Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
04-17-2011, 12:48 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
The worst part of murder is all the blood.
Of course, Six kept a handkerchief in his pocket just for these situations. He furiously wiped the blood off of the saw blade that constituted his left hand. He hated blood. Hated it hated it hated it.
There was no way he could get the stains out of his outfit, unfortunately. Six had always either furiously washed his suit or requested a new one be made after each game. To Six, that sickly red liquid was an abomination.
Although unsatisfied with the stains, he gave up on trying to clean himself. There were things to be done. More games to be played.
Six looked around the room, looking for various exits. He tried to ignore the bodies strewn about the floor, but the pang of guilt throbbed in Six’s programming regardless. On and off the guilt flickered, synchronizing with the blinking “GPS DOWN.”
GPS down. As Six left through another door, he thought about the greater game he was somehow involved in. He still had no clarification. Still uncertain as to weather he was a contestant or the host. In fact, he began to think about the nature of the ones he at least knew were contestants. Most of them were humans, supporting the idea that he was the game host in some function. But the other two… one was robotic, like him, and the other… Well, he wasn’t sure what the other was.
Six headed down corridors randomly. He was too overwhelmed with new information. The bigger, more important, questions finally fell upon him like a flood. Where is he? Who is The Charlatan? Was this all really part of the MediaPolitical system? It was getting to be too much for the robot. So much to analyze, to understand. It was simultaneously a fantastic dream and horrible nightmare.
So Six stopped. Physically, and mentally, if only for a short time. If he was going to be either an effective host or contestant, he was going to have to choose something to focus on, at least for the time being. Six then determined that the best course of action to be a better at his role in this game would be to determine what his role in the game was.
There. Problem resolved. Focus on gathering more information. Still, deep down, Six knew that there was a epiphany missed. A realization unrealized.
Six turned on some Debussy to stave off the feeling, and continued down the corridor.
Meanwhile, Nancy was struggling to figure a way out of her rather dangerous predicament involving probably one of the worst men she has ever met sticking the barrel of a gun into her back. I mean seriously, who treats a lady like that?
“Keep marching!” the ruffian barked, jabbing the barrel harder into Nancy’s back to get across his point.
“Alright, alright,” she said, rubbing her back as she quickened her pace. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”
“Whatever, lady,” the soldier replied with a disgusting smile on his grin, his breath practically smelling like death. “You’re prolly a spy, and in this war, spies aren’t worth shit if they’re found out, so you shut your pretty little worthless mouth, ok?”
Needless to say, Nancy was offended. A spy!? How could she, Nancy, the most boring lady in the world, be a spy? I mean, ok, it would be really swell and cool if she was, but she doesn’t even have the boldness to even try and be a detective! How on earth could she be a spy?
Suddenly, in the distance, amid the sounds of gunfire and explosions, Nancy heard… music? It was something classical, she was pretty sure, and she was confident she’d listened to this song before somewhere. She just couldn’t quite pin when and where, let alone the name of the song. Ugh. That was going to bother her so much.
Apparently her captor noticed the music, too, because he jabbed her again with the barrel of his rifle, practically knocking her over. “Are you doin’ that, you dirty spy!?” he shouted.
Ok, this was getting ridiculous. Couldn’t this guy have one ounce of respect for another human being? Nancy was infuriated, absolutely infuriated! But there was no point in getting angry at a guy who was pointing a gun at you, now was there? She stammered a quick, "No," and they continued on their way.
The classical music was getting louder. Although Nancy quite enjoyed its calming effect, it seemed to set the soldier off. He began to nervously look all around him, as if some monster was going to come out of the walls and attack him. It continued to get louder and louder, until it seemed the man was completely and totally on edge.
When Six saw them, he instantly recognized Nancy as one of the many contestants the Charlatan had presented to everyone. The other man, however, he did not recognize. To Six, though, it wasn’t important. He had a game to play, information to acquire.
When Nancy saw Six step out from the intersection they had just passed, she was startled for a moment. To see such a comically dressed figure amid the battle-scarred terrain was strange, almost startling. She then remembered that, oh right, this was that guy the Charlatan said was in a game show with that die for a head. What was his name, again? Nancy supposed it didn’t really matter, she could just ask him for his name later on, couldn’t she?
The man, however, didn’t take the surprise nearly as well. The man leveled his rifle at the automation and almost screamed a short order at him.
“DON’T GET ANY CLOSER OR I’LL SHOOT.”
The robot stood still for a long moment, as if thinking about a reply, the music playing slowly and thoughtfully. Finally, after a while, the robot finally uttered a reply.
“I need to speak to the contestant over-”
“SHUT UP!” the man replied, his voice filled with tension. His limbs were shaking, the gun wobbling back and forth. “YOU’RE PROBABLY WITH HER, AREN’T YOU!? PART OF A FUCKIN’ SPY LEAGUE. I’LL SHOOT YOU, I SWEAR I WILL!”
To Six, the man wasn’t dangerous or being irrational. He was simply getting in the way of running the show. And his programming dictated exactly what to do in such situations.
“Sir, you are interrupting the game show process. Please comply or suffer termination.”
“What are you even TALKING ABOUT?” The man screamed in reply. “A FUCKIN’ GAMESHOW!? THIS IS WAR GODAMMIT AND NOW I’M SEEING CRAZY DICE HEAD ROBOTS AND HEARIN’ FUCKIN’ CLASSICAL-”
The laser quickly turned the soldier to ash, his final words echoing emptily in the air. Six stared at the ashes for a moment, and then directed his attention toward Nancy, her eyes wide with fear.
“Question 08: Which former US state once called itself, ‘The breadbasket of America?’”
