A/N: OK, now this is set in the episode four months ago and will continue on from there. I have made a few small changes but that's so the story will work. Hope you enjoy, and please review and tell me what you think.

When you were a baby you used to play with a crystal prism your grandmother got you, spellbound by the dazzling lights it created. This never went away over the years. Eventually the only stories and movies you would pay attention to had to involve some sort of fascinating light; your parents had a hard time pleasing you.

The first word you said was 'pretty'; your parents were a little hurt to say the least. You erased this by following up with an adorable 'mummy, daddy'. That pleased them greatly; you found that you liked to please people.

You were six the first time you accidently killed someone. You'd been fighting with your grandmother about going outside in the rain to play, the next things you knew blue lights were erupting from within you and setting the place alight. All you could think about was how much you resembled your crystal prism; the lights became your new best friend. Your grandmother died of smoke inhalation; you on the other hand escaped the burning house, too confused and exited to understand the magnitude of what you had done. You didn't even know she was actually dead until you were thirteen, your parents made sure of that.

It was the first time you killed someone, but it certainly wasn't the last.

When you were seven your father walked you through the doors of his company. It was huge and fascinating, making you feel a little like Charlie in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, especially when nice Mr Bennet gave you a Mars bar.

The feeling soon disappeared though.

By the time of your eighth birthday you'd had massive headaches almost every day and been exhausted beyond belief most of the time. You didn't realize it then but it was because of the testing the company performed you. You killed your shrink two days after the nonexistent birthday party – he wouldn't let you go out for play time. Your father scolded you while your mother looked on with disbelieving eyes. You don't get what's so wrong about the little shrink being so limp on the floor. You poke him to try and wake him up. He doesn't and your father pulls you outside. You still don't know what you've done wrong.

You're not allowed to leave the company for a long time after that.

The day before your ninth birthday your father takes you out for ice-cream. It's then he tells you mother's gone and isn't coming back. You remember screaming and prism lights shooting everywhere . . . but then you don't remember anything except waking up in a stiff bed with an IV of lithium (that's what the doctor called it when you asked, you made a mental note to check a dictionary when you got out) and surrounded by glass walls. Your father's only explanation was that you caused a black out in four counties and set two houses on fire before collapsing. You didn't say anything after that, too dejected by the fact of your mother's death and what you had done. Your father left you in that room for eight months. You think you might've gotten out sooner if you hadn't killed four doctors and refused to eat anything. But you can't be sure.

Your death count is now six. Or seven if you count the cat last summer. But you really didn't mean to hurt the little cutie, honest!

The next fifteen years pass in a blur of white walls and pretty blue colours. You grow to like the people in the many cells and think of them as your toys. You play with them, happy with the cute little noises they make. They're the only thing that keeps your mind occupied long enough so you don't have to see the prison your life has become. It now revolves around three things – pleasing daddy, playing with your toys and pretty blue prism lights.

Sixteen more people are added to your count. You can't remember who any of them are.

At the age of twenty four your life has found another meaning, it now revolves around: pleasing daddy, playing with your toys, pretty blues lights . . . and visiting Peter. You like Peter, he's the most funnest toy you've ever had. Yet at the same time he doesn't feel like a toy. He's much too real for that.

He's your pinochio of sorts, a toy differing on the line of becoming a real boy. It's up to you whether he makes it. So when he asks what your story is you're momentarily stunned – toys don't have minds of their own, you decide what they're gonna say, gonna think. This one doesn't play by the rules. Still you tell him, not because he has you cornered, not because he's right or that you want him to know but because he's the only one who's ever asked. You're interested to see what his reaction will be. You don't know it then but this is the first step you've taken to making him a real boy. If you had, then you might've stopped.

The second is when he grabs your waist and lifts you onto the bed. That stunned you – once again toys aren't meant to decide these things. But your shock quickly disappears when he tells you that he likes you. Your heart stutters and you don't think you've ever been so happy. You like Peter and Peter likes you, in your world it can only lead to good. Then he kisses you.

You respond automatically even though you have no idea what you're supposed to be doing. You've seen movies and books and they've painted a pretty picture but there's still room for confusion. So you let your body make the choices – it seems to know what it's doing.

You're held up on a cloud of ecstasy and when he lifts your shirt over your head you barely even notice.