Thirty days ago, Solomon would have never imagined himself to be in this position. Thirty days ago, he would be basking in the solace of his masterful workshop, knee deep in tools, gears and all the makings of a new droid. He would be surrounded by his robotic pets--his friends--and he would be free to stare out the window and watch the ash fall like snow whenever he pleased.

My, how things had changed.

"You have no power over me. You have no power over me. You have no power over me." Solomon whispered over and over again, swaying back and forth on what remained of his bed. Half the cot had been destroyed and decorated the floor in broken pieces, where it joined the shattered toilet bowl and the near dozen plates the staff had tried to feed him with. The knuckles on his right hand were encrusted in old blood, and the metallic knuckles of his left hand were surprisingly covered in scrape marks and even dented in some places. For the past week, he vented his uncontrollable rage on everything inside that terrible little cell.

Three days had passed since the last time he tried to commit suicide. The nurses were forced to strip him of any potentially harmful object in his reach--shaving razors, bed sheets, clothes. He tried to strangle himself with the sleeve of his own shirt twice, and now that it was too dangerous for someone to come in and clean the shards around his feet, six guards had rushed him approximately seventy-two hours earlier and bound his wrists and ankles with the strongest materials they had, leaving him unable to fight back or maneuver his limbs.

The risk of coming in contact with Solomon was much too high, so instead of injecting him with the medication as they had before, their new method was to spray him with it from afar and leak a vaporized form of the antibiotics into his cell. Sometimes he inhaled willingly, desperately at that, and sometimes the parasite rejected the treatment.

As the parasite grew strong, Solomon became weak.

There was no one else for him to talk to, no one except for the monster in his body. There were times where he felt it moving inside him, and on many occasion he swore he heard it speak. Was this a product of his increasing madness or was this really happening? He felt like there numerous people living in his ears, mostly men, one woman, all angry, or scared, hostile. The strongest voice belonged to the same young Uni-chron soldier who convinced him to rape Alejia, who tried to convince Solomon that he stole his body and that he wanted it back. Solomon argued with him constantly, unaware that it was simply the parasite manipulating him, having absorbed the memories and personas of every single person it fed upon and killed. It seemed that no one understood just how intelligent these monsters were.

"I do not care if Alejia is a traitor. She did not deserve to be raped!" He screamed at someone that no one else could see or hear, trying to slam the wall behind him, but his hands still could not move. It pained Solomon to say these things, to remember both the sexual assault and her betrayal. He still couldn't believe either one of them, especially the latter, but the truth was the truth and he could not escape from it. As each day passed, he became more and more convinced that this was what the Old World used to call "Hell".

Infuriated by the nonexistent words that insisted on echoing in his head, Solomon gritted his teeth and began jerking his fists against his metal braces, squeezing and pulling until his muscles burned.  The feat seemed impossible, but when he heard the faintest screech in the steel, he decided he would not relent until his hands were free.

"I will no longer aid you in your conquest. This disease dies with me."