"Significant Other"

The Room was lit with bright white lights, blinding his eyes as the big bulbs glared down at him with their bulging orbs. The Room's bare blank walls choked him as they moved closer, entrapping him between their four planes of nothingness. His mouth opened, gulping for air in large gasps, fingers clenching at the cold metal table he was strapped to.

"Begin the tests." The booming voice of god was toneless.

Noooooo!!! Not again, he couldn't take it again. He screamed for his mother right before the soft hum of a mechanical arm stole all sound from his throat.

The thick needle attached to the arm pierced his young skin easily, injecting the burning drug that would release the supposed hidden power within him.

I am...

A haze swarmed lazily around his vision as the drug pumped through his blood. Shutting his eyes against the bright lights, he turned his head, tears streaming down his small, ashen face.

I exist...

Why was Mama doing this to him? Why was she letting him be hurt this way?

"Insert the nanomachines."

The mandate from god chilled him to the bone. He didn't know what 'nanomachines' were... but.... when they were injected.... they ate him alive.

Born from your fear...

God's declaration immediately sent him into loud tearful pleas and desperate squirming as he strained against the strong metal cuffs that bound him to the table in that stifling laboratory.

The shrill shrieks begging for his mother rapidly degenerated into incoherent cries of agony as five thick pumps whirred and shot the nanomachines into his bloodstream.

Born from your pain...

"Analyze him. Don't forget to recheck his anima alignment." God's voice was the Last Judgement.

How he hated the voice of god! Hollow and empty, filled with no humanity or emotion. God must have been a terrible, uncaring entity, filled with nothing and existing only to be hated. And he did hate god. And his mother for doing this to him. And everyone for not helping him.

Born from your misanthropy and distrust...

Die. They should die. No, he should die. He wanted escape from this pain. Escape from reality.

Tiny explosions suddenly, painfully pricked just underneath his skin, stopping his heart and breath, grinding at at his muscles and dissolving his veins. He wanted to scream; he had no breath. He wanted to cry; he had no heart. He simply laid there, drunk with agony, staring empty-eyed at the glass mirror to his left from which he knew his mother and god were watching.

You gave me this cursed life...

With an echoing, singular pound of his still heart, the world flared and died.