His eyes followed her across the screen, hungrily taking in her appearance. Her body was a work of her own demented genius, her ears unnaturally rounded and her breasts shrunk; she would look like a child if it wasn't for her knowledgeable eyes. She was much taller than any fairy; her self-created pituitary gland had done that. She was bruised, prison hadn't been kind to her and she looked battered and sunken. He enjoyed her humiliation, reveled in it. He had caused it, and he loved the feeling of absolute power.
Those eyes, so cruel and intelligent, gazed up at him glinting with amusement as she sat in the middle of the floor on her dirty, dank cell. Or rather, they gazed up at the camera that followed her movements so closely. She knew that he watched her, whether it was through her undeniable genius or obsessive paranoia could not be determined.
He desired her and hated her all at once. There was no one else who could match his technological powers, no one else to give him a challenge, no one else to beat and still feel satisfaction except for her. He craved her release; he wanted her free to wreck mayhem on society so he could destroy her, so he could see the knowledge of defeat in her eyes once more, then to keep her with him always and to take her as his own.
Her lips moved, and he watched with fascination as she mouthed the word Sick. Despite the lack of sound she kept talking to him. You're sick, you know that? Do your little friends know that you want me? Or what about your wife? Do they know that you do this? That you watch me like some horny gnome? You take pleasure in this, in me. You're really sick.
She winked, and he shuddered. It was hard to believe that an innocent gesture could hold so much malice. He desired her all the more for it, and she knew that.
Nobody had ever paid so much attention to her in her life, and more than anything that was what she craved. She sat in the middle of the cold cell floor, no longer caring about the dirt and mud that covered it, and stared at the camera. It was a beautiful thing, it paid constant attention to her every movement, its sleek, black skin and clear lenses appealed to her every sense. A tingling sensation spread from her toes to her brain as she calculated the speed of the blinking red light. Her jumpsuit lay open, revealing mottled, yellow skin. She knew that's what it wanted, what the camera wanted, her pain and her body. If she didn't give the camera what it wanted then it might leave her here, where she was not admired but hated, and where she was not feared but scorned. She'd give the camera anything, as long as it would stay. Of course, if the camera knew that it might loose interest.
S o she sat there, in her cell, as he sat there in his lab. Stalemate, neither could leave and neither could get any closer.
A/N: I didn't really like this piece… I liked the idea, but it didn't turn out as well as I wanted it to. It's just… weird. Any criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading this far if you made it.