Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 2: The Museum]
08-17-2010, 03:20 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.
Oh and there's the shriek again.
Algernon cringed in anticipation and it took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't collapsed on the floor nor were his ears bleeding. Still, the screech that the Ouroborous was producing was rather annoying. He should be grateful, though, considering that he wasn't a writhing wreck on the ground, disorientated and helpless and OH MY GOD THERE'S SOMETHING GRABBING MY ARM.
Instinctively, Algernon wrenched his arm away from the Reaper (one of them, he had no idea which one) and turned to flee. Unfortunately, the arm he had to wrench away was the arm that was holding the whip. The whip swung around even as his arm stopped moving to hit him soundly on the head and he blindly rushed (or stumbled) in a random direction and ended up running into a wall. Actually, that wasn't possible, there were no walls, so it must have been a glass display case. Or, equally possible, the floor, which is exactly what it turned out he ran into.
The young man shouted a lot of curses that involved Pluck and his bitch of a mother and how he wasn't very nice and stuff (Algernon wasn't that good at cursing people) as he ran in a random direction that didn't have him going right into a solid object, nursing the large welt that was now growing across his face.
Pluck was right that his idea would serve as a distraction, but unfortunately, Algernon had wasted most of the gained time being clumsy and humiliated as he seemed to be nowadays. Ouroborous had already fed upon Pluck's body and the Glass Ourobreaper won his soul and all three of his pursuers were pursuing him again, all much closer than they had been before. On top of that, he was getting rather tired and he had a sneaking suspicion that his lungs had been burning to ashes the past few minutes.
Once again, Algernon found himself desperately trying to figure out how to deal with this crappy situation and pinballed from 'panic like a bitch' to 'be idiotically detached from reality' and back again before finally settling on a reasonable medium: 'think of some sort of great spectacular plan with a bit of urgency.'
Well, he didn't think of a great spectacular plan. It wasn't even a great plan. In fact, it seemed a little stupid. But he didn't have too much of a choice right now.
Looking wildly around at the displays, he chose a rather large one and looked around for a door. As soon as he walked in, however, he had to dodge a large axe swing from the torturer that lived in this particular exhibit. Immediately regretting this plan but still determined to see it through, Algernon glanced back to see how far behind his pursuers were before moving to kick the axe out of the hooded torturer's hand. Remembering that not only was the torturer more muscular than he but also robotic, Algernon decided to spare his foot the pain and instead clumsily cracked the whip in front of the obstacle to drive him back. He ducked around the hulking man-bot and past the victim of this exhibit to the far side of the room and the large man lumbered around towards him just as a swarm of bugs hit him right in the back, followed closely behind by two scythe-wielding personifications of death.
The torturer stumbled and turned back around to deal with these new intruders and Algernon took this chance to grab some long-handled weapon off the wall at random (it turned out to be a flail) and got ready to run back out the exit again to make his escape when he passed the tortured man on the slab again.
He took a deep breath. It's a robot. Not alive. Devoid of feeling. Unfeeling robot. The welts aren't real, the cuts aren't real, the blood isn't real, that smell of death is simulated...
Algernon opened the bonds with a nearby key hanging on the wall and helped the man up. Despite his feeble look, he was a little hefty. He actually smelled like something, to Algernon's surprise. He smelled old and moldy. He bled on his clothes, adding to some of the muck that had caked on long ago. He whimpered and moaned when he moved. As Algernon got him to lean on his shoulder and led him as swiftly as possible out the door, he dragged his feet and sighed. His breath was horrible and his beard scratched itself on his cheek.
Ouroborous and the Reapers were still busy with the torturer, who swatted and sliced the air and got bitten and torn in return. Algernon dragged the prisoner out with not too much trouble, though Ouroborous turned as one at the smell of blood. He quickly pulled the door shut behind him before the swarm of bugs could follow him out and, letting the tortured robot slump against the glass, he jammed the flail in the handle. He didn't think bugs knew how to handle doors and he was pretty sure the Grim Reaper had no need for them, but it was better safe than sorry.
"Okay," he said as he coiled up the whip and slung it over his shoulder. "Um. Do you think you can walk...?"
Turning to look back at the prisoner he had so recently rescued for no apparent reason, Algernon saw that he didn't look like he could do much of anything. The man was lying on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked a lot like he was dead. But...did robots die...? Was there anything that happened that would have killed him? He didn't see anything...
"Um." Algernon nudged the man slightly with his foot and he grimaced. It was then that the young man realized that the victim he had taken out of the glass display looked a lot like he was still lying on that slab.
Before he could let the oppressive feeling of the meaninglessness of his actions depress him, Algernon couldn't help but notice that while Ouroborous was settling with the torturer and Glass Ourobreaper was wondering when a soul would come up for him to eat, the Grim Reaper was starting to make his way through the glass as though it weren't there. After all, there is no room that can hold Death.
No time for despair. Algernon turned to run again but was slightly too slow. He felt a slight chill as a bony hand rested on his shoulder. Though it was impossible for Death to even breathe, he thought he felt an icy breath fall upon his neck. It may sound silly and melodramatic, but it felt a lot like death.
