Salutations~!

I don't know why but I suddenly had the urge to write something sad.
Well, I'm sick and had to miss out on a play so I'm kind of bitter about that- I guess I'm picking on fictional characters (as always).
Or maybe it's just me watching loads of FMA:B and Shingatsu wa Kimi no Uso AMVs, leading me to have loads of suppressed feelings I'm going to release in the only way I know how- torturing characters.

Either way, here I am. A new chapter of Shattered Reflections and/or WWLB will/might come out soon. Hopefully this will satisfy your need for stories to do with Arthur kidnapped/thrown into a situation he can't control until then.

This is kinda cheesy, by the way. Plus I throw science completely out the window. And the characters act really OOC, because of the situation. Sorry.

Enjoy/Cry!

In My Lack of a Heart

He felt empty inside and out.
Everything was numb and cold, and despite being lain on an near-overheating piece of almost-scrap, he didn't feel a thing. But, the physical sensation wasn't the only thing lacking. ...Why didn't this worry him? Why wasn't he panicking at his situation, or yearning to cry, or feeling anything?

Oh, now it made sense. They hadn't told him this. Even in the brutal description of what he was to endure, they hadn't mentioned this. Not only was he to live the rest of his hopefully-short life in slavery and solitude... He was also to forget what being human truly was. Well, that was common sense, considering what he now was. That's how they tame us, he had finally realised. What was the point in escaping if you didn't even want to?

Arthur would've cried, a few hours earlier.

Alfred was sick of all this. He hated his parents so much. He had grown into that, really. They had never tried to hide the facts, despite his young age and how they 'loved' him so much. He had cried, and screamed, and begged, but they had still kept up that disgusting doting persona, as if what they were doing was good for him.

It made Alfred so, so sick. Once, he had been mortified by their nauseating 'hobby', but now he didn't have the nerve. After all, they insisted and insisted that having slaves was a nice thing for him, a gift, instead of something gross and terrible and inhuman.

They had brought in a new one, today. Sobbing and kicking and screeching, begging for help from anyone, anything... Alfred could only watch the poor boy in pity, and when he had glanced briefly to the other kid while desperately struggling, all he could offer was the pain and grief and guilt in his eyes, saying silently 'I'm so, so sorry'.
He hoped the other boy didn't forgive him.

Well, as much as it revolted him, at least it would be over quickly, unlike the first ones. He wasn't sure he was glad or horrified that his parent's experiments weren't going to continue, now that they had mastered it. The 'art' they had taken up as their lives, that they had created. He took very solstice in the fact that at least humanity wasn't so vile as to create this before now.
...Or maybe it was because they hadn't had the right technology.

That only made him sicker.

After enduring the routine screams of pain and fear and suffering coming from below his room (he had cried this time, too- despite how many hours he had undergone before), Alfred turned on the TV, bitter he couldn't use it during the operations- it would be a good way to distract. Sure enough, there was a segment on a missing boy, looking exactly as the one brought in earlier. His name was 'Arthur Kirkland'. Moved from Britain, 12 years old, sandy blonde hair and emerald eyes...
Once he had forced himself to watch the entire thing, he switched to a cartoon channel, hoping it might ease the pain.

He turned it off as soon as he saw an android on-screen.

Pulling up his knees to his chest and hugging them, he wondered why this was occurring. What was it about him that would make all these horrible things happen? Why did they think that having servants would please him? Why, why, why, were they so sadistic to everyone except him, destroying lives in an instant for what they think will make his better? Oh, he just needed to die... Then, no-one else would be hurt. But... He was much too selfish, much too afraid to.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he moped his way over to his desk and took out his pen and notebook.
'Arthur Kirkland' was written in respectfully-neat handwriting, at the bottom of a list of crossed-out names.

The next morning, he knew he couldn't hide in his room any longer. Steeling himself, he spent as much time as possible getting dressed, and went into the kitchen to encounter what he didn't want to.

