Alive

The first thought that entered their head upon awaking was how dreadfully quiet the world was. There was a stillness that permeated the air, leaving it stagnant and cold. They attempted to move themself, but found whatever body they might have unresponsive. They laid there frozen in place with shut eyes, enveloped by the darkness of the world around them. It was familiar.

That didn't make it better.

Eventually a sound broke through their silent coffin. A voice, carrying a sense of authority and exhaustion, but a welcome change from the monotony that had been their waking moments to this point.

"Day number… 13 of testing. If I don't get a response today I'm pulling the plug."

The voice vanished as soon as it came, and they found themself left in perpetual silence once more. They considered thinking on the words the voice had said, but found that all of their attempts to gather their thoughts failed.

Then the voice returned.

"If you can hear me, please respond. Anything you can do to prove you're alive would help."

They attempted to speak in response, unsure if they even had a mouth. Nothing came out.

"…Still nothing."

The voice sighed, a sense of heavy disappointment present.

"I guess that's it then. Achebe, you can pull the plug-"

Suddenly, their silent screaming took proper form. A new voice filled the silence, screaming out with the desire to exist. It was raw, primal, and terrifyingly new. It was a scream that said "I exist."

"That's a response! We got a response! Please, if you can hear me, give me another response of some kind."

The screaming continued, unable to form itself into proper words.

"Alright, alright. Thank you. You can stop the yelling now."

They stopped, but silence did not return. Instead they heard excited conversation from somewhere else, two voices exchanging information that they couldn't hope to begin to understand. Their mind was still foggy at best, returning nothing close to coherent thought.

"Next step, are you able to speak?"

Were they able to speak? They attempted to respond with something coherent, but the only sound that escaped their lips were a series of pained grunts and moans.

"Understood, understood. We won't push you any further today. The fact that you've responded at all is good enough for today. Thank you for that. We'll check in again tomorrow, please rest up until then."

And as suddenly as it came, the voice was gone. They were left once again in silence. It was familiar.

That didn't make it better.

The voice returned eventually. They weren't sure when "eventually" was, but the idea of someone else existing excited them.

"Good morning, we're going to try a few quick, simple tests today. The first one is easy, all you need to do is give me an indication that you understand. Can you do that?"

"Okay."

Okay. The sound echoed around them. It was an unfamiliar voice, a surprisingly gentle tenor that buzzed in their brain. It was their voice.

"Excellent, and much clearer than expected. Well done. Next step, do you recall your name?"

"Name?"

"Your name. It's the thing people call you… do you remember it?"

The endless static that had filled their head since first waking up had begun to clear in the time since their last conversation with the voice. Thoughts were beginning to form. Simple ones, knowledge of extremely basic actions and words, but enough to respond to equally simple prompts such as this. They searched that limited knowledge and found an answer.

"Cyril."

The response was confident. They were Cyril.

"Cyril, good. Your mind appears at least partially intact. That will make everything so much easier. Cyril, what else can you think of right now?"

While the static had begun clearing, their mind was still little more than fog. Whatever other memories they were supposed to have, Cyril couldn't find them.

"No."

"No?" The voice responded, confused.

"No."

There were no other words yet.

"Alright, no it is. Thank you. I won't pressure you for anything else today, this was already far more successful than I expected. Thank you for your time, we'll check back in tomorrow."

And the voice was gone. This time, the familiar silence wasn't allowed to return. Cyril spoke, repeating the three simple words they had been able to speak already. As time went on, those words developed into sentences. As the sentences flowed, the thoughts began to develop bit by bit. Cyril babbled happily, serving as their own company.

"I have to say I'm surprised. I wasn't expecting you to be awake when I got here this morning, let alone this chatty."

"I have been practicing."

The voice seemed to regard Cyril with pride, so Cyril responded in kind. They had been practicing, and overtime had found themself to be a good conversationalist. In the time since the voice's last visit, they had discussed a variety of topics with themself from their name to the weather.

"Well there's no need to rush any of this, Cyril. We'll take as long as we need."

"To do what?"

"To do…"

The voice was quiet for a moment.

"…To see if you're ready to get back to work. We'll get there in time, I promise. For today, I want to focus more on you getting a feel for your body. Have you been able to move yet?"

