[quote=Halo]
EDIT: I was bored and avoiding going shopping, don't judge me. D:
[/quote]

David MacArthur had long been a prominent writer of science fiction, drawing readers into an immense science fiction world where the characters leaped from the pages and into the minds and hearts of his readers. He had won awards, and received accolades as one of the premier writers of his time. That was ten years ago. The accident changed everything, even though it had seemed minor enough. One morning, as he was leaving the house to take his dogs for a walk, one chased after something, twisting him off balance until he fell down the stairs. He was found unconscious by his wife an hour later.

Other than the abrasion of his forehead, he seemed fine, no broken bones, but the concussion and resulting brain damage, though minor, would reveal itself in the coming months. His imagination was dry, the well that once overflowed with characters and ideas was now barren. His focus was lost, he had trouble concentrating on any one thing for more than an hour. His publishers, understanding at first, became impatient for another novel, and finally, cut ties with him. The loss of his work was hard enough, but the loss of his life was his imagination. No long able to conjure the characters he once admired and adored, exploring their exploits.

Ten years went by, as he steadily withdrew from the world, finding the numbing sensation of alcohol to provide temporary relief of his bitter longing. His marriage was in shambles, his wife he was sure was cheating on him, so he cheated in turn. His feelings of worthlessness, failure, rejection, and guilt over cheating drove him to two failed suicide attempts. Life was not worth living if there was no hope of it getting better.

Yet, after his stomach was purged of the overdose of medication of his second attempt, a pair of doctors came to see him. They were researchers, testing a new technique to fix damaged cells, without invasive surgery. It had shown promise with rats that had ulcers to brain cancer. Desperation made him agree. Hope! He had forgotten what it felt like. Precautions were taken when he went to the research lab, his wife by his side. She still loved him, he wasn't sure how, the fog of depression unveiling his eyes, he couldn't understand how she stayed with him over the years, but he was so glad of her support, her love, her tender encouragement. She held his hand as he laid upon the table, and the injection of the nanites began.

David did not go home a new man, the process would take time as his body and nanites adapted to each other. It would take time for the nanites to begin repairing the damaged sections of his brain. But hope kept him going. He would imagine again, he would remember more, and it all came to pass. A little over a year after the procedure, his book was a national best seller. His publishers were ecstatic, his marriage was whole once more, he had reconnected with friends and family, everything would be perfect it it weren't for that dark, probing claw in his mind. That silent voice of unheard whispers, of visions of terror and shadows that he couldn't remember when he woke in the dark of the night.

Mid way through his second book, he [i]heard it[/i]. A voice. Like dark hatred given words and sound. Of vile, repulsive rage spewed forth from the incarnation of hatred. It spoke one word, [i]"Worthless."[/i] More words followed, and he feared seeing a psychiatrist for the effect it might have on his book sales. He ignored it. He tried to drown it out with music, with activity, with love, and finally with alcohol. Nothing worked, it only made the voice louder. More insistent. More...influential. It whispered lies into his ear, his wife was cheating on him again. Another man was fucking her. How dare she? The publishers were using him. He worked so hard, but how much of the profits did he see? Jealousy, twisted lies and hatred build within his heart.

When he finally broke, it was like the an egg being broken from the inside out, a shadow of black tearing through the shell of a man; [url=http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Electrical_Exoskeleton]Electricity generated by the nanites and his body surged outwards,[/url] forming an aura around him as he assaulted his wife, leaving charred ash as the electricity burned through her clothes, skin and muscle like a cutting torch. Her screams of agony, of sheer terror eventually brought David back to himself. But the sight of his broken wife, and the glowing, sparkling, high pitched whining aura of electricity about him finished off David MacArthur.

Halo stepped into the void left by the dying soul of a man. Smiling a toothy grin,[url=http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Nanite_Constructs] a stream of metallic black leaking from his eyes[/url], ears, nose, mouth, and every other orifice of his body began to pool at his side. A small, doll-like figure grew of the nanites, the head forming, and then looking up at him, not by twisting of its neck, but my shifting the near-featureless face upwards to its creator. A finger pointed to the charred form of David's wife, driven to gibbering madness from the pain and vision of what she was witnessing. "Feed. Grow." The words weighted the air with an unnatural presence, like reality was torn apart by the very voice that uttered them. Inhuman. As the woman screamed, high pitched an shrill as the nanites swarmed over and into her, deconstructing her body to self-replicate, the once-man moved, stiffly to the window of the house, overlooking the city. "Halo. Halo Comes."