is undetected, not soundproof… and how has nothing fallen in front of it, yet!? I mean, I’m not asking to see a covered cadaver or anything, but not even a single leaf? That’s highly imp—

*CREAK*

Kill me. I had to call it, didn’t I?

A waterfall – mudslide? – of soil and dirt suddenly falls past the glass of the window.

The linear deformation and its resulting dips going down – up? – in the ceiling was enough of a giveaway for the cause. But the enormous shadow of harsh darkness that has formed in front of the window, somehow making the night sky even more abyssal, is pretty much verifying he’s found me.

Unless my beeps aren’t somehow audible through this metal, he’s just found my slum. Hopefully, it doesn’t also become my cof— H-Hey! Hey!

My floor friction suddenly vanishes, and now I’m sliding toward my right wall, right into—Ack! Ugh, right into *cough* the side of my bed. God, damn it.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do? I—I mean, I know what I’ve done, but how is that worse than what they’ve done – what he’s done and doing!? Like *cough* Like, right now, is… is he playing with me? I can’t even stand up straight at this angle, and… and everything’s falling… g-going everywhere, including *cough* r-right on top of me. Ugh, as if *cough* there wasn’t already enough of a mess in this damn place.

I— Ugh, I need to get this stuff off if I’m ever going to… to…

Jesus, when did I… I get so… m-much stuff? It’s… *cough* It’s t-too much. I—*cough* l c-can’t… m-move. I… *cough* …I… *cough* I’m…

*CREAK*

How was I supposed to know I was like that? You had to fuck me over because of it – because you’re unlucky? Like I was any luckier. But, my view doesn’t matter, so screw me, right? Well, I hope your anger settled because you sure didn’t help yourself or me physically with it, and I’m sure not going to help you now. They know that, too, but how did they think I would eventually just reverse that ideology by putting me with you? I didn’t get it then, and I still don’t.

We’re just kept safe so ‘we don’t have to or no one else has to suffer’ or something like that. It’s nonsense, either way. They put us away. Us. Ugh. I’m not one of you!

To be fair, you were already locked away before I joined you, and you deserved it, honestly, especially after your stunt: biting me. What are you, heathens? Disgusting - not as gross as the marks you left, though. You’d think they’d dissipate with time, but no. They grew on my skin, or perhaps the opposite, I guess. Either way, now you get to knock yourselves even more delusional with me around. Well, you would if you could find me.

Like I’d show my face around here after you persecuted me. But, apparently, that’s fucking with testing procedures or whatever, so now they’re mad at me, too. I empathize, but I’m not sorry. It’s what they get after leaving me here. They never even considered this happening, did they? I’m probably better off dying alone than with anyone at this point. I’m sure that’ll be the case. My stash is running out, asking these imbeciles for any assistance is out of the question, and there’s no way I can go scavenging anytime soon with everyone scattering around in this frenzy.

Thus, I’m just here sitting on a tree branch – more like I’m in a crook in one of its craters or whatever – watching, staying invisible to all, as usual, waiting for whoever is going to come through: whichever ‘guest’ is visiting today. Though, they’re sure taking their time, aren’t they? I’m not rushing – not at all – but this is uncharacteristic of, well, any of them. They don’t usually take this long before entering, at least not when letting us know they’re coming. Is it because they know there are still some stragglers on the floor?

With the blinking, crimson signals and their corresponding cries, it'd be hard for anyone to focus on anything else. Even if one did take their mind off the alarms, it’s still rather difficult to notice anything peculiar. I'm generally never on the ground, but from up here like them, even I am having trouble deciphering people from the ground itself. Curse this minute minutia.

It seems like no one was ready for this surprise entry, not that they should've been: this is off schedule. Even so, it sure looks like no one was trying to keep safety as a factor of living aside from it. All the bridges are already drawn back, and the floors still aren’t dry after yesterday’s ‘rain’, yet no floor crossers dared to wear any reflective or repellent to make them stand out and protected from the spotty surface in case someone did come in.

Whether they’re a microbe cultivating in a water drop or a conscious soul just trying to pass through, I can barely see a difference, and neither would one of them.

With that in mind, I think they know that. They’re hustling across the expanse – what could be considered miles for some, maybe even myself – jumping over droplet ponds and streams flowing through the dips of grout between tiles. Plus, they’re taking heed in avoiding the grounded drains causing all this water flow. After all, one misstep and they’re gone down them. But, that’s just in terms of visibility, though. One misstep by them, and they’re fucking dead on the spot with their mess to simply be drained away. These alarms just drill that in even more: that’s what they’re for. They’re a literal bone-crushing warning that someone will be passing through soon and no one should be on the floor.

