Re: Mini-Grand 5105 (Round 1: Bernal Sphere Upsilon)
08-28-2011, 11:13 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Wojjan.
Photographer really had no idea what was going on.
Like, really.
Knife was kind of panicking around, telling poor Photographer that he was getting aimed at by a dang gun, and that he should run away or defend himself. He also called him useless which was... pretty mean, actually. Camera, on the other hand, said that they could probably talk this out together. He has always been good at talking to things, he said, there's no need to worry.
He was going to try Camera's way first. Photographer tried to talk to Machine Gun. “H-Hi. I'm a photographer.”
“...I-I take pictures.”
Machine Gun sighed.
Photographer has always been a bit iffy about robots, since they sort of contaminated inanimate things with animate things, and if there's anything Photographer liked less than losing his camera it would be grey areas. Unless they were in pictures. Monochrome pictures were pretty. It's just that he never really quite got robots down, and seeing as one just outright ignored him and walked out the room, he assumed he never really will. Did he say something wrong?
-
Bernal had means to destruction. Normally Clausewitz searched for an ample vantage point to eradicate opposition, but the confusing layout made him reconsider that approach, and the information he had received from The Minister made him aware of machines that sustained life in Bernal.
Delete the machines, delete the entire population.
The photographer before him was much less of a threat, and as such was quickly discarded as no more than a stammering chair. Clausewitz hurried – even though he had ample time to spare – towards the control room.
-
Carnegie was in heaven. Around him, science and magic. The Red Dragon, The Green Dragon. An elixir that kept his spirit strong. He was the bird of Hermes, clipped from his human form to live moments surrounded by what he deared.
Luna in Crescent, he was in space.
Everything around him told science. White concrete walls that smelled of sulfur and ammonium, a metal device, he could tell, that was an experiment. He was taking part in an experiment, he was so glad. The little pictures around him drifted like lovers in open air, they were all so happy to be part of this day this is what we worked for all these years today's finally the day. Let's begin, then.
-
“Lieutenant Conte, I'm glad to see you! As you know, we need a military officer to conduct any experiment. As you might have heard, we have a testing room set up to simulate a miniature sun in a separate pocket dimension in order to visualise the change of mass in... Well, it's complicated. We just need your say-so to start the experiment.”
“Ooh, experiments! Love 'em. Can I push the button?”
“Well, I don't see why n-”
Greg's sentence was cut off as Conte already leaped towards the center of the room, fingers tingling over the control panel. “So what do I press?”
“The, um, blue one. The one that says “C.”
There was no uncharacteristic beep, so Conte made one.
-
It took about seventeen shots to make all humans in Bernal's security give up or die. Clausewitz reloaded his gun in advance, even though only such few bullets were missing. The sound of his barrel refilling was like an engine that stopped, a humming that never got noticed that suddenly let loose steam and sighed in relief. And then it started again.
The protest of those survivors he spared fell blank as he rammed a metal limb into the control panel. Bernal lost light, lost sight, lost mind. As it spoke, yelled Athena's name and begged her, cripple on the floor, blind and mute except for sirens' wails, begged her to stay.
Except from one room, as someone just didn't want it to.
-
The cannon geared up with the scraping noise of alchemy, one that he heard before dying and resurrecting and dying like strings that all fell apart but still lived and it was ugly like the night when it bared reluctance and its vile secrecy that swore against him.
THE RED SOL. QVINTA ESSENTIA.
He was a man of science staring at the sun and going blind. It was the path he chose and the path that led lower until it drowned him. Until the waves of a sun that grew bigger and bigger beyond salvage drowned him and melted him and he knew that we all melt someday.
Carnegie was dead.
Photographer really had no idea what was going on.
Like, really.
Knife was kind of panicking around, telling poor Photographer that he was getting aimed at by a dang gun, and that he should run away or defend himself. He also called him useless which was... pretty mean, actually. Camera, on the other hand, said that they could probably talk this out together. He has always been good at talking to things, he said, there's no need to worry.
He was going to try Camera's way first. Photographer tried to talk to Machine Gun. “H-Hi. I'm a photographer.”
“...I-I take pictures.”
Machine Gun sighed.
Photographer has always been a bit iffy about robots, since they sort of contaminated inanimate things with animate things, and if there's anything Photographer liked less than losing his camera it would be grey areas. Unless they were in pictures. Monochrome pictures were pretty. It's just that he never really quite got robots down, and seeing as one just outright ignored him and walked out the room, he assumed he never really will. Did he say something wrong?
-
Bernal had means to destruction. Normally Clausewitz searched for an ample vantage point to eradicate opposition, but the confusing layout made him reconsider that approach, and the information he had received from The Minister made him aware of machines that sustained life in Bernal.
Delete the machines, delete the entire population.
The photographer before him was much less of a threat, and as such was quickly discarded as no more than a stammering chair. Clausewitz hurried – even though he had ample time to spare – towards the control room.
-
Carnegie was in heaven. Around him, science and magic. The Red Dragon, The Green Dragon. An elixir that kept his spirit strong. He was the bird of Hermes, clipped from his human form to live moments surrounded by what he deared.
Luna in Crescent, he was in space.
Everything around him told science. White concrete walls that smelled of sulfur and ammonium, a metal device, he could tell, that was an experiment. He was taking part in an experiment, he was so glad. The little pictures around him drifted like lovers in open air, they were all so happy to be part of this day this is what we worked for all these years today's finally the day. Let's begin, then.
-
“Lieutenant Conte, I'm glad to see you! As you know, we need a military officer to conduct any experiment. As you might have heard, we have a testing room set up to simulate a miniature sun in a separate pocket dimension in order to visualise the change of mass in... Well, it's complicated. We just need your say-so to start the experiment.”
“Ooh, experiments! Love 'em. Can I push the button?”
“Well, I don't see why n-”
Greg's sentence was cut off as Conte already leaped towards the center of the room, fingers tingling over the control panel. “So what do I press?”
“The, um, blue one. The one that says “C.”
There was no uncharacteristic beep, so Conte made one.
-
It took about seventeen shots to make all humans in Bernal's security give up or die. Clausewitz reloaded his gun in advance, even though only such few bullets were missing. The sound of his barrel refilling was like an engine that stopped, a humming that never got noticed that suddenly let loose steam and sighed in relief. And then it started again.
The protest of those survivors he spared fell blank as he rammed a metal limb into the control panel. Bernal lost light, lost sight, lost mind. As it spoke, yelled Athena's name and begged her, cripple on the floor, blind and mute except for sirens' wails, begged her to stay.
Except from one room, as someone just didn't want it to.
-
The cannon geared up with the scraping noise of alchemy, one that he heard before dying and resurrecting and dying like strings that all fell apart but still lived and it was ugly like the night when it bared reluctance and its vile secrecy that swore against him.
THE RED SOL. QVINTA ESSENTIA.
He was a man of science staring at the sun and going blind. It was the path he chose and the path that led lower until it drowned him. Until the waves of a sun that grew bigger and bigger beyond salvage drowned him and melted him and he knew that we all melt someday.
Carnegie was dead.
quidquid Latine dictum sit altum videtur.