“Hey Gav, pass me that scalpel, the one next to the sink, thanks.” Not taking his eyes away from the rat on the table in front of him, Sam took the scalpel from his friend’s hand and began to make a small slit between the rat’s heart and lungs. Sam was a biologist; he’d majored in the subject. Gone to school for eight years, graduated with two majors: anatomy and physiology, and then biology. He was always working on some new experiment. He was twenty six, had matted long brown hair, slim hands and a pointed face. As he prodded the insides of the rat once more with the butt of the scalpel he made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. He set the scalpel down and pulled a jar towards him and began screwing off the lid.
“Sam, are you ever going to give up? Your ‘home-made disease’ didn’t work.” Gavin sat sideways in a dark green armchair, his legs dangling over the side, a bottle of whisky in his dirty left hand resting on the floor. Gavin was the engineer, the one who was good with the electronics and the metal and taking everything apart. His eyelids drooped, his clothes were rumpled and unwashed, and his black curls hung in his face. Sam looked over his glasses at Gavin. “Shut up Gav, at least I’m attempting to be productive and my neurotransmitters aren’t at the bottom of that there whisky bottle.” Gavin huffed and took another swig from his bottle, emptying it. He got up and walked only just barely unsteady over to the lab table where Sam held his focus. “At least I can keep it down.” Sam made a swipe at him with the scalpel but Gavin just jumped back, trained as if from previous occurrences.
“C’mon guys, knock it off!” The voice came from the room across the hallway; the lab was also their sketchy two bedroom apartment that they all roomed together in. When they’d first bought the place they completely redid the interior. A third head appeared in the doorway, tired eyed and slightly jaundiced. As Eric walked into the room Sam and Gavin moved slowly back to where they had been in the first place. “That’s better, no luck Samy?” He shook his head. “Oh well, why don’t we go check on S.I.R., see how he’s doing?” They got up and started to follow Eric out of the room. He was the reason the other two were there, he had the drive, the motive. He wanted fame, and he wanted a certain kind of fame. He wanted power that no one in history had ever had before. To have that exact unknown power, Eric needed information, all information, which is where S.I.R. comes in. S.I.R: Standard Information Retriever.
As they walked through their smelling, unkempt apartment Eric thought about his future, about how his future depended on one creation. S.I.R. was something no one had ever succeeded in making (as far as he knew) and he was doing it. This creation was a combination of biological, electrical and mechanical being. It lived; in a warped and disorganized sort of way. As together they came upon the end of the hallway and to a closed door on the left side of the hall Eric pulled a series of keys on a lanyard from inside his pants pocket. However, as he made to stick the key in its place to unlock the door, he found it already open. The doorknob had been violently twisted, completely destroying the lock. He stood there, until Gavin reached around him and opened the door. The three of them moved silently into the room, Sam flipped the lights on. Over the floor there was a single twin sized mattress, generously stained with what looked to be blood and other unidentifiable substances. It was empty.
It was exactly like what happened with Jane. Five months ago when S.I.R was only slightly defective; he went missing. Then he brought her back. She was bleeding; she was bleeding bad. It was sticking out of her leg. Her femur was sticking out of the skin at the top of her thy. He’d somehow broken her leg. She was out cold, just lying there across his arms. S.I.R had hung his head and wouldn’t look at them sitting in their places in the lab. Sam had sighed. “Bring her over here. We have to fix that leg.” Their creation had yet to be perfected. He was defective. Every time he came close to retrieving the information Eric wanted, he lost control. He didn’t know who or what he was he didn’t know what he was supposed to do or how to do it or what it was for. He simply hurt. Sometimes he did more than that; sometimes he killed. Then he would come out of it. He would see the body; hear the arm or leg snap. He wanted to run; but he didn’t. He always brought the live ones home. That’s what he did with Jane. His masters would help her. He knew that.

He set the limp body gently on the table. Then with one look behind him at Eric he walked, thumping down the hall and locked himself in his room. The lock was on the outside, until someone let him out, he could not open the door himself. As soon as S.I.R. was out of the room, Eric began cursing and walked over to the table where Sam and Gavin worked to brace and sew up the girl’s leg. Eric dug inside her sweater pocket. She had a small hand clasp with her ID, a lipstick and some change in it. Her name was Jane Varnick. She was 22, just two years younger than him. He had no idea who she was, he hoped no one would miss her, she wouldn’t be seeing anyone but them for quite a while. She would have to stay at least until her leg healed properly, she also couldn’t go back out there and spill what had happened to her to the world. Not that many people would believe her. No, she would stay there with them for a long time.
. . . . .
