Re: The Battle Royale S2 [Round 3: Endymion]
09-02-2012, 06:25 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
”Sir? A report…”
“Is it about the missing celestial bodies?”
“No, something else...Endymion seems to be getting more efficient. Somehow.”
“What.”
“Workers are reporting that the machinery is increasing output without any apparent difference in their modifications. We’re getting more energy from apparently no source.”
“Oh, come on, that can’t be right! Have you sent someone down to check everything?”
“Several. But the most we’ve learned is that there are strange growths underground. Then communications cut off after that.”
“…Alright. Don’t release this to the public. We need to pretend that everything’s under control. Send down cameras instead, attach them to a remote-controlled vehicle. I want to know exactly what is going on down there…”
I will murder you
“What?”
“…What…?”
“Did you say something?”
“No…”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The thing they were chasing was somewhat similar to the thing they were trying to find, but slightly stumpier. Moved really fast, though. Mongoose sprinted ahead of Snake as the knife in his hands started babbling an explanation but he ignored that because shit was weird already and it was a lot easier to just be chasing a dude rather than chasing a thing that was a part of a dream but autonomous while they were all inside a dream that was just a dream layered over reality and whatever the shit.
The thing appeared to be littering knives everywhere. Like, a ridiculous number of knives. People who happened to be out and about stared as they zipped by, careful not to be hit by any of the sharp objects the little black creature tossed aside. And it was while the knife was busy explaining that the thing he was chasing didn’t even have any real stamina and Mongoose was busy ignoring it that he finally made a leap forward, grabbed its wrist (which seemed free of spikes and knives and thus was the safest handhold) and stumbled to the ground, making his quarry lurch and fall as well. Mongoose dragged them both up to their feet while Snake jogged lightly towards them.
“Alright,” Mongoose started, vaguely wondering again what this inky black dude was even made of because the thing was damp and sticky and a little bit disgusting to hold.
“Stop talking,” the thing replied, sounding horrified. There was another knife in its hands, which was somewhat surprising. “You’re dead!”
In Mongoose’s experience, when people said things like that while waving around a knife, it was good to wave around a knife of your own. And so he waved around the (not talking nope not at all) knife in his hands in the vicinity of the thing’s face.
Its eyes, large white glowy things, seemed to brighten a little and it tossed away its own knife and grabbed the (no no no not talking) knife by the blade. “Good, good,” it said, hunching over on the ground. Mongoose didn’t really know what else to do besides to let go of the hilt. For one thing, if a blade wasn’t going to do much to it, then it was a useless weapon. For another, the knife seemed to be pacifying it quite well. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone on the phone. Calling the Containment Team, no doubt.
“We need to get out of here,” said Mongoose, turning to Snake. “We do, right?”
“If we want to keep him out of the asylum, yes.”
“He’s diluted,” the thing moaned. “He’s being pumped through the entire goddamn place like blood and now the entire moon is his dream. I saw it down there, he's insane, this is a nightmare, but not for him. People aren't people to him, you know. But I didn't think it could come to this.”
Mongoose picked it up by the waist and looked around. “His stupid rambling’s gettin’ a crowd, Snake. I’m not sure if we can get out.”
And as Endymion’s residents stared and whispered, the babbling continued. “He’s fragmented, the whole thing’s going to fall apart, everybody’s going to die, the moon’ll be destroyed or it’ll be alive or something I don’t even know what to do…”
Soon enough, a group of white-coated men pushed their way through the crowd, all burly and stone-faced. They plucked the thing out of Mongoose’s arms with ease. “Thank you,” said one, “We’ll take it from here.”
“We’re the only ones left,” it said morosely to the knife in its hands. “And he’s going to snuff us out. I’m going to die. He’s going to replace me. You’ll just fade away.” Another knife appeared and he tossed it aside.
“Now hang on – “ Mongoose started towards the man holding the thing, but was shoved back.
“Look, son, we’re the Containment Team. Let us do our jobs, hm?” And with a condescending pat on the back, the Team retreated, as well as the crowd. Mongoose fumed.
“That wasn’t the Containment Team,” Snake said as soon as the two men were alone again.
“Oh, really? Was it the lack of procedure that tipped you off?” With a huff, Mongoose started walking home. There were several drinks he would like to down and he wasn’t going to be able to do that just standing around out here.
“But why did they take him away, then?” Snake wondered as he followed. Mongoose didn’t care. He had an inability to care. He remembered with a groan that they were planning to report all this weird shit to the coppers but realized that they probably wouldn’t believe them (he barely believed himself) and so it probably didn’t matter if they didn’t report at all. Which meant going home and drinking and that would really brighten up this day, wouldn’t it?
They passed by a few workers lowering cameras into the sewers. Snake watched this thoughtfully.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
They didn’t take away the knife. They didn’t even restrain him. The Dream stared, but stared at nothing, and thought about his failure, his impending death. Or what could technically be considered a death.
The Photographer (technically could still be called that, right?) was just sludge. A consciousness spread around, imbedded in the planet’s workings now. Maybe he was even separated into multiple bits of sludge. How could you wake that up? You can’t. At least, not in time. Endymion would be alive, nightmarishly alive, and who knew what would happen. The Dream knew what would happen to him, though. He was going to die. Every last bit of what was formerly the Photographer was going to die as much as he struggled. The people here would die. The others would hopefully die, that would make this nightmare end sooner, but then his host would still be a diluted mess, something part of Endymion, and the other solution was just as bad because he didn't want to die.
