A Thousand Cuts

Sometimes, it was far too obvious that Lambda wasn't human.

The creature stared at him. There was a cut under his eye— a thin trickle of blood oozing down his cheek. He showed no sign of distress or fear, simply sat still with his hands folded together in his lap.

Cornell wasn't sure what he expected. Lambda never showed emotion— sometimes, the scientist wondered whether he was capable of sentient thought. The creature he had found in the core simply followed where he was led, glassy eyes staring through everyone around him. He was something to be studied; the key, Cornell hoped, that would help them save Fodra.

But their key was, for now, just a clumsy humanoid. Cornell had been working on his latest report when he had heard a heavy thud behind him, and saw Lambda's unmoving body near his chair.

A spike of panic shot through him, but Lambda was unhurt; save for the cut under his eye. His lack of response was probably due to him being comfortable enough on the ground to not want to move, the scientist surmised. So Cornell had picked him up, and now the creature waited.

Cornell checked the wound— it was shallow, probably caused by the stray equipment he had tripped over. It didn't look like much and would probably heal within the week. Still, he asked, "Does it hurt?"

If Lambda understood the question, it didn't show. Despite his child-like features, he didn't cry or scream. In fact, he rarely made a sound. But a slight tremble ran through him as Cornell's thumb brushed over the cut.

With a faint smile, Cornell clapped his hands twice, before pressing his fingers against Lambda's broken skin. It was a silly, human gesture; one that Lambda probably didn't understand. A ritual, his mother had told him. To make the wound heal.

"There," he said with a small chuckle. "All better now. Let's get you cleaned up, Lambda— and find you somewhere safer to play."

Lambda stared at him, his glassy facade unchanged. But he took his hand when it was offered, and followed him without a sound.

Lambda wasn't like a normal child. His responses were muted, but over time, Cornell learned what his subtle motions meant. He dragged his feet if he wasn't feeling well, and was quick and alert whenever he heard Cornell's voice. His eyes followed him through the lab, as if he was watching him. Studying him.

When he brought a small pile of blocks for the creature, Lambda had been confused. But eventually, he began stacking them— playing, Cornell would have said. He never smiled without prompting, even though Cornell tried to teach him. Never really showed any outward reaction.

But in the few short months since Lambda came to the lab, Cornell found himself fascinated by the creature. His actions pointed to an understanding of human behavior; an intelligence behind those glassy red eyes. What wonders Lambda could tell him about, if only he could speak. What mysteries Lambda could solve, if only he would be willing to share.

Those were Cornell's thoughts as he tucked the creature to sleep every night. Lambda looked peaceful in his small cot, his body relaxed and his breath even. He looked... small, for one with so much potential. It was Cornell's hope that there would come a day when Lambda's eyes would spark with life and curiosity, when his laughter would ring joyously through the lab. When he would bring peace to Fodra.

But the second time Lambda was hurt wasn't because he tripped over lab equipment.

Emeraude called them tests. But when Lambda returned to the lab, his head was bowed and his pace was slower than usual. When Cornell rolled up the creature's sleeves, he saw scorch marks and deep lacerations all along Lambda's mechanical limbs— felt bile rise in his throat as he realized what had occurred.

"Does it hurt?" He asked as he tended to the wounds.

Lambda didn't flinch at the alcohol against the cuts. Didn't meet his eyes— kept staring at somewhere far away.

Cornell hadn't expected the creature to respond, but this time the silence stung. When he brought Lambda to the lab, he wanted to nurture him— to watch over him, as he grew. Yet, in an instant, whatever small progress he had made might have been jeopardized by his peers' desire for immediate gain.

Lambda sat still until he was done. Then, quietly, he slipped off the table and picked up the blocks that had been left in a corner.

Cornell watched him for an hour, maybe more. Lambda never glanced at him, never showed any sign of distress. He continued as he had the previous days, playing with the blocks, following the same routine.

But as he tucked the creature to bed that night, Cornell could not forget the haunted look in Lambda's glassy eyes.

"You pamper him."

Cornell frowned. It was unusual for Emeraude to address him so directly. "Pardon me?"

"Lambda." Emeraude had her arms folded. She watched him from the wheelchair, eyes like a hawk. "You give him toys and treat him like a child. You coddle his wounds. As if he's capable of feeling pain."

Cornell breathed. Emeraude had been increasingly sharp towards him ever since Lambda arrived. But she was still his closest friend, his dearest pupil. "What makes you think Lambda's incapable of feeling pain?" he asked.

"Pain is an emotional response. A human response." With a frown, she added, "From what we can tell, Lambda is made up of purely eleth. He has no brain, no nervous system. Even with the humanoid body we provided him, he's incapable of feeling emotions— let alone pain."