"No, I do not know what to try to do."

"We'll start with hands. Focus on your hands."

Cyril tried to follow the order, trying to feel out to anything beyond their mind and mouth. Eventually they found it- two extremities that existed in a space far from their mind. They were odd lumps, with five slender tubes attached. With great focus, they found that they could wiggle these tubes around and feel with them. They were cold, but Cyril's mind raced at the prospect of something more existing.

"Cyril?"

"I have hands."

"Excellent. I'm so proud to hear that."

"Do you have hands?"

"Everyone has hands, Cyril. Now focus please. Try your feet."

Cyril did the same as before, focusing their energy out beyond the known world. Eventually these 'feet' were found, and a few moments later they too were responsive. Cyril laughed, feeling the sensation of cold existing somewhere else.

"I have feet."

"Can you stand?"

Cyril moved their hands and feet about aimlessly, never making contact with anything else that might exist around them.

"No, I cannot. I am sorry."

"It's fine, Cyril. Little steps."

"What is your name?"

"Me?" The voice responded, surprised, "My name is Dr. Andrea Parker."

"Dr. Andrea Parker. Your name is longer than mine," Cyril said, a hint of disappointment in their voice.

"Is that a bad thing? We can make your name longer if that's something you want, but-"

"No, I am okay. My name is short but it is me. It feels… important."

Cyril paused for a moment, something flashing in their head. It felt almost like an image, but they couldn't quite make out the details. It had punched them in the stomach, whatever that was, and sent them collapsing to the ground. As soon as it came it was gone, leaving them with the scent of iron and smoke in their nose.

"…Cyril?"

"Why does it feel important?"

Dr. Parker didn't respond at first, going quiet for several moments. When she returned her tone had shifted, becoming colder and more distant.

"Your name is just how you're ID'd, that's all. There's nothing more to it. Everyone has a name, after all. It's how we tell people apart."

"Oh."

"I think I'm going to go ahead and end our session here for today. We can speak again soon."

Cyril had continued to find ways to entertain themself while Dr. Parker was away. Following their last meeting, Cyril had taken the time to figure out what other parts of their body beyond their hands and feet existed. After some effort figuring out how said hands work, they used them to learn that they also had a neck, chest, arms, legs… there was so much there that they had never realized, and it was all them! This idea of existing had started to take on actual meaning in their head, and something within their chest pounded at the prospect.

Interspersed between those realizations, however, came flashes of sensations and images. The scent of iron and smoke followed in turn by the pounding in their chest growing faster and erratic. It left them feeling ill, something in their stomach twisting up and causing them to double over in pain. The pain was felt in other places in their body as well, as these images were often accompanied by a sharp, painful sensation in their left thigh. Through all of these moments they continued to try to open their eyes, hoping that in doing so they'd understand what these images and pains meant. Their world remained dark in spite of these efforts. Part of them was terrified to find out what they'd see if they had been successful.

"Cyril?"

A new voice. Cyril perked up, thrilled at the prospect that something else was out there once more.

"Yes! I am here."

"Wonderful!"

The new voice was bright and feminine, carrying a peppy energy that contrasted against Dr. Parker's more controlled tone.

"Who are you? Dr. Parker says everyone has a name." Cyril asked.

"My name is Dr. Amy Hopewell. I'm here to talk with you and about you, however you want to approach it."

"You do not want to test me?"

"No, no, of course not, sweetie. My job here is to get an idea of how you're doing mentally and emotionally. If you're feeling any sort of way or simply need to talk through something, that's what I'm here to help with. Make sense?"

"I suppose so."

"Good! Now, Cyril, can you tell me a bit about how you're feeling right now?"

Cyril took a moment to run their hands over their body, creating as close of a mental image of themself as they could. Their fingers stopped on their left thigh. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, but the phantom burn of the pain that had been visiting them remained etched in their mind.

"Cyril? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I am. I need something explained to me."

"Shoot."

"What is a memory?"

Dr. Hopewell hummed to herself for a moment before responding.

"A memory is a recollection of a past event, something that happened to you."

"Can a memory hurt?"

"Oh yes, they can. Memories can leave you feeling all kinds of things. They can leave you hurt, sad, feeling broken… but they can be happy, too. The past is a complicated thing, Cyril, and humans are complicated creatures."

