Lab Report N3232-P1022

Once chimp 89 was injected with the abstract thought serum, a new look - an expression I had previously not recorded or mapped to any emotion - came upon its face, within seconds. Its eyes narrowed and it raised its head slightly, so that the chin was in an ascending vector.

Also, at this point, the chimp terminated previous communication exercises, even the ones at which it excelled, and received a banana for. My colleagues were certainly alarmed by this new, cold nature of chimp 89 - however, I insisted we continue dosage of the serum until we could reach a point where its physiology would accept and mimic the response on its own.

The process took 5 years, but finally we succeeded. Chimp 89, introduced to our common breeding program, gave birth to a male (chimp 90) capable of abstraction without dosage of our serum. Please also see our other report on the fascinating results of placing chimp 89, a biologically and neurologically enhanced female, in the common breeding environment.

Chimp 90 had to be separated from its mother, as it tended to incur damage upon her from an early age. It constantly maintains the same look that came upon its mother upon dosage of our serum - only somehow stronger. Its first act, upon being born, was to pound on its exhausted mother's body, demanding milk. In interviews with chimp 90, we have learned that it has deep seated feelings of shame towards its mother's lower biological and psychological status. Chimp 90 has trouble dealing with what it considers to be 'lower' lifeforms, including some of my colleagues - to my great amusement, I must say.

We will continue to observe chimp 90 and provide future reports. We are employing interactive techniques to 'flesh out' its frustrated state and hopefully bring out a resolution. Also, despite its offspring's harmful nature, it is clear that chimp 89 somehow, obliviously, still cares for the spawn. We are still injecting it with the serum, and now, when that look - that look of self-realization, shall we say - that look of drunken knowledge - this 'leer' of knowledge, shall we say - when it comes about, chimp 89 produces creative items out of anything in its cell (banana peels, styrofoam toys) that express its desire to view its child.

The Main Alien i.e. 'Mother Brain'

"Dude," she blasted him, "you can't just walk into a workplace and start harassing employees with shit about aliens existing."

"But they do exist," wheezed Norman.

She gripped the report of the afternoon with her claw-like fist. Why do women do that to their hands, wondered Norman. The red polish. Looks like it crawled out of a lagoon. Alien hands. "Look. I know what happened," she went on. "I know you saw the tv show, and were heavily enthused, but come on Norman - leave it at home, okay? It's like religion, you know? You don't bring that up in the workplace, because it will mess everything up."

Norman nodded. "Yes ... yes, I see now. Kind of like a social ... taboo."

"People come here to earn their livings, ok? It's their bread and butter. What they are doing over here is a contribution toward their need to feed themselves, and their families. Think about it."

Norman smiled wisely back at his boss. He thought about it for a moment, and it was all true, what she was saying. Must seem so ... rude. An insult. "Insult to the breadwinner," he said, aloud, suddenly.

"Yes, Norman. You are interrupting the breadwinner." She sighed. "Here, look at it like this. The breadwinner is kind of like the gorilla, yeah?"

"Yep."

"And you, are like the thoughtless tourist who jumps in and tries shoving a stick into its butt, with all your talk about aliens. Now how do you think that the gorilla will respond?"

"It will be startled, at first," replied Norman, carefully following along like a trapeze artist on a thin thread.

"Yes. As has happened," she said, indicating the office in general with her hand.

"Then, instinctive responses will take hold," continued Norman, now getting with the program, "a sort of primal urge to defend its territory. Or ... butt, in this case."

"Gorillas are known not to tolerate much prodding," she agreed, placing a comforting hand on Norman's back.

"It will then attack, savagely. With it's vicious gorilla claws."

He was starting to understand, and she nodded, bringing him round the corner slow and steady. "In this case, Norman, the vicious attacks come in the form of anonymous reports in the Suggestion Box." She pulled out her folder of Suggestion Box tickets.

"No," said Norman, actually shrinking into his lab coat. "I don't want to see."

"Look at it Norman," she said forcefully. "This is what they really think of you, in secret."

His knees gave, and he collapsed onto the floor. "No!" he yelled, his arm straining out to ward off the anonymous tickets, in vain.

She looked dispassionately at the curled figure. "Get up, Norman."

He turned his face, and looked back at her through beady, slitted eyes. "I knew it," he said, seething, trembling. "You're the main one. The main alien. The Mother Brain."