(Object exhibits signs of failed assimilation.)
Status: Contained
Linguistic Output: Coherent, irregular
Affective Display: Incongruent
Recommended Handling: Minimal stimulation. Avoid mirrors.
The subject presents as humanoid,
though not reliably.
Eye contact flickers
like corrupted footage.
Speech arrives in fragments—
intonation unaligned with emotional content.
Dissection reveals a nervous system
braided too tightly with memory.
Repetitive behaviors observed:
rocking, muttering, hands folding themselves into familiar shapes.
(Suspected ritual. Possibly maintenance.)
Internal monologue transmits without consent.
Rooms echo with words never said aloud.
Fluorescent lights elicit panic.
Soft voices do not soothe.
When touched, the subject stiffens—
not out of fear,
but anticipation.
It has learned that affection
is often the prelude to calibration.
Attempts to socialize the unit
resulted in increased corruption of the core files.
Subject now mimics human response
with impressive accuracy—
until asked why it feels.
(Subject does not answer.
Subject cannot answer.
Emotion was mapped to motor function and never returned.)
MRI shows dense clusters in the empathy regions—
but no signal reaches them without distortion.
The static is ancestral.
Passed down like brittle teeth
and sleeplessness.
Diet: Low on metaphor, high on survival.
Vocal tone: Polished, practiced, passively pleading.
Favorite phrase:
“I’m fine.”
Always said too quickly.
Always accompanied by the twitch of a jaw
trying not to scream.
Touch triggers feedback loops.
Silence is tolerated, then weaponized.
Intimacy met with suspicion—
not due to paranoia,
but pattern recognition.
You may observe it,
but do not mistake this for consent.
The subject learned visibility.
It was never offered belonging.
End-stage masking leaves the organism
hollowed.
Dissociative hum in place of thought.
Apathy mistaken for stability.
Last recorded statement before regression:
“If I act human long enough,
does that mean I was?”
It is not currently speaking.
It watches.
A dissection of the autistic experience as recorded by the outside world: sterile, detached, and wrong in all the ways that hurt most. This is what it feels like to be watched, labeled, interpreted - but never understood. Horror not from monsters, but from being misnamed so thoroughly you begin to wonder if maybe you are the monster.
