Why? Why was he of all people spared? Just why? Was it to make him suffer more? What did he do to deserve this?!
These thoughts plagued his mind as he was hunched over his desk, furiously scribbling away at his latest set of blueprints he was forced to make. This was his life now. Forced to invent things so they could be mass produced for Betrayus' army.
His cell/lab was his home now, and had been for at least three years… or at least he thought that was right. There wasn't exactly a clock nor calendar in his room, and thus no good way to tell time. Lining the walls were several deep tally marks, but he had given up counting a long time ago.
His teeth were clenched as he continued writing on the paper, hurriedly and without rest. Truly, it was a wonder he was still alive. Anyone else in this situation would have probably taken a cowardly way out of this, but he wasn't going to give up so easily. He couldn't let that egg and his army get to him, he just couldn't!
"Ugh, is it ready YET", came an ever so familiar voice from behind him. Standing outside of his cell door was that egotistical, buttheaded maniac. "Since you think you're so much smarter than me", the prisoner began, "why don't ya get in here and do this yourself?!"
"I vould Mr. Cumference, but I just like to see you suffer."
That butthead of a scientist continued to watch, and poor Mr. C could feel his cold gaze practically piercing his back.
For years they had been the most bitter of rivals, constantly at each other's throats with full intent to outshine the other. A mere husk of the jolly man he once was, Mr. Cumference was reduced to nothing more than a pitiful slave.
The first few nights of his enslavement he had spent yelling and defying his new masters, sometimes sending them faulty machines and schematics out of spite. Of course this put his own life in danger, and he was forced to stop. Over time he learned to stop being so stubborn if he knew what was good for him, and these days it was a miracle if he ever truly felt anything at all.
To add salt to the wound, there was the fate of little Pac- being raised by that bastard and was likely doomed to end up like him as a result. It made him wonder if letting the yellow orb live was truly an act of mercy.
He hadn't seen the execution of his friends, but just knowing it happened was bad enough. There wasn't one day that passed that he didn't think about them, not one day that passed that he wasn't filled with regret at the thought that he possibly could have done something to prevent Betrayus' victory.
Finally, the blueprints were done. He stood, and handed the paper to Buttocks unceremoniously. "Here. Take it and git."
"Vhatever."
He left the dungeon, leaving the prisoner to his own devices.
Mr. Cumference simply plopped down in his cot, and shut his eyes. This couldn't be the end, right? No! There had to be at least a small sliver of hope left, but just WHAT was it? The first thing he could think of was young Pac, but these hopes were squashed flat at the idea of him turning out like Betrayus. He just let out a groan and turned over onto his side, hoping some sleep would allow a temporary escape from this Hell…