Simular Beings

Power Overwhelming

"Goliath!" The Taipan Riders leader waved at the now docile creature. It stopped in its tracks beside her. "I'm sure you don't want to fight my little pet. Just send me a portion of your company shares. Make me a part of your little crew, and I'll make sure you have an army at your disposal."

The creature was large—deformed but humanoid in nature. It had visible limbs and a face that looked like it had been partially melted off, and considering its receptiveness to voice commands, it seemed to possess some form of intelligence. Its naked body was covered in bright, multi-colored tubes and torn cables. Almost like it had just escaped from some sort of laboratory of unethical practices.

"What have you done to it?" the Creator asked.

"Drugs!" she answered back. A mischievous grin formed. "What do you think these were from? Candy? It was from lots and lots of drugs! Oh, it was so fun feeding my sweetie pie!"

What a lunatic.

"Nobody else has the fuckin' guts to do it! They got stupid rules to follow, you know?" She laughed. "My head researcher was miffed about the whole thing, sayin' shit like, 'Oh, but the code of ethics!' Who the fuck cares?! Why'd you come to a gang if you had ethics involved?! I obviously killed him."

Rules to follow... Those familiar words... Damn it! Why was he comparing his own words to hers? They were clearly in different context; she was nothing like him. He'd done his research far more efficiently, and it was better.

He wasn't anything like her.

"So? Down for the deal?" the leader said. She started almost sensually rubbing the creature's arms. "C'mon! Just fifty-one percent. That's it. Better than being smashed into pulp by my little sweetie pie, eh?"

"And why would I do that?" Fifty-one percent was basically the entire company. She was asking for the whole damn thing.

"Okay. Don't say I didn't try." She shrugged him off before shooting two times into the air. "Taipan Riders! We're murderin' today!" And with a third shot, her army of goons readied themselves at the forefront...

But one grunt stood, quivering. Far in the back. He seemed frightened.

"B-boss, I don't know if I can do this." The tip of his blade trembled just the same. His legs wobbled, and his head shook with every word spoken. "H-he's the Creator! W-we can't—"

"What?!" the leader yelled. She sounded intensely agitated. Without warning, she pulled up her gun and shot the man straight in the chest. "What a fuckin' waste."

Waste...?

The grunt fell to his knees, holding his chest tightly as the blood spewed. His head rested to the side; his gaze fell to the Creator, and he started to mouth to him of all people...

"Help."

On instinct alone, the Creator twitched. Just enough to stop himself. Then the leader shot twice more into the man.

The body laid unmoving on the ground, arm still bloodied and outstretched. The Creator didn't know why, but something about it was unpleasant. He'd seen so many die before him. Why was this in particular any different?

"Why?"

"Why not?" the leader remarked. "They're nobodies. They should be thankful I'm even cuttin' them a deal. I'm not payin' for someone who doesn't work for it."

Nobodies... He'd once said that very word to describe his own experimental test subjects. They had been people just like these grunts—drug addicts, psych ward patients, orphans, all those low lives of society. He'd once thought they were just nobodies too—useless if not given purpose, useful when used for his research...