Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 2: The Museum]
08-07-2010, 04:32 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
"It won't be that arm exactly," explained the Countess, as she tried to look like she knew what she was doing, "but the machine can affix an arm, yes." A prompt from the Controller led the automaton to a terminal, where she drummed her talons over the keyboard in a non-committal manner while the Grandmaster set up the protocols, loading up some kind of preset. Lines of text and circuitry diagrams whirred by in an incomprehensible mess, which the Countess could only stare at while idly regretting her ineptitude for learning this kind of thing.
"CAUTION. GENERAL ANESTHETIC STORES SUBOPTI-" the Countess rapped the enter key sharply, as Thane returned from his investigations of the workshop. There was a dull beep, and one of the looming crane-claws chirped and whirred into motion, appendages unfolding and revealing an array of vicious surgical equipment.
"Hop up on the bench, dear. And remove your armour whi-"
No. The amalgam shrugged as the Old One sat down on the edge of the operating table, pretending to read over the streams of data while humming a little. One sickle-claw drifted over the keyboard, waiting to execute; Thane didn't miss the monster's hesitance. Doing little to allay his misgiving, he started, Countess- Her head spun around, affixing Thane with that almost insectoid array of lenses; cold, but apparently curious as to what he had to say.
Slowly, deliberately, her steely finger lowered and pressed enter. Thane hissed and reached for his sword, but a mechanical arm reached down and cuffed his wrist. He leapt off the operating table with a snarl, ducking under another arm as it lunged for his throat, only to miss the third one which seized his other, injured arm by the shoulder. More claws descended, silvery blades flashing as the Old One was slammed onto the table and stripped of his armour. The Countess approached, smirk affixed on her intricate features, to take a better look at the restrained but struggling Thane.
The Old One turned his head enough to lock eyes with the clockwork arachnid, and hit the amalgam's mind with the most vehement blast of fury he could muster. A garbled shriek that was barely audible above the enveloping whir and squeal of machinery gave Thane some satisfaction, before a his concentration was shattered by a glowing sawblade lowering in front of him.
The Countess stood with difficulty, her screams replaced with the captive's as the energy blade carved its effortless way through Thane's arm. As she scuttled out of the repair facility, she bitterly hoped the machine would just rip the wretched creature to pieces.
"It won't be that arm exactly," explained the Countess, as she tried to look like she knew what she was doing, "but the machine can affix an arm, yes." A prompt from the Controller led the automaton to a terminal, where she drummed her talons over the keyboard in a non-committal manner while the Grandmaster set up the protocols, loading up some kind of preset. Lines of text and circuitry diagrams whirred by in an incomprehensible mess, which the Countess could only stare at while idly regretting her ineptitude for learning this kind of thing.
"CAUTION. GENERAL ANESTHETIC STORES SUBOPTI-" the Countess rapped the enter key sharply, as Thane returned from his investigations of the workshop. There was a dull beep, and one of the looming crane-claws chirped and whirred into motion, appendages unfolding and revealing an array of vicious surgical equipment.
"Hop up on the bench, dear. And remove your armour whi-"
No. The amalgam shrugged as the Old One sat down on the edge of the operating table, pretending to read over the streams of data while humming a little. One sickle-claw drifted over the keyboard, waiting to execute; Thane didn't miss the monster's hesitance. Doing little to allay his misgiving, he started, Countess- Her head spun around, affixing Thane with that almost insectoid array of lenses; cold, but apparently curious as to what he had to say.
Slowly, deliberately, her steely finger lowered and pressed enter. Thane hissed and reached for his sword, but a mechanical arm reached down and cuffed his wrist. He leapt off the operating table with a snarl, ducking under another arm as it lunged for his throat, only to miss the third one which seized his other, injured arm by the shoulder. More claws descended, silvery blades flashing as the Old One was slammed onto the table and stripped of his armour. The Countess approached, smirk affixed on her intricate features, to take a better look at the restrained but struggling Thane.
The Old One turned his head enough to lock eyes with the clockwork arachnid, and hit the amalgam's mind with the most vehement blast of fury he could muster. A garbled shriek that was barely audible above the enveloping whir and squeal of machinery gave Thane some satisfaction, before a his concentration was shattered by a glowing sawblade lowering in front of him.
The Countess stood with difficulty, her screams replaced with the captive's as the energy blade carved its effortless way through Thane's arm. As she scuttled out of the repair facility, she bitterly hoped the machine would just rip the wretched creature to pieces.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow