AnnouncementContent warning:
SpoilerViotion of bodily autonomy, assault
[colpse]I don't know whether that does you any good,but there's something out there.
Whatever it is, it hasn’t tried to hurt me, yet. It hasn’t done much that wasn’t a reaction to me. Taking the lighter out was dumb. Habitually finishing the motion I’d already started, before noticing, or thinking. Thankfully it hasn’t decided to gut me, or whatever it can do.
Why did I think that!?
I don’t want it to do something like that at all! I hope it’s just a friendly dodecapus, or however many limbs it has. Jesus, there’s gotta be at least 30.
The strange creature moves forward, slowly, holding a few tendrils up. Interweaving, the digits forma sort of crude hand, mirroring one of mine that was held up to show that I’m unarmed. I certainly hope it doesn’t fucking disarm me or something. I hold back a smirk at my dumb inside joke.
Stepping forward, I crouch slightly to better match its height. The tendril-hand a foot away. Six inches. We touch. Palm to palm, in a way.
This creature is incredible.
The armor ptes move across each other with no specific mechanism, occasionally lining up and moving like they’re connected. Its tendrils are warm, though just a little cooler than my hands. Smooth and soft, its skin softly shifts colors while I wonder at the differing forms of its limbs. Some seem to be grabbing, holding, or maniputing objects. Others are hairlike - small, thin, of mysterious use. Are those… cws? A few tendrils end with polished edges.
The ptes covering the creature slide across each other, opening up more of the body underneath. The finger tendrils intertwine with my own, lightly gripping my hand. I return the gesture, almost by instinct. I’m sure I have no way of knowing, but it looks back at me in a way that feels like… pity? Sorrow, almost? Something feels off, I- I can’t feel my hand.
Trying to back away, I’m stopped by several tendrils gripping my other shoulder. I try to pull my hand out, but it grapples onto me, worming its way up my shoulders and onto my back in moments. Like a terrifying backpack. I feel a strange tingling sensation on my back and the base of my neck, and stumble back into the closed door. It’s unfazed by the turbulence, holding itself into a fixed position on me the whole time. I look at my hand as the tentacles pull off and it pins back my arms with a surprising strength. A sixth tendril, small, with a stinger at its end, pulls out of my palm.
Crouching down, I panic and try to do anything. The pain isn’t there, the sensations of touch are gone, but I can feel in my muscles as something shoves into my back, between my shoulder bdes. Oh fuck. Oh god. It’s gonna- fuck shit fuck god it’s gonna fucking kill me it’s
Wait.
No, this is worse. I can tell, I can’t really feel it but I can fucking tell it’s so much worse. My muscles are moving wrong, I can’t shift around because it’s in me. It’s in my neck, moving up to my head. A building pressure at the base of my skull, motion where it shouldn’t be. I feel the tendrils move further inside.
No. nonono. No no this can’t be happening
NO
I reject it I reject this I cannot be here I cannot accept what is happening I’m not here I’m just no no no no no NO NO FUCK
NO NO NO
No
NO NO NO no no
No
N-
Calm down
No
Calm down.
No
Yes
What
Calm down
HOW
Calm down
IS IT-! WHAT?
Calm down
IT’S. IN. MY. HEAD.
Yes
IT’S TALKING TO ME IN MY HEAD.
Yes
‘Yes’ ‘No’ ‘Calm down’ is that all you can… can- say?!
No
I asked for that
They were taking their time.
“Taking? Their? Time?” I mumble to myself, slurring from dizziness. The entire inside of my head itches.
“Ahh, it may work better this way. Taking time- being… care full? For your safety.”
“Oh! Like you don’t want to- to hurt me!?” I raise my voice.
Wait, I'm talking… We’re talking out loud now. We!? It’s making me talk to myself.
“One does not want to hurt you. One is… oh. Wow.”
“Oh wow? Oh wow what?”
“Apologies, your mind is quite incredible.”
Now I’m fucking blushing. There’s an alien on my back sticking its tentacles into my goddamn brain, and I’m blushing at its compliments. I make the mistake of trying to stand back up. Still very dizzy.
“Oh that feels strange. One is trying to stay out. Of surface thoughts and emotions. Perhaps comments should be held until we are better… established? Understood?”
A tinge of disappointment hits me, for some reason, but I’m starting to feel a thin mental barrier. “What do you want?” I almost start to yell, in panic, “why are you doing this?!”
“They can not… one cannot vocalize. In this way.”
“One… you can’t talk?”
“Correct. This is how we must speak for now.”
Still slurred and dizzy, I ask, “why are you speaking weird? No. Wait, I know.” It’s some sort of quirk of transtion. Like the concepts they’re communicating with are getting approximated on the other side. I didn’t even think through this, I just know it now. I knew this was an alien, extraterrestrial, or whatever. I had assumed- I thought I had made an assumption -but, I simply know it.
“Yes. you will know things without learning. We are trying to help, but we have to find somewhere safe. To analyze speech.”
Why do they need to analyze speech?
“Our words are crude. Poorly filtered through your mind to let us speak. One wants more tools. To expin. One is sorry. To our knowledge, we are…” My mind snaps away from me a bit more. For a moment it’s like I’m experiencing a fast mental vocabury test. A brief burst of concepts, ideas, and the words associated with them. “We are a unique species in the universe.”
Sure. Alien in my brain. Take it home and teach it english. “Okay. Let’s go downstairs to my apartment.”
