Re: Petty Squabble [ROUND 1] [Fort Ayers, New Atlantis]
09-24-2011, 07:58 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
Six didn’t bother to clean himself off. His wipes were all bloodstained anyway. They were meaningless now. Like dust.
Six’s wiring barely processed the carnage. He was used to the blood. The gore. He was used to it, he told himself. This was what he was designed for.
What he wasn’t designed for was this crushing feeling, like shattered panes of glass. Like ash.
So he ignored it. He pushed “Thou shalt not kill,” and “Life is Sacred,” and a thousand other pieces of knowledge on the topic, and focused on “Live in the present.” He began to calculate a way to leave the room as soon as possible. He hated this room, a tomb to all his failures.
Six wouldn’t have been able to explain why he took the backpack with him as he left. It certainly didn’t speed up his departure. It was unnecessarily heavy. Its weapon, although powerful, was useless for a gameshow host. Maybe it was in the way. Maybe it wasn’t bloodstained quite as much as everything else. Maybe some insane artifact inside Six’s web of mental information and programming thought it was the right thing to do.
Maybe it was out of sentiment.
The blood had started to dry, as Six strode down the hall, professional, always a robot of showmanship, but it was enough to leave a trail, like footprints in dying beach.
~~~~
Nancy heard the footsteps before she saw their owner. In a lot of ways, they were so familiar. Like a daydream, forgotten yet remembered.
She couldn’t but let out a surprised yelp as Six passed by. It was him! The knight. When she met him before, those people he saw him kill, or try to kill. They were real. It made him so much more frightening.
Six hadn’t noticed her until then. The robot stopped, and turned his cubed head towards her.
She trembled. That eye, that camera lens. It was so dark. Not a lifeless dark. Rather, it was the darkness of something with so, so much life. Blood stained the gameshow host, a caked-on mess that left the tatters of his suit hanging limp. He had seemed nice, before, if a bit strange. But now, now, he was terrifying.
Six saw that fear. Fear always ran so deep, like the depths of the ocean. And it was her! The girl. She had seemed so happy, when they had met before. Or, at least, not afraid. She seemed so afraid. Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy-
“Question #23: Nancy Little, why are you so afraid?”
She looked right into the camera lens, like a question prying ever deeper. Six felt like those eyes could see everything.
“Question #23: Nancy Little, why are you so afraid?”
Her voice was tiny, an echo, when she spoke.
“B-because, um, y-you-”
“QUESTION #24: ME? I MAKE YOU AFRAID? WHY DO I MAKE YOU AFRAID? WHY DO I MAKE EVERYONE AFRAID? TELL ME NANCY LITTLE WHY IS EVERYONE AFRAID OF ME WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!?!?!”
“U-um- I-I don’t-”
“QUESTION #25: YOU DON’T KNOW? PLEASE TELL ME WHY YOU DON’T KNOW. WHY DON’T PEOPLE KNOW THE ANSWERS TO MY QUESTIONS? I ALWAYS ASK AND ASK AND ASK BUT THEN THEY FAIL AND THEY DIE. THEY ALWAYS DIE, AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE THAT EXACTLY LOOK ON YOUR FACE. SO FULL OF HATE AND FEAR? DO YOU HATE ME, NANCY? DO YOU HATE ME? DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE LIKE THE THOUSAND OF IDIOTS I’VE SLAUGHTERED OVER YEARS AND YEARS LIKE THE HOLOCAUST OR MY LAI OR DARFUR OR A THOUSAND OTHER GENOCIDES OVER THOUSANDS OF YEARS. TELL ME, NANCY LITTLE, DO YOU HATE ME?”
A large fire had broken out in Fort Ayers from the chaos, and sensors had finally picked it up. In response, the facility’s central computer activated the sprinklers, drenching both of the contestants almost instantly.
Nancy Little shivered even harder, her long hair plastered to her face and neck. Makeup rain down her face in streams, tears mixing with the artificial rain. Her sobbing could be barely heard above the pouring water.
“I REPEAT, NANCY LITTLE. DO YOU HATE ME?”
Did she hate him? She wanted to say no, with every fiber of her being, she truly did. But Six was standing over her, caked in blood that once began to flow, the rain pouring down on him and his stoic stance. Standing over her like a tormentor, asking questions with that booming voice, and the words just came out, so quiet, yet so loud.
“Y-yes. I do.”
And in one sweeping, foul movement, Six grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the opposite wall. He brought that head, shaped like a die, oh, oh, oh so close to her terrified eyes.
He wanted to say it. He wanted to say it so badly. “Incorrect.” And then blood and screams and death.
But she wasn’t incorrect. She was correct in every single way imaginable.
So Six said something else.
“Question #26: Why is life so wretched? Question #27: Where is God? Question #28: Does anything really matter? I want to know, Nancy Little. I want to know so desperately.”
He let go of her, and she collapsed once again, back onto the ground, coughing. He sat down too, and was silent.
When she finally finished coughing, he spoke again.
“The answers, however, are unknowable.”
And they both put their head down, as the sprinklers poured down artificial rain on them, as dried blood slowly turned back to liquid, making curved patterns in the collected water. As the world and the war going on outside crushed down on them both.