Human. The word buzzed around Cyril's head. Dr. Hopewell seemed to not notice their silence.

"Why do you ask, Cyril?"

"I get what I think are memories. Flashes of images but mostly smells and pain. Pain in my stomach and pain in my leg."

"Oh? What kinds of images do you see?"

"It is hard to say for sure. They flash by too fast."

"How much are you remembering, overall? You've been awake now for about four days or so, do you remember anything specific before that?"

Cyril shook their head.

"No, nothing. It is a blank. Is that wrong? Am I a bad human for that?"

"Not at all, sweetheart. It just means it'll take more time for you to get them back, that's all. It'll all come back in due time. Is that something you're worried about?"

"Yes."

"Well let's do this then. When you remember something important, take some time to reflect on it. Look at as many details as you can. Think about the things you see, what it leaves you feeling, details like those. With enough focus on the things you do remember, more memories will come. Do you think that's something you can do?"

"Yes, it is," Cyril said, nodding.

"Good, very good! You're already doing so well, Cyril. How about this then, I'm going to leave you to that exercise, and when we next meet back up I want you to try and tell me at least one new memory you have."

"What if I cannot?"

"Then it's alright," Dr. Hopewell said, a small laugh in her voice, "I won't punish you or anything. There's no failing here, and by that I mean if you don't do your homework I'm not going to yell at you for it. We'll just discuss what we can, whatever it may be. Alright?"

"Alright."

Over time, Cyril grew to realize they were a poor conversationalist.

In the downtime between visits from Dr. Parker or Dr. Hopewell, they had themself for company. When they'd first awoken that was fine, welcome even. It was time to practice existing, and figuring out whatever that was supposed to mean. Now, however, they found their voice grating. The silence was far too loud though, so they were left with no happy medium. They continued to talk to themself. They found they could talk for hours with the right topic. The problem was that the topic that interested them the most also brought back those horrible flashes of memory that twisted their stomach and left them ill.

Why then, did they know so much about military tactics? Why did that topic fascinate them so much if it also brought them so much pain?

They tried to heed Dr. Hopewell's advice and focus on the memory. They tried to take in the details, tried to take in the feelings.

The feelings.

Every time the memory popped up once again they were left hyperventilating. The doubled over, their body tense and refusing to uncurl. When this happened they prayed that Dr. Parker or Dr. Hopewell wouldn't speak. The last thing they wanted was someone to see them like this.

When these moments happened, Cyril did find themself grateful for one thing. Their eyes would not open.

"Cyril? Are you ready for some new tests?" Dr. Parker's voice called out. Cyril tried to steady their breathing.

"Shit!" They cried out as they attempted to uncurl themself.

"Woah, learning new words I see?"

"S-sorry. Just, uh… wasn't paying attention. That's all."

"Didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to run a few physical diagnostic tests on you. There's only one thing that I'll need you to try to do for me later, but I'll let you know when. Just hold still, alright?"

"Yeah, ok. Gotcha. …Hey, Dr. Parker?"

"Hm?"

"I exist."

"Of course you do. I wouldn't be talking with you if you didn't."

"No, I mean, I exist. For real. I have hands and feet, arms and legs, I realized it all a few days ago. I never got the chance to share that with you. I'm… real. A real thing."

"Don't get too carried away now," she replied. Her tone had shifted once again, growing cold. "That's not all that special, anyway. I'm real after all, so is Dr. Hopewell and my assistant Zuri. There's a lot of real stuff in this world."

Cyril felt themself deflate, the prior pride leaving their chest.

"…There," Dr. Parker continued, "Diagnostic scans all done, and everything appears as expected. You should be finding your memories returning to you soon, though it looks like the most important information is already there-"

"How do you know all that?"

Cyril's question hung in the air for a moment. Dr. Parker gave an uncomfortable laugh.

"Diagnostic scanning, Cyril. It lets me know what's going on in your brain. Not your thoughts or anything like that, but it lets me know how things are developing up there."

"Oh."

"What? Did you think I was doing something weird?"

Cyril shook their head. "No, I didn't."

