Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round Three: The Epigen Center]
04-15-2012, 02:56 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pick Yer Poison.
“So, uh, tell me about yourself, AMP.”
The typewriter and conglomeration of metal slowly floated their way down the hallway, an inorganic silence settling between them. The psychedelic swirls of the place meant nothing to them, nor the hallways, nor their patterns, how every path and Technicolor swirl was pointing towards a single, central point. To them, it was just another curiosity of the beings with which they cohabitated the world.
A long silence. They floated around a corner, up some stairs, straight, to the left, through some office blocks, into a lab, and back down another staircase. It was mostly deserted here. Evacuated.
Eityr, always the one of ulterior motives, initiated again. Ccccclack Cccclack.
<span style="font-family: courier new">“It’s funny, actually, how little we know each other. We’re in a fight to the death and none of us has bothered to learn anything about each other.”
A camera slowly panned over to the typewriter, staring, unblinking. Thinking. More silence. No words. Nothing.
“Well, fuck you. If I’m gonna die in a goddamn battle to the death, I want someone to know something about me. So, I’m gonna type something out, right on this page here, and you’re going to read it, and you’re going to listen, capiche?”
Silence. Etiyr went ahead and took the cue to go clacking away.
“See, I wasn’t always a helpless piece of shit. I used to be strong, powerful. I had legs. Obsidian black, like the night sky, flecks of red blood replacing the stars. Oh, those were the times.
Hell, man, hell is one hell of a place. All the stabbing, killing and torturing you could want. And now look at me, reduced to…this. I can’t blame anyone but my self. We always knew, always, that the whole demon thing would be a temporary gig. I took the risks, and now I’m paying for them, I guess.”
AMP’s camera wobbled a bit, like it was looking to a conversational partner that wasn’t there, then returned, silently observing the typewriter, before finally, finally, a sentence escaped from the machine’s tinny drive-through speaker.</span>
“Interface says there’s something a off about you—no, wait…crap.”
“Who?” Etiyr replied, thinking through ways to utilize his suddenly gained ground.
“No. No. No no, no. I can’t say anything else. I wasn’t supposed to even say that.”
“Why not? What’s wrong? You can tell me,” Etiyr replied, pushing the subject. The corridors had gotten a bit more grey, more formal, as they began to run to their point of origin, the focal point of the Epigen Center. The Center of the Center, if you will.
“Well,” AMP began, despite Interface, yelling, screaming at him. DON’T DO IT. DON’T DO IT. DON’T
“Well, I have these…people in my head. Personalities, I guess. And they say stuff and tell me to do things. Interface is one of them. I shouldn’t be saying this. I should be saying anything-”
Silence, again. Inorganic. Inanimate. They floated along, to the center of the center, the center of centers of centers.
Eityr typed a bit, click click ding
“You know, AMP, I don’t know if I should be saying this, but, uh, it seems that your mind is just as every bit as fragmented as your body.
Strange parallel, huh?”
Silence. Slowly, AMP turned his camera away from the typewriter, entirely away, panning as one would look away in shame. Or resentment. Or hatred.
And then they were there. The doors, too dinged and slid open, click clack click, and behold, the center of centers. (Holy of Holies)
And its chief priest.
Brom stopped a bit, stared, blinked with a tired look, but after a few moments finally smiled, and spoke.
“Well, you know what they say, boys,” the elevator operator said. “All roads lead to Rome.”
“Welcome to Rome.”
“So, uh, tell me about yourself, AMP.”
The typewriter and conglomeration of metal slowly floated their way down the hallway, an inorganic silence settling between them. The psychedelic swirls of the place meant nothing to them, nor the hallways, nor their patterns, how every path and Technicolor swirl was pointing towards a single, central point. To them, it was just another curiosity of the beings with which they cohabitated the world.
A long silence. They floated around a corner, up some stairs, straight, to the left, through some office blocks, into a lab, and back down another staircase. It was mostly deserted here. Evacuated.
Eityr, always the one of ulterior motives, initiated again. Ccccclack Cccclack.
<span style="font-family: courier new">“It’s funny, actually, how little we know each other. We’re in a fight to the death and none of us has bothered to learn anything about each other.”
A camera slowly panned over to the typewriter, staring, unblinking. Thinking. More silence. No words. Nothing.
“Well, fuck you. If I’m gonna die in a goddamn battle to the death, I want someone to know something about me. So, I’m gonna type something out, right on this page here, and you’re going to read it, and you’re going to listen, capiche?”
Silence. Etiyr went ahead and took the cue to go clacking away.
“See, I wasn’t always a helpless piece of shit. I used to be strong, powerful. I had legs. Obsidian black, like the night sky, flecks of red blood replacing the stars. Oh, those were the times.
Hell, man, hell is one hell of a place. All the stabbing, killing and torturing you could want. And now look at me, reduced to…this. I can’t blame anyone but my self. We always knew, always, that the whole demon thing would be a temporary gig. I took the risks, and now I’m paying for them, I guess.”
AMP’s camera wobbled a bit, like it was looking to a conversational partner that wasn’t there, then returned, silently observing the typewriter, before finally, finally, a sentence escaped from the machine’s tinny drive-through speaker.</span>
“Interface says there’s something a off about you—no, wait…crap.”
“Who?” Etiyr replied, thinking through ways to utilize his suddenly gained ground.
“No. No. No no, no. I can’t say anything else. I wasn’t supposed to even say that.”
“Why not? What’s wrong? You can tell me,” Etiyr replied, pushing the subject. The corridors had gotten a bit more grey, more formal, as they began to run to their point of origin, the focal point of the Epigen Center. The Center of the Center, if you will.
“Well,” AMP began, despite Interface, yelling, screaming at him. DON’T DO IT. DON’T DO IT. DON’T
“Well, I have these…people in my head. Personalities, I guess. And they say stuff and tell me to do things. Interface is one of them. I shouldn’t be saying this. I should be saying anything-”
Silence, again. Inorganic. Inanimate. They floated along, to the center of the center, the center of centers of centers.
Eityr typed a bit, click click ding
“You know, AMP, I don’t know if I should be saying this, but, uh, it seems that your mind is just as every bit as fragmented as your body.
Strange parallel, huh?”
Silence. Slowly, AMP turned his camera away from the typewriter, entirely away, panning as one would look away in shame. Or resentment. Or hatred.
And then they were there. The doors, too dinged and slid open, click clack click, and behold, the center of centers. (Holy of Holies)
And its chief priest.
Brom stopped a bit, stared, blinked with a tired look, but after a few moments finally smiled, and spoke.
“Well, you know what they say, boys,” the elevator operator said. “All roads lead to Rome.”
“Welcome to Rome.”
![[Image: zjQ0y.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/zjQ0y.gif)
![[Image: vcGGy.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/vcGGy.gif)