Be a man.

It was a phrase that he had heard time and time again; from friends and enemies, from family members and outsiders. Who were they to tell him that he needed to grow up? That he needed to further his personal intellect and development? To what purpose? He had the responsibility of an entire city on his shoulders… and more times than he could count; the fate of the world. He had to prove himself, he could not just let them berate him with their expectations and have none for himself. It just wasn't right, wasn't fair…

But then again, was life?

He remembered his mother. All men are supposed to love their mothers and dislike their fathers by Freudian theory and damn it all he was one to follow the crowd. It's how he ended up being a hero, gaining all this responsibility and fans because he was a reject… But how did he become a reject? He frowned regretfully at the memory and hoped that one day he would be able to purge it from his system. He was the prince of popularity. Well loved, well treated and well provided for. He had everything going for him… everything… Yet, he disobeyed his mother… only on one occasion. That's when he lost her.

He slapped himself, hard.

What the hell are you doing? Are you thinking about the life that you lost and that cannot recapture?

Do you enjoy pain? Do you enjoy suffering?

You are an insignificant human that cannot be defined as being a man!

But then again… You aren't fully human and therefore cannot ever hope to be a man.

That thought made his blood run cold. As well as the electricity in his circuitry. How he loathed that pathetic excuse for a teacher. All he could ever teach was pain and suffering and hate and angst and deprivation and servitude… Servitude. His eyes squinted in disgust. He would not allow the memory of his ancestors, those who worked so hard for freedom to be decimated by this manipulative gimp. He would have to press on harder. To make sure that he had put his point across. To make sure that there wouldn't be any more mistakes concerning that discernable son of a bitch. He had already proved himself to be worthy for the rite of manhood. Now, it was time to show that he has that rite firmly imprinted on the flesh of his chest… even if it was covered in metal. No matter. Technology had a way of serving his purpose. The image inducer ring proved to be the ultimate escape from his metal exterior… in one sense but not the other.

He trudged down the wickedly familiar path in the drizzle, on towards to the darker side of the moon. The black market. Although he hated the fact that 'black' was the colour to describe it, it made him feel strangely… welcome. It was his decision to dance with this particular devil… But technology was his life and if it helped orphans in Africa, he was all for it. Though, it did strike him as odd… Why would this, arguably, criminal mastermind would want to help those that can help themselves but do not have the means to. It was so weird and profound a cause that he had found himself swept up in the sacrificing a part of himself and accepting help from the greater of two evils for the plight of the greater good. Maybe it was an omen. But he had always had this chill run down his spine as his approach the barrier night after night. As soon as his crossed over, that chill turned into a thrum of caution, then a jolt of frantic fear… and then it vanished as soon as it appeared.

A very strange regular phenomenon.

It's a trap, so don't ask,
It's a shadow on your back.

Methodically, he entered the password, went through all the security checks without any delay, completely at ease, completely comfortable. Counting out his paces mentally, he reached the main door that housed his nemesis, Brother Blood. He was in conference with other officials from the black market. His and Blood's technology were helping many exploiters, especially the pirates of Africa. However, aiding this questionably demonic forces has benefited many Africans… it was just that the news liked to portray the more morbid side of life to make people give to charity so that they could line their pockets.

"Ah, Stone… I would like to have a word with you privately, after you have finished you work on the production line of course."

"Blood." He nodded solemnly and continued on to the production line of ex-convicts that could not obtain work anywhere else. His presence, oddly, boosted morale amongst the men and women and even the juveniles who refused to return to the corrupt orphanages and had decided to live the street life. It was working for them. This shadow operation worked for everyone who knew about it and for everyone who didn't.

"Stone."

It was that time of night. Around three in the morning where his system always demanded that he shut himself down and rest what was left of his biological body. Since he was now effectively leading a double life, he had programmed himself to fall into an incredibly deep sleep that bordered on being in a coma. Nothing disturbed him from his slumber… and that's the way he need it. In order to continue… he needed to be put into a coma for three hours every other night.

"I'm not your lapdog Blood. This is as much my business as it is yours and anyone else who contributes to this joint."

"You still have a great deal of respect to learn."

"This is the only semi-respectful thing that you have done!"

"And you will talk when it is your turn!"

Punch. Kick. Thump. "I already told you Blood. I am my own man. I can handle myself and I choose to remain here to help those orphans and I will be damned if I let you take advantage of that." Tensions always ran high before his allowed himself to slip into a coma. It worked that way. Blood no longer knew how to push his buttons because he had become a man. Or so he thought. Annoyed, drained, he went to his table and put himself into a coma.

Blood had combed through his blue prints. Every inch of his circuitry. Knew all thirty-five weak spots that he had. Had tempted him great achievements, academic, physical and personal. Knew every iota of knowledge about him and all the knowledge that was inside him. Knew every cell in his body… his white blood cell count. How many volts it took to turn him on. And yet, as he leered across that taunt, sleek plated metallic build that was covered in that sinful optical illusion of delectable, tawny-chocolate, synthetic skin… it was the only time he actually wanted to play bad headmaster.

Every, single, movement counted towards him optimal pleasure and satisfaction. He had definitely showed him that he could be a man… and a man he was… in body. That was the only thing that appealed to him. That rectum. That ass. He had to possess the most smack-able gluteus in the world. Blood almost bit his lip in anticipation. This dirty extracurricular activity that he divulged in, without consent or permission from the parents… but wait… he didn't need any… his student was a man now. He walked; talked, thought and made decisions like a man… therefore… he must accept all due consequences and decadent detentions.

Exposed. Unconscious. Writhing. Still. Panting. Barely breathing. Stroking. Not feeling. Thrusting. Not responding. Moaning. Not hearing. Coming. Not going anywhere…

It don't burn. It don't bleed.
Still it cuts you at the knee.

…Spent and sated. Rejuvenated in sleep…

His slumber was over. Groaning at his usual stiffness that usually accompanied him when he lay on that particular table. He could never understand why that dull ache always persisted. He glanced down at his knee, where Blood had perfectly placed a kick that knocked a few bolts and cybernetic shards off. He growled. He carried on the charade. Walked out of the place as if nothing untoward had happened… that jolt of frantic fear had returned, alerting him that something must be wrong. But as always, he ignored, coped and dealt with these strange shadows of sensations and the frantic fear simmered into a thrum of caution and then eventually dwindled into the predominant chill, until it died altogether.

"Another night, my student."

One day he would realise… that he was everything that Blood had taught him to be.

Who wants some? This is a very dark rendition of Cyborg and he is defiant and will forever be.

Any questions? Drop a review and I will explain all. Any genuine reviews… please send me one and I'll treat you all to Beast Boy… or Raven… I'll let you decide…

Hope you enjoyed it. Standard disclaimer applies and I do not own Shinedown's 'I Own You'.

D-I-WaRrIa