Re: DEATHGAME 9000 [S!3] Round One: Gamexus X99
04-12-2012, 04:15 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by -Benedict.
The huge machine began wading through the crowd, moving slowly to avoid harming anything. It was a delicate situation. Delicate as tissue paper, liable to be ripped apart by an errant breeze, or the mere touch of a child. For example, the one that stumbled into the ER/IC's path. The machine wasn't large enough to do all that much damage by treading on toes, but primate reflex kicked in at the worst possible moment. The child screamed, twisted and leapt out of the way, crashing to the ground in a heap. His leg stuck out at an unnatural angle. You could hear a murmur amongst the crowd- "...is he all right?" "ouch, that..."
ER/IC's eyes didn't have pupils, and it certainly wasn't designed with a dilation reaction. But if it did, you'd have seen its eyes widen in horror. Not again, not so soon! It wasn't-- it wasn't his fault, he calculated. The ape-child had hurt itself, somehow. But... it was hurt, wasn't it? Care had to be provided.
"'Ey, I'm okay. I'm fine, yeh? I'm good to walk." The kid shrugged off the grasp of a tall man who'd helped him to his feet. After stopping to rub his twisted ankle and pulled muscle, he turned to limp away, but was stopped by a sudden voice.
"You are in need of diagnosis and treatment. Do you consent to transportation?"
"Wuzzat?"
"You require medical attention. You will be escorted to the nearest hospital."
"What? No, I don't need-"
"Come with me."
ER/IC swiftly seized the boy, arms... fingers? coiling around his torso.
"Aaaaaa! Hey, what? No! Aaaaaa!"
"I cannot through inaction allow you to come to harm. Do not be alarmed. You will be escorted to the nearest hospital."
The top half of the ambulance opened up, revealing a pulsing vortex of light. The boy was lifted up into the air, and dangled above the spatial anomaly within.
"AAAAAAAAAA! NOOOOOOO!"
The poor thing. Would you just listen to those screams of pain? That ankle must have hurt more than he was letting on. ER/IC quickly, but oh so gently, lowered him into stasis, where he disappeared.
---------------------
The city shuddered. It felt something. Something almost imperceptible, but ummistakably wrong. Something was missing, gone completely away. Some small part, completely separated from the whole. It didn't know what to make of the feeling- it didn't know what to make of a lot of things. But if it had an idea of what was A Bad Thing, this feeling was close.
---------------------
Clark Jacobsen was a simple man, with simple desires. A warm bed, a good smoke, a hot meal and a flask of whiskey or three in the evening. He weren't the type to ask anyone for anything, or none. He just wanted them papist hoodlums in the streets to leave him be, and for his goddamn wife to finish cleaning the floors already.
"Esther!" he yelled, putting down his bottle. "The den's filthy! What I have to do to you make you handle yer basic r'spons'bilities?"
"Honey, I'm still scrubbing the kitchen floors! Just wait a mi-"
"God DAMN, you little bitch! You've been cleaning the kitch'n for ages, c'mere and pick up the den for chrissakes."
Esther stumbled out of the kitchen, lugging a bucketful of suds across the hallway. Tripping out of exhaustion, she lost both her balance and her grip on the bucket, spilling soapy water across the floor. Suds soaked into the den carpet, ruining the burgundy fibers. Clark's eye caught the disaster, and he slammed down his drink.
"Oh God, please!"
"Esther, baby. You know how much I love you, right?"
She looked up from the spill, into her husband's eyes. "I-I... yes... please, don't-"
"You know I love you more than anything else in the world. You know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Tears filled her eyes, and she began to weep with dread. "Honey, please-"
"So you know-" He withdrew his belt in one fluid motion. "-how sad it makes me-" He raised it above his head. "-when you act like-" He brought it down.
"SUCH"
Smack.
"A STUPID"
Smack.
"GODDAMN"
Smack.
"USELESS, LITTLE"
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
"NO-GOOD"
SLAM.
"WHINING"
SMACK, SMACK, SMACK
"BITCH."
SLAM.
Clark stopped. That noise weren't from him. It came from the hall, like gunfire.
"Wait here, baby."
