Awareness of noise was the first sensation the creature knew. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting at the light that met them. The curvature of the tube that held him and the fluid he was suspended in made the images outside stretched and distorted. Before he had long to process these new sensations, the fluid in the tube began to drain away. He slumped to the bottom of the tube, scrambling a bit as he coughed up the fluid in his lungs and began to breathe air. The tube lifted away and the creatures outside moved in. Most of the noises the outside creatures made didn’t make sense to him, though the tube creature heard one combination of sounds repeated. Eventually, trying to mimic the sound as the creatures dried him off on the cold hard surface they’d moved him to.

“Tweny.. for?” He mimicked the noise the outside creatures made.

A creature with white hair moved in close with an object in hand, making more noises to those around it. More came and strapped down his limbs while another slid a needle between his ribs and injected something in. Pain flared in the creature’s chest as he struggled on the table, consciousness soon slipping away as easily as it came.

When consciousness returned to the creature, he saw the white-haired one still watching him, using another object to scrape marks onto the one it held. The white-haired creature’s lower face hole was curved into a wide crescent as it scribbled furiously. Thick straps held him to the hard surface and he could feel something around his neck. More creatures began to push the hard surface out of the room and down a long white hall. He tried to look at the things they passed, but the straps holding him down kept his range of vision limited. When the hard surface stopped moving they’d arrived in a much smaller space. The ones pushing the surface unstrapped the creature, moving him to the floor. The creatures turned to push the hard surface out of the room, closing the opening behind them.

Twenty-four lay on the cold floor for a moment, getting his bearings before he attempted to move his limbs. His clawed forelimbs scrabbled against the metal floor as he learned to work them, eventually wobbling his way to a sitting position. He looked around the room slowly, taking in his surroundings. The walls were smooth and metal, like the floor. Twenty-four squinted up at the bright spot in the ceiling that cast the rest of the cell in sickly fluorescent light for a moment before continuing his visual journey, finally settling on the door and its tiny window that looked out into the hall.

When he’d finished looking the room over he turned his examinations to himself, looking himself over as he curiously ran his clawed hands over his body. His innate form was mostly featureless slender limbs that ended in claws, that joined with a bony vaguely humanoid torso. A long muscular whip-like tail extended from the base of Twenty-four’s spine, the tip of his tail ending in a sharp crystalline point. Twenty-four’s hands eventually roamed to the collar about his neck. It made his skin itch, but when he tried to pull at it the runes on the collar blazed bright and he was met with a shock that sent him sprawling to the floor. He lay spasming a bit, taking a few minutes to recover before righting himself and returning to his exploration. Though he was careful not to pull at the collar as he felt up his neck to his face, running his hands over the smooth skin that covered his skull. Finding his mouth he tried to stretch it as he saw the white-haired one do before, feeling the way the muscles pulled.

When he finished his exploration he turned his attention to learning to move. Crawling about the cell at first on all fours, and then eventually figuring out how to walk upright. He shuffled over to the door, holding onto the wall for support as he tried to look out of the small window in the door. He could see two of the creatures outside, they stood perfectly still holding black objects. Finding the hall beyond the door mostly uninteresting, he moved to settle on the floor of his cell, curling up as the exhaustion of coming into existence caught up with him.

In time the creature would learn the sound he had heard repeated was his name, Twenty-four. The white-haired one, which Twenty-four had been told was named Dr. Wagner, would often come to visit Twenty-four’s cell. Wagner taught him how to speak, and gave him a general idea of what sort of things he would be doing here in the lab. Often Wagner would bring various items and instruct Twenty-four to consume them, which he did obediently. Swallowing down hair, tissue samples, and bits of machinery. Twenty-four found quickly that he preferred the occasional samples of flesh he was given to the assortment of other things.

The first century of his life was comprised of eating and learning, and the doctor’s frequent visits. Eventually mastering how to turn himself into the objects and creatures he consumed. Learning how to fight and do things like navigate to a target in various environments in the simulations they’d place him into.

There were two other prototypes from his series, Twenty-five, and Twenty-six, though he rarely saw the other shapeshifters. The only time he and the other two shifters were ever in the same place was when they were pitted in combat against each other in the simulation rooms.

“What happened to the first twenty-three?” Twenty-four asked the doctor one day in between consuming another tray of various components that Wagner had brought.

“They died,” Wagner said, arching a brow at the sudden question.

“Died?” Twenty-four tilted his head as he reached for another microchip and placed it in his mouth.

“They were terminated, but unlike you and those who’ve been designed after, they failed to regenerate,” Wagner elaborated.

“Not regenerate…” Twenty-four repeated softly, his eyes widened a bit at the revelation that such a thing was possible.

“Yes, you are the first successful prototype.” Dr. Wagner nodded, making a few notes on his clipboard as Twenty-four ate the last of the components on the tray in silence. “Does the idea of not regenerating frighten you?”

Twenty-four nodded quietly, his gaze fixed on the empty tray.

“It shouldn’t. There are far worse things than death, I’d have thought you’d have learned that by now.” The doctor smirked as he tucked his clipboard under an arm and picked up the tray, exiting the cell and leaving Twenty-four to his thoughts.