The worst part of murder is all the blood.
Of course, Six kept a handkerchief in his pocket just for these situations. He furiously wiped the blood off of the saw blade that constituted his left hand. He hated blood. Hated it hated it hated it.
There was no way he could get the stains out of his outfit, unfortunately. Six had always either furiously washed his suit or requested a new one be made after each game. To Six, that sickly red liquid was an abomination.
Although unsatisfied with the stains, he gave up on trying to clean himself. There were things to be done. More games to be played.
Six looked around the room, looking for various exits. He tried to ignore the bodies strewn about the floor, but the pang of guilt throbbed in Six’s programming regardless. On and off the guilt flickered, synchronizing with the blinking “GPS DOWN.”
GPS down. As Six left through another door, he thought about the greater game he was somehow involved in. He still had no clarification. Still uncertain as to weather he was a contestant or the host. In fact, he began to think about the nature of the ones he at least knew were contestants. Most of them were humans, supporting the idea that he was the game host in some function. But the other two… one was robotic, like him, and the other… Well, he wasn’t sure what the other was.
Six headed down corridors randomly. He was too overwhelmed with new information. The bigger, more important, questions finally fell upon him like a flood. Where is he? Who is The Charlatan? Was this all really part of the MediaPolitical system? It was getting to be too much for the robot. So much to analyze, to understand. It was simultaneously a fantastic dream and horrible nightmare.
So Six stopped. Physically, and mentally, if only for a short time. If he was going to be either an effective host or contestant, he was going to have to choose something to focus on, at least for the time being. Six then determined that the best course of action to be a better at his role in this game would be to determine what his role in the game was.
There. Problem resolved. Focus on gathering more information. Still, deep down, Six knew that there was a epiphany missed. A realization unrealized.
Six turned on some Debussy to stave off the feeling, and continued down the corridor.
Meanwhile, Nancy was struggling to figure a way out of her rather dangerous predicament involving probably one of the worst men she has ever met sticking the barrel of a gun into her back. I mean seriously, who treats a lady like that?
“Keep marching!” the ruffian barked, jabbing the barrel harder into Nancy’s back to get across his point.
“Alright, alright,” she said, rubbing her back as she quickened her pace. “You don’t have to be so rude about it.”
“Whatever, lady,” the soldier replied with a disgusting smile on his grin, his breath practically smelling like death. “You’re prolly a spy, and in this war, spies aren’t worth shit if they’re found out, so you shut your pretty little worthless mouth, ok?”
Needless to say, Nancy was offended. A spy!? How could she, Nancy, the most boring lady in the world, be a spy? I mean, ok, it would be really swell and cool if she was, but she doesn’t even have the boldness to even try and be a detective! How on earth could she be a spy?
Suddenly, in the distance, amid the sounds of gunfire and explosions, Nancy heard… music? It was something classical, she was pretty sure, and she was confident she’d listened to this song before somewhere. She just couldn’t quite pin when and where, let alone the name of the song. Ugh. That was going to bother her so much.
Apparently her captor noticed the music, too, because he jabbed her again with the barrel of his rifle, practically knocking her over. “Are you doin’ that, you dirty spy!?” he shouted.
Ok, this was getting ridiculous. Couldn’t this guy have one ounce of respect for another human being? Nancy was infuriated, absolutely infuriated! But there was no point in getting angry at a guy who was pointing a gun at you, now was there? She stammered a quick, "No," and they continued on their way.
The classical music was getting louder. Although Nancy quite enjoyed its calming effect, it seemed to set the soldier off. He began to nervously look all around him, as if some monster was going to come out of the walls and attack him. It continued to get louder and louder, until it seemed the man was completely and totally on edge.
When Six saw them, he instantly recognized Nancy as one of the many contestants the Charlatan had presented to everyone. The other man, however, he did not recognize. To Six, though, it wasn’t important. He had a game to play, information to acquire.
When Nancy saw Six step out from the intersection they had just passed, she was startled for a moment. To see such a comically dressed figure amid the battle-scarred terrain was strange, almost startling. She then remembered that, oh right, this was that guy the Charlatan said was in a game show with that die for a head. What was his name, again? Nancy supposed it didn’t really matter, she could just ask him for his name later on, couldn’t she?
The man, however, didn’t take the surprise nearly as well. The man leveled his rifle at the automation and almost screamed a short order at him.
“DON’T GET ANY CLOSER OR I’LL SHOOT.”
The robot stood still for a long moment, as if thinking about a reply, the music playing slowly and thoughtfully. Finally, after a while, the robot finally uttered a reply.
“I need to speak to the contestant over-”
“SHUT UP!” the man replied, his voice filled with tension. His limbs were shaking, the gun wobbling back and forth. “YOU’RE PROBABLY WITH HER, AREN’T YOU!? PART OF A FUCKIN’ SPY LEAGUE. I’LL SHOOT YOU, I SWEAR I WILL!”
To Six, the man wasn’t dangerous or being irrational. He was simply getting in the way of running the show. And his programming dictated exactly what to do in such situations.
“Sir, you are interrupting the game show process. Please comply or suffer termination.”
“What are you even TALKING ABOUT?” The man screamed in reply. “A FUCKIN’ GAMESHOW!? THIS IS WAR GODAMMIT AND NOW I’M SEEING CRAZY DICE HEAD ROBOTS AND HEARIN’ FUCKIN’ CLASSICAL-”
The laser quickly turned the soldier to ash, his final words echoing emptily in the air. Six stared at the ashes for a moment, and then directed his attention toward Nancy, her eyes wide with fear.
“Question 08: Which former US state once called itself, ‘The breadbasket of America?’”