His breath hitched when he saw what had become of a formerly-happy kid. It was the same as always, but still... He would never get used to it, and he did his best to hold back sobs as he took his place at the dining table, waiting for the poor slave to finish making breakfast. It seemed they had gotten one who was reasonable at cooking, probably because they wanted him to be as 'content' as possible.

As the boy- Arthur, or what was left of him- turned to serve the pancakes he had made, Alfred made himself look at what he had done to the innocent kid.
He was a mish-mash of organic matter and robotic parts. Chunks of him had been cruelly torn off and replaced with artificial metals and machinery and plates screwed into his skin. The pieces of flesh around the metal bits were puckered and raw and half-bleeding, since it was only last night he had been altered. His face and was mostly untouched- leaving him to stare into those formerly-bright emerald eyes, but since the brain was the most changed part, the sandy hair was now almost completely gone. The limbs were the most changed- replaced entirely, and a grim disc of shiny black encircled his brow like a twisted halo.

But, the most painful part was his face. What might've formerly been adorned with emotions and feelings was as blank as a slate, neutral, bland and horrendous. It made Alfred want to throw up. Why was this happening for him?

Blankly, what-was-once-Arthur-Kirkland placed the plate onto the table in front of Alfred, and stepped back, waiting for his next task. The American guiltily tucked in. Despite their source, he found himself enjoying them, which only made him angry at himself.

When he was halfway through his meal, what Alfred dreaded occurred. His parents arrived in the kitchen.

Waltzing in proudly, as if what they had just accomplished was in any way wholesome, they sat down before him, smiling. His mother asked joyously, "Do you like our new present, dear? He's so cute, don't you think!"
He didn't respond, looking down at his food silently. His father spoke up, "I'm sure you do! Y'know, I think this one will last longer! A few months, at least."

Alfred wanted to cry and scream and shout, to tell them what they were doing was so very wrong... But he couldn't. Every time he did, they didn't understand his requests, and only did more horrible things as what they thought would fulfill them...
So, he ate the rest of his breakfast in guilty silence as the two went on, enthusing over what they were sure would be the best experience yet. A couple new factors were added in this one, to make him last longer... So much for the end of experimentation.

When they were finished, they kissed him on the cheek respectively, and left the room. Arthur cleaned up his plate and followed Alfred to his room, waiting in the corner as he did the work that his parents gave him. His 'home-schooling' was just another way to hide the facts.

Once he was done with it, he went to sit on his bed, and looked Arthur in his emotionless eyes. He might as well torture himself as much as possible, since he was the cause of it all, "...What's the time?"
"12:38 PM. Do you wish to have lunch?"
"No, no, I'm fine for now... Hey, pick a random comic off the shelves for me," he didn't have the guts to hold conversation with him- it- what he had made, even if not by hand.

As he delved into a fictional world, he knew he was a coward.

The days slogged on, as they always did. Watching an emotionless servant, what was once a true human, perform tasks for him. Burying himself in fiction and the too-easy work he was given.

Then, one day, what was called 'change' was tossed haphazardly into his life.

Like usual, he was reading a comic to escape the horrid world he lived in. He really liked the heroes he read about. They were so brave... Weren't afraid to do the right thing. Sure, they had their rough patches, but they always came out as a good person. This definitely couldn't be applied to him.

"...Are you enjoying that?"

It was a bolt from the blue, that query. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. ...Arthur had asked him a question, completely out of line, with nothing to do with any order he had been given. He had asked Alfred something out of his own curiousity, his own 'emotions'...? That wasn't possible, was it...?
His head snapped up to see what-probably-wasn't-Arthur staring at him with the same blank eyes as before. No sign of change. No sign of feelings.

Hesitantly, he answered, "Uh... Yeah."

Arthur simply nodded and continued staring. The same inhuman as before, who didn't eat or sleep, who didn't- wasn't supposed to- feel emotions. Then... Why? What had happened?