"Is that why you torture him so?" he asked quietly.

"Director Cornell." Emeraude fixed him with an incredulous stare. "You know these tests are necessary, if we are to save Fodra—"

He scowled. "To save ourselves, you mean." Cornell shook his head. "Emeraude, please. You have to stop the experiments. They could ruin whatever rapport Lambda has with us."

"Rapport?" Emeraude let out a choked laugh before her frown deepened. "We are in charge here, Cornell," she finally said. "Not that thing. He's not human, no matter how desperately you want him to be. Don't forget that."

She wheeled out of the room without waiting for his reply.

The experiments continued. Sometimes, Cornell was there. Unable to protest as Lambda was suspended in test tubes. Unable to tear the wires pumping chemicals and eleth through him; to pull him away from the tests that sent his body arcing through the liquid and caused his mouth to open in silent, unheard screams.

He was never able to watch for long. Instead, after the tests, he focused on cleaning Lambda's wounds. Cuts where the wires were forced into his body, burns where eleth was seared into his skin.

He worked carefully, and Lambda sat still throughout his ministrations. Eyes forward and blank, betraying not a hint of pain; not a flicker of emotion. But every now and then, there was a tremble through the creature's body; a slight jerk at Cornell's touch.

A flinch? It worried Cornell, but Lambda did not otherwise react, and after some time, he would sit near him once more, playing with his blocks. At least, until the next experiment.

And with each wound, each test, Cornell wondered if the distance the humanoid sat grew further and further away.

Emeraude dismissed all of that— said it was merely Lambda responding to stimuli. "Perhaps," she suggested, "he's just mimicking what he sees. Learned behavior— from you."

He wondered at the mocking tone in her voice.

Wondered too, at the way Lambda turned away from him when he tucked him to bed. At the way he now slept— curled defensively away from the light, his tiny hands clenched tightly into fists.

It was a little after a year that Lambda stopped responding to his voice. Cornell could walk into the lab and call his name, and the creature would continue staring listlessly off into the distance. Even the blocks he used to play with now lay discarded in a corner.

"Maybe he's grown tired of being human," Emeraude suggested. Her voice was cold, and she didn't even look up from her work.

"Emeraude—"

"I've told you before, Cornell. The experiments must continue. You have no proof that Lambda is sentient, and our need outweighs his own."

"Even if it hurts him?" Cornell's raised voice gave her pause. Straightening her back, she arched an eyebrow in his direction.

"Need I remind you, sir, that it was your prerogative to teach Lambda about... being human." She spat out the words in disgust. "If he believes he is hurt— it is due to your actions, not mine."

"How can you say that when you're the one hurting him?" Cornell roared.

"Because," Emeraude responded coolly. "I'm the one trying to save Fodra." Turning back to her work, she added, "Perhaps you ought to try doing that, too."

He wondered if Emeraude was right.

Cornell began to distance himself from Lambda. It was easier than he expected— Lambda never called out to him. It was simple to walk away from the creature's cell instead of waking him in the morning, leaving his care to the rest of the staff. Sometimes, he heard reports of Lambda fighting back against his handlers— or trying to, before he was quickly subdued. Eventually, those reports ceased and by all accounts, he was quiet and docile. Following whoever led him away.

He still saw Lambda. He was the subject of his research, after all. But he tried not to approach Lambda without cause— held himself back from treating his wounds, from talking to him. And for his part, the creature sat still and quiet. Compliant. But though his eyes betrayed no emotion, they looked darker. Distant.

It hurt. Over the years, Cornell had grown used to their routine; to the semblance of a relationship he had with Lambda. Despite it all, the creature had found a place within Cornell's heart. But time and time again, Emeraude's words would lurk at the corner of his mind.

Cornell wasn't sure what was worse— knowing that he was subjecting Lambda to a lifetime of torture, or realizing that perhaps Lambda was incapable of caring at all. He hoped it was the latter— damning to his research as it may have been, at least it meant the creature wasn't suffering.

And then he heard the awful truth. Heard that Lambda was sentenced to die.

Cornell ran, bursting into the lab just before Emeraude began. Lambda floated in the test tube, eyes distant and calm— unaware what fate awaited him. There was a flicker of something in his eyes when he spotted Cornell, but the scientist had his attention focused entirely on Emeraude.

"Don't destroy him! Please!"

He remembered Emeraude's calm smile. Remembered the hands of the guards pulling at him; dragging him away.

Remembered the way Lambda's fist banged soundlessly against the glass tube, and the wide, unmistakable fear in his eyes. They way he looked at Cornell, pleading—

And oh, how wrong he had been.

Lambda's death shook his world. Cornell was stripped of his rank, of his dignity, of everything and anything that once mattered to him. But as he sat in his cell, he'd have given it all up if it meant Lambda still lived.

