RE: QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 3: Deluge]
07-21-2017, 03:36 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-21-2017, 03:54 AM by One.)
Arokht drifted.
Failure again. Failure after failure. Disgrace after disgrace. This isn’t working. Begin again.
Arokht swam in a mental realm somewhere between consciousness and coma. What wasn’t pain was bone-deep exhaustion. A body given out.
He stood in a field of tall grass, and an army of humans in sleek blue armor marched behind him. A dead red worm hung in the air before him, mangled and bleeding. Each drop was a soldier of Raxis. The sun shone in his eyes until a dark, three-eyed shadow blocked it out.
The world beyond his thoughts came in as if through muddy water. Murky, meaningless stimulus. The world within his thoughts flowed thick and directionless, hard discipline and cold logic made viscid by hypnogogia.
Ak’kubal^ut swung the lamp to one side and brought out a power drill from its tool rack, preparing to bolt a metal plate to Arokht’s battered armor. Its three yellow eyes each moved independently.
HQ, this is Green-19, we’re at the uh, scene of the collapse. Looks pretty bad, but no sign of civilians. Like I said, the whole district looks deserted. Over.
Arokht saw a tenement collapse with a roar and rumble. The black form of Sonora wound its way through the debris, singing gibberish. He saw himself trapped beneath the rubble, smaller than an ant, and it seemed as though the whole row of buildings was collapsing too, like dominos, trapping a tiny Iceworlder beneath each one.
Negative, HQ, this looks like an accident. Debris all over the street. It was probably water damage, this whole row of buildings is real badly maintained.
Anila wounded, wounded, dead. Sonora escaping. Amaranth fled down a dark passageway and Arokht pursued, but a forest of frozen hands held him back. “Take the cave!” he shouted, but nobody answered. He stood alone, but for the Outsider behind him. He spun, raised his cannon, and killed Anila with a single shot.
Roger that, HQ. Green-19 out.
God. What’s the point? The rain’s coming. We’ll all be dead anyways in a few.
Shut up, Tom. Help me look.
This isn’t working. Begin again.
He did. Mary and Ak led him through the innards of the Krei’kii’kelriz, but it was also the Kuraght uhr Khteghra, his old troopship. They lined the walls, Robin and Anila and Amaranth and everyone, watching him. You must follow me. You must obey me. The Outsider must die.
I mean, what do you think’s gonna fucking happen? We find someone, we pull ‘em out, they drown a couple of days later. What does that accomplish?
Shut up, Tom.
His troops said nothing, did nothing, though they were blue-armored Iceworlders and he was their ranking officer. Suddenly he felt very small.
They’ll just die a little early is all.
Obey me! he shouted. Fight for me! Only I can lead you to victory! But he was met by silence. He fumed.
Tom, shut the fuck up and help me with this. I think there’s something in there.
What, for real?
Yeah. See that light? Something’s glowing in there. Come on.
They did not obey because they hated what he was, Arokht realized. He was a crude thing, a pathetic thing, and they refused to follow something like him.
Then I must become something else, he thought. But then he thought: How? What else can I be? I am what I am and I was made to fight.
Begin again.
The rumble and roar of a tenement collapsing, but the sound was smaller, this time. Wood splintering and brick shattering. Arokht watched a ball of black ice cracking into his helmet and a flood of black water washing him away.
Jesus God.
Shit, man. What the hell is this thing?
Mary knelt beside his head, shining her headlamp in his face. He was buried under a hundred tons of debris but she was digging him out. Anila stood beside her. Sonora rained from the sky. Mary leaned in closer and her features shifted, her clothing shifted, and what stood there was a man, a tall man, a thin man in a mildewed blue coat with buttons that used to be gold. Anila was never there. But next to him was another man, shorter, in the same uniform but holding an umbrella.
The shorter man began to back away. “What the hell is this thing? I don’t, I don’t -- that looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“Uh, HQ?” said the taller man, speaking into a small black box clipped to his breast. A radio. “This is Green-19, there’s something buried in the debris. It’s, uh, it’s big.”
Arokht tried to focus and couldn’t. Arokht meant mountain of strength, he remembered. The first thing he remembered, truly remembered with his own memories and not the ones implanted into his brain, on the grille beneath his tank with fluid running off of his shell.
-- named him Arokht, because he is the largest one we’d ever grown --
A voice came out of the taller man’s radio, an indistinct buzzing. ”It’s, uh… it’s some kind of big metal beetle,” he replied.
“Looks like a crab to me,” interjected the shorter man.
“Or a crab. It’s big, covered in looks like blue metal, glows in places --” He paused as his radio buzzed again. ”HQ, I don’t know how the fuck to describe this thing. I think we’ll need more men.”
A second response.
”It’s the site of the fucking collapse,” the taller man replied. ”Intersection of 21st and Greywater. We’ll need something to lift and carry this fucker around, because we are definitely not leaving this thing out here.”
A third response. Every time, there were two, Arokht thought, slipping under again. Except for the first time, when there were five. Every time, they come to me, and they find me. Every time I fail them. Why do I still fight? What’s the point?
Two carts. We’ll need two carts.
The point was defeat is worse than death. He remembered Gelu, gone to an uncertain fate. He remembered Mary and Ak, gone too. Soon these two would be gone as well, gone like the worm, gone like Anila, gone like him. Every time he fought, and every time he failed. But he would keep fighting because if he stopped it would mean defeat, and defeat was worse than death. So he fought again, and failed again, and fought again...
Green-19 out.