They’re drowning out all the color and sound in the room as if it ever had either of those. It was just gray on gray on gray, except for whatever the windows didn’t filter out and whatever’s on this cul-de-sac of this quintet of communal dioramas, with me on the middle one. Now, it’s just red everywhere – the hue being just as loud as the noise, both louder than anything I or they could ever speak or spew. I can’t even hear them, but I’m sure they’re screaming their heads off, especially that one over there.

Oh, damn, look at them, lying on their side gripping their leg, water up to a nostril going in and out of their mouth. Did they sprain something? Break it, maybe? Tough luck, kid. They can’t be greater than a G-level, too, basing off the tiles. Am I going against everything I’ve stood for by not moving to help them – breaking the oath I’ve sworn to for decades? This could warrant my certification being revoked, couldn’t it? Eh, it’s not much when my humanity’s already gone. Plus, looking at me in comparison, I don’t think I’d really be much of a help. I’ll live, at least a little bit longer. Will they, with no one willing to help? Only time will tell—

*SSSSSSS*

—and by the sound of the now hissing doors, it’s probably not much longer.

The screams of the sirens were abruptly replaced by the chilling eruptions of suctions separating, metal grinding across the ground, and the hissing of air escaping the sanitation barrier into the room. Every soul, including the kid still attempting to leave the floor, silenced, stopped, and turned to face the doors, expecting to see a looming shadow of a humanoid in a hazmat suit there but found nothing. All that was visible from that wall was a white backlit mist flooding into the room.

However, that lasted for only a few seconds as a shadow soon appeared in the distance, emerging from the mist. I can't say that it looks familiar, but I do know one thing: it’s humanoid without a doubt. But, that was not a human in a hazmat suit like we’re used to or, at least, I’m used to. It’s too… fluid? I don’t know. What is that—them—whatever?

With this being a center of biostudies and whatnot, I doubt they would already give in to using androids to search for a cure or just plain research. I mean, I have—had a bit of experience in using robots for tiny incisions, so I suppose it’s not too out there, but a whole suit or AI-controlled drone? That’s just too risky to use with conscious beings, let alone ones of our—their—my size. That’s not making me more wanting to turn myself in. Screw that. Though, it’s approaching now, slowly but surely, and—

Well, this is peculiar. I was wrong. Quite wrong. But, so are they?

That’s one of them. The size is a dead giveaway besides the obvious entry procedure if I haven’t lost my touch with angles along with my height. But, I’ve never seen them before, and I know I have more experience with those folks than most if not all these guys. Who are you? A new scientist, maybe? A tester? An overseer of us, er, them? Either way, I can’t deny they’re unaffected or, to better put it, generally left unshrunk.

But, hold on, they’re not wearing a hazmat suit. Why aren’t they wearing one? These strains are contagious: easily by air and even more so by swapping DNA. I know that too well. Freaking insect bites. Aside from that, I do recognize the look they’re donning: scrubs, gloves, mask, and cap all practically right out the O.R. Gosh, that makes me miss mine. I could've worn them and maybe helped these people including myself. With the right gear, I could've probably had that poor kid’s bone set and wrapped, even at this size, and had them back in their quarters by now. But, no. I had to get bitten, infected, and put away like an animal before I had a chance! Now, none of you have one. Idiots.

Anyway, despite scrubs being good against most liquids and solids, I can’t defend it working against gasses aka air-drifting diseases so small to fit in this body let alone theirs. But, this guy doesn’t seem to care. They—no, he just keeps coming forward.

With every step, his head turns toward the diorama dwelling souls in the cul-de-sac, from the tallest tinies, the Barbie doll A-levels, on the right going all the way around to the practically invisible Z’s in their table-mounted metropolis on the left. With the guy not having to make a double-take when glancing over the median, I assume that he didn’t notice my J-self here. I guess I did something right: my camouflage is still good against large and small eyes.

Speaking of small eyes, they’re all looking back at him. The closest souls to me, from what I can tell, are all trembling, and that’s rubbing me the wrong way. I mean, how have I missed an abnormal behemoth like him? Surely, my escapades and stowing away haven’t kept me that far out of the loop. Usually, with a shielded scientist’s entry, especially when they’re looking for me, these tinies would stay calm, collected, and compliant. But, now they’re that plus an intense dosage of ‘please don’t kill me’. What’s his deal, then?

I know his size is enough to make someone fearful, but am I missing something? If he doesn’t slow down or look forward soon, then he will. I can’t be the only one that sees him heading right for the—

“Stop!” a squeak of a voice – yep, even to me – barely breaks through the monotonous hum of the room, snapping the giant’s head toward it.

