Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!]
10-22-2009, 06:17 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
Vyrm'n stabbed the pen in, so it lodged in the wall with a screen-depowering whine and crackle.
From where the Researcher sat, perspective compressed it into an emphatic full stop at the foot of the 'Y'. He grinned wider, and rose from his seat so he could place a finger upon the inky surface, letting the gloved digit slide slowly across a little nebula of stars.
"Now that would be, Vyrm'n... because..." He glanced up at the unfathomable darkness, seeming to take the time to carefully select his words. Finally, the Researcher settled on: "You're special. Even by Faceless standards, and I find you quite an exceptional bunch by most definitions."
Vyrm'n shifted away a little, so the finger traced through air. It didn't need to further vandalise the projector screen for the Researcher to know he should continue. Opening his palms beseechingly to Vyrm'n, and slowly pacing the room like he talked to an assembled crowd, the suited human intoned,
"Now, we've assembled enough anecdotal evidence to suggest Faceless only develop a sense of memory, and with it the power of recollection and self-awareness, when they hear its song from first contact with a sentient being." He turned to Vyrm'n. "In your case, my faithful-to-the-last assistant Vyrm.
Of course, not content with merely replicating tried and true experiments, I strove to break new ground with my research. It was most fortunate, then, that I had an assistant so willing to put-" the researcher tried and failed to hide a snigger at his own black joke "-her heart, and soul, into the project. Thanks to her, I acquired a specimen never before witnessed. A 'typed Faceless, with an already extensive knowledge of the workings of its kind."
Behind his helm, the Researcher grinned unceasingly as he gazed upon the pride of his life. Vyrm'n simply stood stock-still and listened; it was hard to pick up the tremulous twitches as they meandered through the thin air, but they got there eventually.
"It was anyone's guess what would happen next. Would the Faceless implode in a paradox of metacognition? Would it empower it to rediscover the abilities it lost during prototyping and immediately set off for the void it called home?
We had no idea, and it was terrifying and exciting, Vyrm'n. You had so many questions. This boundless hunger which could only be satiated with fact."
He sighed, unpleasant memory dredging itself up within him. "Then we ran out of answers, the tests we ran incapable of revealing any more about you, Vyrm'n. And you punished us for our ignorance." A dead laugh, a splash of cold comfort humour, gurgled from the speaker.
"Seven brave men and women scientists, Vyrm'n, not to mention their assistants and the crew, and you killed them all when you discovered a force in you not one of them could explain. Massacred. Ripped to shreds. Their cries for help still haunt me to this very day..."
The shadow moved imperceptibly; irritated at this divergence from the original question. The Researcher noticed, and snapped out of his reverie.
"Then, Vyrm'n, you chased me, hunted me down; tore down the bulletproof, laserproof, airlocked door and asked me that fateful question even as you engulfed me in darkness:
why do the dying sing the sweetest,Vyrm'n thought, in tandem with the man's words.
Seemingly worn out by his recital, the Researcher slumped gracefully back onto a seat, still grinning at his prize; raising an empty glass which had been resting on the table in a mock toast to the Faceless.
"Well, you heard my answer. And here we are now."
Vyrm'n stabbed the pen in, so it lodged in the wall with a screen-depowering whine and crackle.
From where the Researcher sat, perspective compressed it into an emphatic full stop at the foot of the 'Y'. He grinned wider, and rose from his seat so he could place a finger upon the inky surface, letting the gloved digit slide slowly across a little nebula of stars.
"Now that would be, Vyrm'n... because..." He glanced up at the unfathomable darkness, seeming to take the time to carefully select his words. Finally, the Researcher settled on: "You're special. Even by Faceless standards, and I find you quite an exceptional bunch by most definitions."
Vyrm'n shifted away a little, so the finger traced through air. It didn't need to further vandalise the projector screen for the Researcher to know he should continue. Opening his palms beseechingly to Vyrm'n, and slowly pacing the room like he talked to an assembled crowd, the suited human intoned,
"Now, we've assembled enough anecdotal evidence to suggest Faceless only develop a sense of memory, and with it the power of recollection and self-awareness, when they hear its song from first contact with a sentient being." He turned to Vyrm'n. "In your case, my faithful-to-the-last assistant Vyrm.
Of course, not content with merely replicating tried and true experiments, I strove to break new ground with my research. It was most fortunate, then, that I had an assistant so willing to put-" the researcher tried and failed to hide a snigger at his own black joke "-her heart, and soul, into the project. Thanks to her, I acquired a specimen never before witnessed. A 'typed Faceless, with an already extensive knowledge of the workings of its kind."
Behind his helm, the Researcher grinned unceasingly as he gazed upon the pride of his life. Vyrm'n simply stood stock-still and listened; it was hard to pick up the tremulous twitches as they meandered through the thin air, but they got there eventually.
"It was anyone's guess what would happen next. Would the Faceless implode in a paradox of metacognition? Would it empower it to rediscover the abilities it lost during prototyping and immediately set off for the void it called home?
We had no idea, and it was terrifying and exciting, Vyrm'n. You had so many questions. This boundless hunger which could only be satiated with fact."
He sighed, unpleasant memory dredging itself up within him. "Then we ran out of answers, the tests we ran incapable of revealing any more about you, Vyrm'n. And you punished us for our ignorance." A dead laugh, a splash of cold comfort humour, gurgled from the speaker.
"Seven brave men and women scientists, Vyrm'n, not to mention their assistants and the crew, and you killed them all when you discovered a force in you not one of them could explain. Massacred. Ripped to shreds. Their cries for help still haunt me to this very day..."
The shadow moved imperceptibly; irritated at this divergence from the original question. The Researcher noticed, and snapped out of his reverie.
"Then, Vyrm'n, you chased me, hunted me down; tore down the bulletproof, laserproof, airlocked door and asked me that fateful question even as you engulfed me in darkness:
why do the dying sing the sweetest,Vyrm'n thought, in tandem with the man's words.
Seemingly worn out by his recital, the Researcher slumped gracefully back onto a seat, still grinning at his prize; raising an empty glass which had been resting on the table in a mock toast to the Faceless.
"Well, you heard my answer. And here we are now."
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