Arokht went out, dreaming of failure. This isn’t working. Begin again.
Failure again. Failure after failure. Disgrace after disgrace. This isn’t working. Begin again.
Arokht swam in a mental realm somewhere between consciousness and coma. What wasn’t pain was bone-deep exhaustion. A body given out.
He stood in a field of tall grass, and an army of humans in sleek blue armor marched behind him. A dead red worm hung in the air before him, mangled and bleeding. Each drop was a soldier of Raxis. The sun shone in his eyes until a dark, three-eyed shadow blocked it out.
The world beyond his thoughts came in as if through muddy water. Murky, meaningless stimulus. The world within his thoughts flowed thick and directionless, hard discipline and cold logic made viscid by hypnogogia.
Ak’kubal^ut swung the lamp to one side and brought out a power drill from its tool rack, preparing to bolt a metal plate to Arokht’s battered armor. Its three yellow eyes each moved independently.
HQ, this is Green-19, we’re at the uh, scene of the collapse. Looks pretty bad, but no sign of civilians. Like I said, the whole district looks deserted. Over.
Arokht saw a tenement collapse with a roar and rumble. The black form of Sonora wound its way through the debris, singing gibberish. He saw himself trapped beneath the rubble, smaller than an ant, and it seemed as though the whole row of buildings was collapsing too, like dominos, trapping a tiny Iceworlder beneath each one.
Negative, HQ, this looks like an accident. Debris all over the street. It was probably water damage, this whole row of buildings is real badly maintained.
Anila wounded, wounded, dead. Sonora escaping. Amaranth fled down a dark passageway and Arokht pursued, but a forest of frozen hands held him back. “Take the cave!” he shouted, but nobody answered. He stood alone, but for the Outsider behind him. He spun, raised his cannon, and killed Anila with a single shot.
Roger that, HQ. Green-19 out.
God. What’s the point? The rain’s coming. We’ll all be dead anyways in a few.
Shut up, Tom. Help me look.
This isn’t working. Begin again.
He did. Mary and Ak led him through the innards of the Krei’kii’kelriz, but it was also the Kuraght uhr Khteghra, his old troopship. They lined the walls, Robin and Anila and Amaranth and everyone, watching him. You must follow me. You must obey me. The Outsider must die.
I mean, what do you think’s gonna fucking happen? We find someone, we pull ‘em out, they drown a couple of days later. What does that accomplish?
Shut up, Tom.
His troops said nothing, did nothing, though they were blue-armored Iceworlders and he was their ranking officer. Suddenly he felt very small.
They’ll just die a little early is all.
Obey me! he shouted. Fight for me! Only I can lead you to victory! But he was met by silence. He fumed.
Tom, shut the fuck up and help me with this. I think there’s something in there.
What, for real?
Yeah. See that light? Something’s glowing in there. Come on.
They did not obey because they hated what he was, Arokht realized. He was a crude thing, a pathetic thing, and they refused to follow something like him.
Then I must become something else, he thought. But then he thought: How? What else can I be? I am what I am and I was made to fight.
Begin again.
The rumble and roar of a tenement collapsing, but the sound was smaller, this time. Wood splintering and brick shattering. Arokht watched a ball of black ice cracking into his helmet and a flood of black water washing him away.
Jesus God.
Shit, man. What the hell is this thing?
Mary knelt beside his head, shining her headlamp in his face. He was buried under a hundred tons of debris but she was digging him out. Anila stood beside her. Sonora rained from the sky. Mary leaned in closer and her features shifted, her clothing shifted, and what stood there was a man, a tall man, a thin man in a mildewed blue coat with buttons that used to be gold. Anila was never there. But next to him was another man, shorter, in the same uniform but holding an umbrella.
The shorter man began to back away. “What the hell is this thing? I don’t, I don’t -- that looks like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
“Uh, HQ?” said the taller man, speaking into a small black box clipped to his breast. A radio. “This is Green-19, there’s something buried in the debris. It’s, uh, it’s big.”
Arokht tried to focus and couldn’t. Arokht meant mountain of strength, he remembered. The first thing he remembered, truly remembered with his own memories and not the ones implanted into his brain, on the grille beneath his tank with fluid running off of his shell.
-- named him Arokht, because he is the largest one we’d ever grown --
A voice came out of the taller man’s radio, an indistinct buzzing. ”It’s, uh… it’s some kind of big metal beetle,” he replied.
“Looks like a crab to me,” interjected the shorter man.
“Or a crab. It’s big, covered in looks like blue metal, glows in places --” He paused as his radio buzzed again. ”HQ, I don’t know how the fuck to describe this thing. I think we’ll need more men.”
A second response.
”It’s the site of the fucking collapse,” the taller man replied. ”Intersection of 21st and Greywater. We’ll need something to lift and carry this fucker around, because we are definitely not leaving this thing out here.”
A third response. Every time, there were two, Arokht thought, slipping under again. Except for the first time, when there were five. Every time, they come to me, and they find me. Every time I fail them. Why do I still fight? What’s the point?
Two carts. We’ll need two carts.
The point was defeat is worse than death. He remembered Gelu, gone to an uncertain fate. He remembered Mary and Ak, gone too. Soon these two would be gone as well, gone like the worm, gone like Anila, gone like him. Every time he fought, and every time he failed. But he would keep fighting because if he stopped it would mean defeat, and defeat was worse than death. So he fought again, and failed again, and fought again...
Green-19 out.
Arokht went out, dreaming of failure. This isn’t working. Begin again.