Re: The Relentless Slaughter [Round 1: Untitled-1]
02-17-2011, 05:13 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Baphomet.
Connection Lost.
The message had glued itself firmly to the bottom left corner of Martin's vision only moments after being taken from the medical center. Connection to what was unclear, but if Martin had to guess, reality itself would be his first conclusion. His eyes darted back and forth, panic firmly entrenching itself on his face, as he feverishly clutched the space on his chest where the sword had stabbed him moments prior. His artificial inner ear and artificial nerve endings in his artificial hair follicles all screamed at him that he was falling, and his metallic feet hit what he had to assume was the floor. Martin toppled over unceremoniously.
The whiteness that was his entire world split open into a chasm of black, which neatly arranged itself into a loose brick pattern beneath his feet and on two sides. With a click the space between them filled with a uniform gray.
Martin scrambled backwards frantically, head full of messy, synthetic hair bumping into another wall behind him with a weighty thud. He drew his knees up against his chest and covered his face with his hands, shaking.
Martin's modular systems included a multitude of bits and pieces installed to ensure that no one felt they were missing out on any part of "The Human Experience" by undergoing the transhuman transformation. A functional digestive system, respiratory system, and reproductive system, along with the accompanying simulated urges to make use of each were included. It also came with features like sweat and a heartbeat and desire to sleep. Each could be activated or deactivated individually by an internal menu. Martin tended to keep his on most of the time, except to squash the occasional awkward public erection or, at this particular moment, to spare himself the indignity of crying. Of course, this still left him sobbing and heaving, albeit tearlessly, in the corner of the room that had now closed itself entirely around him.
More distressing to Martin was the loss of his notepad, usually kept in his pants pocket. He wrote a detailed schedule inside, to serve the dual purpose of writing down what needed to be done, and keeping track of the forgotten events that had happened to him throughout the day. He twisted every which way and patted the ground, senselessly hoping that it would somehow appear by him. Of course, it would not. He wasn't wearing any pants.
With one pat, a box materialized in midair around his left arm, its edges composed of flashing dotted lines. Martin jumped back, startled, but his arm stayed in the same place, cleanly severing about halfway between his elbow and shoulder.
He yelped, feeling the exposed stump. That arm had always been military hardware, designed with minimal simulated nerve endings. There was no pain, but the feeling was still viscerally horrifying. This was all too much. Martin doubled over and retched, vomiting out a bit of half-digested oatmeal breakfast as the dotted-line box moved up in the small room. A humanlike figure was drawn into existence around it, looking like a coarse parody of Martin himself, but with proportions all wrong. Its shoulder lined up with the floating gun-arm's line of severance. Martin's gaze slowly traveled up the figure as its details were filled in. In the place of eyes, it was given black holes. Its mouth stretched fully from ear to ear, filled in with endless rows of needle teeth exposed by a wicked grin.
Almost as an afterthought, Martin's missing arm was replaced by a wriggling green tentacle. He spared it a momentary incredulous stare as it writhed, completely out of his control. Martin choked and coughed as he tried to cry out, spitting out an errant oat.
With an unfamiliar clack, the metal sheath forming the back of the gauntlet portion of Martin's hideous double's robot arm unfolded. In one quick sweep, the hand tucked back into the underside and a massive barrel slid forward, locking into place. Martin's jaw dropped open. He had, as far as he knew, never successfully activated the cannon; its safety could only be released by a signal from a military satellite when he was deployed for active duty. The gun made a high pitched whine as the doppleganger leveled it at Martin's face.
The Martin-horror's arm twitched and there was a terrible sound.
Connection Lost.
Martin made a quick attempt to evaluate his current situation and objectives. Darkness all around him, except for a few specks of what looked like pebbles, glowing orange and radiating heat. Above him, a hole. There was something white up there, and it looked like the border of the hole between there and here was blasted through and partially molten.
Martin was perturbed. He reached for the pocket containing his notebook and was shocked to find he was wearing nothing but boxers. What had he been doing? He had a general feeling of unease and a bad taste in his mouth; something was going wrong a moment ago. Something to do with the message now adhering itself down and to the left of everything he looked at? Frowning, he sorted through internal menus until the message was deactivated, making note of what seemed to be an error log of considerable length. Something to do with the military hardware, which was, as far as he was concerned, nothing to do with him.
