Seventeen.  Good.  All was as it should be.

He looked at the morning sky with wild feverish eyes which betrayed his utter lunacy.

Climbing into his suit (which he took off before reaching the factory gates) he hummed and mumbled a curious "song". A tuneless and uncouth gurgling sound, no doubt a melody of his own devising.

As he scarfed his usual breakfast of udders and turdmilk, he dumbly gazed at the sun which shone a vivid copper. He continued to stare, not so much due to an awareness of the beauty of the new sunrise, but more in a half-hypnotic stupor.

Eventually a black spot appeared in his eyes and he yelped out of his idiotic trance. He cowered, squatting, eyes closed until the shapes on his retina passed.