He strode into the room at a quickened, manic, almost frantic pace, black and blue cape flashing behind him, making a smeary blur. Anger and frustration gripped his face, although those who knew him well would have detected undertones of dissappointment and pain. But extremely few knew him that well. And that was part of the problem, now wasn't it, he thought.
But quickly swatting away those self-pitying and indulgent thoughts like a horse lazily swats away flies with it's tail, he went back to the problem at hand. The Omnibot v.9 was just thwarted by Mr. Incredible. "But, but, but... but this time it was perfect," he exclaimed out loud to noone in particular.
"Obviously, it wasn't... Buddy," a dark and evil voice, one that's better left ignored, chided from deep inside him. "Once again, you continue to prove, you're just. not. good enough. We know you can do better... why won't you? What's wrong with you, boy"
"SHUT UP!" Syndrome roared, frantically pacing the room, his fire orangeish red hair flowing behind him, the panic and self-loathing and pain clearly visible on his contorted face. "JUST SHUT UP! I HATE YOU!" he screamed.
"You know what you deserve, Buddy... Just do it." that terrible voice echoed in his psyche. "Your mediocrity has gone far enough. You have failed... you deserve to be punished"
He thought about the impulse that gripped him, that begged to be indulged. On the one hand, he knew that giving into it meant he was crazy. But on the other hand... oh... sweet release. The endorphins. The way that justice was being served.
Syndrome took a deep, pained breath while he slowly brought his hands up and pointed his fingers at his head. And in the split second between the blinding flash of light and the screaming, all-consuming pain, Syndrome flashed back to a time long ago.
Dad had hit him with the belt before, but never like this. Stroke after stroke after stroke it continued, on and on and on until Buddy felt like he would explode with the pain. "Do you know how embarrased I was when I had to tell those officers 'yes, that's my son.'? Incrediboy my ass! I expect more of you, son. Buddy, you're brilliant... but you act so stupid! Almost like you're retarded or something. What's wrong with you?" Buddy's dad continued, but Buddy didn't hear him. He didn't feel the pain anymore either. He was in a fog, a million miles away, his mind shut down in a classic defense mechanism to try to minimize the psychological effects of the pain. Then suddenly something snapped. He could feel each stroke clearly as it was coming down on him. Thuddy and hot with pain. His body and mind started anticipating each lash from the belt. Every stroke sent a new wave of pain through his body... he could feel the adrenaline pulsing. It almost started to feel good. And he could feel his embarassment and shame, frustration and anger, being purged with each new bit of hot pain.
...and then he heard a voice screaming in pain. And he realized it was his own. As the white hot energy bolts flashed through him, the pain was almost unbearable. Almost. To anyone else, it would leave them begging for mercy. It used to with him. But he built up a resistance to it. He thought of it as building up strength or character. Again and again, he sent the lightning through his own body. As a teenager, he would sneak into his father's room and steal his belt whenever he had done something that he thought was wrong or shameful, and he'd give himself lashes. At first it scared him... but then he got used to it. He grew numb to it's psychological effects. But once he discovered the beauty of electricity, everything changed. No more welts. No more thuddyness. No. This was a pure pain... agonizing. Brutal. However, once he used it so much that it made his parent's electricity bill go so high, they asked him about it. He lied and said he accidentally left his air conditioner on High during a trip. So he put it aside. And then he discovered the secrets of zero-point energy. With brilliance so pure it blinds, and pain so pure it would make even the hardest of people scream for mercy, he tested some of his first inventions with it on himself. He can remember laughing in glee from the rush it gave him. And the best part was... it's free. So he started with the self-punishment again, after so many years of letting it go. It scared him again, but the scare was part of the rush.
But now, in this moment, all that existed was the blindness from the light, and the purity of the pain. His body convulsed, and his hair stood on end.
After about 5 minutes, he stopped, and fell over on the ground. Crying, grinning, happy from the adrenaline, but shocked and revolted and scared at hurting himself he asked "There... are you happy?" His psyche didn't say anything.
He wiped the tears from his face, and strode out the door and into a large corridor area, with many guards. Mirage turned and looked at him. She noticed his hair standing on end, and gave him a hurt and worried look, and quickly glanced away. He hated it when she did that. He didn't want to hurt her... only himself. The guards though, not having known him very long, didn't think anything of it. They didn't know. And that was part of the problem, now wasn't it.