She worked as the receptionist for the county sheriff’s department. Her hair was sandy blond; she was tall with a long torso and legs. She wore purple pants with a white shirt, and high boots. He followed her. She didn’t notice him there as they walked down the hall into her office. The door closed. “Can I help you?” She set a stack of papers on her desk. She turned to look at him. He was not at all bad looking with his brown hair and blue eyes. But what was he doing there in her office, without even announcing himself? She didn’t even know who he was! Then he spoke. His voice was…staticy and it didn’t seem to fit his body. He said, “I am S.I.R. Your information is my information although mine is not yours.” He was smiling. “What are you talking about? Who are you? Why are you in my office?” She glared at him as he took a step forward, her hands on her hips; angry and impatient.
Information; that was all he needed. All he had to do was get one hand out to touch her. Then all the information in her mind would be copied to his and he would take it back to his masters. He reached out to put his hand on her arm. She lashed out and slapped his hand away from her and began yelling at him. He backed away. He began to shake. From somewhere inside of him came a fast and repetitive clicking noise. He would fail. He always failed; because of what he didn’t have. His masters would be unhappy. They were always whispering about it, something called control. The clicking noise quickened, he glanced out the glass window into the hallway. He wanted to run. He couldn’t move. A tentacular arm shot out from the center of his chest and wrapped itself around her neck; tight enough to hold her without leaving a mark. The end of the slimy blackish purple suction cup covered appendage squeezed tightly up through the receptionist’s nose. Thrusting inward it punctured her brain. The strange appendage relaxed and slowly retracted. She slipped to the floor and her head bumped to a final rest against one of her many black metal filing cabinets.
. . . . .
My name’s Jane. Well, at least that’s what they tell me. I don’t remember much from my life. All I really know anymore is Jane. I don’t have a last name, or I do and I just don’t know what it is. I live on the fourth floor. I’m not sure where the fourth floor is, but I know that’s the button I push to get there. They won’t tell me where I am. They say I’m crazy. They tell me every day. But they never tell me why. They don’t tell anyone why. But they all know. They won’t tell me who “they” are, not really. I know their names, but that’s it. When I ask why I’m here, they tell me I have a secret. One that I should never tell, and that nobody should ever know, but nobody tells me what the secret is. I know there is a reason for it. I know that I know something and that they don’t want anyone else to find out about, and that means it’s their secret too. So I’m not crazy, unless they’re crazy too.
Initially they gave me something I think. Something that made me forgot. Afterwards my memory was whipped clean. My leg was broken, I don’t know how but it doesn’t matter now. I can’t remember anything really, and they treat me well enough, I get my own room and I can hang out with them if I want to. Somehow I feel like I am not missing anything from my life anyways, at least that’s what I think. There are four of them. Sam, Gav, Eric, and then there is S.I.R. I wonder if he is the secret. Why wouldn’t they want anyone to know about him though? There is nothing wrong with him, even though he always seems to be sad or something. They won’t tell me about him, but I think they made him, created him. They are always making things, and there is always some kind of body part lying around they do experiments or something on.
They always keep S.I.R. locked in his room, unless they are working on him. He was howling today. I could hear him from all the way over here. His room and mine are on opposite sides of the hallway. Today I walked down to his room and sat outside the door and talked to him. He never said anything back, I don’t think he could. Then he broke the doorknob. He ran away again. They are going to be angry. They are going to have to find him or he will hurt; he will kill. He loses control. He’s not capable of holding on to it. He never knows what to do…he panics…
“Jane! Jane where are you?” Here they come. They know now. I ran and crouched in the corner of my room farthest from the door. It opened and a sliver of light reflected from the hall onto the dark of the floor. I could hear them talking in the hallway and then I saw half of Eric’s face. Then it disappeared and they were whispering again. “Last time she was the one that was hurt, she was lucky all he gave her was that compound fractured leg- “Yes but she could help us find him, she has a knack with these things, guys Jane is really smart.” That one was her favorite. Gav, he liked her. “Alright then we’ll bring her along, we can’t leave her here by herself anyways, Gav you go get her.” The door opened wider and Gav came in. He stood there, taking a minute to adjust to the lacking light. He looked around, and stopped when he saw me. He sat on the bed. “Jane, come her once.” He wanted me to come to him. He was being nice, I wasn’t in trouble…he patted the blanket next to him. I went; I sat down next to him. About an inch away from my head he cupped a hand around his mouth and began whispering into my ear. “S.I.R. is gone, and I think you can help us find him. You know him, don’t you? You could find him?” I nodded. “Ok, then let’s go before he hurts something.” I nodded again and stood up and followed him out of the room.