The way the creature had reached out to him at the end was burned into his mind. In that moment, with an outstretched hand and pained eyes, Lambda had issued a silent plea to Cornell, and Cornell had been unable to help him. Just like he was unable to protect him through all these years, when he was the only one that could—

His cowardice disgusted him. His regret kept him awake at night, as he recounted all the moments he had failed; had simply stood by and watched as they destroyed the boy in front of him, day after day, wound after wound.

He lost all track of time. He ate, he slept, he survived. But with the cell doors shut tight, and no motivation to ever see them open, Cornell wasn't sure how long it was until he heard the news.

"Lambda's alive!"

It was those words, spoken in a panicked fear by one of his guards, that broke through the haze wrapped around him.

It lit a spark of hope in his chest, and for the first time in his life, Cornell didn't sit back and question. For the first time since he was imprisoned, he found his resolve.

When they came next to check on him, Cornell fought back. He wasn't a fighter, not really, but he knew how to throw a punch. Enough to disable his surprised captors, after which he stole some clothes and fled. It was surprisingly easy, with most of the guards distracted by Lambda's apparent survival.

He followed the trail of destruction to the launch bay in Telos Astue. Pushed past the fleeing citizens to the source of all the mayhem. There, he found Lambda— screaming; loud, unfiltered yells that rang through the air. Destroyed humanoids lay strewn around him, and his body was taut with tension— so much rage and fear—

And when Lambda turned to him, the raw emotion in his eyes caught him off-guard. He let out a little gasp, before stepping back, away from him. And in eyes that were once so calm and glassy, Cornell saw... fear. Of the world that had hurt him over and over. Of Cornell.

Lambda— the boy he remembered was not capable of the destruction around him. But the Lambda before him was the same boy. Still there. Trembling and afraid, even beneath all his anger.

Still alive.

"You must have been scared, you poor thing."

Cornell couldn't disguise his happiness, his relief. Lambda stepped away as he approached, arms held up defensively. But he spoke soothingly, tried to reach out to the child who had once counted on him.

"I'll protect you no matter what happens," he said. "Please trust me. Please give me just one more chance. Please."

He could see the quiver of emotion in Lambda's eyes, the hesitation to even approach. He smiled—

Then Emeraude arrived.

Cornell remembered shoving Lambda ahead, then bursts of pain, piercing through his body.

He heard the door close. Felt the rumble of the airship as it took flight. Tasted the blood in his mouth. His legs wouldn't work, and blood was filling his lungs.

He was dying.

His eyes searched for Lambda. In the darkness of the shuttle, he found red eyes filled with fear and confusion. Despite the pain and the blood dribbling down the corner of his lips, Cornell tried to smile.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm afraid this is as far as I can go..."

Lambda's eyes widened. Did he know what was happening? Cornell hoped not— wished he could spare him just one more wound.

Furtively, the boy crawled towards him. His tiny hands pulled at him, cradled his head against soft cloth. He felt them pressed against where the shots had entered through. They were warm. Unnaturally so. It eased the pain; gave him a brief spurt of strength. Just enough to force himself to speak.

He tried to apologize for everything he did wrong; tried to tell Lambda where to go. To Ephinea. A core where nobody would ever find him or hurt him, ever again. Where he could grow up in peace. Whether the creature understood, Cornell didn't know. But he wanted... he hoped that wherever he went, Lambda would be safe.

A soft sound escaped Lambda's lips, and the boy clung to him. Hesitantly, he clapped his hands, before pressing them against his wounds. It was a futile gesture, but a familiar one— one that Cornell remembered from an age ago.

Cornell tried to smile. He managed to raise a hand, brushed away the hair that so easily fell over Lambda's eyes. Saw a frantic desperation glowing from those inhuman depths.

How horrible of him, to doom Lambda to this fate. Alone and lost, with only pain to look back to.

"Live on, Lambda."

It took all his energy to speak those words, to break through the pain that wracked his body. A final wish. A final regret.

Gasps tore through Lambda's throat, laden with sorrow and desperation that were never given voice when he was the one being hurt. Grief and regret spread through Cornell's weakening body. As his strength left him, his hand slipped away from Lambda's face, leaving a trail of blood against the boy's pale cheek.

Lambda grasped at his hand. But he would not be able to follow. Not this time.

And as he died, his last glimpse was of Lambda's all-too-human eyes.

Hi everyone! I've always wanted to write a fic exploring the relationship with Lambda and Cornell... so I did. Originally it was going to be like 8 chapters long full of angst and stuff but I think cramming it all for a oneshot for Tales of Whump week probably works better. I hope you... enjoyed it?