Re: The Gradual Massacre (GBS2G4) [Round 2: The Museum]
10-02-2010, 11:06 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
As Pluck's life faded away, one of the Controller's displays flicked off. For the moment, though, his attention was elsewhere- he was focused on the Monitor's image on another screen.
"I see," he said, raising a hand thoughtfully to his mouth. "Very interesting. I'd ask you more, but something has just come up in the Gradual Massacre. Perhaps we can continue this conversation some other time."
"Of course," the Monitor replied. "You are perfectly welcome to contact me at your convenience." The transmission cut out, and the Controller just sat there for a moment, smiling to himself.
After a few moments, he idly flipped a set of switches, bringing the six remaining combatants fading back to his plane. "So," he said, stepping down from his seat and idly pacing around, still smiling, "as much as I'm sure you would all love spending a bit more time exploring my little project, one person died, and that means you're moving on."
"This time, you're going somewhere to get a bit of perspective. Life, as you've seen, is fleeting, and even the mightiest civilizations must fall. Las-" Something in his chair beeped, and his attention was drawn to it in a snap. "Oh, you wonderful thing," he breathed, smile widening as he returned to his chair and checked a screen.
Distracted, he waved a hand at the remaining beings. "You'll learn more about your destination once you've arrived. I've got... business to attend to. Off you go!" He started flicking switches and pressing keys, among them the controls to send the contestants on their way and enable the automatic briefing he'd prepared.
---
In a distant universe, a woman ran through a forest of hands, moving so fast as to be just a blur. She was a subject of a battle not unlike the Controller's, and she had recently made contact with a person in another- her brother, in fact.
From nowhere, a voice entered her mind. "-ntum thingy to maybe get out of here, if I can just... No, what- Gah. Cursed technology."
The woman came to a halt, frowning. The voice had come through the channel that was supposed to be between her and her brother, but it was most certainly not his.
With a thought, she superimposed the video being transmitted alongside the voice on her vision. The image was that of a man. His eyes were concealed behind aviator shades, and his beard was unkempt.
"You're connected," she said, sending along an image of herself with the words. "I can see you."
He started. "Oh, good. Listen, I'm Officer Arnold Scarlet, Seattle PD, and I am currently a captive of a being calling itself the Controller. He-"
"Let me guess," she interrupted, "he's forcing you and a group of others to fight to the death."
He shook his head. "I only wish. He started off like that, but early on, he took me out of the battle and tortured me as an example to the others. Since then, I've been stuck in this place."
"Sounds horrible," she said, faking sympathy. "How did you contact me?"
"He went off to take care of some 'opportunity' that came up and left me here alone. One of his computers lit up and said something about an 'interaction between tagged dimensions' and 'threaded entanglement,' and I thought it might be a chance to get out of here."
"Unfortunately, no."
"Shame. I-" He stopped, staring off in another direction, then abruptly cut the signal. The image vanished from the woman's vision, and after a moment's thought, she started running through the forest of hands once more.
Having cut the connection, "Arnold" leaned back in the chair, relishing the possibilities these communications channels could offer. He'd have to monitor them closely- there was a good chance he could use them for any number of things. The potential uses flashed through his mind, connections forming, collapsing, and reconfiguring themselves, dancing together in his mind's eye. Plots and gambits were devised, evaluated, and filed away for future use, and he just sat, revelling in this new system's possible effects.
After a few minutes of stillness, he abruptly stood up. Contemplation could continue later, for now there was work to do. Flicking a switch, he dumped the contents of the transport buffer into one of the rings.
The corpse that landed there was that of a young, mostly humanoid girl. She had three pairs of wings, a substantial exoskeleton, and several gunshot wounds. She'd evidently been a tough being to kill, and as the Controller looked down at her body, he smiled.
"Now, Scarlet, it is time for us to begin."
Something in the chair beeped, and the grandmaster turned to look.
"The trace is complete," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation.
"It's time you learned to embrace your inner artist."
---
The contestants found themselves alone, each on a different observation deck overlooking the Earth. The sun was just over the horizon, illuminating half of the planet below.
"In its day, Las Orbitas was a shining beacon, a symbol of the achievements of humanity. In her peak days, she was home to at least 6000 people at any one time. Her technology was unsurpassed- distributed photon emitters could adjust her orbit with incredible precision, and her revolutionary new dimension-flux core gathered more power than they could possibly use." The Controller's voice didn't seem to be coming from any particular location, and it sounded flat and uninterested- a recording. "Over time, however, humanity moved on. The construction of spacefaring cities made orbital stations such as this an antiquity, and a combination of disinterest and a brutal war made maintenance funding scarce at best."
"Las Orbitas as you see it now has faded over the years. As you stand there, a team of engineers are working to ensure that her descent into the atmosphere of planet Earth goes smoothly. Unfortunately, in a moment's time, they will find their escape vehicle mysteriously missing. It's a shame- in just under an hour, the station will hit the atmosphere, and it'll only take a few minutes after that for her ancient heat-shielding to break up, roasting everyone inside to a crisp."
"You six are lucky enough to have a method of escape. One of you dies, and the rest move on."
"Go to it."