A brave D-level or maybe an E – I can’t tell, but they’re around the median height, for sure – had the nerve to speak up, pausing the mountainous man’s stride. The man in question seemed confused at them, raising his hands in the wonder of their outburst until their tiny eyes found their way to the floor. The cleansed colossus seemingly humored them, following their gaze to the trembling soul right under his lifted sole.

The human, to presumably everyone’s satisfaction – I know I’m relieved, retreated his foot and backed away. However, I didn’t expect him to then squat and examine the fellow for himself. Well, maybe not at first. It makes sense if he’s a fellow doctor like he appears, right? Can I still say ‘fellow’ in my current state? Ugh, curse this minute minutia.

Anyway, now he’s getting handsy, trailing a gloved finger longer than any appendage on the fallen’s body around their pained part. He appeared to take care to not hurt them at first, but then he gripped the kid by the ankle, turned them over, and exposed a line of bruising and wounds up to their hamstrings, separating them from the now blood-soaked floor beneath it. I can’t say that I’m not bothered, but I’ve seen worse. It’s still pretty terrible, though. No wonder they couldn’t get up. Even with proper treatment, I wouldn’t put money on them being able to walk again, at least not for a while. How does that happen?

A chorus of gasps and lurches escaped from the crowd at the sight, and even the stooped titan couldn’t hold back covering his already covered mouth with his free hand. Meanwhile, the hurt tiny dangled in his grasp, surprisingly silent. Or, maybe it’s not so surprising. The pressure on the spot may be temporarily helpful, but it can only be temporary. Both vertigo and leakage from a probably infected area going to the head can only be so good, right? Why is this ‘professional’ hanging them? Doesn’t he know anything about… well, anything!? Is he even paying attention to—?

Wait, is he? To where is he looking? The giant’s head is pointed toward the floor, away from anything except for maybe a reflection of the skies. But, there’s no one above us? I don’t under—Oh, now he’s moving again, looking back to the kid. Of course, I can’t see his eyes, but they look like they’re locked with the G-kid’s. Literally. It’s a stare now.

The other tinies are murmuring again: ‘What is he doing?’, ‘What does this mean?’, and other quotes like that. Their wonders only grow louder – well, I think they do – as he then used his free hand to open a cavern on the floor next to him like a trapdoor without even looking at it. To me, it’s just an abyssal darkness, but it’s clearly not as sounds of machinery are roaring up from it: gears and belts or their digital equivalents spinning quickly. I fear where this is going.

The mysterious man reaches into the hollow, pulls out an underpad, and sets it atop the blood puddle and underneath the kid before setting them atop it and not wrapping them with it but covering them, folding it across their entire form like an uncooked crust over a pie, leaving them just a minuscule lump within washable fabric. However, before anyone can respond and stop him, like another brave soul commenting aloud, he suddenly rises, hovers his foot over them again, and brings it down with a force strong enough to dislodge some of the unexpecting and/or too-small-to-brace-themselves tinies off their living sectors to the floor. Thank goodness, I’m in this tree on this big ass hill on this distant table, or I may have ended up, well, anywhere and anything that’s not me right here like this.

The strongest stragglers that hadn’t fallen into the cavern on their drop found themselves able to trudge to the ground-level entrances of their respective dioramas, but the smallest plopped into the water and drifted into the drains and void without a voice to leave behind. As for the kid, their whole form wasn’t demolished: just the lower half. Though, if my eyes aren’t mistaking me, I’d swear it’s not even on both legs but just one instead: the troubled one. I know that amputation was a possibility to secure their livelihood, but I didn’t think one would crush it out of use. Even twisting, cutting, or pulling it off seems more ethical—Wait, what am I saying? None of that’s okay, especially without anesthetic!

Despite that, this kid was still silent, even as more blood starts soaking into the pad underneath the massive sole. Though, who knows how long that stayed true? It wasn’t much longer before they and their pad cover were both slid like a scrap of paper into the dark abyss below, leaving no trail or mess behind like they were never there. The giant then shifted his view from the hole back to the A-D setup and began walking to them like nothing happened.

As for me, my mind’s telling me to get in my shelter, maybe even try sneaking through and out of it to the outside for that’s probably a hell of a lot safer than being in here right now with this wild card. Yet, I can’t fight my urge to stay and watch. He’s here for a reason. If he’s just like—No, he’s obviously not just like them. If he’s anything like them, then he’ll probably be looking for me, and screw me for being aroused by a challenge. One more divergence from a humongous hunter shouldn’t be an issue, but if anything had to kill me, then I’d rather it be my own curiosity and free will.