Martin reached down with his left arm to help push his considerable bulk to its feet, but couldn't feel anything. He reached for his left arm with his right, but yelped as he touched what he assumed was a snake. His system simulated a surge of adrenaline as he ripped the serpent from its hold on what he realized was an empty stump where his left arm used to be. He leapt to his feet, quickly deciding that the arm was one of those Things That Happened In The Past and that right now he should be getting out of this dark tunnel of snakes. He picked a direction and set off at a jog, only to fall face-first into a silent stream of running water in the darkness.
Martin resisted the urge to sigh, and turned off his need to breathe. It took only a moment for his dense body to touch the bottom of the stream, and he tried in vain to jump back up from whence he came.
Further down the stream, Martin could see a very bright blue color. Light from outside? He plodded heavily along the bottom of the stream towards it. As he passed under the blue, he realized that the light he had seen was only illuminating the already-blue color of the water itself.
Dyed blue? he reasoned. Where the hell am I?
His train of thought was cut short as the floor unexpectedly dropped out from under his next step. Unable to compensate against the current of the water, Martin fell forward sickeningly fast, instinctively tucking into a ball as he fell through the waterfall.
There was a loud clank as whatever he landed on gave way to his bulk, and then he dropped further through another tube filled with water.
Martin rubbed his hurt arm against his side as he inspected the damage. He was standing at the bottom of a gray cylinder. It had filled up with water from the waterfall above, and was overflowing out the top, which was originally covered by bars before he had smashed through them. Some sort of small figure was clearly at the top, wiggling out of the tube through the gap in the bars. Some sort of drowning trap? There was a ladder inset into the wall, which Martin took advantage of to climb out of his newly-made hole.
The android clambered awkwardly out of the tube and quickly adjusted his soaking undergarments, before properly inspecting his new acquaintance. His expression brightened in recognition, and the result of a bit of quick mental gymnastics and a heaping dollop of cognitive dissonance caused everything to make sense. He decided that he could appreciate the retro sensibilities of this sim game. "Hey, Rollo," Martin said to the game entity. "Remind me what I'm supposed to be doing right now, would you?"
Connection Lost.
The message had glued itself firmly to the bottom left corner of Martin's vision only moments after being taken from the medical center. Connection to what was unclear, but if Martin had to guess, reality itself would be his first conclusion. His eyes darted back and forth, panic firmly entrenching itself on his face, as he feverishly clutched the space on his chest where the sword had stabbed him moments prior. His artificial inner ear and artificial nerve endings in his artificial hair follicles all screamed at him that he was falling, and his metallic feet hit what he had to assume was the floor. Martin toppled over unceremoniously.
The whiteness that was his entire world split open into a chasm of black, which neatly arranged itself into a loose brick pattern beneath his feet and on two sides. With a click the space between them filled with a uniform gray.
Martin scrambled backwards frantically, head full of messy, synthetic hair bumping into another wall behind him with a weighty thud. He drew his knees up against his chest and covered his face with his hands, shaking.
Martin's modular systems included a multitude of bits and pieces installed to ensure that no one felt they were missing out on any part of "The Human Experience" by undergoing the transhuman transformation. A functional digestive system, respiratory system, and reproductive system, along with the accompanying simulated urges to make use of each were included. It also came with features like sweat and a heartbeat and desire to sleep. Each could be activated or deactivated individually by an internal menu. Martin tended to keep his on most of the time, except to squash the occasional awkward public erection or, at this particular moment, to spare himself the indignity of crying. Of course, this still left him sobbing and heaving, albeit tearlessly, in the corner of the room that had now closed itself entirely around him.
More distressing to Martin was the loss of his notepad, usually kept in his pants pocket. He wrote a detailed schedule inside, to serve the dual purpose of writing down what needed to be done, and keeping track of the forgotten events that had happened to him throughout the day. He twisted every which way and patted the ground, senselessly hoping that it would somehow appear by him. Of course, it would not. He wasn't wearing any pants.
With one pat, a box materialized in midair around his left arm, its edges composed of flashing dotted lines. Martin jumped back, startled, but his arm stayed in the same place, cleanly severing about halfway between his elbow and shoulder.