He couldn't wrap his head around it, and buried himself back in the life of someone braver.

The second time was more significant, around a week later.

He was watching TV, the news, another segment about poor Arthur. His crying mother, worried brothers... It made him so very sick. He felt even worse with the android in the room, but it was on purpose.

Though not looking at the screen, Arthur could hearing the blaring TV. Every word of how scared his relatives and friends were... What-probably-wasn't-human looked down, "...I miss them."

Again, this caught him completely off-guard. He gaped as the boy continued with another sentence, "My family, I mean."

Alfred waited, desperate for another scrap of emotion from his unfortunate housemate, but he merely stayed silent, with no sign of any feeling at all. Alfred could only stare in shock, eyes torn away from the screen, gawking what surely should be lacking sensation, internal and external. But, no answers mystically popped up as he desperately grasped for why on earth this was happening.

And... Was that... Hope for Arthur quietly in the corners of his mind?

Alfred purposely prompted the next instance.

This time, he was mindlessly scribbling away at some Maths, when he abruptly asked, "So, how much do you care about your family, Artie?"
Without even thinking, Arthur immediately answered, "A lot. My mother is kind, and my brothers can be annoying, but we do love..."

He trailed off, seemingly forgetting what he was saying. He reverted to being stoic as ever, but Alfred still grinned, "I knew it! You are totally feeling emotion! It must have something to do with your 'new factors'. I bet we can keep on making you feel stuff... That was the longest thing to do with sensation you've said so far!"

Arthur merely blinked at this, not really picking up the weight behind his words.

With the most enthusiasm in a long time, he got out his little notebook, and wrote a single sentence below 'Arthur Kirkland'.

'I think there's hope for this one.'

Despite the new factors (which also appeared to be giving him feelings), Arthur was still deteriorating, like the rest of them.
His movements got more and more jerky, certain parts were rusting over, and he knew, inside, it was much worse. This type of monstrosity was not supposed to exist, and he wasn't going to last much longer.

Alfred just wished for Arthur to go to heaven.

This time, he plotted a way to get the poor android to hold a proper, full, emotion-driven conversation with him, rather than just a few throwaway phrases. It was his family, Alfred decided. Two of the three times, the 'emotion' was caused by a mention of his family, so he was going to apply it to this plan, too.

Since it was the weekend- on Saturday, to be exact- he didn't have any work, and had the day to himself. Arthur robotically followed Alfred into his room, made to do his every whim, and he plopped down on the bed while his half-human companion stood and waited for instructions.

Alfred grinned, and ordered Arthur, "You're all stiff standing there everyday! Come on and sit on the bed, next to me!"

Much to the boy's slight disappointment, he didn't show any emotion as he came and placed himself on the bed. Oh, well. There was plenty of time for that.
"Hey, what're your brother's names?"
"...Alistair, Connor, and Dylan."
This wasn't technically emotionally-driven yet, but he was getting there, "Cool! So, you moved here from Britain?"
"Yeah, I did. My dad died in a car accident, and my mum decided we should move for a fresh start..."
He trailed off, and Alfred could basically feel the emotions stirring within him. A success, for the most part! Now, to go even further.
"Man, that sucks! You must be really strong, to endure your dad dying."

"...I'm not as strong as you, enduring all this," Arthur whispered.
Alfred's eyes widened, and he desperately pushed down his shock, "Really?"
"Yeah. I-I barely feel anything. But, you... You..." the victim trailed off, and his hands, which had been tightened around the bed sheets slackened a little. Grief blossomed in Alfred's heart.

"No, Arthur. You're so strong, fighting for your emotions, for who you are... I-I'm going to save you."

Everyday, Arthur felt more and more.
At first, it had just been a little stirring in his heart when he had seen Alfred reading a comic. Recklessly, he had asked a question, without even knowing how he had afterwards. It had been a strange sensation.

