Work Text:
The newest Abnormality to be extracted was an iron maiden.
It came packaged with the sort of label one would find on kitchen appliances, declaring its name to be “We Can Change Anything”. That was a bit of a shame; the only enjoyable part of Abnormality analysis was coming up with names for them.
And to be frank, this one already disgusted Yesod.
It displayed no imitation of life, though whether or not it could be classified as a Tool Abnormality couldn’t be determined so soon. Perhaps, as with Bloodbath or Singing Machine, it could be worked with from the outside, only pulling an employee in if they failed to appease it.
It was with this naïve hope that Yesod sent the first agent, Ava, into We Can Change Anything’s containment unit. He had her place a piece of meat inside the machine, but it didn’t close its doors on it, nor was Ava able to push the doors closed herself. She ran through the other customary work types, to no effect. Yesod knew what had to be done, and he didn’t like it.
Many Tool Abnormalities yielded some kind of result at thirty seconds of use; some harmed the user if they didn’t use it for long enough, while others harmed the user if they used it for too long. Based on that pattern, it would be most likely that this Abnormality would somehow grant a positive effect in the beginning, but would eventually kill whomever was placed inside.
He had his employees check the iron maiden for a release mechanism (there wasn’t one) and test how many were necessary to push it closed, with the hope that they would be able to open it again (it wouldn’t budge). That was concerning. You can put an object back in its place, you can leave a containment unit, but how would We Can Change Anything release its user?
Perhaps a mechanism would appear only after it closed.
Yes, that must be it.
Ava saluted her teammates and stepped inside.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
There was no release mechanism.
Each containment unit was built with a receptacle for enkephalin output, and this one was beginning to fill. Tool Abnormalities generally didn’t produce enkephalin. Yesod probably should have been writing that down, but instead, he was watching.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Blood started leaking through the machine’s seam, staining its shiny white exterior and pooling on the ground. It was rocking with each beep, as though Ava, inside, was throwing herself against the spiked walls.
“Get her out.” Yesod’s employees didn’t seem to register what he said. “Get her out!”
Jolted into disorganized action, some of his employees attempted to pry open the machine, and some simply started attacking it.
Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep—
All to no avail.
There was silence as We Can Change Anything played a jaunty sound and opened with a hiss.
All that remained of Ava was a hunk of unidentifiable meat and a cloud of red.
“...Almost certainly RED damage. Ava’s equipment resisted it— incorrect stats, perhaps?” Yesod mused, because they had to have done something wrong. Maybe it was because they tried to interfere. Yesod realized he forgot to stop his timer as well. He had as good as wasted Ava’s sacrifice.
“We will have to run multiple trials to learn how to use it properly.”
The Information Team shared a round of uncertain glances.
Not a single trial ended in success. Or, to rephrase: every trial yielded enkephalin, a success for the company, but not a single trial ended with the employee surviving, and eventually, Yesod was forced to accept that there were no guidelines to be followed, no carelessness to blame.
Before her death, Ava was often the first to test an Abnormality because she was brave enough to face the unknown without flinching. Usually, Yesod’s employees grew bolder as they understood the Abnormalities better, learning what made success. This time, they grew more skittish, finally realizing that to be employed at Lobotomy Corporation was to be placed on death row.
Dread found its way into Yesod’s heart, too— dread for his employees, for all the blood on his hands in the name of something as worthless as data. This was no more than a killing machine, worse than the Singing Machine, because at least there was a chance of surviving in the presence of that one. Why did they have to keep testing? Why did his graph displaying employee hardiness to enkephalin yield need a larger sample size? What kind of manager would even consider using it?
A manager from the City.
Some bitterly accepted their end was inevitable. Some shed quiet tears. Most begged and pleaded not to be made to go. Yesod felt his heart shatter again and again— what kind of person made an AI that could feel heartbreak? But it wasn’t up to him.
> Order the work.
Order the work.
Order the work.
This Abnormality, which they had given the code T-09-85 (Yesod tried never to use its name again), didn’t have the innate ability to inflict WHITE damage, yet it invariably caused an increase in mental corruption, including in Yesod himself. It was starting to make the ALEPHs they had tested, that stole your skin and reeked of corpses and raised hell on earth, seem appealing.
It couldn’t continue. Yesod approached the most advanced AI in the facility.
“Angela.” She turned towards Yesod, eyes glowing. He could feel something crawling up his leg, which he resolutely ignored. “This Abnormality, designated T-09-85, exchanges an employee’s life for enkephalin.” Spindly little legs. Secreting something. Yesod took a breath. “More enkephalin is produced proportionally to the employee’s HP and resistances, meaning it is optimal to sacrifice only the best.”
They’re all over now, worming their way under the fabric he wrapped around his metal body. If Angela saw, would it be more unbecoming to try to scrape them off in front of her, or to continue pretending they weren’t there? He chose not to do anything. “However, an employee that lives has the potential to harvest far more energy from WAW and ALEPH Abnormalities across their lifetime, rendering T-09-85 obsolete.”
The final pitch. They were seeking cracks, hoping to nestle in his wires. Yesod blinked and reminded himself his eye is just a digital display, not an opening. “My entire team has been ravaged in testing it. I do not believe it would be beneficial to keep this Abnormality in our facility.”
Angela blinked back at him, her eyes heavy with what Yesod hoped wasn’t pity. “I’m sorry, Yesod. You raise a valid point, but I’m afraid we don’t get to pick and choose. T-09-85 will be part of our facility, and it will be up to the manager to decide whether to use it or not.”
Something was boring into his eye.
“I see.” Yesod tried to keep his voice level. “Thank you, Angela.” He turned away, blinking rapidly to ward off the squirming maggots, and resolutely stalked to his private quarters. Once there, he unwrapped his body and scraped and scrubbed until he stopped itching.
This would eventually be forgotten. T-09-85’s information would be added to the facility’s system. For the next ten thousand years, Information Team agents would come and go, and manager after manager would only learn the horror of We Can Change Anything by testing it themselves.