Re: The Relentless Slaughter [Round 1: Untitled-1]
02-20-2011, 05:03 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Baphomet.
Martin chuckled slightly, giving only a terse "No" in reply.
Rollo watched with a tinge of disappointment as Martin's attention directed itself elsewhere. Now an NPC in Martin's eyes, Rollo had become a tool for achieving the player's goals rather than an individual. He was, as always, willing to make the best of it. He knew he would fill his role in this thing as in all previous things. He wanted to be useful. Rollo mustered up his endless reserves of eagerness and smiled up at Martin, who by now had almost thoroughly disregarded him, scanning the mostly-empty horizon of this virtual game world.
Still, Rollo couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else to this. Something he couldn't quantify, something his experiences so far hadn't even given him the mental vocabulary to express. And furthermore, what kind of game was this? And this player, who was he? Half naked, part machine, and older, or at least having the appearance of being older. As much as he knew he wanted to be useful to Martin, he couldn't help but think the android was out of his target demographic.
Martin shared a similar sentiment. The prior moments of confusion and disorientation had seemed, momentarily, to fade away. Everything had clicked into place. A game. Of course. It made so much sense. Martin's mind, fearing a more dramatic and world-shattering revelation, had latched onto this concept. Some mystifying chain of events in his forgotten past had led to his playing a game for children in his underwear, perhaps for the amusement of the players behind some of the other PCs Rollo had mentioned. The game, likely due to ratings concerns or balance issues, had removed the gun arm from his player avatar.
Of course, he reasoned, now that he couldn't remember why he was playing and didn't have whatever emotional investment this thing may have managed to muster in him in the past, there was really no reason to continue. Perhaps the other players could provide an explanation when he quit. He held his arm out at his side. "Start," he blurted, with excessive enunciation, trying to use a command that the game console would understand.
Martin's brow furrowed. Nothing happened. Rollo trotted forward, extended finger on his chin, and looked up at Martin quizzically as he tried standing more erect, make his arm more perpendicular. "Start. Menu. Pause."
"<font color="brown">Can I help you with something?" Rollo asked, ever mindful of his place in the game heirarchy.
"Trying to open the menu," Martin replied frustratedly. He scratched his head and pointed straight up, repeating the three words. "Start. Menu. Pause." He touched his toes, and repeated again. He squatted and drew his arm around in a circle, speaking the three words in turn.
Rollo was mystified. Martin, in his eyes, had begun some sort of silly personal ritual, like a dance. Wanting to be useful, Rollo lifted a leg and held his arms out at odd angles. "Start, menu, pause!" he sang happily. He twisted his hips and got down on one knee, holding his arms like a weightlifter. "Start, menu, pause!" he repeated, shifting his stance again and again. Like some sort of tribal dance, he began bobbing his head up and down, shaking his arms every which way and skipping in a circle. "Start menu pause, start menu pause, start menu pause," he sang, making a melody of what had originally been mechanical commands.
Martin's patience wore out and frustration started to overtake him. He just wanted to quit this damn game, go check his notebook, and get something done with his day. This game was a waste of time. The lack of user-friendliness was one thing, but now it was actively mocking him? Subcutaneous pigment sacs injected a slight shade of red under the memory polymer on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked scornfully.
Rollo froze in the middle of an artful leap, hovering in midair with a surprised expression for a moment before dropping to the ground and looking sheepish. He was trying to have fun with Martin, but now he was angry? Rollo didn't understand the situation, but he was determined to make it better. "I am playing the game with you?" he replied, hoping the response would make Martin like him again.
"I don't want to play the game anymore. How do I open the menu?" There was a brief pause where Rollo looked like he was considering his response. "Rollo! How do I quit this?"
"I...I don't know!" Rollo replied. His expression snapped back to enthusiastic and he elaborated, "but I'm sure you'll find a way!"
Martin's face screwed itself into a look of disgusted incredulousness. He shook his head as he spat out his response. "You don't... You don't KNOW? How is, I mean what does that even mean? I don't want to sit here and play this game, Rollo! I am a human being and I want to go out and do human being things!" Desperation began to rise in Martin's voice and he gesticulated animatedly into the air. "I am breaking the fucking fourth wall here Rollo, how do I quit this fucking game?"
"Watch your language!" Rollo shouted, covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head. He was supposed to be useful! He was failing Martin when he needed it most! Why was this happening? "I don't know how to open the menu!"
Rollo dropped his hands from his face and looked up at Martin. His eyes widened in shock. Martin's metal foot swung through the air and connected squarely with Rollo's midsection. Rollo was so surprised that he didn't even roll up into a ball first.
