"Babies must sleep. Babies must rest. Wise is the one who does not waken them. Leave this place now, or we will wound you... as you have us."
Medical Log 03142314: Day 4
The subject is responding exceedingly well to the tests. The damage was, to my eyes, untreatable. When flesh is pit against the more resilient elements the weakness inherent to our soft, organic bodies becomes alarmingly apparent. Not that this concerns me, I am only interested in reconstruction. As they say, a mind is too wonderful a thing to waste. Luckily the basic functioning neural structure was not harmed when the subject sustained the original injuries. It's rather sobering to come to terms with the agonizing pain this body must have experienced during the final moments of cognition. I wonder how long it was before the mind stopped processing signals? Rather unfortunate it was positioned in that way. If the connecting tissue had been severed the experience would have most likely come to a much swifter conclusion. I wonder if there will be any memory of death, and of the pain that came before it. I hope for the sake of this program's success there is not, the memory of pain is oftentimes the more unbearable of the two…
"What is a drop of rain, compared to the storm? What is a thought, compared to the mind? Our unity is full of wonder which your tiny individualism cannot even conceive."
Medical Log 03242314: Day 14
Everything is proceeding efficiently. The reconstruction of the neural framework in the underlying skeletal structure is almost complete. The initial reception of the new pathways by the organic mass has been met with a surprising amount of success. I do not believe any of us foresaw this tack processing with such a lack of vicissitude, especially with the melding of synthetic and organic. It is as if this resuscitated consciousness welcomes its new body, as if it is waiting to reabsorb what was taken away by nothing more than a stroke of chance. It is, barring all my better judgment, as if it knows what lies in the near future, the physical awakening that looms on the horizon. My imagination impedes rationality sometimes, it is impossible for it to know, to even understand that it itself exists as a thing. It has no way to sense, no perception, no idea that is a body that exists in any space whatsoever. I wonder if it will experience birth? I wonder how it will react to being not only born, but born again, achieving a second wave of consciousness from the blackness of utter oblivion. So much will come from this, my speculation only increases my anticipation. I must continue.
"I am accessing the primary data loop. I am merging my entity with the ship. My glory is expanding... filling the arteries of this vessel. I am in control. I am... no, it is hopeless... the cancer has spread throughout. They fill every available crack and crevice... they overwhelm... there is no other option.
Medical Log 05222314: Day 57
Something is wrong. I cannot even begin to explain what I have witnessed over these last few weeks. We believed, no, we knew, we would have to cultivate the new shell, the new body. How can a blank slate, with no instructions, no sense of itself, understand that it needs to grow? That it can grow? It can't. It shouldn't. I do not understand. It grows in size and complicates in form with each passing day. Connections we prepared to make ourselves somehow made themselves. Connections we did not prepare to make have made themselves. This, thing, whatever it is we have revived, knows. It has known all along. Against every law and every rule I have come to understand in my years mingling with flesh, it knows what it can't, what it shouldn't know. I wish I could stop it, I am afraid. I am afraid like I have never been afraid before. Whatever we have resuscitated is not human. It can't be human. It might have died a human but, as it is reborn, whatever it is, it is not human. Unfortunately I do not control whether or not this project continues. I am, as I have come to realize, only a slave, a drone. But to who, or what, I wonder…
"Do you not trust the feelings of the flesh? Our biology yearns to join with yours. We welcome you to our mass. But you puzzle us. Why do you serve our mother? How can you choose cold metal over the splendor of the flesh?"
Medical Log 06062314: ____
I will be consumed, just as the others were. That horrible consumption. No blood. No fluids. Just life, and no life. Energy transferred from one body to another. How can there be no blood? The body is comprised almost entirely of fluid and still there is no blood. There is never any blood. In this entire goddamn facility there is no ***ing blood. I will discover soon in what manner this consumption occurs. I will understand in the seconds before I know an eternity of nothing. I wonder if, wherever this mind revived from, maybe I will inhabit that world as well. Maybe those two worlds were never meant to intersect. Maybe it was inevitable and whatever came fourth was waiting, hungering to be born into another reality, another existence. Perhaps it lurked, patiently anticipating, at the threshold, waiting for us to make the fatal mistake of casting aside all providence and calling ourselves god, lifting ourselves up on a pedestal raised with our own hands until we believed we had mastered a domain that has always, and will always, know more than we. Whatever it is, it knows more than us, more than I. It understood from the beginning and we did not. Perhaps that was our fatal mistake. I can only hope that somehow, this knowing thing goes back from whence it came, satiates its appetite and delves back into the depths of the void from whence it came, never to return lest we replicate to our past mistakes. Let this stand as a warning. My time has come.
