It Itches and It Prickles

      Subject K-63 hadn't always had free access to most doors in the lab. K-63 hadn't always had a flexible schedule either. Waking up, tasteless breakfast, physical and mental drills, training, literacy lessons... Maybe if he hadn't shown his intelligence, he'd have been just another dumb (by human standards) rat — nothing more than expendable material. His cellmate K-64 figured out he could fake a near-death state to get out of drills, but the scientists were meticulous people and quickly saw through his act.       Aristotle began to notice something: as soon as he and Swifty were locked in their chamber and the blinds were drawn over their windows, at that very moment the door of the neighbouring chamber would open, and besides the clatter of two pairs of shoes on the tiles passing by, he could hear... barely audible clicking of little claws. Just like when Ari and Swifty walked, but faster, lighter, and more hesitant.       By morning, in the area between chambers M-4, M-5 and the inner courtyard of the laboratory, there was a smell of something... kin-like, almost? A thin, barely perceptible scent, one that a human would never pick up. But it was different from the scent of K-63 and K-64.       One day, the scientists forgot to lower the blinds on chamber M-5. Or perhaps they didn't see the need. Ari and Swifty were already used to lying down in their bedding at this hour, but Ari was a curious boy — and always on alert at the same time. Swifty was lazy, despite his love for physical challenges.       Ari pricked his ears toward the neighbouring Chamber. The sound of a plastic card swiping through an electronic lock. The door opening. "Let's go," — the Professor's voice called someone. Firm, slow footsteps in shoes on the tiles. A quicker, lighter clicking of claws beside them. Aristotle dashed to the window, realising mid-jump that it was better not to stick his head out, and crouched low, trying to peek outside carefully.       Aristotle already had his suspicions about who the scientists were leading from the neighbouring chamber to the courtyard and back: another mini-mutant, one that wouldn't last more than three months. He was right about the first point. The lifespan point remained unanswered for now.       The Professor was leading a tiny (compared to Ari) rattie in a long robe, with her hair tied up in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her white fur almost blended with the sterile-clean tiles on the floor. Her eyes were as crimson as arterial blood. Those eyes were just as full of life as that very arterial blood was full of oxygen. Those fragile pink paws, barely managing to walk upright. Those same fragile pink hands, clutching a ball of red yarn and a pair of knitting needles. That long, hairless tail, wrapped around her right leg. But she didn't look too thin — she was well-fed and not subjected to intense physical exertion.       K-62. The predecessor of 63 and 64. The very subject who set the first records in the series.       Without realising it, Aristotle stood up, bracing his hands against the reinforced glass. His eyes locked onto the girl. He shot a couple of sharp glances back at Swifty — but Swifty was swifty on his way to dreamland.       K-62 noticed K-63 while looking around, waiting for the Professor to open the door to the courtyard. The girl was startled by the huge shaggy figure and fell on her bottom, nearly breaking her already fragile tail right at the base. But she didn't squeak. Fear, confusion, and surprise were in her eyes, but her lips didn't even twitch. Those blood-red beads narrowed from physical pain, but she held on.       The Professor hurried to lift the little one from the floor, simultaneously looking toward where she was looking. Aristotle was standing in chamber M-5, pressing his palms, forehead and the bridge of his nose against the glass, staring at the fallen girl with wide pupils. From the outside, it was unclear what he thought of her in that second: a new friend, or a new squeak-toy?       Both rats stared at each other, barely blinking. The fear in her eyes dissolved into curiosity. The manic craving for novelty in his eyes dissolved into friendliness.       The only one who didn't pick up on that mental connection was the Professor — he hadn't expected the blinds on the windows of chamber M-5 to be raised. But he did notice that neither subject was showing visible aggression toward the other.       He lifted K-62 off the floor and allowed her to approach the window between the corridor and the boys' chamber. At first, she stood and peered from a distance, swaying slightly in place. Then she approached timidly, darting back again and again . He didn't flinch — he saw no threat in her. Coming closer, she hesitantly placed her palms on the glass, peering at the tall K-63. Instinctively, both rats tried to sniff each other, but their vibrissae bumped against the thick glass — a nearly invisible, but very tangible, barrier.       After letting the two rats observe each other for a while longer, the Professor called K-62 with a light tap on her shoulder — time to go to the courtyard. She didn't want to, but she obeyed, and kept staring at K-63 long after he had disappeared from her field of view.       The Professor leaned against the glass, peeking in for Swifty — still lying there with swiftness. Once he was sure the sleeper wasn't interested, the Professor nodded at Aristotle. There was something more in that look than just an order to step away from the window. There was something... paternal in it, something kind, something mentor-like. "I'll introduce you later," — Aristotle read in that look.