The recording ended with a small click, leaving the only sounds the rattling of the ventilation and the distant creak of the old station.
As Pluck's life faded away, one of the Controller's displays flicked off. For the moment, though, his attention was elsewhere- he was focused on the Monitor's image on another screen.
"I see," he said, raising a hand thoughtfully to his mouth. "Very interesting. I'd ask you more, but something has just come up in the Gradual Massacre. Perhaps we can continue this conversation some other time."
"Of course," the Monitor replied. "You are perfectly welcome to contact me at your convenience." The transmission cut out, and the Controller just sat there for a moment, smiling to himself.
After a few moments, he idly flipped a set of switches, bringing the six remaining combatants fading back to his plane. "So," he said, stepping down from his seat and idly pacing around, still smiling, "as much as I'm sure you would all love spending a bit more time exploring my little project, one person died, and that means you're moving on."
"This time, you're going somewhere to get a bit of perspective. Life, as you've seen, is fleeting, and even the mightiest civilizations must fall. Las-" Something in his chair beeped, and his attention was drawn to it in a snap. "Oh, you wonderful thing," he breathed, smile widening as he returned to his chair and checked a screen.
Distracted, he waved a hand at the remaining beings. "You'll learn more about your destination once you've arrived. I've got... business to attend to. Off you go!" He started flicking switches and pressing keys, among them the controls to send the contestants on their way and enable the automatic briefing he'd prepared.
---
In a distant universe, a woman ran through a forest of hands, moving so fast as to be just a blur. She was a subject of a battle not unlike the Controller's, and she had recently made contact with a person in another- her brother, in fact.
From nowhere, a voice entered her mind. "-ntum thingy to maybe get out of here, if I can just... No, what- Gah. Cursed technology."
The woman came to a halt, frowning. The voice had come through the channel that was supposed to be between her and her brother, but it was most certainly not his.
With a thought, she superimposed the video being transmitted alongside the voice on her vision. The image was that of a man. His eyes were concealed behind aviator shades, and his beard was unkempt.
"You're connected," she said, sending along an image of herself with the words. "I can see you."
He started. "Oh, good. Listen, I'm Officer Arnold Scarlet, Seattle PD, and I am currently a captive of a being calling itself the Controller. He-"
"Let me guess," she interrupted, "he's forcing you and a group of others to fight to the death."
He shook his head. "I only wish. He started off like that, but early on, he took me out of the battle and tortured me as an example to the others. Since then, I've been stuck in this place."
"Sounds horrible," she said, faking sympathy. "How did you contact me?"
"He went off to take care of some 'opportunity' that came up and left me here alone. One of his computers lit up and said something about an 'interaction between tagged dimensions' and 'threaded entanglement,' and I thought it might be a chance to get out of here."
"Unfortunately, no."
"Shame. I-" He stopped, staring off in another direction, then abruptly cut the signal. The image vanished from the woman's vision, and after a moment's thought, she started running through the forest of hands once more.
Having cut the connection, "Arnold" leaned back in the chair, relishing the possibilities these communications channels could offer. He'd have to monitor them closely- there was a good chance he could use them for any number of things. The potential uses flashed through his mind, connections forming, collapsing, and reconfiguring themselves, dancing together in his mind's eye. Plots and gambits were devised, evaluated, and filed away for future use, and he just sat, revelling in this new system's possible effects.
After a few minutes of stillness, he abruptly stood up. Contemplation could continue later, for now there was work to do. Flicking a switch, he dumped the contents of the transport buffer into one of the rings.
The corpse that landed there was that of a young, mostly humanoid girl. She had three pairs of wings, a substantial exoskeleton, and several gunshot wounds. She'd evidently been a tough being to kill, and as the Controller looked down at her body, he smiled.
"Now, Scarlet, it is time for us to begin."
Something in the chair beeped, and the grandmaster turned to look.
"The trace is complete," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation.
"It's time you learned to embrace your inner artist."
---
The contestants found themselves alone, each on a different observation deck overlooking the Earth. The sun was just over the horizon, illuminating half of the planet below.
"In its day, Las Orbitas was a shining beacon, a symbol of the achievements of humanity. In her peak days, she was home to at least 6000 people at any one time. Her technology was unsurpassed- distributed photon emitters could adjust her orbit with incredible precision, and her revolutionary new dimension-flux core gathered more power than they could possibly use." The Controller's voice didn't seem to be coming from any particular location, and it sounded flat and uninterested- a recording. "Over time, however, humanity moved on. The construction of spacefaring cities made orbital stations such as this an antiquity, and a combination of disinterest and a brutal war made maintenance funding scarce at best."
"Las Orbitas as you see it now has faded over the years. As you stand there, a team of engineers are working to ensure that her descent into the atmosphere of planet Earth goes smoothly. Unfortunately, in a moment's time, they will find their escape vehicle mysteriously missing. It's a shame- in just under an hour, the station will hit the atmosphere, and it'll only take a few minutes after that for her ancient heat-shielding to break up, roasting everyone inside to a crisp."
"You six are lucky enough to have a method of escape. One of you dies, and the rest move on."
"Go to it."
The recording ended with a small click, leaving the only sounds the rattling of the ventilation and the distant creak of the old station.