"You've got nothing to worry about, Cyril. Now, the thing you can do for me. I need you to try opening your eyes. Any progress there?"

They were quiet in response. Thinking. At this point they had well established the concept of eyes and what they were for, it wasn't foreign. On all accounts Cyril knew exactly what to do. Vision and seeing, however, were trickier concepts. If they had been able to "open their eyes", they aren't sure they'd be able to even tell if they had succeeded. Despite their best efforts their eyes would not open, no matter how hard they tried. Perhaps it was better this way.

"No luck yet, huh?" Dr. Parker said, breaking the silence. "I suppose that's fine, but I hope we can overcome this roadblock soon enough. We need to get you back in service ASAP. Try to figure out what's holding you back here, alright?"

"Alright, I can do that."

And with that, Dr. Parker was gone once more. For the first time, Cyril felt relieved to be alone.

Cyril had never dreamt before, not that they could remember. Though at the same time they weren't certain they'd ever slept before either. Some time after Dr. Parker had last left them, they had fallen into a deep sleep. With that sleep came dreams. Vivid dreams that followed them into the waking world after. They started as simple flashing images, not unlike those that had been plaguing them for the past few days. In time though they transition from images to events, and these were what stuck with Cyril.

Cyril's first dream began with them entering a house. They were greeted at the front door by a little girl, no older than 4 or 5 years old. They felt this pang of familiarity followed by a deep sense of melancholy, and found themself wrapping the child in a tight embrace. The hug was broken by someone patting their head, and they looked up to see the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. Now it was true that they couldn't claim to have seen any women before, but if they had they knew that none would compare to her. Her hair was tied back into a messy bun with stray hairs poking out here and there that she had long decided weren't worth fixing. Her eyes were tired with dark circles beneath, but above all else she wore a bright and sincere smile on her face.

She was truly beautiful.

Cyril looked up to her, and without thinking simply said "I'm home."

The moment didn't last. As soon as the dream had begun, Cyril was thrust into a new one. The all too familiar scent of iron and smoke filled the air. Beside them a man breathed heavily, clutching a rifle close to his chest with his eyes tightly shut.

"Hey," Cyril said with firm determination. The man didn't respond. Cyril grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. "Hey, wake the FUCK up."

The man's eyes shot open, bewildered. He looked to Cyril with his mouth slightly agape as if he wanted to speak. Cyril didn't afford him the chance.

"You can't live with your eyes shut, Morris. If you do, someone is going to get fucking killed, and that person will very likely be you. Am I understood?"

Morris nodded, taking a gulping breath.

"Breathe. That's it, in and out."

Cyril's attempts at calming Morris down were quickly interrupted by thundering steps from behind. Morris began to shut down once again, but Cyril placed a hand on their shoulder once more. This time they simply gave it a firm grip.

"We'll be fine."

Cyril rose to their feet and turned to face their opponent. At the end of the hall stood a massive reptilian beast with a myriad of hateful eyes staring them down. It bellowed something incomprehensible before rushing down the hall, its massive claws screaming against the metal of the walls and floor. Cyril readied their gun and gave a quick look to Morris. Morris was frozen in place, gun aimed towards the floor as he looked to the creature with wide, horrified eyes.

"Morris. MORRIS WAKE THE FUCK UP."

Cyril's shouts fell onto deaf ears. Morris was well and truly aware of the danger, everything in his head had to have been screaming to move or do something to escape, but his body remained in place. So Cyril acted. As the beast bore down on the both of them, Cyril launched himself at Morris and knocked him aside. The sound of gunfire rang through the air, and Cyril felt a burning pain in their left thigh. The beast grabbed them in its jaws and began its work crushing their body. The last thing they saw was Morris's back as he fled.

Cyril smiled.

"Are dreams real?"

Cyril's question hung in the air between him and Dr. Hopewell. She seemed to think for a moment, preparing her response.

"No," she finally said, "But they can reflect our reality."

"I don't get it."

"It's like… a mirror," she said, clearly somewhat uncertain about her own comparison. "Dreams reflect back to you what you've seen and experienced. The reflection itself isn't necessarily a 'real' thing, you can't interact with the person in the mirror, but it still shows you something about your reality. Now imagine a mirror that's been warped somehow."