I did like I said I would. I found him. He was huddled in the basement of the old rundown apartment building that only we lived in; curled up in a ball of biological and mechanical mass. He wasn’t that far away then, but he had gone farther, he’d just come back. What was left of the shirt he wore was bloody and torn. It wasn’t his blood. I watched as Eric’s face turned red, we watched fury build up within him. Then he made to go over to S.I.R. “No!” The three of them turned to me. “What do you mean ‘no’”? Eric sputtered. Gav looked at me curiously. “What is it Jane?” I looked at them, from one to the other, they really couldn’t see it. “I know you made him. But when you did, one of your strategies backfired on you. You made him able to interact with humans. To do that you gave him they ability to have only some emotional feeling, it has been slowly torturing him. He is locked up all the time because he is defective. He is defective right now because he panics and loses hold on control. He just wants to do it right to please you. So he keeps trying.” I stopped and caught my breath. I hadn’t said that much in front of them before. I looked down. It hadn’t been by place to say all that had it? Well someone needed to…I guess. Not that it would change anything.
The only impact Jane’s speech had on them was that they had to think about what she’d said. They had to figure out how to fix him; how to take away the need to please and keep the control and humanly function. They all went back to the lab; Jane sat in Gavin’s usual spot in the arm chair. The guys laid S.I.R. out on one of the long tables there and Sam began readying himself for biological contact. Right along the spine, intertwined with the vertebrae is a cord that controls S.I.R.’s entire nervous system. If broken or ripped the entire cord would have to be replaced which would mean a procedure that would take hours of precise cuts and sewings. Even then their creation would never be the same; perhaps never work correctly again. Jane had watched them make adjustments before, she paid close attention and she knew where the weakest points were. After a while she grew tired with watching them work. All there was to see any ways was Eric giving orders while standing and watching, Sam in mask and gloves pushing prodding removing and replacing, Gav greasing here and tightening this. She got up and she walked down the hallway to her own room where she laid down and went to sleep.
The three men continued to work, they lost track of the time and worked through the morning. When Sam finally closed up the back of the neck over the cord Eric and Gavin were asleep on the furniture. He took off his mask and gloves, washed his hands and then fell into a chair, exhausted and finished being awake.
As the three of them slept S.I.R. began to move. He sat up. He was different. He was tougher; he knew what his purpose was. Information. He’d been wired to do one thing and that was all. They didn’t know it but the guys hadn’t fixed him they had enhanced what they’d wanted to change. The creature picked itself up off the table and walked slowly and heavily out of the room. He walked down the hall not fully conscious; if that is what you would call it for a creature such as himself. He’d only gotten halfway down the hallway before he started shaking. It was that kind of shake; the kind that came right before his center would erupt. He stumbled into her room, Jane’s room. He stood there watching her at the foot of her bed. She slept with her head on the pillow with her hands tucked underneath, her hair splayed across her face. Four of the tentacular appendages slipped from between his ribs and slunk, closing the distance between himself and Jane. Suddenly, he stopped. He retracted his tentacles, and stared at her. He made a motion for her to be quiet, lifting one finger to his mouth. He turned passively and left the room, making his way back to the lab and his sleeping creators.
Eric dreamt of money and of fame and of power; every night it was always the same. But this night was different. This night as he imagined himself in dark glasses and a smooth black suit his thoughts were pierced with his end of the creation. The sharp tips of the tentacles had been his idea; he would never know that the third time they were ever put to use was when they were carefully inserted into his nostrils where they then stabbed into what brain he had. The tentacle had struck so hard the end had gone through the other side of his head dripping blood and other matter over the arm of the couch. He turned to Sam. The biologist had more pain the first three; S.I.R.’s tentacles wrapped around his head squeezing until his skull cracked and became four pieces.
Gavin had heard Sam’s skull break; although, he’d done no more than open his eyes. He knew exactly what had happened. He jumped up and ran to the other side of the room. The creature he had given life to spun away from his friend dripping bits of him onto the carpet. There is only one way to deactivate him; there is a tube-like cord that winds around his spine and goes up through his neck and connects to his nervous system. Gavin’s thoughts spun. The vertebrae in his neck are placed along his throat, keeping his head up but not blocking the cord from the back of the neck. S.I.R. advanced toward him with an entirely blank expression on his face. His tentacles stretched out to wrap around Gavin and as they did Gavin jumped and wrapped an arm around his predator’s neck. At this, S.I.R. erupted into a mass of destruction. He spewed out more tentacles attempting to get Gavin off him; one pierced him in the stomach, sending him to the ground where he lay, submissive.
S.I.R retracted all his tentacles and stood there. He heard a noise coming from the door behind him; then turned around to see Jane standing there, her head slightly tilted to the side. She began, bravely, to approach him, ignoring the mess of membrane and blood surrounding them. She drew closer and closer, but S.I.R remained still. She came face to face with the creature that had just killed the only three people she knew of. She quickly wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a generous hug. He slowly began to return the gentle hug with the bit of human likeness he still had. “You’re ok, I promise.” She quickly dug her sharp nails into the base of his neck, located the tube that wrapped around his spine, and cut it with her fingers. S.I.R slumped to the ground in a heap of mechanical and biological mass.
Jane turned, walked away from the mess, and left the building.