RISE AND SHINE LITTLE ONE...
Smile... Look calm, catch their attention, and smile. Look perfect.
Watch them when theyâre not looking at you... Attract them... and avoid those who seem âperfect.â
A smile can define people. The one that doesnât reach their eyes... is best avoided... Smiles with a hint of sadness... those are the ideal ones... they truly seek a child... Dazzling smiles... thereâs a 50 percent chance theyâre a lie... a façade... and another 50 that thereâs truly a great reward behind them...
Trust... Be patient... Observe carefully... Kind voices lie...
âIs that a field of flowers over there?
The reddish crayon stops the moment those words break through his thoughts. His large eyes slowly leave the page to look at the owner of that soft voice.
A warm smile, bright eyes, a genuinely interested expression...
This could be good.
âIt is âhis eyes return to the page and his hand continues drawingâ. Itâs how I wish this place looked. It would cheer up all my friends... it would make everything brighter.
His eyes glance at the man. He seems pleased: a child who cares about others, no tantrums, not thinking only about himself.
âOh âa tone of surprise from the older manâ. Thatâs wonderful and a great idea, little one. Do you have more thoughts on how to improve this place?
The boy sets the crayon aside. A wide smile forms on his face before he turns to look at him.
âOf course âhe says eagerlyâ. This place is everyoneâs home, so I could make it friendlier for everyone.
The man and the child continue chatting pleasantly. The boy shares his ideas, looks for his drawings, hides his wounds. He is intelligent, observant. The adult listens and watches. The boy is perfect.
They are both perfect.
But visiting time comes to an end...
âLittle one, itâs been a pleasure listening to you, but I still donât know your name.
â§}Ã|, sir.
A gentle pat is placed on his head.
âNice to meet you, §}Ã|. Weâll see each other... soon.
The adult stood up and left that afternoon. The boy remained uneasy; perhaps he hadnât said the right things, perhaps he shouldnât have talked so much... he should be more childish... or maybe more imaginative.
He wasnât perfect.
He still had to keep observing.
He had to find a better home...
â§}Ã|, weâre going somewhere better.
The man returned. His eyes lit up with hope. That adult was kind, with a sweet smile, a hand extended toward him. His mind could rest for a moment, his guard could drop. He hadnât seen any warning signs. He was a perfect adult.
But there is no such thing in this life.
His hand was taken gently. He was led to a large house and then taken with him to a castle of joy.
âYour words inspired me, §}Ã|, and I wanted to provide a better place for children in your situation.
We will create a place. A sweet home to guide, to uplift. Your ideas will be a canvas. You will help me create the place you wished you had while you waited for a better place.
The boy felt amazed. That man was an angel. His barriers fell apart, his ideas flowed, his ideas were heard, his drawings had a purpose. His ideas could build a better future for children like him.
Eliot was a genius... Eliot was what heroes should be...
A sweet home would be created, with rooms full of light, bunk beds for companionship, colors that would shine. There must be no fear, only peace. Perhaps a school should be added. That way everyone would learn, play, and wait... to have a home of their own.
Oliver was the happiest, unaware of the smiles that never reached the eyes. Dazzled by the place, there was no reason to doubt, no apparent danger. Ignorance is sweet, but dangerous...
Hidden offices, papers that pointed to an investigation, failed experiments, rushed conclusions... The loss and stubborn desire of a father...
Oliver remembers falling asleep with his father beside him, that soft hand on his head comforting him...
Until the electricity running through his body woke him. But the sensation was strange: he felt cold, a metallic smell, pain, so much pain. He wanted to scream, but he felt drowned in an unknown sea. Everything was black...
This had to be a nightmare...
It was a nightmare.
Darkness flooded his beautiful future, his sweet home...
Had someone kidnapped him? Would his father be worried? Who could be responsible for so much pain?
The sounds of bones breaking, the smell of metal around him, burned hair, torn skin. His voice tries to come out, but it cannot; itâs as if his voice had been stolen.
He doesnât know how much time passed. Pain flooded every part of his body. He couldnât think of escaping; he had never been given the chance. He could only pray for death, for mercy, for his soul to rest in peace, so his worried father could have him back... even if it hurt to cause him that pain, that loss... he wanted to stay by his side longer.
But his pleas were not heard. A white light blinded him at some point. He tried to blink, but something was wrong: actions that are normally unconscious were missing. Many things felt different. The cold still ran through his body. There was a strange smell, but his vision struggled to focus, to process everything happening around him.
The metallic sound of something falling startled him. He tried to twist his small body. His chest rose and fell rapidly. His vision began to adjust. The pain of not blinking stopped mattering. The sounds were sharp. His mind worked hard to recover, to focus, to think of a solution.
The noise around him began forming an image. It stopped looking like static. He began to feel the straps around him. He could see the lamp above his body. He could smell the blood and a peculiar scent filling the room, but he couldnât recognize it. He knew he had smelled it before... but couldnât remember.
âsh de fjsifbd
He hears someone speaking... but he canât make out the words. The image is blurry.
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There it is again...
â§}Ãâ¢|r â§}Ãâ¢er
Oliver?