Then, when he was hearing about those who he had left behind, more... ...feelings had been experienced. He wanted to express himself so badly, and he ended up speaking again. Alfred had seemed so shocked.
But he was the one who started off the next instance. Just a simple question, about his family, and he had immediately answered truthfully.

He was grasping for emotion as it slipped from his hands.

He could tell Alfred was trying his hardest to get him to feel. Well, then, he didn't want a damn slave, whose body was altered just to serve his bidding. Arthur was grateful... Wait, gratitude was an emotion, right? Then how-

When Alfred had tried to hold a conversation with him, he was honest, and eventually he felt sorry for him, and managed to splutter out a few words to-
He wanted...? Yes, he wanted to feel more, despite the metal rusting and crumbling, a sorry flesh substitute.

'Alfred,' he thought, 'I want to be saved, too.'

The clock was tick-tick-tocking.

Arthur was going to die, soon.
He had seen it before. What happened to those doomed to serve him.

It made him so, so very sick.

Please, just let Alfred help him-

They were progressing, Arthur's feelings. Alfred orchestrated more times for him to feel, and Arthur tried to hardest to follow through.

The formerly barely-filled notebook had been packed with phrases, from Alfred's own heart, or quotes from Arthur to use next time to stir emotion. They were keeping all this a secret from his parents, of course. If they found out that Arthur had a malfunction...

It was when the almost-human couldn't lift his left arm that Alfred started crying. Why, oh, why? Sure, he had lasted longer than most, but now Arthur was going to die, was going to have emotions as he died, was going to...

He was sobbing, and Arthur enveloped him in a stiff one-arm hug. Though it lacked the organic warmth of a proper hug, the proper feeling of someone close replaced by cold machinery, Alfred still clung onto him as a lifeline. Here the android was, comforting him. He wasn't going to die soon. He wasn't desperately struggling to feel emotions, to be truly human. So... Why?

As he wiped the tears away from his eyes, Alfred looked directly at Arthur, "Th-Thank you. I-It might seem ignorant of me to say this when I... But... You're a good friend."
Arthur nodded, and told him back, "You are, too. Thank you for helping me feel again."

"I-I wish for when... When I can have proper emotions, and act as if I were a proper person again.
One day, when I can show you my true personality, because it's not being repressed, and when we can smile and laugh and have fun together.
I know this day probably won't ever come... But...
I want to do what friends do together, with you. I want to go on picnics and watch the clouds, and tell stories and secrets, a-and..."

Those words tore holes through Alfred's heart.

Now, he loathed his parents further.

"It seems your little servant will be gone in a few days. Sorry about that!"

This was the last day.
Arthur could barely move, or do anything. His parents were going to take him away, kill him...
And then another poor victim will be put in his place.
He'd noticed that there was a 'serial child kidnapper' in town, according to the news.

Now, they were sitting on the bed, facing each other, and Alfred was sobbing once again. Why, why, why...

"I-I'm sorry, Alfred."

His head snapped to see Arthur... ...crying? But. He hadn't cried so far, it hadn't been possible so far, it couldn't...

"I'm sorry that I have to go... P-Please remember me. Please try to save other people who were forced into my place. I don't want anyone else to suffer, including you... I'm sure you'll find a way to get help."

"N-No. You're not going to die! I'm going to save you...! I-I promised y-you..."

"Some promises have to be broken, don't they?
R-Remember me, in the way of things. Tell my family I'm sorry. Tell them that I found a great friend in you. Tell them that I was smiling as I said farewell."

Sure enough, through the tears, he was smiling in sorrow and happiness and fear, and so many other unfathomable emotions, sitting there, for the last time, eyes shining with emotion, feeling full inside and out.

"T-Tell them that I loved them."

His limp body was more than he could take.

Oh, Arthur...

He surely made it to heaven.

There was no way he was going to let another suffer. Somehow, he'd do it. For Arthur Kirkland, the boy who wasn't supposed to feel.

"Goodbye, Alfred.
Thank you so, so much.
Please remember me."