One of them cried.
The other couldn’t.
Six didn’t bother to clean himself off. His wipes were all bloodstained anyway. They were meaningless now. Like dust.
Six’s wiring barely processed the carnage. He was used to the blood. The gore. He was used to it, he told himself. This was what he was designed for.
What he wasn’t designed for was this crushing feeling, like shattered panes of glass. Like ash.
So he ignored it. He pushed “Thou shalt not kill,” and “Life is Sacred,” and a thousand other pieces of knowledge on the topic, and focused on “Live in the present.” He began to calculate a way to leave the room as soon as possible. He hated this room, a tomb to all his failures.
Six wouldn’t have been able to explain why he took the backpack with him as he left. It certainly didn’t speed up his departure. It was unnecessarily heavy. Its weapon, although powerful, was useless for a gameshow host. Maybe it was in the way. Maybe it wasn’t bloodstained quite as much as everything else. Maybe some insane artifact inside Six’s web of mental information and programming thought it was the right thing to do.
Maybe it was out of sentiment.
The blood had started to dry, as Six strode down the hall, professional, always a robot of showmanship, but it was enough to leave a trail, like footprints in dying beach.
~~~~
Nancy heard the footsteps before she saw their owner. In a lot of ways, they were so familiar. Like a daydream, forgotten yet remembered.
She couldn’t but let out a surprised yelp as Six passed by. It was him! The knight. When she met him before, those people he saw him kill, or try to kill. They were real. It made him so much more frightening.
Six hadn’t noticed her until then. The robot stopped, and turned his cubed head towards her.
She trembled. That eye, that camera lens. It was so dark. Not a lifeless dark. Rather, it was the darkness of something with so, so much life. Blood stained the gameshow host, a caked-on mess that left the tatters of his suit hanging limp. He had seemed nice, before, if a bit strange. But now, now, he was terrifying.
Six saw that fear. Fear always ran so deep, like the depths of the ocean. And it was her! The girl. She had seemed so happy, when they had met before. Or, at least, not afraid. She seemed so afraid. Why? Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy-
“Question #23: Nancy Little, why are you so afraid?”
She looked right into the camera lens, like a question prying ever deeper. Six felt like those eyes could see everything.
“Question #23: Nancy Little, why are you so afraid?”
Her voice was tiny, an echo, when she spoke.
“B-because, um, y-you-”
“QUESTION #24: ME? I MAKE YOU AFRAID? WHY DO I MAKE YOU AFRAID? WHY DO I MAKE EVERYONE AFRAID? TELL ME NANCY LITTLE WHY IS EVERYONE AFRAID OF ME WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!?!?!”
“U-um- I-I don’t-”
“QUESTION #25: YOU DON’T KNOW? PLEASE TELL ME WHY YOU DON’T KNOW. WHY DON’T PEOPLE KNOW THE ANSWERS TO MY QUESTIONS? I ALWAYS ASK AND ASK AND ASK BUT THEN THEY FAIL AND THEY DIE. THEY ALWAYS DIE, AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE THAT EXACTLY LOOK ON YOUR FACE. SO FULL OF HATE AND FEAR? DO YOU HATE ME, NANCY? DO YOU HATE ME? DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE LIKE THE THOUSAND OF IDIOTS I’VE SLAUGHTERED OVER YEARS AND YEARS LIKE THE HOLOCAUST OR MY LAI OR DARFUR OR A THOUSAND OTHER GENOCIDES OVER THOUSANDS OF YEARS. TELL ME, NANCY LITTLE, DO YOU HATE ME?”
A large fire had broken out in Fort Ayers from the chaos, and sensors had finally picked it up. In response, the facility’s central computer activated the sprinklers, drenching both of the contestants almost instantly.
Nancy Little shivered even harder, her long hair plastered to her face and neck. Makeup rain down her face in streams, tears mixing with the artificial rain. Her sobbing could be barely heard above the pouring water.
“I REPEAT, NANCY LITTLE. DO YOU HATE ME?”
Did she hate him? She wanted to say no, with every fiber of her being, she truly did. But Six was standing over her, caked in blood that once began to flow, the rain pouring down on him and his stoic stance. Standing over her like a tormentor, asking questions with that booming voice, and the words just came out, so quiet, yet so loud.
“Y-yes. I do.”
And in one sweeping, foul movement, Six grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the opposite wall. He brought that head, shaped like a die, oh, oh, oh so close to her terrified eyes.
He wanted to say it. He wanted to say it so badly. “Incorrect.” And then blood and screams and death.
But she wasn’t incorrect. She was correct in every single way imaginable.
So Six said something else.
“Question #26: Why is life so wretched? Question #27: Where is God? Question #28: Does anything really matter? I want to know, Nancy Little. I want to know so desperately.”
He let go of her, and she collapsed once again, back onto the ground, coughing. He sat down too, and was silent.
When she finally finished coughing, he spoke again.
“The answers, however, are unknowable.”
And they both put their head down, as the sprinklers poured down artificial rain on them, as dried blood slowly turned back to liquid, making curved patterns in the collected water. As the world and the war going on outside crushed down on them both.
One of them cried.
The other couldn’t.