prompt; prism
fandom; elsword
word count; 105
'Filthy trash,'-- the voice displayed a clear irk. The spinning triangular prisms were everywhere.
One after another, the geometric shapes were cast anywhere in sight, adding onto the last. The movement of those confined declined as each grain of time dissipated.
They were all grime to him. Why, for the albino scientist, they served as nothing more than disposable test subjects, utterly replaceable of no value.
Caged, and unable to escape. Despair, clinging onto dear life. He was obstinate about his actions-- he was insane, of course he wasn't going to stop.
"Particle Prism! Particle Prism! PARTICLE PRISM--!"
It was a fine day for experimentation.
