Is it wrong to love someone, though they've done things completely and utterly unimaginable, beyond belief? Because they thought that they were doing the right thing, though their actions were horrible?
DEUS EX MACHINA - CHAPTER 1
"It was my lifelong ambition," I muttered to the police offer, a paradox of pride and shame pressing heavily on my voice.
I peered through the greying thickets of hair that fell over my face, casting my gaze down at the cold steel table I'd been seated at. As I tucked my bearded chin against the stained fabric of my clothes, my eyes wandered over the hands I no longer knew as mine, bound in heavy iron chains and secured to its metal brethren. The skin had long since blistered into a protective coating of scabs against the rough metal, an ever-present reminder of my thus far lengthy imprisonment.
The officer continued to stare at me with her pitiless eyes. I knew she loathed me for what I'd done. Her narrowed green irises betrayed that much. And more. She wanted to see me as just another criminal, but I knew she couldn't. I was special. Almost personal to her, I sensed. As if my actions had dredged up a powerful fear inside her. One that she'd experienced in her youth, perhaps. That look in her eyes was intriguing… alluring…
"Why would you dedicate your life to something as… abhorrent as that?" she asked in disgust, her mouth contorted into an expression of obvious scorn.
A soft chuckle escaped my lips, making my captor recoil in her seat. Abhorrent was a word that had run rampant through my mind these last few days. Solitary did indeed give one ample time to consider their situation, and I'd come to the conclusion that these lesser folk would see my work as such. How little they knew. How little she knew. Then again, how could she understand? Only a mother can comprehend what motivates their child to act. The officer's high, robust bosom certainly left no questions as to how she was yet to produce an offspring. It gave me comfort, knowing that her antagonism was inspired by her ignorance.
"Abhorrent?" I rasped, my eyes never moving from the fixation on my cuffs. "Tell me officer—"
"Answer my question," she growled, venom evident in her words. A smirk wound its way onto my lips this time, for beneath her façade of authority I could hear a fearful tremor in her undertone. She wanted to know why, and yet she knew the knowledge would frighten her.
What a brave woman… I thought, silently repeating that wavering pitch in an endless echo within my mind. I found it arousing that she was making such an effort to talk to me, even though I inspired such repulsion. "Why?" I repeated hollowly. "Because it has always been man's dream to play God, my dear. To create life from where there once was none. Unlike those of your gender," I glanced up at the officer's uniformed chest with a jerk of my forehead, "I cannot create life through conventional biological means. So I do what I can with what I have."
"You're sick, that's what you are," she responded coldly, and just like that the fear in her voice had vanished. To my displeasure, my arousal also dissipated in an instant, and my chin fell back onto my chest, the fetid smell of my urine-stained rags clogging up my nostrils once more. "If a child was what you wanted, there are any number of places—"
An earnest laugh escaped me, and her lips went still once more. Once again, she had completely failed to understand me. "I did create a child, you ignorant slut."
"Mind your tongue!" she shrieked, jumping to her feet and bringing her baton crashing down upon my arms. Her efforts were wasted; I didn't even feel it. My body had long since forgotten how to register something as flawed and useless as pain.
"You asked me why I would do it, and yet you lash out for expressing an answer," I seethed in one long ragged breath. Through the haze of my decrepit fringe I could see her grip tighten around her baton's handle.
"I lash out at your disrespect, you filthy, unrepentant psychopath."
"Disrespect? Exactly what good is respect going to do me in this situation, officer? I know full well that you intend to hold me here until the day I die. And you're too much of a coward to kill me for being disrespectful," I spat the last word with as much contempt as my body could muster, "so you might as well save your sweet breath for something more constructive."
I could see the muscle twitching in her jaw as I spoke, her brow furrowed in rage. God, she was so easy to read. No control over her emotions whatsoever. Reluctantly, she lifted her baton off my forearms, resuming her seat and glaring at me with daggers for eyes.
"Why did you create this… child of yours?" she pressed, shuddering in unrestrained revulsion at the very notion.
"As I said earlier, I can't reproduce, so this was the only way for me to create life," I explained once more, though I knew that she wanted a different answer. She didn't want my biological justification; I'd already given her that. She wanted the personal reason.
"You know what I meant," the officer said, placing her hands on the table in a vain attempt at intimidation.
I wanted to tell her why, to see her reaction to my madness. But I wanted to see her more often, and I knew she would stop interrogating me if I told her flat out. Seeing that uniform of hers clinging to her curvy body was easily the highlight of my day, and I wanted to prolong that privilege as long as I could.