He went into the den, and opened up on of his lockboxes. He lifted his weapon from the safe with reverence, and checked the chamber for shot. Satisfied, he pushed open the door of his apartment. Slipper-shod foot met hallway floor. Eyes darted right, then left. At the left end of the hallway was the obvious disaster- the building's main door smashed clean off its hinges. And underneath a window, a dark form sat, seemingly lost in thought. Slipper-shod footstep approached.
He shoved the end of his 12-gauge Winchester underneath the thing's neck.
"Hey, punk! Feel like explainin' why you broke down the goddamn door?"
---------------------
The crowd looked on in abject terror. For about eight seconds, anyway. After that grace period, a riot just up and happened.
The ensuing scene was characterized by a tremendous amount of running and screaming. A good part of the crowd threw down their weapons and fled, running the other way and screaming bloody murder. The other part of the mob- one more sizable than the coward part- raised up their weapons and charged, running towards the abomination and screaming a furious battle cry. A minority, of a more delicate constitution, began running around in panicked circles and screaming incoherently.
From a penthouse balcony far above, a large man looked down on the scene. He was shrouded in shadow, and not the ominous low light used in the movies for dramatic effect. The man himself was a cloud of purple smoke, much like portions of the riot below. Gomorrah simply hadn't assigned this mob boss a priority of definition, was all. No reason to load the whole file if nothing was looking at it.
The man opened his... mouth, and issued orders to a pair of goodfellas in suits. Sam and Vinny would head down, and see if they couldn't get the man-eating beast to join the family.
---------------------
Esther was kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. Bruises were forming on top of bruises. She heard noises from the hall- gunshots? It didn't matter, did it. She wasn't going to move, no, not from that spot. She had to stay there, baby. Baby. Baby, baby. Her baby was out there... no, not her baby. Daddy. Not daddy. Who was he? Was he going to hurt someone? Why did he bring the gun, nooo, oh, no. She got up, she walked back to the kitchen. Nobody was going to hurt anyone, no, not anymore.
Should she take the carving knife? Or the frying pan? No, why not both? She took them both, dropped the knife because she was startled by the sound of more gunshots from outside. Picked up the knife again. Walked over to the door, stepped out into the hall.
The huge machine began wading through the crowd, moving slowly to avoid harming anything. It was a delicate situation. Delicate as tissue paper, liable to be ripped apart by an errant breeze, or the mere touch of a child. For example, the one that stumbled into the ER/IC's path. The machine wasn't large enough to do all that much damage by treading on toes, but primate reflex kicked in at the worst possible moment. The child screamed, twisted and leapt out of the way, crashing to the ground in a heap. His leg stuck out at an unnatural angle. You could hear a murmur amongst the crowd- "...is he all right?" "ouch, that..."
ER/IC's eyes didn't have pupils, and it certainly wasn't designed with a dilation reaction. But if it did, you'd have seen its eyes widen in horror. Not again, not so soon! It wasn't-- it wasn't his fault, he calculated. The ape-child had hurt itself, somehow. But... it was hurt, wasn't it? Care had to be provided.
"'Ey, I'm okay. I'm fine, yeh? I'm good to walk." The kid shrugged off the grasp of a tall man who'd helped him to his feet. After stopping to rub his twisted ankle and pulled muscle, he turned to limp away, but was stopped by a sudden voice.
"You are in need of diagnosis and treatment. Do you consent to transportation?"
"Wuzzat?"
"You require medical attention. You will be escorted to the nearest hospital."
"What? No, I don't need-"
"Come with me."
ER/IC swiftly seized the boy, arms... fingers? coiling around his torso.
"Aaaaaa! Hey, what? No! Aaaaaa!"
"I cannot through inaction allow you to come to harm. Do not be alarmed. You will be escorted to the nearest hospital."
The top half of the ambulance opened up, revealing a pulsing vortex of light. The boy was lifted up into the air, and dangled above the spatial anomaly within.
"AAAAAAAAAA! NOOOOOOO!"
The poor thing. Would you just listen to those screams of pain? That ankle must have hurt more than he was letting on. ER/IC quickly, but oh so gently, lowered him into stasis, where he disappeared.
