Debbie Mask

specimen 001.
Ships in 1-3 Business Weeks.
She was the first to respond.

Not to language, not to touch—but to the frequency.
A low, humming pulse that vibrated beneath skin and bone, one only the altered could hear. The scientists called her Debbie, as if naming her could make her less. As if naming her could undo what had been found in the pit.

Debbie does not speak. Her mouth opens, but what emerges are not words—only rows.
Teeth.
Not in a circle, but in spirals. Not meant for chewing, but remembering.

They discovered the teeth grew inward, too. Tunneling back, past the throat, past the point of pain. Some theorized she is not hungry, but starving for what we cannot feed her—memories of things never allowed to happen.

When the lights flicker in the facility, it's not a power surge. It’s her.
Dreaming with her eyes open.

No mirrors are permitted within a mile of her containment zone.
Not because she fears them—
But because they do.

She smiles constantly.
Not from joy, but because the rows must shift, realign, sharpen.
The smile is simply a stage in feeding.