Omega didn’t believe in heaven or hell. Didn’t believe in karma, justice, destiny or anything… but he did believe in revenge, and each time he was dragged to that lab, his desire for revenge grew. When they strapped him to that table, his limbs offlined again, and he saw that mirroring flash of blond and blood red, the reason to continue existing roared within his core. He’ll exist, break free, and get his revenge on his other half, no matter what it took or what was sacrificed.
Even if he lost his sanity, he’d do it.
The table Omega was strapped to suddenly became a frame, exposing his back. He felt himself sink into it until his limps were pulled enough to make his body taunt over the sudden hole. His vest was removed, the undersuit unzipped to the waist and the sleeves cut so it could be dragged down. When the cold assaulted him, Omega hissed, lifting his head to look up at Zero on his damned high place, mustering all the hate he could into his look.
When Zero smirked back, it was because the wires from the machine below the table stabbed into the original’s back, slicing artificial muscles, tendons, and unfortunate wires to penetrate forcefully into the smaller-than ports.
Omega howled as he felt what seemed to be gallons of his blood and fluids splash to the awaiting tank below, dripping messily down the massive wires that forced his back’s ports to split to accommodate them. He had thought the intrusion was possibly destructive enough to cut his pain sensory off, but no, he knew that smirk on Zero’s face. The pain was only just starting.
He kept his eyes trained on his other half, teeth grinding and bared. As the newest causative agent entered his body through those broken ports, his programming forcefully hacked as his body was too busy trying to keep itself online to fight off the technical invasion and new source of pain, Omega could only howl at Zero. He was in agony, and it showed, but the hate was clear in his eyes.
Zero’s own eyes were much more subtle, much darker in their twisted mirth; there was no denying his brand of hatred for the Maverick beneath him.
Omega fought the hacking, fought the pain, just so he could keep his eyes on that traitorous other half of his. He wanted that smug look to be seared into his circuits, his memory, his soul even, so that when he got free he could rip it right off that copy’s face.
He didn’t know how much time passed, nor the fact the hacking and agent circulation eventually stopped, since the pain and hate never did. The only reason Omega noticed it was nearing the end was Zero looking disappointed and, like the coward he was, breaking their heated eye contact to walk away. The offensive cables detached and dropped away from him, and he could still feel his blood streaming out of the large wounds those cables caused. Regardless the table filled its center and the Maverick went limp once his limbs were no longer pulled to keep him taunt.
“Take him to the back,” Omega heard Henry mutter. “I’ll repair him.”
His will might have kept him online during the hellish experiment, but it did nothing to stop the guards from grabbing Omega and dragging him off the table and across the floor to another area of the lab. The only resistance he could put up was a snarl, but only the guards seemed intimidated. Henry just shook his head.
~*~
Henry was able to get the guards to leave, but only after Omega’s still offlined limbs were shackled down to the medical table. His head was turned so he could see the scientist peel off torn, bloody chunks of ruined Reploid flesh and distorted pieces of metal. It should have hurt, but Henry had forcefully offlined most of Omega’s sensory units. But the Maverick wasn’t about to chalk it up to human kindness or even pity.
“You’re quite the formidable one, code Omega.” Henry muttered as he began to repair the damage done. “By all logical reasons, the combined pain of physical torture and program tearing should have offlined you permanently this time… yet you remain, conscious even.”
Omega just grunted, but not to reply—it was more of a reflex when Henry jerked out another faulty plate, pulling Omega’s body up a bit then dropping back down onto the hard surface of the table.
“I know you can speak, you’re a fully functional Reploid, not some animal conscious like Zero pretends you are. My name is Henry Weil.”
I know who you are. Omega thought, but kept his silence. He knew Henry Weil and his associate, the blond woman Aurora, both assigned to the ‘Hope’ project. That is, the very torture Omega had to endure, the project that made him a guinea pig for their anti-virus attempts.
“Very well,” Henry will pause in his repairing. “I’ll get to the point. What is it you want most, Omega?”
The Reploid snorted. This was a waste of time, although it wasn’t like Omega didn’t have plenty of it. “Nothing.” He’ll growl. His voice sounded guttural from the screaming earlier, and general disuse outside of the lab experiments.
Henry laughed. “Even a mindless ant wants something. Revenge, Omega? Power? A chance to re-assimilate Zero and torture him for eternity as you shred the world apart?”
All were tempting, but Omega said nothing to the options. He wasn’t the mindless monster people assumed he was, and he was not the power-hungry dolt this Henry Weil thought he was. To be so idiotically filed as such…
No, he didn’t want any of those things. Not a single one if it had to be handed to him.
“Freedom,” Omega finally uttered.
“Splendid, that’s well within reason and easy to obtain!” Henry laughed—the sound grated on Omega’s nerves. “That is, if you’ll do as I ask. Just one simple little task, and freedom you shall have.”
That’s a new prison called debt. Omega remained silent, even as Henry prodded him for an answer. Why trade a new glass box for another?
“I suppose you’ll need time to warm up to the idea of a human enlisting your aid. That’s fine, if you think you can withstand the experiments. Unfortunately I can’t stop working on them until you say yes. But think well, Omega—with me, freedom and revenge are possible.” Ending his recruiting speech, although Omega couldn’t recall if the man even spoke of the favor itself or not, Henry resumed the repairs.
Is this what he was reduced to—a pathetic, tortured being that’s expected to jump at the most ridiculous of baits? Bribed by his own torturer… what a riot... him, the original Maverick, how could he fall so low...