---------------------
The city shuddered. It felt something. Something almost imperceptible, but ummistakably wrong. Something was missing, gone completely away. Some small part, completely separated from the whole. It didn't know what to make of the feeling- it didn't know what to make of a lot of things. But if it had an idea of what was A Bad Thing, this feeling was close.
---------------------
Clark Jacobsen was a simple man, with simple desires. A warm bed, a good smoke, a hot meal and a flask of whiskey or three in the evening. He weren't the type to ask anyone for anything, or none. He just wanted them papist hoodlums in the streets to leave him be, and for his goddamn wife to finish cleaning the floors already.
"Esther!" he yelled, putting down his bottle. "The den's filthy! What I have to do to you make you handle yer basic r'spons'bilities?"
"Honey, I'm still scrubbing the kitchen floors! Just wait a mi-"
"God DAMN, you little bitch! You've been cleaning the kitch'n for ages, c'mere and pick up the den for chrissakes."
Esther stumbled out of the kitchen, lugging a bucketful of suds across the hallway. Tripping out of exhaustion, she lost both her balance and her grip on the bucket, spilling soapy water across the floor. Suds soaked into the den carpet, ruining the burgundy fibers. Clark's eye caught the disaster, and he slammed down his drink.
"Oh God, please!"
"Esther, baby. You know how much I love you, right?"
She looked up from the spill, into her husband's eyes. "I-I... yes... please, don't-"
"You know I love you more than anything else in the world. You know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Tears filled her eyes, and she began to weep with dread. "Honey, please-"
"So you know-" He withdrew his belt in one fluid motion. "-how sad it makes me-" He raised it above his head. "-when you act like-" He brought it down.
"SUCH"
Smack.
"A STUPID"
Smack.
"GODDAMN"
Smack.
"USELESS, LITTLE"
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
"NO-GOOD"
SLAM.
"WHINING"
SMACK, SMACK, SMACK
"BITCH."
SLAM.
Clark stopped. That noise weren't from him. It came from the hall, like gunfire.
"Wait here, baby."
He went into the den, and opened up on of his lockboxes. He lifted his weapon from the safe with reverence, and checked the chamber for shot. Satisfied, he pushed open the door of his apartment. Slipper-shod foot met hallway floor. Eyes darted right, then left. At the left end of the hallway was the obvious disaster- the building's main door smashed clean off its hinges. And underneath a window, a dark form sat, seemingly lost in thought. Slipper-shod footstep approached.
He shoved the end of his 12-gauge Winchester underneath the thing's neck.
"Hey, punk! Feel like explainin' why you broke down the goddamn door?"
---------------------
The crowd looked on in abject terror. For about eight seconds, anyway. After that grace period, a riot just up and happened.
The ensuing scene was characterized by a tremendous amount of running and screaming. A good part of the crowd threw down their weapons and fled, running the other way and screaming bloody murder. The other part of the mob- one more sizable than the coward part- raised up their weapons and charged, running towards the abomination and screaming a furious battle cry. A minority, of a more delicate constitution, began running around in panicked circles and screaming incoherently.
From a penthouse balcony far above, a large man looked down on the scene. He was shrouded in shadow, and not the ominous low light used in the movies for dramatic effect. The man himself was a cloud of purple smoke, much like portions of the riot below. Gomorrah simply hadn't assigned this mob boss a priority of definition, was all. No reason to load the whole file if nothing was looking at it.
The man opened his... mouth, and issued orders to a pair of goodfellas in suits. Sam and Vinny would head down, and see if they couldn't get the man-eating beast to join the family.
---------------------
Esther was kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily. Bruises were forming on top of bruises. She heard noises from the hall- gunshots? It didn't matter, did it. She wasn't going to move, no, not from that spot. She had to stay there, baby. Baby. Baby, baby. Her baby was out there... no, not her baby. Daddy. Not daddy. Who was he? Was he going to hurt someone? Why did he bring the gun, nooo, oh, no. She got up, she walked back to the kitchen. Nobody was going to hurt anyone, no, not anymore.
Should she take the carving knife? Or the frying pan? No, why not both? She took them both, dropped the knife because she was startled by the sound of more gunshots from outside. Picked up the knife again. Walked over to the door, stepped out into the hall.