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Robotnik almost wishes he hadn’t done the scan, but he trusts his gut, infested as it is. Trusts that his routines haven’t changed enough to warrant the feeling he needs to eat for two. But there it is, looming large on the screen, a healthy, happy tapeworm. He’s felt so alone for so long, but there is the proof that he isn’t. He should get rid of the thing feasting on his innards, but something stops him. He feels simultaneous pangs of nausea and arousal pulling at him, lays a hesitant hand against his stomach. No, not there, slides it lower, a little to the left.
It’s almost romantic, the way it winds inside him, the tight clutch it has on the wall of his intestines. Nestled safe within him, around him, of him. A companion he doesn’t even have to try to keep satisfied. Care is as easy as caring for himself. He chuckles. Easier, perhaps, the tapeworm would feed on him regardless of whether he fed himself or not. He looks back up at the bioscanner’s readout. He’s been neglecting his own health for too long. He starts eating better, balancing his meals, taking a multivitamin with B12, stops ordering his steak quite so rare—he can take a hint. But he keeps that little bugger, either a reminder of his past failings or extra encouragement, depending on his varying levels of self-worth. It’s almost nice playing host, he does it so rarely.
In his most desperate, lonely hours he imagines he can feel it. Fills himself with silicone simulacrums of company and wants. Presses a larger toy upward, head outlined between his bony hips and pretends it’s his parasitic passenger sliding between his walls. There are eggs inside of me, I’m full of them, he thinks hysterically and shudders. He comes hard to the 3-D recreation of the worm’s lifecycle, continued within his very body. He shouldn’t masturbate to documentaries, he’s going to Pavlov himself into being attracted to David Attenborough.
Ironically, he starts gaining weight, his little companion growing with him. He’s in better health now than he ever was before, the paranoia over nutritional deficiencies causing him to eat enough for once in his life. He’ll need a new wardrobe at this rate, belly pinched by the waistband of his slim slacks (don’t think about being pregnant, don’t). His next physical shows his companion has gained another six inches, impressive for the species. He shouldn’t have looked it up, he now knows exactly how dangerous it is (not terribly, almost not worth the little trouble getting rid of it would be). He should flush it from his system on principle alone, how dare anything think they could steal the very nutrients from his body. He always stops before tapping the ‘place order’ button on the nitazoxinide. Humans are colonies of their own, covered in mites and full of bacteria. What’s one more organism?