One prison for another… then again, it couldn’t get worse than this. At least in Weil’s glass box, Omega had something to exist for outside hallucinations.
Even if he lost his sanity, he’d do it.
The table Omega was strapped to suddenly became a frame, exposing his back. He felt himself sink into it until his limps were pulled enough to make his body taunt over the sudden hole. His vest was removed, the undersuit unzipped to the waist and the sleeves cut so it could be dragged down. When the cold assaulted him, Omega hissed, lifting his head to look up at Zero on his damned high place, mustering all the hate he could into his look.
When Zero smirked back, it was because the wires from the machine below the table stabbed into the original’s back, slicing artificial muscles, tendons, and unfortunate wires to penetrate forcefully into the smaller-than ports.
Omega howled as he felt what seemed to be gallons of his blood and fluids splash to the awaiting tank below, dripping messily down the massive wires that forced his back’s ports to split to accommodate them. He had thought the intrusion was possibly destructive enough to cut his pain sensory off, but no, he knew that smirk on Zero’s face. The pain was only just starting.
He kept his eyes trained on his other half, teeth grinding and bared. As the newest causative agent entered his body through those broken ports, his programming forcefully hacked as his body was too busy trying to keep itself online to fight off the technical invasion and new source of pain, Omega could only howl at Zero. He was in agony, and it showed, but the hate was clear in his eyes.
Zero’s own eyes were much more subtle, much darker in their twisted mirth; there was no denying his brand of hatred for the Maverick beneath him.
Omega fought the hacking, fought the pain, just so he could keep his eyes on that traitorous other half of his. He wanted that smug look to be seared into his circuits, his memory, his soul even, so that when he got free he could rip it right off that copy’s face.
He didn’t know how much time passed, nor the fact the hacking and agent circulation eventually stopped, since the pain and hate never did. The only reason Omega noticed it was nearing the end was Zero looking disappointed and, like the coward he was, breaking their heated eye contact to walk away. The offensive cables detached and dropped away from him, and he could still feel his blood streaming out of the large wounds those cables caused. Regardless the table filled its center and the Maverick went limp once his limbs were no longer pulled to keep him taunt.
“Take him to the back,” Omega heard Henry mutter. “I’ll repair him.”
His will might have kept him online during the hellish experiment, but it did nothing to stop the guards from grabbing Omega and dragging him off the table and across the floor to another area of the lab. The only resistance he could put up was a snarl, but only the guards seemed intimidated. Henry just shook his head.
~*~
Henry was able to get the guards to leave, but only after Omega’s still offlined limbs were shackled down to the medical table. His head was turned so he could see the scientist peel off torn, bloody chunks of ruined Reploid flesh and distorted pieces of metal. It should have hurt, but Henry had forcefully offlined most of Omega’s sensory units. But the Maverick wasn’t about to chalk it up to human kindness or even pity.
“You’re quite the formidable one, code Omega.” Henry muttered as he began to repair the damage done. “By all logical reasons, the combined pain of physical torture and program tearing should have offlined you permanently this time… yet you remain, conscious even.”
Omega just grunted, but not to reply—it was more of a reflex when Henry jerked out another faulty plate, pulling Omega’s body up a bit then dropping back down onto the hard surface of the table.
“I know you can speak, you’re a fully functional Reploid, not some animal conscious like Zero pretends you are. My name is Henry Weil.”
I know who you are. Omega thought, but kept his silence. He knew Henry Weil and his associate, the blond woman Aurora, both assigned to the ‘Hope’ project. That is, the very torture Omega had to endure, the project that made him a guinea pig for their anti-virus attempts.
“Very well,” Henry will pause in his repairing. “I’ll get to the point. What is it you want most, Omega?”
The Reploid snorted. This was a waste of time, although it wasn’t like Omega didn’t have plenty of it. “Nothing.” He’ll growl. His voice sounded guttural from the screaming earlier, and general disuse outside of the lab experiments.
Henry laughed. “Even a mindless ant wants something. Revenge, Omega? Power? A chance to re-assimilate Zero and torture him for eternity as you shred the world apart?”
All were tempting, but Omega said nothing to the options. He wasn’t the mindless monster people assumed he was, and he was not the power-hungry dolt this Henry Weil thought he was. To be so idiotically filed as such…
No, he didn’t want any of those things. Not a single one if it had to be handed to him.
“Freedom,” Omega finally uttered.
“Splendid, that’s well within reason and easy to obtain!” Henry laughed—the sound grated on Omega’s nerves. “That is, if you’ll do as I ask. Just one simple little task, and freedom you shall have.”
That’s a new prison called debt. Omega remained silent, even as Henry prodded him for an answer. Why trade a new glass box for another?
“I suppose you’ll need time to warm up to the idea of a human enlisting your aid. That’s fine, if you think you can withstand the experiments. Unfortunately I can’t stop working on them until you say yes. But think well, Omega—with me, freedom and revenge are possible.” Ending his recruiting speech, although Omega couldn’t recall if the man even spoke of the favor itself or not, Henry resumed the repairs.
Is this what he was reduced to—a pathetic, tortured being that’s expected to jump at the most ridiculous of baits? Bribed by his own torturer… what a riot... him, the original Maverick, how could he fall so low...
One prison for another… then again, it couldn’t get worse than this. At least in Weil’s glass box, Omega had something to exist for outside hallucinations.
/When something like a soul becomes initialized
And folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of hope…/
And folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of hope…/