Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
07-01-2011, 09:51 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
In those few seconds, where Six’s mind was calculating the saw blade quickly and efficiently eviscerating a man, he was a god. He engorged himself on the feeling of ending a human life. He was Death, reaper of souls, gatekeeper to the Underworld.
In the next few seconds, when the four terabytes uploaded with large sections of human knowledge, including several thousand years of moral and ethical debate, returned to the scope of his perception, he became a monster. The splattered blood pointed to his evil. It was a prosecutor that convicted, a finger that accused Six of his actions. He hated blood. Hated it hated it hated it.
Six pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets. This was the one he had used previously, and was already marked with that substance he hated most. Useless. He forcefully threw it to the ground, reaching for another handkerchief on his person.
It was at this point Parsley entered the room. He had seen plenty of violent scenes in his time as a demon hunter, but this… all he had to say was that the Demon was particularly creative.
Six turned his head and looked at the man dejectedly. The designated contestant hadn't even been eliminated. He could simply kill him now, but the urge, the desire locked within his subconscious programming, was gone. Six felt disgusted even thinking about it. He began furiously wiping his saw blade in response.
“Um,” Parsley said, trying to connect the illusion with a specific reality. “What happened here?”
Six paused from his furious scrubbing to give heed to the question. Unfortunately, the man was not responding to this scene in fear or hatred. Confusion, perhaps, or pity for the man who died. But without the recognition of the emotions with which he was most familiar, it was unlikely Six would try to kill him again. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“A contestant was eliminated,” he finally said, moving the cloth to the splatter on his cube-shaped head.
Parsley was pretty sure that meant someone had died, even if that was already obvious. Perhaps he could glean details from other things within the illusion? Hm… wait. Hadn’t Archibald asked a medical question earlier?
Parsley frowned. That actually explained quite a bit. Whoever this was had probably been injured in some way, and Archibald had been asking him for information on how to treat him.
Obviously, the attempt at saving him failed. The demon’s illusion-based powers were probably a factor. It was a life lost, a mark against this wretched demon, and Parsley privately swore he’d avenge the dead who died because of him.
Parsley turned his mind to Archibald. He had finished wiping himself with that rag, and was now seemingly staring at the gore around him, a brooding air about him. Parsley sighed. The Knight really did care about the people around him, even if he did have a temper. He never did take deaths under his watch very well. In an act of kindness, Parsley walked up to Archibald, put a hand on his shoulder, and spoke.
“I’m sorry for… what happened,” he began. He wasn’t the best at wording these kinds of things, but he was ok at it. “Do you… need anything?”
Six turned to look at the demon-hunter. Touching the game-host without permission from a MediaPolitics representative or Six himself was a serious break of protocol, although that didn’t really matter to Six right then. Was this man showing… compassion? To him? Compassion was a thing Six had only known about, yet had never seen. As soon as this so-called competition began, everything had seemed to change. Places, people, rules. His carefully constructed perceptions of his world were crumbling before him.
“Question 17: Do you have an extra set of clothes?” Six said, responding to Parsley's question. The demon hunter glanced down at the robot’s clothes, furrowing his brow. After a while, he finally replied.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Parsley slowly said, in as soft a voice he could muster. “Sorry about that.”
Quietly, a rage built up in Six. He did not deserve this compassion. He was a murderer, and he deserved fear, hatred. To him, it was a simple statement of fact, and he was angered the erroneous reaction of the demon hunter.
“I killed that man,” Six intoned.
“No, you didn’t,” Parsley said, shaking his head. “It was the Demon. He caused this man’s death.”
Six didn’t know how to respond to compassion, certainly not compassion he did not want. So, simply, he left. He turned, pushing Parsley out of the way, returned to the hallway, choosing a random direction to head in, and left.
Parsley sighed, internally lamenting the knight’s tendency to run off, and followed after him.
In those few seconds, where Six’s mind was calculating the saw blade quickly and efficiently eviscerating a man, he was a god. He engorged himself on the feeling of ending a human life. He was Death, reaper of souls, gatekeeper to the Underworld.
In the next few seconds, when the four terabytes uploaded with large sections of human knowledge, including several thousand years of moral and ethical debate, returned to the scope of his perception, he became a monster. The splattered blood pointed to his evil. It was a prosecutor that convicted, a finger that accused Six of his actions. He hated blood. Hated it hated it hated it.
Six pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets. This was the one he had used previously, and was already marked with that substance he hated most. Useless. He forcefully threw it to the ground, reaching for another handkerchief on his person.
It was at this point Parsley entered the room. He had seen plenty of violent scenes in his time as a demon hunter, but this… all he had to say was that the Demon was particularly creative.
Six turned his head and looked at the man dejectedly. The designated contestant hadn't even been eliminated. He could simply kill him now, but the urge, the desire locked within his subconscious programming, was gone. Six felt disgusted even thinking about it. He began furiously wiping his saw blade in response.
“Um,” Parsley said, trying to connect the illusion with a specific reality. “What happened here?”
Six paused from his furious scrubbing to give heed to the question. Unfortunately, the man was not responding to this scene in fear or hatred. Confusion, perhaps, or pity for the man who died. But without the recognition of the emotions with which he was most familiar, it was unlikely Six would try to kill him again. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“A contestant was eliminated,” he finally said, moving the cloth to the splatter on his cube-shaped head.
Parsley was pretty sure that meant someone had died, even if that was already obvious. Perhaps he could glean details from other things within the illusion? Hm… wait. Hadn’t Archibald asked a medical question earlier?
Parsley frowned. That actually explained quite a bit. Whoever this was had probably been injured in some way, and Archibald had been asking him for information on how to treat him.
Obviously, the attempt at saving him failed. The demon’s illusion-based powers were probably a factor. It was a life lost, a mark against this wretched demon, and Parsley privately swore he’d avenge the dead who died because of him.
Parsley turned his mind to Archibald. He had finished wiping himself with that rag, and was now seemingly staring at the gore around him, a brooding air about him. Parsley sighed. The Knight really did care about the people around him, even if he did have a temper. He never did take deaths under his watch very well. In an act of kindness, Parsley walked up to Archibald, put a hand on his shoulder, and spoke.
“I’m sorry for… what happened,” he began. He wasn’t the best at wording these kinds of things, but he was ok at it. “Do you… need anything?”
Six turned to look at the demon-hunter. Touching the game-host without permission from a MediaPolitics representative or Six himself was a serious break of protocol, although that didn’t really matter to Six right then. Was this man showing… compassion? To him? Compassion was a thing Six had only known about, yet had never seen. As soon as this so-called competition began, everything had seemed to change. Places, people, rules. His carefully constructed perceptions of his world were crumbling before him.
“Question 17: Do you have an extra set of clothes?” Six said, responding to Parsley's question. The demon hunter glanced down at the robot’s clothes, furrowing his brow. After a while, he finally replied.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Parsley slowly said, in as soft a voice he could muster. “Sorry about that.”
Quietly, a rage built up in Six. He did not deserve this compassion. He was a murderer, and he deserved fear, hatred. To him, it was a simple statement of fact, and he was angered the erroneous reaction of the demon hunter.
“I killed that man,” Six intoned.
“No, you didn’t,” Parsley said, shaking his head. “It was the Demon. He caused this man’s death.”
Six didn’t know how to respond to compassion, certainly not compassion he did not want. So, simply, he left. He turned, pushing Parsley out of the way, returned to the hallway, choosing a random direction to head in, and left.
Parsley sighed, internally lamenting the knight’s tendency to run off, and followed after him.