---
FC: Umbral Cascade is enjoying a new mind to explore
FC gets cheeky when Cascade is in control. Maybe they get a feeling of power when authorizing the primary terrace to operate. Technically they can’t really control us, but given the deal, we had no pns to break the rules. We haven’t had the pleasure of extensive interaction, but Field Command isn’t unsympathetic to one’s plight. Maybe they see Cascade as closer to a peer. The Wayward terrace, partitioned off to run the boring parts of the mission, can be overly droning and pragmatic. FC is, perhaps, too rexed about the subject.
WW: Field Command should know, and note, that new minds are considered a strong draw for volunteer scouts. The draw is not lost on us.
The Wayward terrace winces at both the drama and the poor comms discipline. Perhaps they were grown too by the book. One’s own fault, then.
We quietly observe the human while they open the door. The tool they are using consists of small, rigid wires. Wayward suggests it is a strange method of securing an entryway, but one overrides. It’s clearly not the intended operation of the mechanism.
They speak again, “Woahhh. I can’t tell exactly what you’re thinking, but I think I can feel your thoughts.”
“This is expected,” one responds, “it is the nature of the connection.”
The human’s mind wraps around itself with this information. A complex set of thoughts, inscrutable without more experience and familiarity. Previous words are considered.
“Um, the lock- the mechanism that secures the door. The one to the roof isn’t very good. I can bypass it easily.”
The human begins walking 'downstairs' - “What is downstairs?” We ask.
A response is unnecessary, the idea is clear upon their psyche once the question has been asked. It looks like they’re trying to help, or at least doing so subconsciously. “I live here… it’s my home.”
Walking down the stairs, the human grabs another little metal trinket from the ring they used earlier. After descending a bit more than one human’s height, they slide the trinket into another lock, turning it, then turning a knob until it swings open. Quickly entering and dexterously closing the door, they re-secure it and remove a few items from their possession. Their familiarity with this locale is clear. Muscle memory is strong here.
FC: local topographical scans are done, feeding information. This is a combined dwelling with 20 humans residing. Try not to catch the attention of any more of them.
Cheeky again - we know the breach will have to be managed directly if any more humans notice our presence. FC doesn’t want to have to run support for that as much as one doesn’t want to do it.
It’s cramped in here. This dwelling is smaller than the holding unit the handlers put one in, after being apprehended. This seems off. Humans are twice the size of Corda, at least. Shouldn’t they have more space to themselves?
The human frowns, expressing an emotional response to anger, disappointment, or frustration. One finds it fitting until they comment, “Woah. Are you the one frowning right now?” They ask further, “Are you, uh, okay?” A little too much control. Reposition some connections and try to rex.
“...we should sit,” one suggests.
The human pces themself down on one of the rger pieces of furniture, ying down instead of just sitting. One shifts into a more appropriate position, though they had already accommodated for our presence.
One warns them, “this will be intense. We are sorry. One will try not to pry.” A long moment ter, the human nods.
“Okay.”
---
As I y down, the armor ptes shift and click. The invertebrate on my back repositions, always careful not to jostle my nervous system. I hold a thought close. I tell myself, ‘Lay, this is a lot worse than a brain worm.’
I believe what it ‘says’, too. I can feel its sincerity. It broadcasts intentions with every sentence. It wants an ally, a diplomatic connection.
It doesn’t use nguage in the same way as me. Like how some people will think with images, others will think with sounds, but not everyone thinks with both. This is simir but it seems to be in a more essential way. It pns to learn my nguage directly from my frontal lobe. It’s already talking through my nguage center. I think it might also have us both connected to a computer, or it’s speeding up my mind, or maybe I'm just full of adrenaline and have a bunch of alien tentacles wrapped around my spinal cord and tickling my cerebrum.
I think she might be giving me drugs, too. Or we’re just sharing brain chemistry? Something. It’s more than just the edible I took, I feel WAY more calm than-
“This will be intense. We are sorry. One will try not to pry.”
Oh, she’s- I mean- they are going to start reading my frontal lobe like a book. It uses ‘they’ for itself, so I’ll follow that. Alien pronouns…
They’re waiting. They don’t want to do this. They seem convinced that this is the best way, somehow. Outright viotion of consent and bodily autonomy like they’ve done- they’re incredibly uncomfortable with these actions. They want to expin themself.
Strangely, despite the violence. Despite the pain. Even given the severe physical harm I’m pretty sure I’ve suffered - this connection? It’s comforting.
“Okay.” I speak as I push consent into the membrane between our minds. The resistance disappears and I feel them reach in.
My thoughts go out of control. I can barely concentrate by my own will. I’m being used like a tool, a living reference book for human nguage and perception. Concepts expined, then recorded somewhere on their end. It’s all in my head but it is definitely real. I have no way to know the amount of time passing while I fade into my edible and they write a new Rosetta stone straight from my brain.
Rosetta stone, a big, old rock sb with the same thing written upon it in different nguages. Used to transte nguage.
“Oh good, you speak a dominant nguage.” Cascade is talking to themself through my own mouth.
I feel them sending a message to their commanding officer. Somehow I feel a little disappointed to not have their undivided attention.
Even as my mind is being rifled through like a speedreader with an encyclopedia, I'm feeling weirdly comfortable. I should be horrified. Terrified for my own safety. Instead, they're here, with me. It's relieving. I can feel the care they're taking. Like a parent cradling the head of their child. Head on a pillow, ying on the couch. I start to fall asleep.
ViolentR