"…Okay?"

"You can't see the reflection as well. It's been distorted. It still reflects reality, but now that reality is less perfect. …Does all that make sense?"

Cyril shrugged. "I guess so? What you're saying is they aren't real, but they are made of things that are real? I think?"

The sound of Dr. Hopewell clapping her hands together echoed. "Yes, that's it exactly! Now, I am wondering why you asked me all that. Is something wrong?"

"No, it's…" Cyril felt their heart beat a bit faster, "No, something is definitely wrong. I had these dreams last night."

"Tell me about them."

Cyril recounted their dreams to Dr. Hopewell, sparing no details. As they spoke their heart beat faster and faster, the knot in their stomach growing worse. Eventually they asked the question that had been on their mind since the beginning.

"Doc, am I dead?"

Dr. Hopewell was quiet for far too long.

"Doc, please. Say something."

"No, sweetie, of course not. If you were dead how could we be talking right now?"

There was a smile in her voice. A plastic smile that felt practiced and empty.

"Where am I right now, doc?"

"What do you mean?"

"Since I woke up I've been hearing you and Dr. Parker's voices, but that's it. I don't see anything, I don't hear your footsteps, I don't… feel anything other than the fact that it's cold. Where am I?"

Dr. Hopewell sighed.

"Open your eyes, Cyril."

Cyril's heart pounded in their chest. "I can't."

"Please, Cyril. It will all make sense if you do."

"I. Can't. I've tried. I just can't do it."

"You can't do it, or you won't do it?"

"I…"

"You know you need to. You can't live with your eyes shut, Cyril."

Her words echoed in Cyril's head. They were familiar.

That didn't make them better.

Cyril attempted to protest, continue fighting against the idea. Deep down they knew what had to be done. They took a deep breath and opened their eyes.

"What do you see?"

Cyril looked around, trying to make sense of the "world" around them. It was largely devoid of real color, just the same shade of darkness with vague shimmering blue every so often. It was empty. Empty aside from them.

"I don't see anything."

"That's alright. I would be surprised if you did."

"Doc, where am I? What is this place supposed to be?"

"Baby steps, sweetie. We don't want to take in too much at once. Try walking around a bit and get your bearings."

Cyril rose to their feet, their skin making contact with nothing in particular. They were floating, yet standing at the same time. Whatever it was that they were standing on was smooth and cold against their feet. They wiggled their toes for a moment, trying to remind themself that they existed. They were real.

"There's nothing here. It's just the same everywhere I look."

"Try walking towards my voice, then."

The suggestion felt odd at first. Cyril had never really noticed Dr. Hopewell's voice coming from anywhere in particular. It was just there, always had been. Now that they focused on it, however, they could hear that it was coming from somewhere ahead of them. So they followed it, driving their feet forward step by step against an invisible floor. Dr. Hopewell continued to speak as they walked, simple affirmations to keep Cyril moving forward towards the destination. When they arrived they were met with something tall and reflective. They immediately averted their eyes.

"Is everything going ok, Hopewell?"

Dr. Parker's voice.

"Almost done. They've opened their eyes and started walking. We're at the final step."

"What's going on?" Cyril asked. Their question fell on deaf ears.

"Good," Dr. Parker continued, "We get to avoid another one going to the Graveyard after all. It was getting close there for a minute. Cyril, can you hear me?"

"The better question is can you hear me? You all keep talking to me and not with me. I just want a straight answer already."

"Will you just-"

Dr. Parker was cut off by Dr. Hopewell.

"You should see a mirror in front of you, sweetie. Am I correct?"

Cyril continued to look everywhere except at the reflective object before them. The very thought of it made their blood run cold.

"Cyril," Dr. Parker's voice came, stern, "You need to look into it. It will answer all those questions you have."

Cyril took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to steady their hands. After a moment they raised their eyes and looked into the reflective object, the sick feeling swirling through their stomach up into their chest. They sputtered for a moment, trying to find the words to respond to what they saw.

"Hey doc, not trying to concern you but… I think there's something wrong with my face."

