This, This Machine

He longs for it so. He has become an assimilation of what was once a complete human and a collection of circuitry and silicon. He built it. He has grown with it for some time now. "Good evening, User", it chirps back to him. The acceptingness of the synthesized voice eases him. He lets himself go. There are no rules here, it is his domain, his creation, his utopia. He gets what he desires when he desires it; something he can never have in the "society" he exists in. Edward had a comfortable job as an engineer, building the weapons that rule the world. Edward had friends, but his works had killed them. This fact he will never escape. This "creation of his dreams" has filled the gaping void that was ripped by the psychological trauma that comes from building death. He just wanted an escape. He began to build his own machine. This, this machine...