He Is My Sin

He strokes the cool glass fervently, eyes glazing over zealously wishing he were the thing on the other side.

“…what I’ve always wanted…” he mumbles almost incoherently.

The room is lit with blue hues all mesmerizing in their own. He is alone now; no one bothers to stay anymore. Behind him computers hum softly but he could care less (it only adds to the dream), the lovely manikin captured within the glass prison full of soft sapphire liquid has his rapture. Long onyx cords are tethered to its –his?- perfect body floating upwards and downwards, disappearing at base and apex. The wires rise and lay suspended at the ceiling connected to the whirring machines beside him. The rest are splayed along the floor and he has to be careful not to trip over any.

He stokes the glass again in a delirious manner and realizes his hands are numb and he is shivering violently. But it doesn’t matter, he knows the being on the other side is warm and he almost wishes how. –Almost- It still does not wake though he knows he is gasping louder and louder.

Hair which is a matte noir at present absorbs the faint light and waves ethereally in the nonexistent breeze, fanning out about its bronzed skin. He wonders again how its –his HIS- hair can go from that to a soft sugar blond in a moment of reflective light. After all it is his creation. It looks so peaceful.

But he knows beyond the high cheekbones and slumbering eyelids lays a monster far more deadly than he the creator can comprehend. Because it is perfect and perfection scares him. It is what he’s wanted for so many years and no one will ever know the depth of his intense desire. He is much more beautiful than she. He decides firmly. Much more beautiful than the imperfection of One. Two was closer to his goal but Three is perfect. Three is so magnificently perfect that he is inhuman.

“Three.” he moans quietly and marvels at how quickly the creature snaps open its eyes. He can see the pinpricks of amber accented by turquoise and greens. This simple sharp movement causes its hair to transform to a blinding shade of blanche. Thick, full bubbles rise slowly as it exhales into the syrupy fluid. It looks down at him with a forever blank and expectant look. Always the servant. Always more machine than sentient. In these moments he almost wishes again that he had given it more of a mind to love him with. –More to hate not unlike One-

Pale fingers slide along one of the many control panels seeking for the correct button that will give the preferred result. They are in sharp contrast to the russet ones pressed upon the interior of the tank, asking admittance back into reality. He spins the dial with a sigh and watches idly as the amniotic healing solution drains and Three mechanically coughs the liquid out of his regenerated lungs.

With a noise much like a suction cup the glass detaches and slides away into the floor. Three waits with infinite patience as Michail removes the cords. He makes a noise between a whine and a sigh, the thing he does most around Three now, as he runs his hands over Three’s androgynous (though distinctly male) body. He knows it is unprofessional and he knows it is wrong but he finds it impossible to stop. He fingers the four heavy wraps around Three’s waist, wanting badly to remove them. If Three has learned anything about personal space, he is unsure of.

He brings his hand to take away the final electrode feeling the pliable flesh beneath his fingers. Beneath the skin there are robotic muscle combined with human tissue and at the core bones made of the most durable alloys and metals. Through artificial veins pump thin oils and synthetic blood harboured by a biomechanical heart. The constantly moving nanobots keep Three’s body warmer than a normal human’s and this is what Michail loves about him most.

Bending his head enough to press his lips to Three’s neck, he wonders what it is like to be perfect. He would give anything to be that. Pulling Three’s identity collar off he reveals the number and barcode imprinted there. Kissing along the inky tattoo, he chances nipping lightly, tasting the foul fluid that Three is still drenched in. “You enjoy the flavour of it, don’t you Three?” Michail asks, voice rasping in the slightest.

“Of what?” Three questions in an eternal monotone, robotic voice box adding a metallic echo. He does not reveal in the least if he understands what the situation is.

“The amniotic liquid-” in your tank, he means to finish but is quickly becoming preoccupied once more.

“Three knows it is required. It does not matter if Three enjoys it or not.” The cybernetic man answers without delay.

“How clever…” the geneticist replies though Three does not respond to the praise. “What are you assigned to do?” he queries, only wanting to hear more of Three’s voice.

“My instructions are to eliminate sister One and the assassination group known as the Necronailis.”

Michail raises his head, hearing the term “sister” used for the first time. “Sister.” He echoes flatly, hatred becoming apparent in his eyes.

“Affirmative.” Three verifies no longer paying attention to Michail. He walks towards the exit ridding himself of the rubber bracelets encircling his wrists before carefully disengaging the small computer chips implanted on the underside of his arms. He pulls them out of his arms as Synthblood begins to pour from the open wound. Michail watches in neverending fascination as the interior circuitry flares outwards before reattaching itself and the skin seals up as if there were no injury to begin with. “I will be departing in thirty seconds to complete my given objective,” Three explains in a not quite knowledgeable tone but something akin.

Michail watches in contempt now as his perfect creation stops in the doorway as it opens with a ‘woosh’ sound.

“I am called ‘Soren’ by others.” He does not give his counterpart a chance to retaliate as he rushes from the room with an inhuman speed.