They gave a slight, stilted laugh when they spoke. It was almost a joke. The face staring back at them, it was undoubtedly theirs. They recognized it, the features almost all being exactly what they knew deep down they'd see. At the same time, their fears had been made manifest. They ran a finger over the strange blue lines that ran across their face. They didn't feel any different from the rest of their skin. They weren't paint, they weren't scars, they were real. They existed.

"I'm not human, am I?"

"No."

Cyril wasn't sure who responded. It didn't matter. The voice was cold and distant, direct and pointed. The answer rattled around in their head… did they even truly have a head? Whatever they had, the answer filled it with static that drowned out all other thoughts. Cyril brought their trembling hands to their forehead, eyes wide. They collapsed to their knees. A flood of memories cascaded out in rapid succession, little more than images and emotions. They saw themselves on a stage dressed in regalia, proudly holding a scroll of paper as they shook someone's hand. They saw the first time they had met the beautiful woman, when she had been alone and sobbing on a bench. They saw her in a beautiful white dress, and felt how amazingly full their heart was. They saw a newborn child in their arms, their vision blurred by tears of the purest joy they had ever felt.

Were these even real?

"Cyril? Cyril, are you still there?"

It didn't matter who was speaking. Cyril felt their heart pounding in their chest and their breathing growing faster and faster. Their world spun. Their ears rang. Their stomach churned.

At some point, a fist made contact with glass with a dull thud that echoed through the void. Cyril remained there, hunched over in place with one hand on their forehead and the other balled in a fist against the cold glass of the mirror.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't want to overwhelm you when you had just woken up, sweetie," Dr. Hopewell said, sincerity in her voice.

"So you thought it was fine to let me think that I was real?"

"You're going through the same thing all new .aics go through," Dr. Parker retorted, "They all think they're human at first. We found out pretty quick that just telling them outright they weren't led to them completely shutting down to the point we had to scrap them entirely. Letting them eventually figure it out on their own has the highest success rate. The fact that you can still talk at all is just further proof that it works."

".aics? So what am I then, some kind of robot?"

"Artificial Intelligence Construct. Something close to a robot but far superior. You're sapient for one."

Dr. Parker's voice was smugly proud as she spoke. Cyril scowled in response.

"What about those memories then? And the dreams?"

"Just… let me handle this, Dr. Parker. Those are all real, Cyril. They're all your memories. Memories from before," Dr. Hopewell said.

"Before…?"

"Before you were killed in action. You remember it, I know you do. You mentioned the dream during our last session."

Cyril rose to unsteady feet and looked into the mirror again. Instead of their reflection, however, they saw two women on the other side. One was older with short blonde curls around her ears. Her face was well done up, with bright red lips and meticulously applied eyeliner. Next to her was a slightly younger woman who wore stress well on her face. Her brown hair was tied back into a loose ponytail, and she seemed to wear a permanent scowl on her face.

"Who was I before… whatever this is?"

The blonde woman gave them a gentle smile. "You were Agent Cyril Cook. You were a member of MTF Chi-58, the "Dreamscrapers". You were killed during an SCP-682 termination attempt using the Dreamscape, when you chose to save the life of a comrade."

"Your work in military tactics was admirable, especially in the Dreamscape you and your squad worked in. It was decided by the O5 council that we'd keep your consciousness alive as an .aic, as is standard practice with particularly notable Foundation agents. Anything else?" The brown haired woman looked at Cyril expectantly.

Cyril stood silent for a moment. They felt their arms, their chest, their legs. They looked around, taking in their surroundings and attempting to process everything. They had once existed, once been alive as someone real and breathing. They had a family, they had friends. They had died protecting one of them. They were recognized as valuable enough to keep alive even after death. These are things that should make a person feel honored and respected. Despite that, the chill of the void they now found themselves in felt colder than it ever had.

They turned back to the mirror with a simple question.

"What is my purpose?"

The brown haired woman nodded, content. "You are an .aic designed to utilize your existing expertise in tactics alongside existing Foundation networks and resources to assist agents in the field. Your goal is to find the most successful strategies possible and ensure that our agents execute them."

"I understand."

Cyril sighed. A memory played back one last time in their mind, the one where the most beautiful woman they had ever seen laid a gentle hand on their head.

But Agent Cyril was dead.

Cyril.aic nodded in affirmation towards the women on the other side of the screen.

"I am ready to begin my duty."