But quickly swatting away those self-pitying and indulgent thoughts like a horse lazily swats away flies with it's tail, he went back to the problem at hand. The Omnibot v.9 was just thwarted by Mr. Incredible. "But, but, but... but this time it was perfect," he exclaimed out loud to noone in particular.
"Obviously, it wasn't... Buddy," a dark and evil voice, one that's better left ignored, chided from deep inside him. "Once again, you continue to prove, you're just. not. good enough. We know you can do better... why won't you? What's wrong with you, boy"
"SHUT UP!" Syndrome roared, frantically pacing the room, his fire orangeish red hair flowing behind him, the panic and self-loathing and pain clearly visible on his contorted face. "JUST SHUT UP! I HATE YOU!" he screamed.
"You know what you deserve, Buddy... Just do it." that terrible voice echoed in his psyche. "Your mediocrity has gone far enough. You have failed... you deserve to be punished"
He thought about the impulse that gripped him, that begged to be indulged. On the one hand, he knew that giving into it meant he was crazy. But on the other hand... oh... sweet release. The endorphins. The way that justice was being served.
Syndrome took a deep, pained breath while he slowly brought his hands up and pointed his fingers at his head. And in the split second between the blinding flash of light and the screaming, all-consuming pain, Syndrome flashed back to a time long ago.
Dad had hit him with the belt before, but never like this. Stroke after stroke after stroke it continued, on and on and on until Buddy felt like he would explode with the pain. "Do you know how embarrased I was when I had to tell those officers 'yes, that's my son.'? Incrediboy my ass! I expect more of you, son. Buddy, you're brilliant... but you act so stupid! Almost like you're retarded or something. What's wrong with you?" Buddy's dad continued, but Buddy didn't hear him. He didn't feel the pain anymore either. He was in a fog, a million miles away, his mind shut down in a classic defense mechanism to try to minimize the psychological effects of the pain. Then suddenly something snapped. He could feel each stroke clearly as it was coming down on him. Thuddy and hot with pain. His body and mind started anticipating each lash from the belt. Every stroke sent a new wave of pain through his body... he could feel the adrenaline pulsing. It almost started to feel good. And he could feel his embarassment and shame, frustration and anger, being purged with each new bit of hot pain.
...and then he heard a voice screaming in pain. And he realized it was his own. As the white hot energy bolts flashed through him, the pain was almost unbearable. Almost. To anyone else, it would leave them begging for mercy. It used to with him. But he built up a resistance to it. He thought of it as building up strength or character. Again and again, he sent the lightning through his own body. As a teenager, he would sneak into his father's room and steal his belt whenever he had done something that he thought was wrong or shameful, and he'd give himself lashes. At first it scared him... but then he got used to it. He grew numb to it's psychological effects. But once he discovered the beauty of electricity, everything changed. No more welts. No more thuddyness. No. This was a pure pain... agonizing. Brutal. However, once he used it so much that it made his parent's electricity bill go so high, they asked him about it. He lied and said he accidentally left his air conditioner on High during a trip. So he put it aside. And then he discovered the secrets of zero-point energy. With brilliance so pure it blinds, and pain so pure it would make even the hardest of people scream for mercy, he tested some of his first inventions with it on himself. He can remember laughing in glee from the rush it gave him. And the best part was... it's free. So he started with the self-punishment again, after so many years of letting it go. It scared him again, but the scare was part of the rush.
But now, in this moment, all that existed was the blindness from the light, and the purity of the pain. His body convulsed, and his hair stood on end.
After about 5 minutes, he stopped, and fell over on the ground. Crying, grinning, happy from the adrenaline, but shocked and revolted and scared at hurting himself he asked "There... are you happy?" His psyche didn't say anything.
He wiped the tears from his face, and strode out the door and into a large corridor area, with many guards. Mirage turned and looked at him. She noticed his hair standing on end, and gave him a hurt and worried look, and quickly glanced away. He hated it when she did that. He didn't want to hurt her... only himself. The guards though, not having known him very long, didn't think anything of it. They didn't know. And that was part of the problem, now wasn't it.