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The Doctor’s existence is not described as normal.
Not by any means, not by any of those in witness, and he ought to be offended. Even as The Doctor blurs and separates, his memories hazy.
Tau wakes up at exactly 6:00 standard time every day, and he sets his left foot on the floor before his right as he kicks off the blankets. It isn’t proper to put down the right before his left. He will be off, as Omega calls it, for the entire day if he does not do it exactly as how it’s pictured in his head.
He does not know how to explain. He does not want to.
Schedules are created to be followed, as are orders. Tau abides to the rules of the universe as much as any other living creature would. Living, because this is his existence for now. Alive and living.
He runs his fingers over the wooden plank with his belongings.
The wood doesn’t feel quite right.
It’s oak, and the texture shouldn’t exactly be this way because it usually isn’t, because he doesn’t remember it to be like this.
Memories flood his brain. Gamma putting the plank up. He had complained about the roughness of the wood, had bled.
He nods, remembers. Because they cut the plank from the wood of the tree right next to the lab, and he had not touched it since breaking off the branch. Zeta had polished it into a smoother texture.
One Kappa would not cut his finger on.
Another memory floods in. The dizziness that stayed after his first surgery - by Zandik, by The Doctor - and the haziness that never left either. The whispers they all can’t explain but can feel, and it would be frustrating if he was not used to it the way he is.
He runs his finger over the spot that didn’t feel right again, and he can nearly smell the stand from his first failed experiment again. Can almost feel Zeta’s gentle touch on his shoulder when he tried to comfort him.
It’s not enough. Not for Tau, not for any of them. Again, a voice whispers, and he runs his right index finger over the wood again. It sounds too much like him and yet not at all close to how he remembers existing, and his sight focuses on the clock once again.
It’s 6:07 now, and he doesn’t have the time to dally.
The Doctor has complained about the amount of experiments they still have to do, and they have a meeting with the Bankier planned tomorrow. Today. He can feel the reminder before he hears it, before his brain clocks it as something close to a thought.
Today, because today is thursday, and he had blinked and missed yet another whole 24 hours standard time yesterday. The day before that. 6:13, and he runs his finger another time over the plank again.
The texture does feel more right this time, feels like it should belong here. The polished and smooth wood under his fingers feels almost real, and when he blinks he can almost take full control back over his body.
Again.
Still, he complies. Zeta has talked to him about this before. This is a side effect. Side effects, multiple, multitudes, clones. Miscalculations, ones that Tau should be more than able to ignore if he brushed past the illusions of his brain and looked at the facts once more.
6:18.
That is what he does, is it not?
He calculates. He is present at Harbinger meetings more often than Omega is nowadays, and yet no one has noticed yet. Except for the Bankier, of course. There is a 58,43% chance of the Bankier surpassing their expectations for every one they set.
Tau knows this as well as he knows the right texture of the oaken wood. It’s a fact, derived from calculations and formulas and nothing at all like experience.
Experience is a human thing.
Humans are the ones who came up with the ridiculous idea of will. Tau allows the corners of his lips to turn down in a displeased scowl, and he frowns his eyebrows in the way he knows Kappa does when angry.
Human emotions can be both replicated and calculated, too.
The Bankier is quite an interesting specimen to study. Especially in this case, considering his expression changes - sours, Zeta echoes in his head - during every single experiment in which he mentions the following:
- The name of Morax, Archon of Liyue.
- [Error.]
- The downfall of Khaenri'ah. The disinterested look in the Bankier’s eyes settles into something displeasing whenever he is reminded of the fragility of men. When Tau mentions the surgery, however, the Bankier halts his movements.
There is a sharp intake of breath 80,92% of the time, combined with a heightened blood pressure.
Humans call it fear. - His sister, his family, the human concept that is related to the emotion of-
[//////////]
[Error. File deletion 20%...]
[Access denied.]
Tau blinks, shakes his head.
A strange fog settles over his thoughts. The stream of consciousness(es. Multiple. Multitudes, clones). A blindfold he cannot take off, no matter what he does, no matter how often he asks Zeta to delete his files and start them over again.
100% failure rate.
He retracts his hand. He cannot make out the shape of his own belongings past the blurry shape of the wooden plank right in front of him, and he cannot quite remember how it felt under his touch.
The voice is quiet, though.
It is empty.
He does not know how to possibly tolerate exceptions. Exceptions do not exist in nature, where every existence follows a set pattern, and Tau falls well within those rules. He is a creature of nature. 96,32% of his body consists of natural elements, of which 56,01% consists of human flesh.
Perhaps he can allow himself the luxury of considering himself human in the process, too.
It is a distant experience. He feels the muted layers of humanity in the back of his mind, close to where he does not dare to prod. The Doctor’s reminders flash before his eyes. Memories, warnings.
The rules of the contract he signed once he opened his eyes and started functioning. You would do well to remember them, Beta murmurs close to the front of his existence. Don’t tell me I have to explain again?
He rubs his eyes.
It’s a human gesture he took from the Bankier. It has a 32,44% success rate for missions on which he is to appear more kind, more likable, and it bleeds into his life when he is not careful enough.
9:34, standard time.
He is late for his meeting. The panic rises before the thought registers in his brain, and his body moves through the process of undress and dress on an autopilot. His limbs do not feel like his.
Perhaps they never have.
Tau. #0.2.19, memory fragment complete.
He closes his eyes, blinks another time. The meeting. Three days ago, Zeta whispers, and he shakes his head to shut him out.
This is ridiculous.
Mathematics is never ‘off’, it is never wrong. The chance of Tau miscalculating is exactly 0,07%, and he would not dare to make a mistake on a matter of this importance. Zandik likes him, likes the Bankier, and he would do well to-
10:21.
The Doctor’s life is strange. It’s nothing quite like what people expect it to be, outside the boundaries of their own view of the world. Odd. Perhaps weird.
It’s that thought that makes him pause, makes him run his finger over the plank until he can only feel the stinging sensation of raw wood on the skin of his hand. Until the world blurs, and the word odd surfaces once again.
He halts again. That’s not right.
Tau would never say that.