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The familiar hiss of the hydraulic doors preceded his entrance. He always moved with a deliberate, almost practiced slowness.
Today, his eyes, usually sharp and calculating, seemed to glaze over the pristine white walls of the observation room, lingering on the glass barrier. He nodded curtly to Dr. Aris, who stood by the console, her back to the door.
“Any changes?” he asked, his voice a low rumble. Aris turned, her expression unreadable.
“None significant. Its patterns remain consistent. The vocalizations are… distinct.”
She tapped a few keys, and a low, guttural sound, almost a plea, echoed softly in the room. He felt a familiar tremor, a cold, clinical unease.
He approached the glass, placing his palm flat against the cool surface. Beyond it, a figure lay huddled, seemingly asleep, its form a strange, ambiguous shape under the dim lighting.
He noticed the faint scars, barely visible beneath the thin covering.
“Still no attempts at communication?” he murmured, more to himself than to Aris.
“Only the repeats. The same seven phrases, over and over, always in that distorted timbre.” Aris pulled up a holographic display. Text scrolled rapidly...
He watched the projected words, feeling a pang that he immediately suppressed. Sentiment was unproductive.
“Continue the stabilization process,” he instructed, turning from the glass. “We can’t afford any anomalies.” Aris nodded, her fingers already flying across the console.
99%
He thought of the delicate instruments, the careful readings, the parameters they meticulously maintained. He had to ensure its environment remained perfectly controlled.