Member
People always seemed surprised when Kieran said he liked the cafeteria. The assumption was that it must be overwhelming, all those voices and smells and feelings – all that noise – but ultimately, that was the thing that made it so tolerable. ‘Quiet time’ was never really quiet. It was being alone, but for Kieran, empty rooms were never really empty – they were just filled with memories and echoes instead of people.
And with Daedalus, they were never good echoes.
In the cafeteria however, everything kind of… blurred. The feelings and thoughts faded to a bearable background level, hunger pangs to not-quite fulfilment as the meal wore on. Occasionally, however, something pierced through.
Clear as day, as if it were speech, not thought. A year or so ago, Kieran wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference – now though, he’d had enough practice –
“Is she thinking or speaking 8712?”
“Stop hurting her!”
“It’s a simple question!”
“I don’t know!”
“Stop hurting her!”
“It’s a simple question!”
“I don’t know!”
-that he could distinguish between the two pretty easily. He looked up, trying to locate the owner of the jagged thought without being too obvious. The guards were pretty good by now at realising when he’d heard something… interesting, and he didn’t want to get himself or the speaker in trouble. Or at least, more trouble, because that thought had been loud, and no way was its original proprietor going to keep sitting on it.
Luckily, he didn’t have to look for very long. A woman. Blonde hair and – he concentrated, brow furrowed as he peeled back the layers of emotional static - practically rippling with rage. Oh dear. He knew that look, or more accurately, that feeling. Shit was about to go down, hard.
Fleshy, cord-like structures erupted out of the woman’s arms – surprise, not from her, from the guard nearest as his head smacked the tiled floor with a sharp crack. Pain and disorientation - Kieran winced.
Panic erupted. Kieran scrabbled backwards, slipped of his chair and hid, driven by the primal rush of the scattered crowds. He could feel himself start to sweat, thoughts start to race, fear begin to grip every molecule, except no. That wasn’t his. He had to remember that it wasn’t his.
Eyes screwed shut, fingers tightly squeezed his nostrils shut to block the stench of fear. Breathing, in for one – two- three – four, out for one – two – three – four, again. It didn’t do much. Never did much, but it was enough to bring him back from the edge. Going over was never a good idea, not unless he was in the mood for seat-belt like restraints and enough drugs that he couldn’t tell what he was feeling, never mind anybody else.
An overwhelming fuzziness.
He peeled open his eyelids, barely daring to look, just in case it wasn’t over – but it was okay. The woman was on the floor, limbs twitching and eyes rolled back. He allowed himself to breathe as normalcy resumed in the special way that the almost comical desensitisation and Daedalus-brand conditioning ensured it always did.
Kieran picked himself up of the floor, brushed a squished pea that he’d knelt on off his pants, and sat – not daring to look at the woman – 631D, apparently, any more than he already had. There was something about her…No. Not about her specifically, about Daedalus. He wasn’t sure what, but something was brewing, and he wanted to be on the right side of these walls when it finally bubbled over.
Something told him that 631D was the key to that.
Another voice, distinct in its apathy – he turned. Sam. She’d gone back to eating almost immediately, barely flustered. But he’d heard her – that the woman’s escape had been doomed to fail. She mustn’t have realised, mustn’t have – wait, was that familiarity?
He looked at his food – only half done, and Deadalus portions were controlled anyway, just a little less than they really needed, enough to keep energy levels low. Throwing away food wasn’t something to be done lightly, but this couldn’t wait. He stood, plate in hand, and walked towards the hatch, carefully timing it so that he passed Sam when the guards were looking the other way.
Quietly, just as he was walking past her, he muttered under his breath, “This is more than the others. If you want to get out, help me find her,” before continuing on to the hatch where dirty dishes were deposited.
: Brown, short
: Brown
5'10
155 Ibs
Lean, not muscular. 
: Surgery scar beneath hair. No other significant markings.
- Increased capacity of subject's sensory abilities in relation to emotional output of others due to micro-implantation beneath skin and in sensory organs.
- Ability of subject to receive and process data from implants.
- Ability to retroactively recognise emotion left on objects from chemical outputs to a high degree of precision.
- Due to increased neocortical processing power, is capable of inferring simple thoughts from others. The subject reported hearing thoughts as 'voices', the content of which appears to be unspecific in nature, and mainly pertaining to basic needs. Examples from targets have included -
