Re: The Grand Battle S2G1! [Round One: Alpha Complex!]
07-06-2010, 09:52 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
Weo was once more overcome by frustration and awkward embarrassment as these insufferable people continued to fornicate all over the line between combat and diplomacy. Upon the smith's arrival, the smelly gross boy lost all interest in their perfectly engaging fight and stood silent for a moment, occasionally stealing a glance at the thing on his back, and then told the smith, "Sure, whatever. I dunno if it'll be much used to you once it's been detached." Then his tongue fell out and his leg exploded.
Weo looked at his scythe longingly, feeling the need to top off his bloodletting by stabbing anything, even himself. No one seemed interested. He was more of an outcast in this place than in his homeland, but here instead of being too little of a Rillian, he was too much of one.
Well, at least he could abuse his leadership position. "Alright, we're moving out, trouble... troublesomethings. Troublesolvers."
"Shouldn't we wait for that one guy and the thing that looks like a guy?"
Weo waved his hand dismissively at the girl. He considered killing her but felt it would ultimately be unsatisfying. "If they're troublefucker worth his salt, they'll catch up. Come along now, let's go." Scythe and box of equipment in hand, he stomped out of R&D, nearly bumping into Kracht on the way out. The others followed.
Weo smiled. One thing never changes, Rillian or no: the masses can't ignore a command by an authority figure, even one with so trite and useless a title as "team leader."
He took two turns and realized he had no idea where he was going. He stopped in front of a small, ominous-looking booth. "We should probably look for a map," pointed out the obnoxious little boy-whore-priest-midget-whore-musician-whore-boy, "There's gotta be a concierge or whatever in this pod-thingy."
The boy walked over to the booth and knocked on the door, like an idiot who is also a whore and a boy. He was answered by a mechanical voice. "WHAT IS YOUR NAME, CITIZEN?"
"My name is Max--"
"I SAID, WHAT. IS. YOUR. NAME!"
"...Well?"
"WELL, MR. CLONE MAXWELL, WHY DON'T YOU COME IN AND HAVE YOURSELF A SEAT?" The door to the booth slid open. Maxwell took a step inside, and Weo pulled him out of the way, about to open up with some insults in the shamefully passive-aggressive manner of all his fellow contestants, when a robotic claw clamped over his face and yanked him into the booth.
The door closed behind him and the voice blared out of every corner in the room. "I TOLD YOU TO TAKE A SEAT, CLONE MAXWELL. I'M NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF WAITING." The claw pushed Weo down into the seat and metal clamps spiralled out, binding his arms in legs. "THAT'S BETTER. I'M IN THE CONFESSION BOOTH BUSINESS. AND I AM TALENTED AT MY JOB! BELIEVE IT OR NOT, I WILL MAKE YOU LIVE TO REGRET VOLUNTEERING FOR THIS SERVICE GENEROUSLY PROVIDED BY FRIEND COMPUTER. NOW. WHAT TREASONOUS OR NON-MERITORIOUS ACTIVITY HAVE YOU COME TO CONFESS?"
Weo balked. It had been a long time since he'd confessed. While this offputting little room was quite a sight different from the Absoluplex Dojos of his home, maybe it was the time. He took a deep breath. "Let's see. I subverted the laws of nature, war, and society, leading to a civil war and the deaths of everyone I know. I have lived as a nomad and some of my tax papers may have been lost in the shuffle. I routinely fill out two copies of the census forms so I have one set of identification for each sexuality because I never really decided. I killed a whore once but it was an honorable kill. Mostly. Once... no, twice I regretted a murder I committed. In my youth I often exceeded my fashion-forward quota. I once took two vitamin supplements in a single day. I have toyed with the idea of committing suicide, or commissioning an artist, or commissioning an artist to immortalize my suicide, which I had planned extensively. Sometimes I experience emotions for which there are no words."
Silence for a bit. A syringe poked out from the chair and jabbed itself into his arm, extracting a mixture of blood and warbile.
"ALRIGHT CLONE MAXWELL, A BACKUP COPY OF YOUR GENETIC SEQUENCE HAS BEEN FILED IN ANTICIPATION OF YOUR REBIRTH. PLEASE SPEND THE REMAINDER OF YOUR LIVES IN THE SERVICE OF Sometimes I cannot take this place sometimes it's my liphe I can't take sometimes I cannot pheel my pha FRIEND COMPUTER, OR I WILL FIND YOU, YOU HEAR ME, SUCKER? NOW, STEP YOUR ASS OUT OF THE BOOTH THAT YOU MAY BE MADE AN EXAMPLE OF IN PHRONT IN FRONT OF YOUR PEERS."
The door opened once again. An unpleasant smell which Weo had previously been unaware of began to dissipate, and he felt very clean. Weo stepped out and nodded to his fellow troublebusters, and a countdown began.
"5"
"4"
"I think I'm about to be killed," intoned Weo.
"3"
"2"
"1"
The laser shot through Maxwell's torso and brought him to his knees. "What the hell?" the boy demanded as soon as he grew new lungs.
"No idea," replied Weo, feeling a giddy sort of inward peace.
"NO NEED TO BE ALARMED, TROUBLESHOOTERS," came the voice. "YOUR BUDDY MAXWELL AND I JUST HAD A LITTLE TALK. WE'LL HAVE HIM ALIVE AND WELL AGAIN AND BACK TO YOU IN A JIPH liphesinerror liphesinerror reading reading reading decanterror decanterror decantanomaly WE'LL HAVE HIM BACK TO YOU AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."
Weo sighed. "I didn't get a map," he confessed.
Xadrez projected the map on his chessboard. "You had that the whole time, didn't you?" Xadrez nodded glumly. "Okay! How about you lead?"