"Then allow me to resubmit something else I said earlier," I said, shifting in the rickety chair I'd long since stopped feeling. My natural posture had degraded severely during my incarceration, forcing me to slouch whenever I was presented with seating. "Humans want to play God. It's in our nature to want to be God. And by that, I mean that we all want to be the one with the most power. Wouldn't you agree, officer?" I asked, licking my cracked lips.
"No, I wouldn't," she refuted firmly, frowning. "I've heard hundreds of lunatics like you use that reason as some sort of twisted justification for your actions, and it never slides with me. And you wanna know why? It's because I know there are people who don't want that. Some people – good people – only want what's best for those they care for. But then again, I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," she added, a trace of a smirk playing on her lips.
I grinned along with her, recognising the psychological technique she was employing. As I predicted, that smirk of hers wavered and wobbled for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure. She knew no such people. She was trying to anger me. It's strange, I suppose, how a few weeks in solitary confinement can toughen your mind to such manipulation. It had always been said that you were supposed to "lose your mind" in these circumstances…
"You don't want more power?" was the question I posed to the officer this time. "You're content to merely spend your days eking out a paycheque interrogating lowlife scumbags like myself, are you? Doing the dirty work for some lazy-ass superior who feels the need to subject you to day after day of interactions with the dregs of society… psychopaths and murderers and freaks of nature who do more to violate humanity than the charity of thousands… Well I've got news for you, pretty lady…" I wagged my finger at her despite not being able to lift my wrist from the desk, "You spend enough time around us… and you're gonna become one of us."
"Good luck with that," she said coolly. "But now, I want you to actually answer my question for once, instead of rambling on with philosophical bullshit."
"Very well," I conceded, resigning myself to indulging her in a fraction of my reasoning. Though I did take note of her impatience and layered intelligence for subsequent meetings before I next opened my mouth. "My child is a creation of power, as you've no doubt experienced by now," I explained, taking care to stifle the conflicting emotions I was feeling. "I had intended to… teach my child how to use that power, in order to better direct it into a form more suitable to our preferences."
"So in short, you wanted to use your "child" as nothing more than a hired goon, to do all your dirty work?"
Her words immediately put a damper on my mood. "…It would do you good not to insinuate that we had that kind of relationship, officer," I growled, not bothering to mask the malice in my words.
"Is that a threat?"
"It's advice," I answered sourly. "We both know quite well that I am in neither the position, nor condition to challenge your authority. I may be steadfast in my child's defence, but I am not an idiot."
"Then why shouldn't I be insinuating that, hm?" she asked, using the condescending tone an adult used when talking to a small child. Although the notion irritated me to some extent, my knowledge on psychology far outstripped hers, and I did not fall for her trick.
"Because as difficult as it is for you to believe, I do care deeply for my child, even though it is not directly my own flesh and blood," I said in a level voice, not the least bit surprised by her lack of understanding thus far. "As a person who has no children, you would not understand why I love my child so, so don't bother asking that question."
The officer folded her arms over her ample chest, holding me in that penetrating gaze of hers. I refused her the benefit of eye contact. I wasn't afraid of her powers of deduction; so far they had proved ineffective in eliciting a completely honest explanation of my actions. She was simply unworthy of a glimpse at my own turbulent emotions.
And they were quite turbulent, indeed. On the one hand, I feel immense pride in my child, both in its power and its loyalty. It had proven itself worthy of more than just existence, surpassing its inferior, deceased predecessors. And though I would have loved it unconditionally in either scenario, my affections felt validated when its tests showed me the extent to which it could operate. What had impressed and warmed me the most was its ability to learn from its surroundings. For all my years of studying psychology and interactions, it seemed to know all these fields instinctively. It could hone in on the weaknesses of whatever was placed before it and exploit them to a degree far beyond what I could ever dream to. And for that, I was so proud of it.
Yet… in contrast to my pride, I feel an overwhelming sense of shame in my own limitations. I was too focused on its gifts and innate power that I neglected to teach it control and moderation. I failed to bestow it with the reasoning skills that made humans so unique. But most of all, I failed to learn its motivations. Thus, it had been left a creature of instinct, guided by a force that in my haste to improve, I had not properly understood.
And so, my child had rebelled, disregarding my pleas for it to teach me its thoughts. It was in the few days after it left that I began to understand where I had gone so horribly wrong with its upbringing. Our relationship had been strained too heavily by my eagerness to implement my knowledge, and my unwillingness to learn from it. But I do not fault my child for acting the way it did. I know that the blame lies with me, both for its insurrection, and for the trail of destruction it leaves behind as it tries to understand.
I'm sorry… my child…
This will probably end up turning into a short series over time, if my muse is nice. That being said, updates will be sparing and sporadic at best, so don't be too disappointed if I take my time with the next chapter.
Hope you enjoyed this opening chapter, and here's hoping for more to come~