'A' gripped his right arm as another throb shot through his muscles. He had just gotten out of a training session, but it wasn't the rigorous workout that had his body aching.
“It would be a shame to let all these development enhancers go to waste. After all, your doctor Clay was so nice as to have all these extras made.” he remembered Braden teasing. 'A' had been on the development enhancers ever sense he got out of the surgeries. He was too small, too weak, too frail, is what Braden had said.
'A' winced as another ache rattled down his legs. He had been growing fast and the growth pains never ceased to bug him. He had grown nearly a foot every month. Already he was 4.8 feet but Braden wanted him taller yet.
The young experiment neared the research lab, he was scheduled for a checkup for his most recent upgrade. A ventilator had been added into his neck. It regulated his oxygen intake at a rate that kept up with his heart. This allowed him to have a constant supply of stamina and he would never be winded. It was odd though, no longer breathing on his own. At first it was nearly impossible to go without subconsciously taking a breath or two, but now the ventilator did all the work for him.
Slowly he trudged through the labs and into the research sector where scientist Patterson waited patiently for him.
“Ah, Experiment 0, I was just getting everything read once I saw you coming.” He smiled, setting his tools out over his desk. 'A' raised a brow looking around the room suspiciously.
“How did you know that?/ There are no windows in here/ It is like a box.” he questioned. Although the young experiment tended shut himself up around most of the Hyperion staff, he found talking with Patterson was not so hard.
“Ah, Braden gave me this.” He showed the experiment a small screen strapped to his wrist like a watch. On it was a layout of the base, a small red dot in the lab where they both sat. “It tracks the implant in your head. He instructed me to make sure you were coming straight over after your training. It's crucial that I check your heart rate after a rigorous workout.” He immediately grabbed a stethoscope, sliding it under 'A's tank top and resting it over his chest.
'A' huffed before making sure to stand perfectly still so Patterson could get an accurate read. He watched as Patterson tapped his finger against the desk with every pump of A's heart. His eyes widened with surprise as he pulled the stethoscope away.
“T-thirty beats per minute...and that's not even your resting heart rate!” He gasped, scribbling it down on his notepad. 'A' folded his arms, anytime Patterson was amazed, 'A' immediately wondered why.
“Why are you surprised?/ I do not understand this./ What are you writing?” He tried to read over Patterson's shoulder but his writing was hardly legible. The scientist patted the surface of his desk and 'A' willingly sat. A puff of air hissed from the ventilator that rested in his neck, momentarily distracting the scientist. He grabbed a small device that resembled a wired calculator. Placing a gloved hand on A's chin, he tilted his head to better see the electronic implant. 'A' grumbled under his breath as a wire was plugged into a tiny outlet in the ventilator. The small computer in Patterson's hands began to beep as numbers and graphs flipped across the screen. When it was over, Patterson turned back to his notepad, scribbling down the information. Once that was all done, he folded his arms, letting his gaze meet A's.
“A resting heart rate measures how fast your heart beats when you are still, aren't moving, and haven't just finished a workout. Normally, in healthy people, the heart will beat anywhere from 60 to 100 times in one minute, maybe even 40 if you are extremely athletic. Yours however was 30 beats...but it wasn't even resting! That's...got to be a record or something.” He smiled, pulling a lollipop out of his pocket. “Here, i'm sure it's been a while sense you've had a treat. You deserve it.”
A's eyes widened as he reached for the grape flavored candy.
“Patterson! What are you doing?” Braden barked, causing the frightened scientist to drop the sucker. It fell to the ground with a thud, but neither 'A' or Patterson reached for it. Their eyes were on Braden as he stomped through the lab, glaring angrily at the candy.
“Seriously Patterson? A lollipop? You aren't running a clinic.” Braden snorted. He reached for the sweet and rolled it in his palm thoughtfully.
“I just...I know. It's just that we've been tough on the kid. He's been doing a great job so I figured it would be ok.” The confused scientist shrugged. By now 'A' had completely shut himself off, his features void of emotion. His shoulders slumped as he stared towards the far wall, completely ignoring Braden's existence.
“So, you want to reward him with treats for doing what he was created to do? Patterson, you can't be throwing these sugary candies at my experiment. As a scientist you should be aware of how it damages the body. We have tweaked him in such a way that he doesn't have to intake junk in order to extract energy. Food is no longer a need for him, so I would appreciate it if you stopped feeding his sweet tooth, I don't want him to relapse.” He snarled and chucked the sucker in the nearby trash can.
Patterson let out an exasperated sigh,
“Whatever you say Braden. You're the boss.”
Braden nodded contently as he patted Patterson's shoulder.
“Yes, and the boss wants those notes.” He pointed at the paper pad the scientist had been scribbling in. Patterson handed it over. As Braden read over the papers, the scientist took a moment to offer a sympathetic look to 'A', who caught the expression in his peripheral vision . The look didn't go unnoticed by Braden who rolled his eyes in disapproval.
“Experiment 0, we're done here. Come with me.” He ordered. Wordless, 'A' scooted off the table and followed Braden out of the cold lab.
