Now I am certain. I am a freak, created destined only to be a monster. If this is the weight I must carry before I am even truly alive, what will face me when I kneel at your feet? Am I to be subjected to a burden too heavy to carry... will I be crushed beneath its load. Is that my fate, my Angel? Will I be crushed by the firm hand of my creators? Is it really their jurisdiction to both create, and destroy? If so, what hope do I have?
What will happen when I am released my Angel? Will you be there to welcome me into your world, or will I simply be surrounded by faceless scientists in white cloaks? What is it like my Angel, to be able to breathe on your own? What is it like to walk on your own two feet? How does it feel to touch another living creature, and to be caressed in return? Or, is it my fate to be ostracised, repudiated, and never know the feel of a friendly touch? When I speak my Angel, will you understand my words... will you listen?
The time of my release draws ever closer with each passing hour, with every second I become more and more afraid. I cannot sleep now, even when the lab is dark and all the scientists have gone to their own slumbers, which I must admit, is a rare occasion. They are devoted to me it seems. I have to admire their dedication, their ceaseless observation, their concern every time my heartbeat waivers for more than a moment. Their continual care... is admirable... but I cannot help but wonder if it is for me that they care, for my life. I rather believe that they care only for the work I represent and for another reason I struggle to understand... Whispered comments of trouble somewhere... Are they afraid I will hear them speak, or, are they frightened to talk of this trouble themselves... What is this whispered fear, my Angel and what has it to do with me?... Surely for now I am innocent, I have yet to do wrong, or right... but, my Angel... has blood already been spilled over my fur? Is it wrong, my Angel that I find myself wishing that when I am released I will not be able to breathe alone, and that I will die, suffocated on the laboratory floor... Does it show an evil nature that I do not value even my own existence before I truly come into being? My Angel... am I a monster?
My dreams have turned to nightmares... I no longer dream I am Pinocchio. Now I am a monster, but a puppet nonetheless. I stand at the edge of oblivion, looking down on the dark and fiery void, watching the countless masses fall under the force of my own fiery puppet hand. What is the purpose of my being if I am to forever be someone else's pawn? If that is so wouldn't it have been easier to build a machine? Is my destiny simply to serve blindly, whether I believe in the cause or not? Will I be allowed to think for myself?
Am a puppet, my Angel? Will my release from this pod really signify my freedom? Or rather a transaction into a different kind of imprisonment? If I cannot breathe on my own will the scientists simply move onto 178-29, and subject another pitiful being to the life I evaded? Is it then my duty to breathe and guard others against the path I must walk?
Humans, by their very nature, my Angel, seem greedy. If I a am a failure how many times will they try again. If I am a success how many more like me will they make, ten, twenty, a hundred, a thousand? Will they all be puppets such as I am?