above, below

[immerse]

NAME Genę̶̛ ̴̦̫͒Ẅ̷̜́ a̷̜͐lheim Gene Walheim AGE Late thirties. SPECIES Unknown. ORIGIN Unknown. LANGUAGE American English. OCCUPATION Ex-extradimensional lab rat. THE CREATURE AFTERMATH. Gene is gone, and in his place is something that was trapped inside the room, like an animal in a maze, to see if it could escape. Well, it did. Unfortunately, none of the scientists lived to tell the tale of an entity discovered in a low frequency, slowly worming its way up until humans could hear it, one by one. Gone is the door that was stopping it from enjoying the fantasy world it now lives in, and now it he can communicate without limitations. What is he exactly? A monster? A thing out of space? The sentient sound of the Big Bang?! Deceased scholars remain divided. The only concrete fact is that he was discovered way, way underground, but it is possible that he came from above. (He didn’t.) POWERS FREQUENCY. Manipulation of thoughts and wants. It’s more compelling than mind control. The best comparison is the instinct to scratch and itch, rub one’s eye, sneeze or yawn — using these ‘frequencies’, people get a want or need, just because. RINGING. People/things with sensitivity to the paranormal can pick up a hum/ring that is barely perceptible and follows him around everywhere. If he turns up the volume, it can have effects on the physical world. (Scrambling with audio devices, causing physical damage, etc.) HEARING. He can hear anything from practically any distance. And while he can't read people's minds, he can pick up certain things, like the 'tone' of what they're thinking, or feeling. There's a little bit of guess work, a little bit of experience, but he usually gets the gist of it. INVULNERABILITY, OBVS. Not a lot can hurt him, nothing can kill him, and the rule that used to contain his original form was destroyed. PERSONALITY ADAPTABLE. A fast learner, knows more about what to do and how to act than his lack of experience as a human would suggest. CALM. Patient but not necessarily serene. Little — if anything — seems to bother him. Then again he hasn't faced any real challenges, so he hasn't had a reason to feel fear and can't say he knows what it's like. AMORAL. What is says on the tin. He cares about himself, which is more than enough. This makes him careless, deceitful, selfish. DECEITFUL. How else is he going to convince you that he's a decent human being? original code by whambam

THE EXPERIMENT. It was an experiment to test the limits of the human psyche when placed under total isolation for a long period of time: ten weeks in a room with four walls, entertainment, food, even exercise equipment. He made preparations, of course. He spoke to scientists and coordinators, he went through endless sessions to assess the state of his mental and physical health, and he did his own research. Once the door was sealed behind him, the experiment began, and so did the countdown. The books and movies kept him busy, as did exercising. He’d pass some of his time looking up at the only window to the world, white clouds against the blue sky when it wasn’t raining, the comforting distant glow of stars far, far away. When he wasn’t looking to the outside, he’d stare at the camera for a while, thinking about who might be looking in. Eight weeks to go. He knew the hallucinations would start to kick in at some point, he just wasn’t sure when it would happen to him. Subtle movements in the periphery of his vision. Black dots accompanied by an innocent itch. He became increasingly annoyed, frustrated and on edge, almost as much as he was still determined to see this experiment through to its end. He didn’t want to be a disappointment, he didn’t want to be the report that read ‘Subject 1 was too weak to endure’. (Too weak to endure. A waste of time. Pointless.) Was he the first? Four weeks to go. By then he had read most of the books and left a third of the movies untouched. The routine was like a stone wrapped around his skull, weighing him down. He hated the walls. The window was all he had left. One night, the sky seemed empty. Where there should have been little white dots pulsating with dormant lights was darkness, and he couldn’t even see any of the moon’s reflection on the clouds because there weren’t any. (They were too weak to endure. They collapsed. So will you. But I will mend the cracks. Endure.) The sky never came back. No stars, no moon, no sun, no clouds. No time. He had been sitting on the floor for — — he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Maybe they had blocked the window, stripped him of the last connection to the outside world to give his mind a shove toward the cliff to see if he’d jump off. (It won’t be much longer now. Be patient. I will wait.) One week was left when he lunged at the camera after hours of screaming, crying, pleading to be released. What more did they need to see that he couldn’t finish, that he wanted to be a failure? As his hands clawed around it, he viciously pulled and it … simply came off. No resistance, no cables, no weight, no light. Once he broke it open, he saw that it was empty. Then he looked up and saw that there were no books or movies, no bed or equipment. No food. Total isolation. He was going to die here, and if the hunger didn’t get to him first, his mind would. Maybe it already had. (I will be here when you collapse. Don’t be afraid.) One day, the door opened. The figure outside gestured — but it wasn’t really moving, it wasn’t really there, and its voice was too complex to form words. Still he heard — Come in. — so he did. And the experiment was over.