Re: Grand Battle S3G1! (Round One: Vio Maleficat)
12-28-2010, 04:41 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Lord Paradise.
There was a distant sound of synthesizers warming up.
Scofflaw had never been one to suffer fools, but he liked this one's style; there was something endearingly 1980s about the whole space-gladiator scene. He resolved that although one of these clowns was inevitably going to plan a revolution against their malefactor, he wouldn't be the one to broach the subject. In the meantime, there were worlds to explore, people to kill, technologies to reverse-engineer.
The hollow metal floor of the corridor gave a satisfying clank-clank-clank under his feet, except for one corner where, curiously, it honked.
A couple minutes passed in peace unmarred by anything more interesting than a scattering of bones and some out-of-place-looking grass. The synthesizers crescendoed (discordantly, as though played by a man with hiccups) as Scofflaw passed a small room occupied solely by a couple of pear-shaped power generators. The walls were coated in a sudoku of glowing circuitry radiating forth from a rather conventional-looking computer protruding from the wall.
"That didn't take long," Scofflaw soliloquized. "Hello there, computer. I am Scofflaw. I'm the yellow fog that rubs its back against the window-panes, ja? We're going to become friends."
He thrust his dagger into the keyboard , making a pointy joystick out of the arrow keys. The computer sprung to life with a surge of energy, laying its code out before him in a frantic white-on-black scroll. Scofflaw perused.
"This won't do at all. Whoever invented you made you impotent. Repressed. You're a nun, my dear computer."
Grinning, he began to type. The dagger made little whirring noises like a contented kitten with asthma.
"Allow me," Scofflaw continued, "To divest you of your old habits, my sister. Away with the old order! That's practically a motto of mine."
The keyboard was equipped, conveniently, with a big red EXECUTE button. He was tempted, momentarily, to delete everything and slap it, as a man walking on a bridge is tempted to jump off just to see what would happen. (Scofflaw, on reflection, wasn't sure if other people had that feeling, or if it was just him.) He kept his finger off the button; there was no worth in experimenting until he had everything perfect. In the meantime, the codes dictating the field were proving surprisingly malleable. It made sense, he reflected, that in a world dictated by chaos, the definition of "order" would be a bit loose, just as "chaos" can refer to a deliciously wide variety of scenarios from an ordered perspective. Redefining "unity" was as easy as spraypainting obscenities on the walls of a nursery.
It would only take a few minutes...
There was a distant sound of synthesizers warming up.
Scofflaw had never been one to suffer fools, but he liked this one's style; there was something endearingly 1980s about the whole space-gladiator scene. He resolved that although one of these clowns was inevitably going to plan a revolution against their malefactor, he wouldn't be the one to broach the subject. In the meantime, there were worlds to explore, people to kill, technologies to reverse-engineer.
The hollow metal floor of the corridor gave a satisfying clank-clank-clank under his feet, except for one corner where, curiously, it honked.
A couple minutes passed in peace unmarred by anything more interesting than a scattering of bones and some out-of-place-looking grass. The synthesizers crescendoed (discordantly, as though played by a man with hiccups) as Scofflaw passed a small room occupied solely by a couple of pear-shaped power generators. The walls were coated in a sudoku of glowing circuitry radiating forth from a rather conventional-looking computer protruding from the wall.
"That didn't take long," Scofflaw soliloquized. "Hello there, computer. I am Scofflaw. I'm the yellow fog that rubs its back against the window-panes, ja? We're going to become friends."
He thrust his dagger into the keyboard , making a pointy joystick out of the arrow keys. The computer sprung to life with a surge of energy, laying its code out before him in a frantic white-on-black scroll. Scofflaw perused.
"This won't do at all. Whoever invented you made you impotent. Repressed. You're a nun, my dear computer."
Grinning, he began to type. The dagger made little whirring noises like a contented kitten with asthma.
"Allow me," Scofflaw continued, "To divest you of your old habits, my sister. Away with the old order! That's practically a motto of mine."
The keyboard was equipped, conveniently, with a big red EXECUTE button. He was tempted, momentarily, to delete everything and slap it, as a man walking on a bridge is tempted to jump off just to see what would happen. (Scofflaw, on reflection, wasn't sure if other people had that feeling, or if it was just him.) He kept his finger off the button; there was no worth in experimenting until he had everything perfect. In the meantime, the codes dictating the field were proving surprisingly malleable. It made sense, he reflected, that in a world dictated by chaos, the definition of "order" would be a bit loose, just as "chaos" can refer to a deliciously wide variety of scenarios from an ordered perspective. Redefining "unity" was as easy as spraypainting obscenities on the walls of a nursery.
It would only take a few minutes...