The armadillo sailed in a neat arc through the air and tumbled, then skidded. Martin stood, legs askew, head down, nearly frozen. Rollo was a particularly unhelpful NPC. Martin was frustrated. If there were consequences for kicking Rollo in the game, what did it matter? He wanted out. But then, why did he feel so upset about this?
Rollo sat up and rubbed his head, now circled by stars and tweeting birds. He shook it, dismissing them, and looked across the empty space at Martin, drawing his knees up against his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. There were so many things he didn't understand. Martin finally looked him in the eye, brow still furrowed, but with a character more indicative of puzzlement than anger.
A long moment passed in silence.
Rollo spoke first, somberly. "What happened to your arm?"
"You're acknowledging..." Martin looked down at his useless metal stump, paused a moment, and looked back up. "Rollo?"
"Yes, Martin?"
Martin shook his head nearly imperceptibly as he voiced what they were both thinking. "Something is very wrong here."
Slowly, Rollo nodded.
In four-dimensional space surrounding the Canvas, The Tormentor exhaled and sat back in his seat. His manic grin had somehow managed to widen even further as he'd let this scene play out uninterrupted for the past minute. The fear and uncertainty, and all naturally-occurring! He broke out into peals of manic laughter at the deliciousness of it all. But, now resolved, he knew this little moment had exhausted its humor potential. He leaned forward, put the 4-D pen back to the 3-D space, and began scribbling furiously.
Martin rubbed his stump nervously. "Sorry," he said. He looked down, half-smiled and chuckled once at the ridiculousness of what he'd just done. "So, uh, when you said we should team up, is that still-"
"Look out!" Rollo shouted, jumping to his feet and pointing over Martin's shoulder. Martin turned to see something like a large, very shaggy dog scribble itself into existence behind him. His shoulders tensed up and he took a step back. Martin didn't like dogs. They made him uncomfortable, ever since he was a child. Not gibbering-in-fear uncomfortable, but certainly on edge.
The gibbering-in-fear level of discomfort didn't come until the legs were drawn in, all six of them, each a good 15 feet in length and no thicker than a pool stick. The large, round, white luminous eyes didn't help the picture either. Martin practically tripped over himself as he backed away, and he started to stutter.
"S...It's... the...why is..."
The image moved and Martin turned and bolted. "Stiltwalker!" He shouted, remembering the name it had been given in the tales he'd read, up far too late in front of a glowing screen.</font>
Martin chuckled slightly, giving only a terse "No" in reply.
Rollo watched with a tinge of disappointment as Martin's attention directed itself elsewhere. Now an NPC in Martin's eyes, Rollo had become a tool for achieving the player's goals rather than an individual. He was, as always, willing to make the best of it. He knew he would fill his role in this thing as in all previous things. He wanted to be useful. Rollo mustered up his endless reserves of eagerness and smiled up at Martin, who by now had almost thoroughly disregarded him, scanning the mostly-empty horizon of this virtual game world.
Still, Rollo couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else to this. Something he couldn't quantify, something his experiences so far hadn't even given him the mental vocabulary to express. And furthermore, what kind of game was this? And this player, who was he? Half naked, part machine, and older, or at least having the appearance of being older. As much as he knew he wanted to be useful to Martin, he couldn't help but think the android was out of his target demographic.
Martin shared a similar sentiment. The prior moments of confusion and disorientation had seemed, momentarily, to fade away. Everything had clicked into place. A game. Of course. It made so much sense. Martin's mind, fearing a more dramatic and world-shattering revelation, had latched onto this concept. Some mystifying chain of events in his forgotten past had led to his playing a game for children in his underwear, perhaps for the amusement of the players behind some of the other PCs Rollo had mentioned. The game, likely due to ratings concerns or balance issues, had removed the gun arm from his player avatar.
Of course, he reasoned, now that he couldn't remember why he was playing and didn't have whatever emotional investment this thing may have managed to muster in him in the past, there was really no reason to continue. Perhaps the other players could provide an explanation when he quit. He held his arm out at his side. "Start," he blurted, with excessive enunciation, trying to use a command that the game console would understand.
Martin's brow furrowed. Nothing happened. Rollo trotted forward, extended finger on his chin, and looked up at Martin quizzically as he tried standing more erect, make his arm more perpendicular. "Start. Menu. Pause."
"<font color="brown">Can I help you with something?" Rollo asked, ever mindful of his place in the game heirarchy.
"Trying to open the menu," Martin replied frustratedly. He scratched his head and pointed straight up, repeating the three words. "Start. Menu. Pause." He touched his toes, and repeated again. He squatted and drew his arm around in a circle, speaking the three words in turn.