He said this, shedding knives, and in the dark room people watched and recorded.
”Sir? A report…”
“Is it about the missing celestial bodies?”
“No, something else...Endymion seems to be getting more efficient. Somehow.”
“What.”
“Workers are reporting that the machinery is increasing output without any apparent difference in their modifications. We’re getting more energy from apparently no source.”
“Oh, come on, that can’t be right! Have you sent someone down to check everything?”
“Several. But the most we’ve learned is that there are strange growths underground. Then communications cut off after that.”
“…Alright. Don’t release this to the public. We need to pretend that everything’s under control. Send down cameras instead, attach them to a remote-controlled vehicle. I want to know exactly what is going on down there…”
I will murder you
“What?”
“…What…?”
“Did you say something?”
“No…”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The thing they were chasing was somewhat similar to the thing they were trying to find, but slightly stumpier. Moved really fast, though. Mongoose sprinted ahead of Snake as the knife in his hands started babbling an explanation but he ignored that because shit was weird already and it was a lot easier to just be chasing a dude rather than chasing a thing that was a part of a dream but autonomous while they were all inside a dream that was just a dream layered over reality and whatever the shit.
The thing appeared to be littering knives everywhere. Like, a ridiculous number of knives. People who happened to be out and about stared as they zipped by, careful not to be hit by any of the sharp objects the little black creature tossed aside. And it was while the knife was busy explaining that the thing he was chasing didn’t even have any real stamina and Mongoose was busy ignoring it that he finally made a leap forward, grabbed its wrist (which seemed free of spikes and knives and thus was the safest handhold) and stumbled to the ground, making his quarry lurch and fall as well. Mongoose dragged them both up to their feet while Snake jogged lightly towards them.
“Alright,” Mongoose started, vaguely wondering again what this inky black dude was even made of because the thing was damp and sticky and a little bit disgusting to hold.
“Stop talking,” the thing replied, sounding horrified. There was another knife in its hands, which was somewhat surprising. “You’re dead!”
In Mongoose’s experience, when people said things like that while waving around a knife, it was good to wave around a knife of your own. And so he waved around the (not talking nope not at all) knife in his hands in the vicinity of the thing’s face.
Its eyes, large white glowy things, seemed to brighten a little and it tossed away its own knife and grabbed the (no no no not talking) knife by the blade. “Good, good,” it said, hunching over on the ground. Mongoose didn’t really know what else to do besides to let go of the hilt. For one thing, if a blade wasn’t going to do much to it, then it was a useless weapon. For another, the knife seemed to be pacifying it quite well. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see someone on the phone. Calling the Containment Team, no doubt.
“We need to get out of here,” said Mongoose, turning to Snake. “We do, right?”
“If we want to keep him out of the asylum, yes.”
“He’s diluted,” the thing moaned. “He’s being pumped through the entire goddamn place like blood and now the entire moon is his dream. I saw it down there, he's insane, this is a nightmare, but not for him. People aren't people to him, you know. But I didn't think it could come to this.”
Mongoose picked it up by the waist and looked around. “His stupid rambling’s gettin’ a crowd, Snake. I’m not sure if we can get out.”
And as Endymion’s residents stared and whispered, the babbling continued. “He’s fragmented, the whole thing’s going to fall apart, everybody’s going to die, the moon’ll be destroyed or it’ll be alive or something I don’t even know what to do…”
Soon enough, a group of white-coated men pushed their way through the crowd, all burly and stone-faced. They plucked the thing out of Mongoose’s arms with ease. “Thank you,” said one, “We’ll take it from here.”
“We’re the only ones left,” it said morosely to the knife in its hands. “And he’s going to snuff us out. I’m going to die. He’s going to replace me. You’ll just fade away.” Another knife appeared and he tossed it aside.
“Now hang on – “ Mongoose started towards the man holding the thing, but was shoved back.
“Look, son, we’re the Containment Team. Let us do our jobs, hm?” And with a condescending pat on the back, the Team retreated, as well as the crowd. Mongoose fumed.
“That wasn’t the Containment Team,” Snake said as soon as the two men were alone again.
“Oh, really? Was it the lack of procedure that tipped you off?” With a huff, Mongoose started walking home. There were several drinks he would like to down and he wasn’t going to be able to do that just standing around out here.
“But why did they take him away, then?” Snake wondered as he followed. Mongoose didn’t care. He had an inability to care. He remembered with a groan that they were planning to report all this weird shit to the coppers but realized that they probably wouldn’t believe them (he barely believed himself) and so it probably didn’t matter if they didn’t report at all. Which meant going home and drinking and that would really brighten up this day, wouldn’t it?
They passed by a few workers lowering cameras into the sewers. Snake watched this thoughtfully.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
They didn’t take away the knife. They didn’t even restrain him. The Dream stared, but stared at nothing, and thought about his failure, his impending death. Or what could technically be considered a death.
The Photographer (technically could still be called that, right?) was just sludge. A consciousness spread around, imbedded in the planet’s workings now. Maybe he was even separated into multiple bits of sludge. How could you wake that up? You can’t. At least, not in time. Endymion would be alive, nightmarishly alive, and who knew what would happen. The Dream knew what would happen to him, though. He was going to die. Every last bit of what was formerly the Photographer was going to die as much as he struggled. The people here would die. The others would hopefully die, that would make this nightmare end sooner, but then his host would still be a diluted mess, something part of Endymion, and the other solution was just as bad because he didn't want to die.
He said this, shedding knives, and in the dark room people watched and recorded.