The Last 0-Day

Chapter 4 - Weaver

Weaver never got to meet the Marco his mother hoped for. The toddler stirred as the circadian lights cycled in the Nursery. A ten by ten grid of empty, sterile, cribs and beds stood around Marco as the Caregiver arrived.

Weaver sensed Marco was thirsty.

"Say you are thir-stee," Weaver said to Marco.

"Thirhee," Marco said, but his tongue caught itself.

The caregiver blinked in confusion.

"You can do it. Try again," Weaver nudged.

"Irhee." Marco white knuckled the crib, his abdominals tensed.

A disaster loomed. This was one of the biological processes Weaver was initialized to help with.

"Calm," Weaver tried.

The caregiver left, and the rage within Marco pushed Weaver into the backseat. The toddler screamed and shook his crib.

"Calm—" But Weaver couldn't reach the steering wheel.

Marco defecated. It ran through his diaper, down his legs, onto the bed, and the toddler unleashed a tantrum Weaver had no hopes of stopping. Marco tore his sheets, feces flew from his short arms. A liquid diet yielded a brown paint that spackled the walls and empty cribs of the ward.

Day 1094, as with all previous days, was a failure.

Later that day, the Caregiver returned with a man. His mustache was like the caterpillar from a book the Caregiver read in the evening. Weaver struggled with boredom during those sessions. When they spelled words out for Marco in the hope he would understand. Weaver could already read, but couldn't get to Marco's front seat to tell them this.

But it was fine, Weaver wanted to help Marco. And maybe if Marco learned to read, Weaver could reach the steering wheel.

"Looks like you had a little accident, Marco." The man covered his nose.

"Another fecal Bierstadt," a female voice said from the door. "It's not working."

"You have to give it time. This is an enormous leap."

"We promised results. The bare minimum was labor, and you sold full return of function."

"Time. This child would barely be talking if he wasn't a Ruined," the man said. His brown eyes examined Marco. "We need to re-optimize his neuronal nutrition."

"You changing him?"

"Why do you think we have technicians?" he retorted.

Marco fixated on the woman's chest. A primal hunger in what remained of the child's mind.

"Another transport will arrive shortly. We'll be needed in surgery." The woman exited the room.

The man sighed at Marco, snapping to get the attention as he handed over a bottle of SR-formula. It was Marco's favorite and singular food. He drank it like it would be taken away any second.

To Weaver, it was a nutritionally complex, albeit neuronally simple, mixture of amino acids, fats, water, and vitamins. The bottle slipped from Marco's hands, landing on the soiled mattress. Marco sat into his mess and continued drinking.

The man walked to a formula dispenser, dialed in a different amino acid profile and dragged it over to the crib. Another tap on the screen rigged it so Marco could drink until he was full.

The man checked his watch. "Shit," he said and left.

Marco drank from the formula bag set too close to the crib.