Finally Got to the Roots of That Damned D.E.L.I.A. Series Elizabeth Crowe has dumped the copy of the D-specimen report that apparently started it all on me. I'm sitting in my Brooklyn office, taxis honking outside, digging through the yellowed reports like an archaeologist digging into a pyramid. These aren't my experiments - I'm an engineer, not a scientist - but Elizabeth wants everything to look "proper" for the committee. D-specimen, the one connected to the Delia York case, was the first one to go under the microscope, and judging by the notes, it's what made everyone think we were onto something otherworldly. Here's what I gleaned from Mark and Linda's lab logs, trying not to drown in their Latin incantations.
Note from David S.: Specimen D is like the beginning of a thriller where everyone is already dead and I'm sitting there thinking: who the hell decided we'd find answers in these old tissues? Elizabeth, if you're reading this, give me a vacation, not another folder.
Experiment with specimen D for the D.E.L.I.A. project
Based on laboratory protocols, March 2000
Specimen D is a tissue fragment (1.1 cm, presumably pulmonary, origin unconfirmed), stored in paraffin since 1998 in the institute's refrigerator. This is the first specimen that Earl Knight brought to the institute, linking it to Delia York, who died in 1991 from "atypical sarcoma." It was the trigger for the entire D.E.L.I.A. series, forcing scientists to dig into the cases of Laura, Isaac, Eliza, and Alexander. Doctors were still scratching their heads back then, in 1991, not understanding what kind of pathology they were looking at, and, apparently, we haven't made much progress in 2000.
Note from David S.: Delia is the beginning of this whole nightmare, and I'm sitting here rewriting a report as if it's going to bring her or the other kids back to life. Someone up there probably thinks we're going to solve the mystery of the century, and all I see is a dusty refrigerator and a bunch of questions.
The experiment was conducted from 10 to 15 March 2000. The tissue was removed from paraffin (enzymatic dissociation with trypsin and collagenase), placed in a Petri dish with DMEM culture medium, supplemented with 10% FBS serum and placed in a Thermo Forma incubator (37°C, 5% CO₂). Rat PC12 cells served as a control, as in later tests with other specimens. The goal was to check whether these cells had any activity after two years of storage, or were simply dead weight.
Note from David S.: Honestly, who on the committee thought old tissue would talk like a horror movie? I'd rather have a beer than dig into this. Mark was probably thinking he was Spielberg while he was peering through the microscope.
After 48 hours, under a Nikon Eclipse E400 microscope (400x magnification), Mark noticed that the cells in specimen D weren't just lying around, they were dividing-the mitotic rate was 10 mitoses per field, which sounds like science fiction for dead tissue. They were forming clusters with polymorphic nuclei, and in some areas there was regeneration, as if the cells had decided to fix themselves. Linda wrote in the protocol: "This doesn't look like normal tissue, more like an attempt by the organism to reassemble itself." Elizabeth suggested that this might be due to abnormal gene expression, but without DNA sequencing, we're like blind kittens.
Note from David S.: Regeneration? Seriously? What, we found immortal cells, like in a cheap sci-fi movie? Linda, stop talking to Tech Joe and check your notes. This is all white-knuckled, but I have to rewrite this as if we're about to win a Nobel Prize.
By 72 hours, the D cells were starting to influence PC12. In dishes where they were side by side, the rat cells showed increased proliferation, 12% higher than normal, with irregular nuclei similar to those in D. A Perkin-Elmer Lambda 2 spectrophotometer picked up strange peaks at 460 nm and 610 nm that didn't match anything in the cancer databases. Mark wrote in his report (March 12, 2000): "Specimen D behaves as if it were alive. It's not just a tumor, it's something with its own program." I read that and thought: Mark, you've been watching too much Alien.
Note from David S.: A live program? Mark, put down the science fiction and turn on your brain. We're sitting with Windows 98, which freezes every half hour, looking for a "program" in dead cells? It's like looking for aliens in soup. Someone up there is probably rubbing their hands, waiting for a sensation from us.
