Note: This one is more rushed than the rest

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The world scared him.

For children everywhere, their surroundings should be a new adventure, every day feeling like a privilege.

The boy did not know why he did so, only that the world itself felt wrong. A piece to the puzzle of his perspective just wasn't clicking, and it was uncanny. It made his face scrunch up even as the boy desperately forced it down to expressionlessness.

It is unfortunate that he was young, his efforts not to worry anyone were earnest, but he was never the sort who could lock it all away. It was not how he was raised.

The boy confided in the loved ones he had left. They did what they could to make him comfortable, only for it to soon be the boy easing their anxieties over the situation.

It was always something he had to have an affinity for, to be an adult he wasn't even prepared to be in situations where those loved ones were unhelpful. He held no ill will or resentment, yet one could say his opinions on them were not without negativity.

The boy had a name, one he could not even associate with himself. It was bestowed on him at an age where his mind could not even shelve memories, only it felt like someone else's.

He came up with a new one to call himself in private. One that if said by another person to the boy, he would snap his head in their direction instantly, whereas he lagged in responding to "that" name.

It was a name only a child of his circumstances would love, not believing others would, even if they understood why.

Penn.

A small comfort to reassert some level of connection to everything, to make the weight of those tiny shoulders seem a bit lighter, to not make walking seem like a chore on the way back to school.

At least he could run. That's a hobby that will pay off as he gets older, the boy would muse to himself. He realized eventually he would no longer be a boy, but did it matter when it all felt the same?

It was a misfortune that the life of this child had to be this way, and a gutpunch to walk by that cemetery all the time. It made the world feel even more wrong, wrong enough for things to have to die.

The trembling got better at least, and with puberty and sweatpants, the exercises made the impression of Penn being an energetic person and an excellent disguise.

Socializing came easy, connecting never got into the equation at all, his task was difficult and supporters few if they knew. Not that there was ever any for Penn as an individual, just as a construct others made in their minds.

What little faith this growing boy had, all that had improved was the way he adapted, not the grief left behind.

Penn was happy to be in an era that made it all so simple, where calendars meant nothing and advancements scaled to the stars.

The school grades went by simply enough. College was a bore, but the knowledge made it tolerable. He had developed well in the eyes of any outsider, the cracks were truly invisible to them all.

Penn targeted numerous degrees to achieve this task, and for the first time in many years would spare a smile for the momentous occasion. The numerous side projects have left a sizeable nest egg, with more than enough opportunities to receive funding.

He hid his true purpose with a plausible one, albeit slightly idealistic even in this era that lacked disease, but allowed death through its gates. The fools.

It took years. Years of close calls, countless losses of motivation, building a reputation for more cover projects to fund his true ends. How Penn had not fallen apart was a mystery to any who knew.

Not that anyone should do so without paying the price he has abhorred so much since childhood for their knowledge.

For one mission, scarring his clear soul was acceptable. Penn would eventually succeed in the finishing touches, placing the necessary pieces to spread across this abhorrent world.

It did require one more thing, power that could black out entire cities. Rerouting it wasn't difficult, this was a scheme running decades, only the human factor would decrease the success rate.

It turns out he worried too much.

With this action, this unknown machine buried in the most obscure of databases of history, the world had abolished death.

Death, pain, ego.

What Penn had willfully ignored was simple; with those losses went the right to choose.

Humanity was not humanity anymore. The advancements were many but the will had vanished, it had all become an obligation now.

To think in one arrogant pursuit would the species that yearned for freedom would be enslaved by themselves.

The world was no longer abhorrent, no longer frightening to Penn, but not even the world he had created brought any sense of fulfillment.

One lone spectator's eyes would conclude this venture, a personal hell for the one who had created it.

The Guardian wondered what would come of it, and what lessons there are to learn here.