This story won second place on my poll, so here it goes. I'll be posting Big Girls Don't Cry next, once I write it.

This one-shot is pretty short, but I feel like I packed a lot into it. A story can be powerful no matter how many words you use. Ernest Hemingway once created a story using only six words: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." I think I made an acceptable story in just over a thousand words, so no complaining!

This story is rated T for war, megalomania and insanity, and imprisonment/implied torture. It's not a happy kind of story, so read at your own risk!

I've had this very odd and very crazy idea floating around my head for months, and I finally got it out. It's safe to say that you should not jump to conclusions while reading this.

I don't own Lab Rats, just the idea. Enjoy! Or try to . . .

* * * Deranged * * *

Did he feel things? Now, that was a very unfair question. Most would answer no, it was impossible for him to feel things. Things like emotions, that is. The very emotions that drive humanity, that restore spirit or break it. He couldn't feel them. He didn't feel them. He was incapable of that. Maybe they were right. Or maybe they were wrong.

All he knew was that he felt something. Whether it was a phantom feeling—whether it existed or not—was hard to say. His "emotions" were written into him; not really there, but there all the same. Did that make any sense? Whatever; he wouldn't care about it. It made sense to him.

Joy swept through him, so forget what they said. Joy welled up in his being and spilled out into his work. Joy, elation, happiness ecstasy . . . however you wanted to word it, he was in a state of pure bliss.

Now, that was not unusual. He would often find himself in a place of euphoria where he could not help but smile. What was unusual was the fact that he had been happy for so long. Violent and unpredictable mood swings had long been a part of his personality. By this time he should be angry or horribly depressed for no obvious reason. It was strange to be so glad for such a long time. It was liberating. It made him feel in control.

Control.

Ha, like he needed that. He already had so much control. So much power. No one opposed him or defied him. Oh, they tried. Ha, they tried. They were defeated at every turn. He had the upper hand. They were all mere pawns in his game of chess. He would watch, he would strategize, he would move, and, when the time was right, he would go for the kill. Checkmate. Those pawns were expendable. They were . . . they were pawns! What else was there to say? They had no power, not compared to him. He was in control, and nothing and no one would take that away from him.

The lights on his screen flashed and he answered the incoming call. A young woman appeared on the screen. Her brown hair flowed down her black suit and her face was stiff and expressionless. The green glow of her irises still brought him joy, even after all these years.

"Sir, the rebellion on the South Side has been quashed," she reported.

"Good," he said smoothly.

"Orders, sir?"

"Continue on to the North Side. Scout it out and make sure no one is participating in illegal activities. And if they are, Commander . . . put an end to them."

The commander nodded and switched off her communication device. He sighed. In the beginning, he had had doubts about making that girl a commander. He had known her for years, but he still wasn't sure if she was up to the job. Now, after many years of her faithful service, he knew that he had done the right thing.

Of course, her service was only faithful. . . . He never used the word willing.

He scanned the maps and felt worry begin to settle in. Deep in the recesses of his mind he knew that there was no need for that. He was in control. Still, he couldn't help it. Rebellions had been popping up, and his army was struggling to eliminate them. Oh, they were working hard at it, though. Those little rebels wouldn't stand a chance.

There was no reason to worry. He was the one with the bionic army. He was the one in control of all the devices. He was the one who ran the world.

"Massive takeover," he whispered quietly to himself. "My only regret is that I didn't do this sooner. The whole world bows to me! I have the power. The power!" He laughed, deep and long. His eye twitched, but he didn't pay any attention. It had been glitching like that for a while now. It no longer bothered him.

Despite his attempts to comfort himself with glorious monologuing, he began to feel the sadness settle in. Ah, there it was. The gloominess came in and his happiness went. What a tragic change of emotions. At least now he could laugh at those who claimed he did not feel anything.

There was only one thing that could cheer him up when he was downcast: watching his favorite prisoner. So he parted the lines of code and brought up the security cameras on the screen. He smiled and hissed his greeting: "Hello, Donnie."

The man with jet black hair crouched in his cell. His clothes were grimy and his hair tousled. His expression bordered on unreadable, but there was a distinct forlornness in his eyes. There was no spark of hope anywhere in his brown irises.