Weo was getting the hang of this whole passive-aggression deal. He smiled a little.
Weo was once more overcome by frustration and awkward embarrassment as these insufferable people continued to fornicate all over the line between combat and diplomacy. Upon the smith's arrival, the smelly gross boy lost all interest in their perfectly engaging fight and stood silent for a moment, occasionally stealing a glance at the thing on his back, and then told the smith, "Sure, whatever. I dunno if it'll be much used to you once it's been detached." Then his tongue fell out and his leg exploded.
Weo looked at his scythe longingly, feeling the need to top off his bloodletting by stabbing anything, even himself. No one seemed interested. He was more of an outcast in this place than in his homeland, but here instead of being too little of a Rillian, he was too much of one.
Well, at least he could abuse his leadership position. "Alright, we're moving out, trouble... troublesomethings. Troublesolvers."
"Shouldn't we wait for that one guy and the thing that looks like a guy?"
Weo waved his hand dismissively at the girl. He considered killing her but felt it would ultimately be unsatisfying. "If they're troublefucker worth his salt, they'll catch up. Come along now, let's go." Scythe and box of equipment in hand, he stomped out of R&D, nearly bumping into Kracht on the way out. The others followed.
Weo smiled. One thing never changes, Rillian or no: the masses can't ignore a command by an authority figure, even one with so trite and useless a title as "team leader."
He took two turns and realized he had no idea where he was going. He stopped in front of a small, ominous-looking booth. "We should probably look for a map," pointed out the obnoxious little boy-whore-priest-midget-whore-musician-whore-boy, "There's gotta be a concierge or whatever in this pod-thingy."
The boy walked over to the booth and knocked on the door, like an idiot who is also a whore and a boy. He was answered by a mechanical voice. "WHAT IS YOUR NAME, CITIZEN?"
"My name is Max--"
"I SAID, WHAT. IS. YOUR. NAME!"
"...Well?"
"WELL, MR. CLONE MAXWELL, WHY DON'T YOU COME IN AND HAVE YOURSELF A SEAT?" The door to the booth slid open. Maxwell took a step inside, and Weo pulled him out of the way, about to open up with some insults in the shamefully passive-aggressive manner of all his fellow contestants, when a robotic claw clamped over his face and yanked him into the booth.
The door closed behind him and the voice blared out of every corner in the room. "I TOLD YOU TO TAKE A SEAT, CLONE MAXWELL. I'M NOT IN THE BUSINESS OF WAITING." The claw pushed Weo down into the seat and metal clamps spiralled out, binding his arms in legs. "THAT'S BETTER. I'M IN THE CONFESSION BOOTH BUSINESS. AND I AM TALENTED AT MY JOB! BELIEVE IT OR NOT, I WILL MAKE YOU LIVE TO REGRET VOLUNTEERING FOR THIS SERVICE GENEROUSLY PROVIDED BY FRIEND COMPUTER. NOW. WHAT TREASONOUS OR NON-MERITORIOUS ACTIVITY HAVE YOU COME TO CONFESS?"
Weo balked. It had been a long time since he'd confessed. While this offputting little room was quite a sight different from the Absoluplex Dojos of his home, maybe it was the time. He took a deep breath. "Let's see. I subverted the laws of nature, war, and society, leading to a civil war and the deaths of everyone I know. I have lived as a nomad and some of my tax papers may have been lost in the shuffle. I routinely fill out two copies of the census forms so I have one set of identification for each sexuality because I never really decided. I killed a whore once but it was an honorable kill. Mostly. Once... no, twice I regretted a murder I committed. In my youth I often exceeded my fashion-forward quota. I once took two vitamin supplements in a single day. I have toyed with the idea of committing suicide, or commissioning an artist, or commissioning an artist to immortalize my suicide, which I had planned extensively. Sometimes I experience emotions for which there are no words."
Silence for a bit. A syringe poked out from the chair and jabbed itself into his arm, extracting a mixture of blood and warbile.
"ALRIGHT CLONE MAXWELL, A BACKUP COPY OF YOUR GENETIC SEQUENCE HAS BEEN FILED IN ANTICIPATION OF YOUR REBIRTH. PLEASE SPEND THE REMAINDER OF YOUR LIVES IN THE SERVICE OF Sometimes I cannot take this place sometimes it's my liphe I can't take sometimes I cannot pheel my pha FRIEND COMPUTER, OR I WILL FIND YOU, YOU HEAR ME, SUCKER? NOW, STEP YOUR ASS OUT OF THE BOOTH THAT YOU MAY BE MADE AN EXAMPLE OF IN PHRONT IN FRONT OF YOUR PEERS."
The door opened once again. An unpleasant smell which Weo had previously been unaware of began to dissipate, and he felt very clean. Weo stepped out and nodded to his fellow troublebusters, and a countdown began.
"5"
"4"
"I think I'm about to be killed," intoned Weo.
"3"
"2"
"1"
The laser shot through Maxwell's torso and brought him to his knees. "What the hell?" the boy demanded as soon as he grew new lungs.
"No idea," replied Weo, feeling a giddy sort of inward peace.
"NO NEED TO BE ALARMED, TROUBLESHOOTERS," came the voice. "YOUR BUDDY MAXWELL AND I JUST HAD A LITTLE TALK. WE'LL HAVE HIM ALIVE AND WELL AGAIN AND BACK TO YOU IN A JIPH liphesinerror liphesinerror reading reading reading decanterror decanterror decantanomaly WE'LL HAVE HIM BACK TO YOU AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."
Weo sighed. "I didn't get a map," he confessed.
Xadrez projected the map on his chessboard. "You had that the whole time, didn't you?" Xadrez nodded glumly. "Okay! How about you lead?"
Weo was getting the hang of this whole passive-aggression deal. He smiled a little.