[David speaks as soon as the recording begins. There is little ambient noise. The room he has taken shelter in is largely devoid of life, save for his own uncomfortable breathing some birdsong in the rafters. This is a new variety of solitude, but there is always a threat that must be associated with being alone. Eventually, it will have to end, for better or worse.]
This is David. I am recording this on the third day of my arrival on planet.
[He speaks with limited inflection, and delivers his directionless report without any apparent passion. None for himself, nor the situation. If there is anything that slips into his words, it is a note of curiosity.]
The subjects I have witnessed are infected by an unknown pathogen that has resulted in severe behavioral changes, foremost being increased aggression toward uninfected humans. This aggression is not directed at individuals who have already contracted the infection.
I suspect they participate in almost exclusive cannibalism directed at uninfected or deceased humans. There are animal species in the area that remain unchanged and do not appear to be the targets of any attacks, so far as I have observed. [After a beat, and with a half-hearted apologetic tone, he adds:] My range of experience is as of yet limited.
It should be noted that the infection is likely not airborne, otherwise it would suggest a longer incubation period than I would suspect. It remains unknown as to the exact nature of this pathogen, if it is viral, bacterial or fungal. I do not have access to any facilities under which I could clarify this. In the meantime it should be considered highly contagious and contact with corpses or individuals who are suspected to be infected should be avoided at all cost, which should go without saying.
Third Person Sample: Awareness is triggered by a slow realization now. It's not a simple matter of being aware or not anymore. If there is anything now that might come instantaneously, it would be the acknowledgement that something had changed. He awoke each time to a keen awareness of the problem. David moves his arm with the intention to sit up, but the amount of information it feeds to him through that movement causes him to hesitate.
He waits through the first wave of information and... inhales. It happens without command or consent. It was startling the first time, but he has adjusted to the constant background feedback of a functioning body. It churns and convulses in unfamiliar ways. David can sense the air moving down his throat, but only to an extent. It moves deep enough that he eventually loses track of the signals. Awareness of his body and the pressures on it are accompanied by detailed sensation. Each action causes data to rush back at him. The weight of his own body on his frame as he rises provides intricate detail and feedback. His fingers press against the ground, hesitating over small debris that dig into his palms. He already knows pressure and material strength, and that information is not hindered by the added sensations.
However, it is more challenging to sort through all of it to determine what is immediately useful. But in quiet moments he lingers on the discomfort, or the pleasure. He functions as he knows is required of humans. Eating and sleeping are uniquely difficult. Taste is another complex distraction, and he must wait until he reaches the edge of exhaustion before he falls unconscious. These activities need to be balanced with avoiding the infected, as a confrontation was rarely worth any potential gain.
These, then, are the mark of a soul. It seems trivial now, if it is simply the complications of being organic that ensoul a creature. Or perhaps they would consider him no different. The same thing in a different vessel. The ability to breathe or die could not possibly provide much new.
He stands as simply as ever. The muscles are largely the same, and the push and pull of fibers bring him to his feet. The only difference is that they strain now with the effort of having avoided the diseased humans. He's faster than them, but declines incrementally every day. He's observed the trappings left behind by other humans, intelligent humans, and anticipates that he will find them soon. It's no longer realistic to remain alone.
Samples
First Person Sample: [VOICE]
[David speaks as soon as the recording begins. There is little ambient noise. The room he has taken shelter in is largely devoid of life, save for his own uncomfortable breathing some birdsong in the rafters. This is a new variety of solitude, but there is always a threat that must be associated with being alone. Eventually, it will have to end, for better or worse.]
This is David. I am recording this on the third day of my arrival on planet.
[He speaks with limited inflection, and delivers his directionless report without any apparent passion. None for himself, nor the situation. If there is anything that slips into his words, it is a note of curiosity.]
The subjects I have witnessed are infected by an unknown pathogen that has resulted in severe behavioral changes, foremost being increased aggression toward uninfected humans. This aggression is not directed at individuals who have already contracted the infection.
I suspect they participate in almost exclusive cannibalism directed at uninfected or deceased humans. There are animal species in the area that remain unchanged and do not appear to be the targets of any attacks, so far as I have observed. [After a beat, and with a half-hearted apologetic tone, he adds:] My range of experience is as of yet limited.
It should be noted that the infection is likely not airborne, otherwise it would suggest a longer incubation period than I would suspect. It remains unknown as to the exact nature of this pathogen, if it is viral, bacterial or fungal. I do not have access to any facilities under which I could clarify this. In the meantime it should be considered highly contagious and contact with corpses or individuals who are suspected to be infected should be avoided at all cost, which should go without saying.
Third Person Sample: Awareness is triggered by a slow realization now. It's not a simple matter of being aware or not anymore. If there is anything now that might come instantaneously, it would be the acknowledgement that something had changed. He awoke each time to a keen awareness of the problem. David moves his arm with the intention to sit up, but the amount of information it feeds to him through that movement causes him to hesitate.
He waits through the first wave of information and... inhales. It happens without command or consent. It was startling the first time, but he has adjusted to the constant background feedback of a functioning body. It churns and convulses in unfamiliar ways. David can sense the air moving down his throat, but only to an extent. It moves deep enough that he eventually loses track of the signals. Awareness of his body and the pressures on it are accompanied by detailed sensation. Each action causes data to rush back at him. The weight of his own body on his frame as he rises provides intricate detail and feedback. His fingers press against the ground, hesitating over small debris that dig into his palms. He already knows pressure and material strength, and that information is not hindered by the added sensations.
However, it is more challenging to sort through all of it to determine what is immediately useful. But in quiet moments he lingers on the discomfort, or the pleasure. He functions as he knows is required of humans. Eating and sleeping are uniquely difficult. Taste is another complex distraction, and he must wait until he reaches the edge of exhaustion before he falls unconscious. These activities need to be balanced with avoiding the infected, as a confrontation was rarely worth any potential gain.
These, then, are the mark of a soul. It seems trivial now, if it is simply the complications of being organic that ensoul a creature. Or perhaps they would consider him no different. The same thing in a different vessel. The ability to breathe or die could not possibly provide much new.
He stands as simply as ever. The muscles are largely the same, and the push and pull of fibers bring him to his feet. The only difference is that they strain now with the effort of having avoided the diseased humans. He's faster than them, but declines incrementally every day. He's observed the trappings left behind by other humans, intelligent humans, and anticipates that he will find them soon. It's no longer realistic to remain alone.
Additional Information: N/A