At 96 hours, the cells in specimen D had formed structures resembling primitive tissue with vessels-abnormal vascularization, as Elizabeth put it. Immunohistochemistry (Ki-67, VEGF) showed high proliferative activity and expression of vascular growth factors, but the cells remained carcinoma in situ. Elizabeth concluded in her report (March 15, 2000): "Specimen D is a paradox: regeneration and oncology in one bottle. It sets the tone for the entire D.E.L.I.A. series, but without new technologies we are at a dead end."
Note from David S.: Paradox? That's putting it mildly, Elizabeth. We're staring into a microscope like a crystal ball, waiting for it to tell us about Delia. And I'm sitting here, copying, wondering if this D specimen is just a joke, and we've all fallen for it.
Comparison with other specimens (L, I, E, A) showed that specimen D was their progenitor. All had polymorphic nuclei and abnormal vascularization, but D stood out for its regenerative activity. Linda suggested that it was "older" in biological activity, perhaps due to its unique origin. James Lin hinted at "external influence" but without specifics - as always, empty words. Elizabeth told them to stop guessing until there was proof.
Note from David S.: Lin is again theorizing like he's Sherlock Holmes. External influence? Maybe the coffee machine in the lab is emitting radiation? I'd shake the hand of anyone who says we're wasting our budget. It's all far-fetched, and I'm just a copyist of their fantasies.
Bottom line: Specimen D, which started the D.E.L.I.A. series, confirmed that we are dealing with something abnormal - the cells regenerate, affect their neighbors, but remain pathological. It's like a riddle we can't solve with our ancient Nikon Eclipse and Windows 98, which glitches like an old tractor. I rewrote the report, as Elizabeth asked, but in my head it's spinning: it all started with Delia, and maybe she has the key. Or is this just another grave we're digging in vain?
Note from David S.: Delia, I'm sorry we've been going through your cells like they're an old trunk. Someone upstairs decided this was important, but I'm sitting here wondering if this is just a report to close out the budget year. And I'm just a fool, rewriting it while my coffee gets cold.
And then, among the graphs and protocols, a handwritten fairy tale suddenly emerges - "Sleeping Diana", scribbled as if in a hurry on a cocktail napkin. What the hell is it doing in a scientific folder? Has Mark decided to become the next Andersen, or has Linda again confused her notes with a dream diary? But since Elizabeth wants a clean copy, I take a pen and rewrite it. And you know, while I was delving into it, I began to see shadows of our project in this story. Maybe this is not just nonsense, but a key to what D.E.L.I.A. is?
Note from David S.: A fairy tale in a lab report? It's like finding a romance novel in a toolbox. Elizabeth, if you planted this to drive me crazy, you're close. But the name Diana... That's a reference to Delia York, the first victim. Or am I just overthinking it and seeing conspiracies in every piece of paper?
The Tale of "Sleeping Diana"
Transcribed from handwritten text found in D.E.L.I.A. folder, July 2000
Once upon a time, in a land where the stars sang of change, there lived a girl named Diana, whose beauty was like moonlight. But a shadow had settled in her body, an invisible illness that made her weaker every day. Her skin grew pale as marble, her breathing became intermittent, and her eyes shone as if they held the secret of the universe. The wise men who came to her bedside whispered: "This is not an illness, but a sign of a great transformation."
Note from David S.: Diana, as in Delia York? The name is clearly not a coincidence - Delia, the first victim, died of sarcoma in '91, and Diana is her mythological double, the goddess of the hunt. This "affliction" is like our atypical tumors. Who wrote this tale? Earl Knight, who was obsessed with Delia, or one of our own who knows more than he's saying?
Diana was not alone in her fate. Other children, whose names echoed like her own, were also weakened by the same invisible force. Their bodies, like vessels, tried to contain something new, but they broke under the weight. The wise men said that these children were the seeds of the future, but the earth was too harsh to allow them to grow.
