I crawled from the bin I was currently sitting in and waved a tendril around a bit until I got one of their attentions.


    ''Yeah, right here.''


    "THE SLIME SPOKE!" He screamed, running away and dropping something, causing a few jars to fall off the bottom shelf he was next to. Now panicking, he fled from what I''ve deemed to look like an early 19th-century chemistry lab and out the door.


    My attention was on the glass jars that fell a several inch distance but didn''t break. The other three were more or less alarmed but stayed calm, now redirecting their attention to the now very alive blob on the counter, very much in range of them. Giving themselves a bit of space, they backed off a bit and started to converse with one another like before.


    ''I''d rather not need to tiptoe around just to get some basic needs. Could someone explain what''s so scary about a talking slime? If it helps, I''ll introduce myself first. My name''s Jack.''


    Looking back amongst themselves, they nodded and returned with chained inquiries first: "How did you get in here? Was that your soul standing around earlier? Are you possessing that slime?"


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ''Where the slime goes, I go. Yes, I was outside of my body earlier. No, I don''t think possession is the right term for my situation.'' My linked response went.


    A new slime waste block formed in my body and was hastily expunged onto the counter next to me. I picked it up and placed it in the bin I''d exited and thought back on how eating the first brick practically killed me. Did something go wrong for me to black out for... actually, how long was I out? I know I sped up time in my mental space several times, but I just hope it hasn''t been a millennium or sometime else wild.


    The 4 had now regrouped and were catching up on the previously exchanged bits of information. Ping-ponging topics: they spoke about me, what to do about the disease, if I was dangerous, if the antidotes were safe, and maybe if I was friendly. It seemed these researchers were a small, healthy group among a very sick population. They were quite engaged in their conversation, and to me it felt that they were partly satisfied with my response, enough to practically forget I was in the room with them.


    I split my attention from them and looked about the space; there were a good number of what I guessed to be potions and vials with varying colors and some vibrant glows. Others were mixtures of contrasting colors that you''d imagine would eventually completely mix but instead swirled about both entirely as one liquid but also separated like tar and water. A smaller vial was uncorked and in a holder next to me. The pink, shiny liquid contained seemed hydrophobic to the glass it was in. Something must have grasped my curiosity because the next thing I knew, I was dipping a tendril in the vial to touch the pink weirdness.