It is plain and natural for any intelligent, sexually-reproducing species to seek and abuse power no matter what.

Nothing is permanent.

Come find your purpose)

"Repeat after me."
The words shook me from the slight trance I was in, looking down at my hands. My cuticles were cut, scabbed, and bloody. Stained with my own viscera because I couldn't stand to leave them alone. I looked up at the man sitting in front of me. Powerless, I nodded as he shifted at his desk.

"The ends justify the means," he spoke, looking at me as though I was a child who needed scolding, "always."

"The ends justify the means," I repeated meekly, "always."

"Good. Stop slouching, it makes you look fat," he huffed as he turned to his computer. His room smelled god-awful, like something was rotting. He was back to ignoring me as he worked on whatever it was he did. Of course, if I so much as indicated any idea of leaving the room, he'd get upset. And so I stayed silent, watching him as though a deer would stare at a car.
He was less of a man and more of a boy. And, even then, less of a boy and more of a girl. But he always got upset whenever I were to point that out. So I didn't, and eventually just accepted that being seen as a man made him feel good. He would often tell me, "All the greats were men! Gacy, Dahmer... just look it up."

I never understood why he idolized them. It all seemed like a waste of time, even after he explained his project. It wasn't idolizing, no, it was moreso envy. Renowned for the ability to inflict suffering. That's what he'd always wanted, it was power.

"Hey," he eventually spoke, "C'mere, I want to show you something."

I stood up from his bed and walked over, my pink church shoes making loud steps across his creaky, messy bedroom floor. I leaned over his shoulder and at his computer screen.

"Look. Just like you asked for."

On the computer screen was a rather odd image. It was a composite of several women's faces, merged into one that looked oddly familiar.
"What do you mean?" I asked softly.

"You wanted someone to talk to, yeah? Someone like her?" He looked up at me with that awful, yellow-stained grin. It clicked. It looked exactly like her. It makes sense he could perfectly recreate her face... after all, he was the one in a relationship with her. I could never tell who I was more envious of between the two of them. In a perfect world I wouldn't have had to choose.

"...It looks just like her."

"Talks like her, too. Watch this," he chuckled softly, before typing some words into a text box. The girl responded exactly as the real one would. "Isn't she great?"

I remained silent. A cold, creeping feeling ran up my arms as he looked at me.

"What's wrong?" He asked, his voice quiet. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

"Why not?"

"I..."

"God, you know you can tell me if you don't like it, right?"

"It's not that."

"Then what is it? Why aren't you ever satisfied with the things I do for you?"
He was yelling, sure, but his voice cracked nearing the end of his question and all I could remember was how he'd cry when he fell off the playground when we were children.

"I'm sorry," I whined softly, sitting back on his bed.

"It's okay, Lily. I promise. I'll make it perfect for you, okay?"
He stood up, walking over to sit next to me. His body was so cold. He took my hand and pushed his face against mine.
"I'll make everything okay. Just you wait. Everything will be okay."
He lifted my chin with a sleight of his hand and kissed me. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and didn't even make a sound. All I could do was whimper pathetically. He pulled back after a few long seconds and stared at me.

He stood up, his back turned to me as he took a few steps towards his desk.

"You know, you'd be a lot prettier if you smiled for once."