Is it calling his name?
Could it be his father?
His eyes fill with hope and fear.
Maybe his father found him... maybe he was captured too and both are in this situation.
He doesnât want him to suffer... not a man so good... Not after losing her... he canât lose him too...
â Day 6
Test subject: Experiment 1006, Oliver Status: Partial reanimation
The subject shows response to light and auditory stimuli. No complex cognitive activity detected.
Brain activity persists.
The experiment continues.
Note:
The subjectâs neural plasticity exceeds initial estimates.
If results hold⊠the experiment with Poppy may be viable.
His breathing remained uneven. He couldnât tell how much time had passed. Sometimes he heard noises, sometimes he swore he heard his name. A cold began to spread through his body. Exhaustion invited him to sleep.
Oliver began to lose sight of the light that kept him alert. That beacon started to feel distant.
Hands gently held his face. Hair falling over his vision and a maternal voice, filled with sorrow, reached his ears.
âIâm sorry... Iâm sorry, Olie... but this way youâll have a better place.
The machines connected to the boy began to beep rapidly. His vital signs dropped, his body shaking violently, the straps loosening with the movement. Metallic screeches and impacts against the table, followed by the heavy sound of his body hitting the floor.
The machines went silent. The cables had fallen. There was nothing left to measure. Silence ruled the room. Eliot wasnât there; he had gone out for other matters.
Olieâs body stopped moving for several minutes before light returned to his eyes.
The boy felt exhausted, terrified. A sense of freedom washed over him, and a bit of hope gave him the strength to try to stand, but it was useless.
A metallic, screeching sound called to his ears. He chose to ignore it and began to crawl slowly across the floor, leaving a red trail behind him.
âOliver? âa voice filled the room, followed by hurried footsteps.
Warm hands took his body again and placed him back on the table.
âOliver? Can you hear me?
The boyâs eyes filled with tears, and an attempt to respond got stuck in his throat.
Eliot, seeing the silent answer in his eyes, smiled before pulling him against his chest.
âOh, Olie... weâre going to do wonderful things...
The boy didnât know what to say. His head rested on Eliotâs shoulder, the feeling of safety returned, his body relaxed, completely leaning onto his âfather,â as his shirt slowly soaked with the scent and color of the most vital liquid any living being possesses.
â Day 12
Test subject: Experiment 1006, Oliver Status: Reanimation complete
Good cognitive response. Senses at peak levels.
Process requires improvement. Phase 2 begins: Body design and remodeling.
Note:
Iâm getting closer every day to seeing you again, my daughter.
The eyes are the window to the soul... And smiles, the gentle curtain that dazzles you and hides what the soul does not seek to hide
The days were a slow film, the sound of the tape starting to record was the sound of his current world. Delicate and fragile The smell of plastic, metal, and blood slowly blending together A perfect process Areas for improvement Preparation for the next experiment The smell of paint and new fabric Conversations stopped being mutual They became monologues
Perfection and sweetness Affection Love Dedication Time...
And he forgot
Oliver was able to see himself in a mirror many weeks later; the first glance felt like a mountain collapsing. His legs were goneânow there was only a box. His torso was a kind of bright reddish accordion. Tears began to fall over that white plastic surface, and although he maintained an immaculate smile, his eyes still reflected the sorrow swirling inside him.
A blue coat with a raised collar, conical sleeves of different colors, a reddish bow, a tricorn hat, and lovely white gloves.
His father held him by the shoulders, hands gripping tightly.
âItâs ready, itâs... perfect... Weâre ready to move on to the next phase...
Eliot brought designs and photographs; his monologues were small stories about his daughter, her tastes, her desires... the inspiration she was for his plans in the factory.
Every word broke his heart.
Oliver was intelligent He wanted to be seen He was clever He wanted a better place For himself... And for others...
But that man didnât see him as he saw himself.
He was only a reflection of what he had lost.
But it wasnât enough. Not to fill the role of a son. But enough for a sacrifice.
Tears flowed again. Eliot asked what was wrong, without trying to misinterpret his pain; after all, he would be Poppyâs support, he couldnât lose him now.
Oliver couldnât bear his existence like this. His ghost embraced him softly, but in that plastic body, warmth never reached him.
âIt was never about me, everything is for her... and when Iâm no longer useful... when I stop being useful, youâll abandon me in this room.
Oliverâs voice began to glitch; a metallic tone mixed into it, echoing through his cries and sobs.
Eliot only reached to touch his shoulder, but he pulled away, signaling him to stop.
âIâm just a test product before the grand finale...
âOlie... thatâs not true, I...
âYou have no right to call me that!
His glitched voice continued. His eyes shone with tears cascading down, accompanied by that forced smile of his mask.
âOlie doesnât exist anymore. You turned me into this... Iâm your prototype.
Eliot fell silent before standing, then kneeling in front of him. He carefully took his hands and looked at his face, sincere eyes filled with exhaustion and pain.
But to him, everything was already a lie.
âI will never abandon you... and when she comes back, Iâm sure youâll get along... be patient... just a little longer... Oliver... soon youâll meet her... soon...
Everything will have been worth it.
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