The Unnatural Disasters

1,p1. All the reasons not to trust strange women: Omega

Omega
I haven't been feeling particularly Stable all day, and the screaming isn't helping.
'That's what happens when you try experimenting with Goop all morning,' I chastise myself. Goop stirs slightly at the mention of its name- today it has decided to wind around my neck in the way of a murderous scarf, and is refusing to move to a slightly more comfortable position. Seriously. Having something hugging my neck is not a comfortable position for anything to be the victim of, least of all Goop.

I hug my knees and pretend not to hear the shrieking of the children, playing in the probably-cold-and-fairly-miserable sea outside my beach hut.

Well, technically it's not mine.
But the owners haven't come back in the past six months, and considering this is the height of the tourist season, I doubt they will be soon.

Kill them.

Here we go again...
'Goop?' I whisper, trying not to attract the nearby toddlers to the talking shed.

Yes?

'We do not kill people, Goop.'

Goop doesn't make a face, because Goop does not have a face (rather just a non-newtonian blob with the ability to move), but if Goop did happen to have a face it would be making one right now.

But why? It pouts. Why not? Think of all the cool stuff we'd find!

I'm not really sure who taught Goop the phrase 'cool stuff', and considering the fact that I haven't really interacted with anyone in the past six months, I have a sinking suspicion it was me.
'No, Goop.'

But-

'No.'

See what I mean? Not feeling stable. It's an incredibly irritating experience.

I glance round at Goop's colour- still green, today in a fairly luminescent way.

Good. Green, on the scale of 'no murder' to 'everything looks like a knife', is 'Goop's being a bitch but I can handle it'. And as long as it stays like that, the screaming toddlers are safe. As safe as toddlers could ever be, really.

'Okay, Goop,' I whisper. It says nothing, but perks up a little; although it's probably rewarding bad behaviour, I feel like I should continue my research. Plus, Goop loves doing cover. Even when it's at the risk of being stabbed by a decorative seashell.

'Left ulna and radius.'

It slithers down from my neck- oh, now it does so- and onto my left arm. I shiver, just a little, as it does so. It's a weird sensation, Goop doing that. Feels like cold baked beans being poured down your skin. But it only takes a second or so, luckily: and the moment it's been enveloped entirely, I do my research.

i.e: stab it with a decorative seashell.
Goop howls inside my mind as I do so, the conch shell going straight through the Goop-covered arm and through the other side. I wince. Why I have to share my pain receptors with the sentient slime that wants to kill everything in sight, I don't know- but none of that matters now, because the pain's already subsiding. yep, there's no arm in there. My next step in experimenting is trying to find out where the hell said arm went, why it comes back if I recall Goop (or if it decides to slink off on its own), and preferably how to soundproof a beach shack in the middle of the Beckside waterfront.

I can't do any of these things right now, however, because of the glaring sunlight that's pouring into the shack right now.

Oh, and the woman standing in the doorway.

I scream.

Who is she? What's she doing here? She doesn't belong here-
Well, that's Goop's territorial side coming out. Not to be confused with its murderous side, curious side or hungry side.

"Who- who are you?" I ask, realising that screaming isn't exactly how you start conversations. God. I haven't interacted with anyone in so long...

"Well." Says the woman, "That's wanted to ask you- but you seem to have gotten there first."

She wants to know about me?

Well then, this is kinda an awkward situation.

Thing is: I don't actually know.

It was around six months ago. I woke up, strapped to a table, blinded by the lights around me and my head filled up with murder. There was- there was crackling. I remember that.

Someone speaking, somewhere above me.

"Patient omega." A placid voice had said, "What do you feel."

That's the first thing I can remember, and who knows if there was anything beyond that to start. I don't have a name, or an age, or most of the things that I'm pretty sure I'm meant to have- my brain's a puzzle, and most of the pieces have gone missing.

I look up at the woman. She doesn't seem scared of me, or disgusted at Goop. And Goop? Isn't whispering in my ear. isn't telling me about the numerous ways we could stab her.
Goop, doesn't want to kill someone. huh. I think- just maybe- I can trust her for that.

"Omega," I whisper.
"Yeah. Let's go with that."