The following story take place to Johnny Cash’s rendition of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails.
Several weeks later…
Earl was wheeled out of the therapist’s office, wiping one of his eyes with a tissue, into the waiting room where Carol and Janice waited for him. His left let was in a cast up to his thigh with a long steel bar running the length of it with hundreds of pins going from it into the cast. A short round bar also stuck out from from his left sleeve, a mounting attachment for a prosthetic he would get later once the surgical cuts healed. his real arm deemed too badly damaged from frost and fire for reattachment. Carol leaned down to give him a hug long hug and a few painkillers prescribed to him while Janice stood behind him holding the chairs handles and pushed him down the hall to the elevator.
“So how was court ordered therapy?” Janice asked sounding almost smug about it.
“I think I’d rather fight the meta again. Hey, uh… thanks for lying about the sheriff’s dept commissioning those drones.”
“Who said I lied? as soon as you get a left hand you’re gonna fix those up and hand them over guns and all.” Opening the elevator.
"What?! Those are brand new mark 4 Kriss Vectors! trying to turn around to look yell at his sister. “They only came out last year!”
“Then you better have the title transfer papers signed and ready when I come get them. Hope you kept the receipt for the tax write off. Or do I have to tell the judge you went back on your word?”
Earl slumped back into the chair not letting on how much the gesture hurt his leg, crossed his arms and sulked.
“Congratulations, you finally got one over on me.” He admitted as the elevator door slid shut.
“Carol, sweetie, you’re my lawyer. any advice?”
“Do as you’re sister says and be thankful you got off with therapy and a small fine, “contracted” or not civilians still aren’t allowed to pilot weaponized drones.”
“Ten grand per drone is not a small fine, and my insurance doesn’t cover dismemberment! those hospital issued prosthetics are shit, good and realistic looking ones cost a fortune and this cost me fifty already.” Gesturing to his implant." hell, I could build a better one myself but I’m practically broke till the house insurance check comes."
“I’m sure you’ll come up with something. Just try and not break any more laws.” Janice patted him on the shoulder. “At least this will get you obsessed with building something other than torture devices”
Sara beat her head against a tree in the woods by the train yard in her default fluffy form trying to get the feelings to stop. she had never felt such intense emotions before, the pain, sorrow, rage and hate. Now she knew why humans could be such monsters sometimes, the pain she felt for her own mother’s death paled in comparison to Earl’s and she hated herself for thinking him right. She was a half finished defective mistake that should have never existed in the first place. then it started happening again, flashes of memories and feeling that weren’t her own, flashes of a young child playing with complicated toys, taking apart electronics and putting them back together. All under the supervision and guidance of his mother, then back to her funeral over and over till she puked up what little food she had eaten, she just couldn’t make it stop. she closed her eyes and tried to make it stop, she wished she could make it stop.
-Hewwo? Fwuffy am otay? Hab sickies an nee huggies?- A lone yellow earthy stallion asked approaching looking curious and confused.
The sound of this strange fluffy’s voice grated on her nerves and that feeling of hate burned in her chest. then she felt something, little leggies wrapping around her torso and a warm fluffy body pressing against her side, he was hugging her and something inside snapped. her eyes opened, literally solid red with rage and directly in front of her on a pile of rocks was an old razor and barbed-wire wrapped fishing pole, the cork handle long since rotted off. her shift to human form took seconds, knocking the stallion on his back, she ignored his pleas for help and uppies and picked up the rusty instrument of pain. she stared down at the helpless fluffy struggling to right himself and she raised the stick over her head.
-I HATE YOU!!- Bringing the stick down over and over.
