Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 3: Escheresque!]
11-23-2009, 05:41 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
Even Galus could do maths. It wasn't too hard to leap to a rather sorry conclusion. Of course, what he probably couldn't do was take that conclusion one step further, to an even more bitter end.
The door on the ceiling was the portal to yet another corridor, but this one built to serve a purpose more than connection. The left-hand wall was dotted with a variety of prints and pictures, many of them relatively mundane in comparison to some of the scenes one could find in the complex they were contained in.
It could be quite a pleasant place, actually - it was well lit, with the whole of the right wall being gigantic windows, with a door maybe halfway down opening up onto a patio, with a view that had to be rather unique for this world. It appeared just to be a simple town street, with blocky buildings admittedly but a sense of style and conformity that was perhaps comforting. One could almost imagine washing hung between the windows, but of course there wasn't any. Still, you could look up and up and up, along the rows of houses, see the skyline, see the abrupt cut-off between concrete and air, and then the harbour would catch your eye, perhaps as the mast of a tall ship broke the uniform blue, causing you to drift down to the water's edge, to where no human stood to wave their loved ones off, but to where there was a particular boat, in beautiful detail, with almost life-like smoke billowing out of one of its stacks.
At this point, you'd see with horror a little plaque, way beneath the boat, commemerating the achievement of the artist who painted such a mind blower, one of the best boats ever painted, perhaps, but certainly, good grief, one heck of a view from that window. Work it backwards, quicker this time, and Maxwell could appreciate how powerful the Observer was, to bend reality to breaking point to sculpt such a scene.
He wasn't alone in that realisation, it seemed. The pilot had twisted his neck attempting to understand that one picture and was now solemnly still. Now was the time...
"One heck of a view, huh?"
He hadn't been expecting that. The right hand twitched noticeably.
"There's probably some irony to be milked out of this, some witty remark, but I really cannot be bothered. To the chase. You've come to the same conclusion that I have, haven't you? That, ahem, how can I put it, that we're gonna kick the bucket. It's 1 in 6 that you survive, it's 1 in 6 that I survive, and those are apathetic odds, Galus."
That had gotten the pilot's attention.
"But one of us will survive. The Observer said so. This is a competition, there has to be a winn-"
"And you strive to be that winner? So why am I not dead? You very nearly had a gun in your hand, the moment you heard me. I walked into range by my own free will."
Oh, he didn't like that. Not one bit.
"You're depressed by the fact that you don't think it matters, whether or not you really kill. In the end, you shall be dead. Some other contestant, more likely than not, shall win over your dead body. So why take a life if doing so is pointless? Except, sadly, that attitude must not be held by all to have two dead already."
There was a gun in play now. Galus had it in his hand. He'd obviously decided that being bested by words alone was not good practice.
"By the way, if you shoot me right now, you won't get to hear the way you can get out of this game alive, if that sways your decision one way or another. And before you come up with the "Yeah, by killing you and everyone else who dare stand in my way" retort," - the impersonation Maxwell attempted there was hopefully pathetic on purpose - "trust me, that's not going to work. You need a much better idea than that. And it is standing next to you."
Galus could see Maxwell was starting to sweat. The guy was probably either right or crazy, possibly both, and not very good at coming up with straight answers.
"Oh, that reminds me, you still have three questions to ask me you haven't actually asked me yet. Fancy asking them?"
Even Galus could do maths. It wasn't too hard to leap to a rather sorry conclusion. Of course, what he probably couldn't do was take that conclusion one step further, to an even more bitter end.
The door on the ceiling was the portal to yet another corridor, but this one built to serve a purpose more than connection. The left-hand wall was dotted with a variety of prints and pictures, many of them relatively mundane in comparison to some of the scenes one could find in the complex they were contained in.
It could be quite a pleasant place, actually - it was well lit, with the whole of the right wall being gigantic windows, with a door maybe halfway down opening up onto a patio, with a view that had to be rather unique for this world. It appeared just to be a simple town street, with blocky buildings admittedly but a sense of style and conformity that was perhaps comforting. One could almost imagine washing hung between the windows, but of course there wasn't any. Still, you could look up and up and up, along the rows of houses, see the skyline, see the abrupt cut-off between concrete and air, and then the harbour would catch your eye, perhaps as the mast of a tall ship broke the uniform blue, causing you to drift down to the water's edge, to where no human stood to wave their loved ones off, but to where there was a particular boat, in beautiful detail, with almost life-like smoke billowing out of one of its stacks.
At this point, you'd see with horror a little plaque, way beneath the boat, commemerating the achievement of the artist who painted such a mind blower, one of the best boats ever painted, perhaps, but certainly, good grief, one heck of a view from that window. Work it backwards, quicker this time, and Maxwell could appreciate how powerful the Observer was, to bend reality to breaking point to sculpt such a scene.
He wasn't alone in that realisation, it seemed. The pilot had twisted his neck attempting to understand that one picture and was now solemnly still. Now was the time...
"One heck of a view, huh?"
He hadn't been expecting that. The right hand twitched noticeably.
"There's probably some irony to be milked out of this, some witty remark, but I really cannot be bothered. To the chase. You've come to the same conclusion that I have, haven't you? That, ahem, how can I put it, that we're gonna kick the bucket. It's 1 in 6 that you survive, it's 1 in 6 that I survive, and those are apathetic odds, Galus."
That had gotten the pilot's attention.
"But one of us will survive. The Observer said so. This is a competition, there has to be a winn-"
"And you strive to be that winner? So why am I not dead? You very nearly had a gun in your hand, the moment you heard me. I walked into range by my own free will."
Oh, he didn't like that. Not one bit.
"You're depressed by the fact that you don't think it matters, whether or not you really kill. In the end, you shall be dead. Some other contestant, more likely than not, shall win over your dead body. So why take a life if doing so is pointless? Except, sadly, that attitude must not be held by all to have two dead already."
There was a gun in play now. Galus had it in his hand. He'd obviously decided that being bested by words alone was not good practice.
"By the way, if you shoot me right now, you won't get to hear the way you can get out of this game alive, if that sways your decision one way or another. And before you come up with the "Yeah, by killing you and everyone else who dare stand in my way" retort," - the impersonation Maxwell attempted there was hopefully pathetic on purpose - "trust me, that's not going to work. You need a much better idea than that. And it is standing next to you."
Galus could see Maxwell was starting to sweat. The guy was probably either right or crazy, possibly both, and not very good at coming up with straight answers.
"Oh, that reminds me, you still have three questions to ask me you haven't actually asked me yet. Fancy asking them?"