A roboticized individual reflects on his fate. Ficlet, Cursing, Major Angst. Twist ending; don't read the character list unless you want it spoiled.
No, I don't suppose you have.
Imagine a cube whose area is half your height, cubed. Imagine being stuffed violently into that cube and sealed.
You're sitting there, every muscle of your body aching, and being forced to watch what goes on outside. You can see everything that happens, feel everything that happens, know everything that happens, on the outside world, but you can do nothing. The cold is horrible; you feel as if you're going to freeze solid at any moment. You cannot breathe; there is no air, you cannot speak, you cannot feel anything but the icy cold glass on your naked flesh and the burning of your heart and lungs. Everyone is looking at you, but they can't see you inside; the glass is one way, and they can't see in... But you can see out; you can see the horror on their faces as the box's container destroys and pillages. You can watch their terror; you can watch their pain. And as you sit there, trapped in a box that's the wrong shape, you sit praying, hoping for two things.
On one hand, you hope that the one you love-anyone you love-will come and rescue you, come and open the box, come and pull you out so you can breathe and scream and cry. You hope they'll hold you in their arms, and warm your dying body back up to the temperature it should be, the temperature of life and of living. You hope that they'll destroy your prison, or at least free you from it. You hope to feel like there's someone else in your world, even if you have to leave your world to do it.
But on the other hand, you hope those you love will never see you like this. You hope that the horrified faces you see through the glass are never theirs. You hope they never know that it's you on the inside of this terrible machine; you hope you don't find your mind crying out apologies as your container trains its weapons on the very gem of a friend you tried to save, or races past the one person that only you should be able to match. You pray that they never end up trapped in another glass cube, far away from your view or anyone else's; every fiber of your being hopes that you will never seen them made into the monstrous machine that you've become.
But I think more than anything what you pray for is the end. You pray for it all to be over; you pray that someone will destroy you and your container alike in a blaze of glory... Or if you're like me, you hope that you get to see, as your container implodes on itself, the faker do to that egg-shaped bastard something even half as horrible as what he's done to you.
Even though you know he'll have to get through your container first.
The ultimate torture for the ultimate life-form.