Oh and there's the shriek again.
Algernon cringed in anticipation and it took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't collapsed on the floor nor were his ears bleeding. Still, the screech that the Ouroborous was producing was rather annoying. He should be grateful, though, considering that he wasn't a writhing wreck on the ground, disorientated and helpless and OH MY GOD THERE'S SOMETHING GRABBING MY ARM.
Instinctively, Algernon wrenched his arm away from the Reaper (one of them, he had no idea which one) and turned to flee. Unfortunately, the arm he had to wrench away was the arm that was holding the whip. The whip swung around even as his arm stopped moving to hit him soundly on the head and he blindly rushed (or stumbled) in a random direction and ended up running into a wall. Actually, that wasn't possible, there were no walls, so it must have been a glass display case. Or, equally possible, the floor, which is exactly what it turned out he ran into.
The young man shouted a lot of curses that involved Pluck and his bitch of a mother and how he wasn't very nice and stuff (Algernon wasn't that good at cursing people) as he ran in a random direction that didn't have him going right into a solid object, nursing the large welt that was now growing across his face.
Pluck was right that his idea would serve as a distraction, but unfortunately, Algernon had wasted most of the gained time being clumsy and humiliated as he seemed to be nowadays. Ouroborous had already fed upon Pluck's body and the Glass Ourobreaper won his soul and all three of his pursuers were pursuing him again, all much closer than they had been before. On top of that, he was getting rather tired and he had a sneaking suspicion that his lungs had been burning to ashes the past few minutes.
Once again, Algernon found himself desperately trying to figure out how to deal with this crappy situation and pinballed from 'panic like a bitch' to 'be idiotically detached from reality' and back again before finally settling on a reasonable medium: 'think of some sort of great spectacular plan with a bit of urgency.'
Well, he didn't think of a great spectacular plan. It wasn't even a great plan. In fact, it seemed a little stupid. But he didn't have too much of a choice right now.
Looking wildly around at the displays, he chose a rather large one and looked around for a door. As soon as he walked in, however, he had to dodge a large axe swing from the torturer that lived in this particular exhibit. Immediately regretting this plan but still determined to see it through, Algernon glanced back to see how far behind his pursuers were before moving to kick the axe out of the hooded torturer's hand. Remembering that not only was the torturer more muscular than he but also robotic, Algernon decided to spare his foot the pain and instead clumsily cracked the whip in front of the obstacle to drive him back. He ducked around the hulking man-bot and past the victim of this exhibit to the far side of the room and the large man lumbered around towards him just as a swarm of bugs hit him right in the back, followed closely behind by two scythe-wielding personifications of death.
The torturer stumbled and turned back around to deal with these new intruders and Algernon took this chance to grab some long-handled weapon off the wall at random (it turned out to be a flail) and got ready to run back out the exit again to make his escape when he passed the tortured man on the slab again.
He took a deep breath. It's a robot. Not alive. Devoid of feeling. Unfeeling robot. The welts aren't real, the cuts aren't real, the blood isn't real, that smell of death is simulated...
Algernon opened the bonds with a nearby key hanging on the wall and helped the man up. Despite his feeble look, he was a little hefty. He actually smelled like something, to Algernon's surprise. He smelled old and moldy. He bled on his clothes, adding to some of the muck that had caked on long ago. He whimpered and moaned when he moved. As Algernon got him to lean on his shoulder and led him as swiftly as possible out the door, he dragged his feet and sighed. His breath was horrible and his beard scratched itself on his cheek.
Ouroborous and the Reapers were still busy with the torturer, who swatted and sliced the air and got bitten and torn in return. Algernon dragged the prisoner out with not too much trouble, though Ouroborous turned as one at the smell of blood. He quickly pulled the door shut behind him before the swarm of bugs could follow him out and, letting the tortured robot slump against the glass, he jammed the flail in the handle. He didn't think bugs knew how to handle doors and he was pretty sure the Grim Reaper had no need for them, but it was better safe than sorry.
"Okay," he said as he coiled up the whip and slung it over his shoulder. "Um. Do you think you can walk...?"
Turning to look back at the prisoner he had so recently rescued for no apparent reason, Algernon saw that he didn't look like he could do much of anything. The man was lying on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked a lot like he was dead. But...did robots die...? Was there anything that happened that would have killed him? He didn't see anything...
"Um." Algernon nudged the man slightly with his foot and he grimaced. It was then that the young man realized that the victim he had taken out of the glass display looked a lot like he was still lying on that slab.
Before he could let the oppressive feeling of the meaninglessness of his actions depress him, Algernon couldn't help but notice that while Ouroborous was settling with the torturer and Glass Ourobreaper was wondering when a soul would come up for him to eat, the Grim Reaper was starting to make his way through the glass as though it weren't there. After all, there is no room that can hold Death.
No time for despair. Algernon turned to run again but was slightly too slow. He felt a slight chill as a bony hand rested on his shoulder. Though it was impossible for Death to even breathe, he thought he felt an icy breath fall upon his neck. It may sound silly and melodramatic, but it felt a lot like death.