Sector 0 was bustling with workers under Braden's thumb. Clap-Trap, who had decided that he had enough of his new master, sat patiently at the bottom of the stairs leading to Braden's office. The boss was currently out, and the poor robot was stressing, wondering when oh when he would be back.
“Hopefully never.” He muttered to himself, crossing his thin metal arms across his body bitterly. Suddenly, he spied a man pushing a large cart stuffed to the brim with boxes and letters of all shapes and sizes. He wheeled up to the office stairs, gave it one look and let out a long tired sigh. Clap-Trap knew this was his moment.
“Hello.” He sang cheerily, making his presence know to the exhausted worker.
“You Braden's robot?” The man asked. He grabbed a small box from the pile and read the label twice over.
“Yesiree. That is me! Trusty handy dandy Clap-Trap here. I'm definitely not battling between my personal feelings and emotions and my loyalty to the company that brought me into existence. I will gladly take that package to my new boss that I do NOT have a grudge against, what so ever.” He reached his arms out to the man who gave him a skeptical look before eyeing the long flight of stairs again.
“Uuuuuuuuuuugh.” He groaned and finally surrendered the package to the expectant robot. “I don't get paid enough for this.” He muttered, spinning his cart around and leaving the lab. Clap-Trap watched the man go before scanning the rest of the laboratory for any signs of Braden. Deciding that the coast was clear, the plum painted bot zipped passed the other workers and out of the lab completely. He wheeled his way through halls and doors until he found himself staring at an empty garage. Quickly he slipped through the side door, closing it and leaving himself in the dark.
The blue hue glowing from his eye was enough to illuminate the small box in his arms which he quickly placed on the ground in front of himself. With a grunt he ripped the line of tape off that kept the lid closed.
“Alright Tabitha, what did you send me?” He hummed, peeling back the cardboard flaps. Inside, nestled in a bed of newspaper shreds, was an ECHO, a note and what appeared to be a tiny disco ball dash ornament.
“OH HECK YEAH!” Clap-Trap exclaimed. He immediately grabbed the small glass ball and tied it to the top of his antennae. “Super ultra party bot is aliiiiiiiiiiiiiive!!” He yelled victoriously, fist pumping the air. After a quick celebratory jig, he returned back to the box and grabbed the note.
“Clap-Trap, please follow these to the T.” It was a list of very thorough instructions that the purple robot obediently followed...as well as he could anyways.
After a week of traveling as a stow away in the back of a Hyperion rocket, Clap-Trap finally toppled out of the storage compartment and onto the rocky surface of a distant planet. Taped to his head was the cardboard box containing the ECHO and his very important list of instructions in which he was supposed to follow exactly. So far, he figured he was doing a pretty good job.
“Step one, go to a neighboring planet.” He read aloud. He wasn't sure what exactly Tabitha had meant by that, but he figured as long as he was in the same galaxy, than this planet could be considered neighboring.
“Step two, find a bounty board.” This he figured would be the trickiest part. The rocket he had traveled in had made an emergency landing in a remote part of this floating space rock, and the small robot wasn't exactly sure where a bounty board would be. However, he was determined to complete his mission and wheeled off in no specific direction.
The lumpy terrain was difficult to navigate, but somehow he managed to find himself near what looked to be an old out post of sorts. An age rusted sign hung crooked from a thick metal pole. The wind swept tiny grains of grey sand against it, sounding almost like rain. If words had ever been painted onto the sign, they were long faded off, leaving nothing but a peeling shade of white. The sign was positioned near a small dinky building with metal panels screwed onto it, it was the epitome of patch work. The only other thing left at the abandoned building was a poster board with old machinery that was no longer usable.
The small robot scooted over to the worn board, finding an old flier glued to it. It was a tattered old thing from years ago, most of the information worn away by the air born sand.
“How convenient!” Clap-Trap sang, “This must be a bounty board.” Having decided that this was in fact what he had been sent to find, he removed the box from atop his head. The ECHO was retrieved from inside and placed on a rusty old nail hanging from the board. Tabitha had taped a letter to the ECHO and instructed Clap-Trap not to remove it under any circumstances. Surprisingly he had obeyed, and the note clung to the ECHO still.
“Great job Clap-Trap, you are the smartest most important AI ever to grace the solar system. What would the human race do without me?” He sang. He scooped the box off the ground and taped it back to his head before pulling out his highly detailed list of instruction.
“Step three, return to base and wait for someone to call on the ECHO.” Before Clap-Trap had a chance to complain about his long trek back through the rocky landscape, a rattling roar echoed out over the stoney dunes. Sand shivered and bounced over the ground and the poor robot lost his balance, stumbling onto his side. Suddenly there was a bright orange glow out in the distance, and Clap-Trap watched in dismay as the rocket returned to the sky...without him.
“Oh crap.”
Purple...there was just so. Much. Purple. Clay didn't think he could stand to see another vat of Slag, but here he was, filling syringes with the purple liquid. Nygard, his rather eccentric new manager, seemed completely thrilled as he poured the purple goo into the empty needles. He had even made up a song game of sorts where he would sing exactly what he was doing to the tune of something he had heard on the radio but couldn't remember the exact words to. Clay was sure he was losing his mind.
“Nygard...” he began, setting down what had to be his millionth syringe. His manager stopped his singing momentarily, waiting for him to continue. “Why are we filling these up? Isn't this the job of the under scientists? I'm supposed to be testing Slag effects on pregnant Skaggs, not filling vials.” He grumbled, grabbing an empty needle.
“Nah, we're bored with those Skaggs now. We gave them to the under scientist's to practice their Slag work on.” Nygard shrugged.
“Wait...what?” Clay snorted, his hands stopped the repetitive motion of filling syringes. “So...the under workers are doing my job and now I'm doing their job? What is happening here?” He had been growing more and more frustrated with the Eridium project he found himself working in and had been trying desperately to get out. However, just as soon as he thought he had it all figured out and he could start to plan an escape, they would change up his schedule, swap his work and sometimes completely move his bedroom, it was maddening. “AND WHY DO WE NEED A MILLION OF THESE!?” He finally snapped, smashing one of the syringes on the ground. Nygard watched the purple liquid ooze onto the floor, a puff of violet smoke wafting from it. His lips turned up as he threw his head back and cackled manically.
“Oh god Clay you are just so freaking wild!” His voice was loud and irritating and Clay wished he would be quiet.
“Can't you just answer my question? I feel like I'm living in a mad house!” He could feel his brows twitching in irritation. Everything was slowly getting to him, all the purple, all the switching, the shrill pitch of his manager, he was beginning to wonder if maybe those puffs of smoke from the Slag had a negative effect on his psyche. His head slumped over and smacked the table roughly as he let out a long sigh, maybe he just needed a nap. Nygard fell quiet, making no comment to his employee quitting work right in front of him. Clay would have fallen asleep too, if the sudden prick of a needle against his arm didn't send him rocketing out of his chair.
“NYGARD!” He shrieked, backing away from the table. His manager held a half filled Slag syringe stretched out across the table, the tiniest drop of crimson bubbled at the needles tip. Clay looked to his arm where a speck of blood had seeped from a micro hole in his skin. “W-what the heck...were you going to inject that in me!?” His face was horror stricken, perhaps the Slag fumes were getting to his manager as well.
Nygard let a sly smile spread over his face, snickering aloud.
“Aw come on Clay, aren't you the teeniest bit curious to see how Slag could effect the human body?” Clay was quiet, his hand clasped tightly over where he had been pricked.
“N-not on myself!” He yelled, furrowing his brows together. Nygard let the syringe roll onto the table, a subtle sigh slipped from him.
“I just can't contain it any longer. Ever sense I heard about the new experiments they want us to do...I can't keep the excitement at bay. I want to get started immediately!” He threw his head back and frowned at the ceiling, his legs kicked out in front of him.
“New...experiments?” Clay raised a brow, finally it sounded like he would get answers to the whole job switch up. Nygard all at once leapt out of his chair, an air of excitement resting on his features. He grabbed up one of the Slag syringes and waved it in the air.
“Finally! After all this time we are going to be performing some real ground breaking experiments.” He stepped across the other side of the table, looping his arm over Clay's shoulder. Clay shrunk under his touch but couldn't seem to slip away. He watched the needle in the other mans hand carefully.
“Is that so?” He urged his manager on.
“Yes! All these other experiments on Skaggs, Stalkers, Spider-Ants and other animals have all just been practice. Practice for the real thing.” He eyed Clay. The younger scientist swallowed a gulp, a feeling of dread rose in the pit of his stomach.
“What is..the uh, real thing exactly?” He dared to ask. Nygard roughly yanked Clay's shoulder and spun him into the wall. Clay wanted to hiss in pain but let out a startled yelp instead when Nygard slammed an arm next to Clay's head, trapping him in the corner.
“Humans, duh.” He answered, that same snake like grin slipping across his face. Clay wasn't sure if he was horrified or angry, but either way he was far from comfortable and happy.
“Humans!?” He raised a brow. “Now hold on, I never said I would perform Slag experiments on humans.” Clay put his foot down. There were a lot of things he regretted being a part of in Hyperion, but this was where he'd draw the line.
A quiver rattled down his spine as Nygard's smile slipped away, replaced with an irritated scowl. He drew his other arm around, wielding the syringe. The needle was brought to Clay's neck, the sharp tip pressed gently against his skin. He wanted to swallow the sudden fear rising in his throat, but he knew a single movement would cause the needle to puncture his skin.
“You don't really have a choice, now do you? The human Slag experiments will happen whether you like them or not. And you can either perform an experiment....or become one.”
Authors: Well...that was different than I expected...
Clap-Trap: You left me stranded!!
Author: Hey now, that was entirely your own fault.
Clap-Trap: Because I'm totally the one who wrote this.
Author: Don't break the 4th wall, it's unbecoming of a young robot.
Clap-Trap: You can no longer blame me for your mistakes!!!!
ns 15.158.61.23da2