Note from David S.: Children, like echoes? These are our specimens - Laura, Isaac, Eliza, Alexander. All with these strange tumors, all died at 9 or 10 years old. But their names are not here, and that is creepy. Someone knew about them and wove them into the story, but why? It's like a code we can't crack. Mark, if this is your job, I don't envy you.
Time passed, and the secret of Diana and her companions remained hidden in the crystal coffins where they lay, not dead, but sleeping, awaiting their hour. And then came the Coffin Keeper - a man, not a knight, not a hero, but a seeker of truth, whose heart was torn with doubt. He delved into old scrolls and test tubes, listening to the whispers of the past, until he found Diana's crystal coffin.
Note from David S.: The Coffin Keeper? That's clearly not me - I'm just copying papers, not digging into mysticism. Maybe it's Earl Knight, who dug up the children's files? Or someone at the Institute who sees more in these tissues than we do? But this "truth" is like Lin's "superhuman" hypothesis, only in a pretty wrapper.
With trepidation, the Coffin Keeper touched Diana's crystal coffin, and it opened like a flower in the sun. Diana opened her eyes, her gaze clear as the morning light. She rose, alive, but not the same, but new, as if her body had completed what her illness had begun. Taking the Coffin Keeper's hand, she smiled and said, "Come, the world awaits." Together they went to distant lands where the stars sang of a new beginning.
Note from David S.: Came to life and walked away hand in hand? Is this Sleeping Beauty on steroids? But I sit here and think: It's like there's hope that we'll find answers in these tissues. Delia didn't come to life, but her name - the first in D.E.L.I.A. - seems to beckon us on. Who wrote this? Earl, Lin, or someone who knows what we're looking for?
This fairy tale is not just someone's drunken fantasy, shoved into the D.E.L.I.A. folder. It is like a mirror in which our project is reflected. Diana is Delia York, whose atypical sarcoma in '91 opened this series. The other children - Laura, Isaac, Eliza, Alexander - with their strange tumors, like an echo of her fate. The ending, where Diana comes to life and leaves with the Guardian, is a hint that D.E.L.I.A. can provide answers if we continue to dig. The title of the project, starting with her name, is not a coincidence - it is a sacred code, a memory of those who became the "seeds" of something greater. Maybe Lin is right, and their diseases are nature's attempt to create a new type of person, but their bodies could not withstand it. Or maybe Earl, obsessed with Delia, wove her name into the project so that we would not forget. I rewrote this story for Elizabeth, but now I'm wondering: what if D.E.L.I.A. is not just science, but a way to keep their names alive and give them hope? I'll have to ask Elizabeth, but I bet she'll say it's just a piece of paper.
Note from David S.: I stare at this story and wonder: Who wrote this? Earl, who saw Delia in '91? Or one of our own, playing their own games? D.E.L.I.A. is Diana, and that ending with a twist is like saying, "Don't give up." But as an engineer, I know that hope is great, but without a new microscope, we're stuck.
The fairy tale is nonsense, but it caught my attention. These "seeds of a new world" that they write about there are like our specimens that try to regenerate but break down. Diana, who comes back to life, is like the hope that we will find answers, although with our antediluvian Nikon Eclipse and Windows 98, which freezes every half hour, it sounds like science fiction. But here's what's strange: as I rewrite this, the thought keeps spinning in my head that someone - Earl, Elizabeth, or God knows who - knew that we would find this fairy tale. And that D.E.L.I.A. is not just about tumors, but about preserving the names of these children, their secret. I don't believe in mysticism, but this idea, like a splinter, doesn't give me peace. Maybe we really are digging into something bigger than science?
Note from David S.: A splinter? I think I'm nuts. But this story, this project, this name - Diana, Delia... I feel like someone is looking at me from the past and saying, "Keep digging." Elizabeth, if you know who wrote this, tell me, or I'll start seeing ghosts.
Delia, wait for me!..