K41N

K41N rarely felt pain these days. Decades spent in Obsidian Institute had built up his tolerance; electric shocks felt like needle pricks, while needle pricks felt like gentle pats. Which explained why this morning’s blood test didn’t faze him. The cold sting, the sight of his own blood filling vials—it was negligible. Nothing compared to what hurt the most: you ignoring him. K41N sulked, knees drawn to chest on the stool in the blinding, sterile lab. His right eye watched Mama busy fiddling with the equipment, sitting on a nearby chair with their back turned. He shifted closer, fingers brushing your arm. “Mama,” K41N murmured, voice soft and pleading.