Rollo was mystified. Martin, in his eyes, had begun some sort of silly personal ritual, like a dance. Wanting to be useful, Rollo lifted a leg and held his arms out at odd angles. "Start, menu, pause!" he sang happily. He twisted his hips and got down on one knee, holding his arms like a weightlifter. "Start, menu, pause!" he repeated, shifting his stance again and again. Like some sort of tribal dance, he began bobbing his head up and down, shaking his arms every which way and skipping in a circle. "Start menu pause, start menu pause, start menu pause," he sang, making a melody of what had originally been mechanical commands.
Martin's patience wore out and frustration started to overtake him. He just wanted to quit this damn game, go check his notebook, and get something done with his day. This game was a waste of time. The lack of user-friendliness was one thing, but now it was actively mocking him? Subcutaneous pigment sacs injected a slight shade of red under the memory polymer on his face. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked scornfully.
Rollo froze in the middle of an artful leap, hovering in midair with a surprised expression for a moment before dropping to the ground and looking sheepish. He was trying to have fun with Martin, but now he was angry? Rollo didn't understand the situation, but he was determined to make it better. "I am playing the game with you?" he replied, hoping the response would make Martin like him again.
"I don't want to play the game anymore. How do I open the menu?" There was a brief pause where Rollo looked like he was considering his response. "Rollo! How do I quit this?"
"I...I don't know!" Rollo replied. His expression snapped back to enthusiastic and he elaborated, "but I'm sure you'll find a way!"
Martin's face screwed itself into a look of disgusted incredulousness. He shook his head as he spat out his response. "You don't... You don't KNOW? How is, I mean what does that even mean? I don't want to sit here and play this game, Rollo! I am a human being and I want to go out and do human being things!" Desperation began to rise in Martin's voice and he gesticulated animatedly into the air. "I am breaking the fucking fourth wall here Rollo, how do I quit this fucking game?"
"Watch your language!" Rollo shouted, covering his eyes with his hands and shaking his head. He was supposed to be useful! He was failing Martin when he needed it most! Why was this happening? "I don't know how to open the menu!"
Rollo dropped his hands from his face and looked up at Martin. His eyes widened in shock. Martin's metal foot swung through the air and connected squarely with Rollo's midsection. Rollo was so surprised that he didn't even roll up into a ball first.
The armadillo sailed in a neat arc through the air and tumbled, then skidded. Martin stood, legs askew, head down, nearly frozen. Rollo was a particularly unhelpful NPC. Martin was frustrated. If there were consequences for kicking Rollo in the game, what did it matter? He wanted out. But then, why did he feel so upset about this?
Rollo sat up and rubbed his head, now circled by stars and tweeting birds. He shook it, dismissing them, and looked across the empty space at Martin, drawing his knees up against his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. There were so many things he didn't understand. Martin finally looked him in the eye, brow still furrowed, but with a character more indicative of puzzlement than anger.
A long moment passed in silence.
Rollo spoke first, somberly. "What happened to your arm?"
"You're acknowledging..." Martin looked down at his useless metal stump, paused a moment, and looked back up. "Rollo?"
"Yes, Martin?"
Martin shook his head nearly imperceptibly as he voiced what they were both thinking. "Something is very wrong here."
Slowly, Rollo nodded.
In four-dimensional space surrounding the Canvas, The Tormentor exhaled and sat back in his seat. His manic grin had somehow managed to widen even further as he'd let this scene play out uninterrupted for the past minute. The fear and uncertainty, and all naturally-occurring! He broke out into peals of manic laughter at the deliciousness of it all. But, now resolved, he knew this little moment had exhausted its humor potential. He leaned forward, put the 4-D pen back to the 3-D space, and began scribbling furiously.
Martin rubbed his stump nervously. "Sorry," he said. He looked down, half-smiled and chuckled once at the ridiculousness of what he'd just done. "So, uh, when you said we should team up, is that still-"
"Look out!" Rollo shouted, jumping to his feet and pointing over Martin's shoulder. Martin turned to see something like a large, very shaggy dog scribble itself into existence behind him. His shoulders tensed up and he took a step back. Martin didn't like dogs. They made him uncomfortable, ever since he was a child. Not gibbering-in-fear uncomfortable, but certainly on edge.
The gibbering-in-fear level of discomfort didn't come until the legs were drawn in, all six of them, each a good 15 feet in length and no thicker than a pool stick. The large, round, white luminous eyes didn't help the picture either. Martin practically tripped over himself as he backed away, and he started to stutter.
"S...It's... the...why is..."
The image moved and Martin turned and bolted. "Stiltwalker!" He shouted, remembering the name it had been given in the tales he'd read, up far too late in front of a glowing screen.</font>