The rage concept

EXISTENCE

SHAME

Things happened in SCUR faster than anyone could understand, it was always like this since its inception, due to the terrible, terrible things that humanity had caused. 

Every night saw drastic changes in the political system, scientists redefined limits as the hoarded power. Political encounters for absurd reasons happened every day, there were hence, obviously factions within the SCUR which by the way stands for, Syndicate of the Collative united republics. 

But above them all, the prime leader, who founded the organization, lived a life away from chaos and politics. And she was, Nattice 

She hated herself. Every part of her body, she wanted to mutilate with a distorted knife. Only if rubbing your hands and body could scrape of the blood in your hands, she would have gladly done it, even if her own blood leaks though her pale hands. Her blond hair got stained purple black by the blood of someone. Whose name she didn't care to know, he was not the reason for her to be sad. Something else was, she had chewed her lips to a point where she didn't need a lipstick, and she continued. Her hands desperately throbbing all over her arms and body. Her shivering and trembling fingers. Bloody fingernails which she continued scratching till they were timid and red. Blood clotting at the point where the nails meet the finger and skin flaking out. Her arms and biceps scratched by her own fingernails.

She was breathing as loudly as you would expect a woman of her age could. Her plastic skin, more like a doll than a human was going pale to red. She hated herself for this. She hated herself so bad. The finality of her discovery. It was probably futile to delay the certain. The shivering from her fingers had infected every part of her abused body by now. Abuses erupted from her mouth.

She always thought of herself as a tough lady. But today she was broken like glassware. You can't join pieces of broken glass without melting it. She had no intention of melting. She wanted to burn. She knew she deserved it so terribly. Soon she ran out of deep breaths. On the verge of fainting or perhaps having a heart attack. Only blood can clean her bloody hands, her own blood. For a mother. Killed her children. Many of them. 

 But as painfully curious it was for the people around her to watch her, as she murdered ruthlessly, her children. For whom, she had taken pain so draining, that no mother had ever felt. And the strangest part: Doing it without much of a reason, except one warning from the hub. 

But people are imperfect.

ANTI-TERROR

Three people rushed inside. All of them were guards. But one was only temporary. She couldn't comprehend what these men were screaming. She just couldn't. Her skin, she though was so delicate. Like out. rubber, perfect and smooth. Waiting to be scratched by broken glass. She couldn't wait for the red to make its way squeezing out of her perfect skin.

Two of the men clenched her tightly, by her two arms and the last one shot both of them. Before their body could fall. He throbbed a knife in the right side of her head. Just above her ears. Her eyes moved inside her orbits. He twisted the knife professionally. Two times. He hated pulling it out. "A knife for a soul at least" It felt horribly cheap and maniac to reuse that knife again. The two men had fallen down, on their knees. Their body as rigid as bush. He left them there, and pushed a grenade inside her body. It was a pen. In disguise.

Left, closing the door. Hopeful that destroying evidence will destroy it. The thick gates shut behind him. His black uniform, labelled SCUR. He removed his helmet, threw it. Closed his eyes and went to the other rooms.

A loud siren was blaring. Masses of concerned were running over there but he went to a different room with prospect. There was a boy inside it. Not obvious but he knew it. It was a hell of a tomb. The biggest one he'd seen. Yet. Millions of extremely thin, intricate pipes and wires crisscrossing all over the room, a transparent glass floor, revealing — displaying in pride the tremendous and bizarre machinery. Below the shiny glass, in the green illuminated floor were many tanks, with foggy liquid coming out — liquid helium, for the cooling. He knew it. Life had taught it to him. The superfluid was being utilised, by cooling the hundreds of millions of microprocessors that lied further beneath. Everything resembled the human body. Except that it was lit green by tiny LED lights.