He entered the room silently, the familiar white walls there as always, the same old table with the scratches he had made as a very young child still visible on the thick metal top. The ceiling as always, seemed far too high to actually be there, a nightmare of red and black, the only thing he truly saw once attached to that torture machine.

"Get on..."

The voice was coldly clinical, something which Hojo looked for in all his helpers, the eyes unseeing as the young boy clambered tiredly up onto the table and lay down in the standard position.

The standard position consisted of lying flat on his back, his arms held stiffly by his sides till he was given permission to relax, his feet shoulder width apart as flat against the table as he could get them. He had already learnt it was easier and far less painful to just obey, if he wished to struggle there were ways to make sure he regretted it. Even if he managed to escape from his prison there were always traps and guards willing to prevent him, either because they did not care or because they feared too much for their jobs not to...

"Good..."

The voice spoke almost soothingly, as he assumed the position without being told. Of course he knew who it was, but it was far easier to think of him in terms of a stranger. Then perhaps he could hope that it would never happen again. That tomorrow he would be rescued and never again have to stare up at that ceiling that must have been painted purely with the design to give a young boy nightmares.

Mako green eyes shone with unshed tears, tears that would never fall onto pale white cheeks, but they were seen nonetheless and a sense of satisfaction could be felt emanating from the person who he wished had never existed.

Straps held his wrists and ankles to the table; second smaller straps held his hands and feet in position. They had to make sure they were secure these days, he was getting too strong, the second to last time he had actually been able to free himself from the thin suede straps that rubbed so meanly against his already delicate skin.

Cold metal was pressed against his forehead, metal clamps holding his eyelids open, forcing him to see what he did not want to see. His expression became blank, totally blank as he did his best to pretend he was not here, think of something else, anywhere else, his room, the library, the dining room, even the class room with all the other children, that brought on the rage.

Ah yes the anger, that let him deal with everything, or so he had thought until stinging liquid was dropped into his eyes lightly, causing him to give hopeless impressions of blinking, the liquid feeling a little like an acid that burnt away at his iris'.

A soft whimper escaped from the young boy's throat earning him a slap across a pale cheek, a red handprint leaving its mark brightly, Sephiroth gave a harsh laugh.

"All this... and all you can do is hit me... you are worse than your so called experiments!"

He cursed at the man standing above him, the liquid giving his eyes a brighter sheen than usual, making the mako bright enough to appear to burn.

Sephiroth heard a nervous laugh, then more of the liquid was dropped onto his eyes, this time he gritted his teeth, he was not going to give the satisfaction, not a second time.

The straps holding him down seemed to strain against his muscles as his entire body stiffened, then just as suddenly relaxed, his eyes seeming to stare up at the ceiling emotionlessly.

The clamps against his eyelids seemed to be taken off the minute it happened, soft scribbling could be heard as Sephiroth gradually came to again, he had no need to ask what was being written down, he could almost recite word for word what it was...

"Upon testing Subject 1seph lost consciousness upon fourth testing of liquid...."

That was the only thing he could not know... what was the liquid that had stung him, but then it was not important that he knew that... he was merely an experiment, not actually of importance, how many times had he been told that?

He kept quiet for as long as he could, not daring even to breath, until the assistant noted his pulse was going at its usual rate once more.

Sephiroth could almost feel the smirk behind his closed eyes... but nothing was going to induce him to open them again... Cold metal sliced at his skin suddenly peeling it away to the muscle; he felt an almost unbearable urge to be sick which he swallowed down again.

He knew what he would see... He had read books on this subject, he swallowed as the knife or some such device which he now knew it to be cut deeper still, as if it would reach his bone if it could. He closed his eyes tighter, causing the skin to wrinkle around them, making the assistant snigger slightly.

Of course had he been a normal kid the authorities would have been notified by now, but he was not a normal kid... He was the one that they had all learnt to see as a robot or worse... certainly not alive, that would have meant they would have to deal with their conscience... and that might prove to be inconvenient.

So he had been reduced to simply a number, only a series of letters, which meant nothing if he cried out in pain except another note to be hurriedly scribbled down. Sometimes he wondered if they were correct, if he was indeed imagining the pain he felt, the pure agony involved in all these testings.

A piece of tissue from his muscle and vein being cut off with the knife brought him out of his thoughts, as he swallowed the cry that would have brought more laughing down again. The bone was chipped at lightly till a tiny piece came off... Of course, it would grow back again, that was his gift and his curse, it would never kill him, and if he lost consciousness they would simply wait till he came to again before continuing. After all they had plenty of time, he was going no where... Sometimes they went on well into the night.

Even as his body was trembling with the sheer pain of everything though, it was healing, the bone re-growing so easily, the muscle and vein replacing what was taken with such speed it might never have been done had it not been for the dull ache in his right arm. Soon even that was gone nothing left but the memory, one more reason why they refused to believe it might actually hurt a being like him... it healed did it not? He was not normal therefore he obviously felt nothing...

Through the darkness he could hear the sound of bone hitting glass... His bone, he knew also that the muscle and vein would be placed in their own little tubes also, the professor wished to see how they had grown, what would happen to them if left on their own, all sorts of things. It was thanks to the professor they were allowed to do nothing unless he was conscious... It seemed that the only way they could get an accurate reading was to see his reactions during the entire thing...

Without compassion the straps were undone and the assistant left the room.

Sephiroth slowly sat up, his body still trembling, still feeling as though he would throw up at any moment despite the fact the pain had long since left him. Now the room was empty Sephiroth was free to express his pain, was allowed to feel without being struck or experimented on further.

"I wish I could kill them all... I hate them... I want to show them all what it is like to suffer..."

His voice was filled with hate, and slowly, the ice within grew just that little bit further... the fire that burned with hatred burnt just a little more brightly, Sephiroth was being prepared to hate, and to destroy without caring who or what it was he destroyed...