He yelped, feeling the exposed stump. That arm had always been military hardware, designed with minimal simulated nerve endings. There was no pain, but the feeling was still viscerally horrifying. This was all too much. Martin doubled over and retched, vomiting out a bit of half-digested oatmeal breakfast as the dotted-line box moved up in the small room. A humanlike figure was drawn into existence around it, looking like a coarse parody of Martin himself, but with proportions all wrong. Its shoulder lined up with the floating gun-arm's line of severance. Martin's gaze slowly traveled up the figure as its details were filled in. In the place of eyes, it was given black holes. Its mouth stretched fully from ear to ear, filled in with endless rows of needle teeth exposed by a wicked grin.
Almost as an afterthought, Martin's missing arm was replaced by a wriggling green tentacle. He spared it a momentary incredulous stare as it writhed, completely out of his control. Martin choked and coughed as he tried to cry out, spitting out an errant oat.
With an unfamiliar clack, the metal sheath forming the back of the gauntlet portion of Martin's hideous double's robot arm unfolded. In one quick sweep, the hand tucked back into the underside and a massive barrel slid forward, locking into place. Martin's jaw dropped open. He had, as far as he knew, never successfully activated the cannon; its safety could only be released by a signal from a military satellite when he was deployed for active duty. The gun made a high pitched whine as the doppleganger leveled it at Martin's face.
The Martin-horror's arm twitched and there was a terrible sound.
Connection Lost.
Martin made a quick attempt to evaluate his current situation and objectives. Darkness all around him, except for a few specks of what looked like pebbles, glowing orange and radiating heat. Above him, a hole. There was something white up there, and it looked like the border of the hole between there and here was blasted through and partially molten.
Martin was perturbed. He reached for the pocket containing his notebook and was shocked to find he was wearing nothing but boxers. What had he been doing? He had a general feeling of unease and a bad taste in his mouth; something was going wrong a moment ago. Something to do with the message now adhering itself down and to the left of everything he looked at? Frowning, he sorted through internal menus until the message was deactivated, making note of what seemed to be an error log of considerable length. Something to do with the military hardware, which was, as far as he was concerned, nothing to do with him.
Martin reached down with his left arm to help push his considerable bulk to its feet, but couldn't feel anything. He reached for his left arm with his right, but yelped as he touched what he assumed was a snake. His system simulated a surge of adrenaline as he ripped the serpent from its hold on what he realized was an empty stump where his left arm used to be. He leapt to his feet, quickly deciding that the arm was one of those Things That Happened In The Past and that right now he should be getting out of this dark tunnel of snakes. He picked a direction and set off at a jog, only to fall face-first into a silent stream of running water in the darkness.
Martin resisted the urge to sigh, and turned off his need to breathe. It took only a moment for his dense body to touch the bottom of the stream, and he tried in vain to jump back up from whence he came.
Further down the stream, Martin could see a very bright blue color. Light from outside? He plodded heavily along the bottom of the stream towards it. As he passed under the blue, he realized that the light he had seen was only illuminating the already-blue color of the water itself.
Dyed blue? he reasoned. Where the hell am I?
His train of thought was cut short as the floor unexpectedly dropped out from under his next step. Unable to compensate against the current of the water, Martin fell forward sickeningly fast, instinctively tucking into a ball as he fell through the waterfall.
There was a loud clank as whatever he landed on gave way to his bulk, and then he dropped further through another tube filled with water.
Martin rubbed his hurt arm against his side as he inspected the damage. He was standing at the bottom of a gray cylinder. It had filled up with water from the waterfall above, and was overflowing out the top, which was originally covered by bars before he had smashed through them. Some sort of small figure was clearly at the top, wiggling out of the tube through the gap in the bars. Some sort of drowning trap? There was a ladder inset into the wall, which Martin took advantage of to climb out of his newly-made hole.
The android clambered awkwardly out of the tube and quickly adjusted his soaking undergarments, before properly inspecting his new acquaintance. His expression brightened in recognition, and the result of a bit of quick mental gymnastics and a heaping dollop of cognitive dissonance caused everything to make sense. He decided that he could appreciate the retro sensibilities of this sim game. "Hey, Rollo," Martin said to the game entity. "Remind me what I'm supposed to be doing right now, would you?"