For that, he was happy. He didn't like his prisoners to have hope. So he would crush it, smash it, burn it until it no longer existed. He had done a good job with this man. The man was burnt out; he was tired; he was completely, utterly, hopelessly broken beyond repair. Perfect.

"Leave me alone," the man croaked out.

He smiled. The voice was broken too. "Nope," he cackled. "You're just going to have to deal with me."

"I should've gotten rid of you when I had the chance!" the man screamed, turning violently and throwing his head back.

"Oh, look who's getting feisty! You probably should have gotten rid of me, but you didn't. That was your mistake, Don!"

"Don't call me that." That phrase was barely a whisper.

"I will call you whatever I want, and you can do nothing to stop me!"

He stared down at the man: the man who had ruined his life. This man had always hated him. He was always jealous. This man was the bane of his existence, and seeing him locked up in that cramped prison cell was exhilarating.

"I hate you," he hissed to his prisoner.

"I gave you everything!" the man yelled.

"You took everything away from me! You always hated me!"

"No, I didn't! I don't know what happened to you. . . . You were my best friend . . ."

"Really? Really? You're playing that card again? You were never my friend!"

"Yes, I was! I spent so much time with you. I gave up so much for you!"

"Quiet!" he roared. "You're lying to me! You ruined my life. So I'll ruin yours."

"I didn't do anything," the man whispered. "You're crazy. I shouldn't have let this go on this long. I thought . . . ugh, why did I ignore the warnings? I didn't think it would actually happen. This is my fault, and I'm sorry!"

"You're right," he replied, "it is your fault. The world is in darknesses and it's your fault. Everything that's happening here is your fault. Too bad you were too blind to see what was happening right underneath your nose. Now it's too late to stop it. The nightmare will continue, Donnie! Your nightmare . . . has only begun!"

The man bowed his head and he could've sworn that a tear slipped down his cheek. He smiled. This was perfect. He had broken that man. That was all he ever really wanted. He laughed. It was a deep, dark laugh. A menacing one. A dangerous one. An evil one. It was the kind that would be played for movies. It was the kind of laugh that would echo through the room, bouncing back and giving you shivers. It was his laugh. His eye twitched along with it; a sign of pure joy.

So he retreated, transferring his coding from one place to another. He had computers to control, bionics to command, and rebellions to destroy. He left his prisoner slumped in his cell. As he shut off the screen, he could hear the man yelling his name. He just laughed in response.

"Eddy!"

There are a few explanations behind this. First of all, I've always been intrigued by the idea of an evil Eddy. Second of all, my dad was telling me about Cortana, the AI from the Halo video games that went crazy because she was active for too long. We first talked about it in relation to Marcus, but I thought that maybe I could do something like that for Eddy instead.

In short, Eddy was active for too long and he started to deteriorate. He went mad. Completely, utterly mad. Deranged, you might say. ;) He took over bionics and nearly every other electronic system in the world. (Remember Scramble the Orbs, when he duplicated himself?) He locked up Donald because he blamed Donald for everything. Again, Eddy's crazy, so pretty much nothing he believes is actually true. Donald didn't hate him, but Eddy thinks that anyway.

The commander is a certain character from the Lab Rats universe. It's pretty obvious who it is, I'm sure. (And if it's not, let me know.) Here's a few hints: Her names starts with "B" and ends with two of the same letter. Yeah, now you should know who it is.

* * * CHALLENGE TIME! * * *

Okay, I want to try something new. To all you authors out there, I'm challenging you to write an evil Eddy story. It can be just a one-shot or multi-chaptered. It can be as extreme as him taking over the world or as simple as him pranking the Davenports. This is a contest, and there will be winners and prizes. (First place gets to give me a prompt that I will create a one-shot from.) The deadline is January 31st. I'll be posting more info about it on my profile shortly. Feel free to PM and ask questions. I'd love to see more Eddy stories in the archives. So what do you think? Will you do it? (I really hope you do! :D)

Thanks to all for reading. Review/favorite if you liked it; you know, the usual. Did you guys have to read it over a second time when you found out it was Eddy? Were you surprised? Let me know! If you'd like to enter the contest, please PM me. I'll try to update other stories soon. See you soon!

~ Rosie