RE: The $300,000 Fight-A-Thon! [Round Two: Toyetic!]
06-16-2013, 08:31 PM
A toy store.
"Mom, can I get this Axys action figure? It's the new one, with the laser eyes and energy drain! And it even talks! Listen!"
The kid pressed a button strangely located on the posterior, and it gave off a tinny "Enough of your damn fish puns."
"Charlie, don't you have enough Axes dolls?"
"It's Axesys, Mom! Everyone knows that! And they're action figures! I swear, you are so uncool. So can I get it? Huh?"
The mother nursed her growing headache, and fingered her purse for those last few aspirin pills. A thundering crash echoed throughout the toy store, and she dropped the pills. Cursing, she looked around for the source of the noise. Her son ran up to her and held her hand.
Someone screamed. It was the keening sound of someone dying. Not that she'd know what it meant.
She held on to her son's hand as tightly as possible.
---
tick
tock
Warden ticked, and he tocked, but otherwise, he did not move.
He was contemplating the Artiste. Why had he agreed to join him? He was a foul despicable being who toyed with living creatures' bodies, and reveled from the depraved sight of blood. He was a heretic of the highest caliber, surpassing even the Coach and the other contestants. Yet... he willfully joined him. He could blame mind control, but a part of him knew what happened there.
He had seen the Artiste as a higher planar entity. As a ... god. Who could help him.
He was a heretic.
Somberly, he stopped ticking. He no longer deserved to be the Demon's Clock, the Harbinger of Pain, or the Great and Majestically Intimidating Warden of the Sixth Ring. Now, he was just an ordinary heretic. He frantically looked around, expecting a severe smiting, but nothing happened. With an eerie calm, he began surveying his location, and considering his new situation. The organic side of his mind rose up at last, and quashed the mechanical side, which was now useless. He could think clearly again. Yet, he was so utterly confused. He had not actually made a successful thought in... a very long time. Was it 100 years? 200? Either way, he was totally lost. But he felt like he could breathe again. Even if he didn't have lungs. Damn this accursed metal body!
He was currently in an uncomfortably narrow yet clean alley. People passed by the entries, but did not so much as glance his way. He remembered the Coach saying something about a watch. He looked down, and discovered a watch, awkwardly attached to one of the gears of his lower left arm. The strap was dangerously close to being shredded, so it was fortunate in a way that he decided to stop his mechanisms. He plucked it off with another arm, and wrapped it around the arrow protruding from his face that would normally have indicated the time. Once he made sure it was secure, he decided to start moving his face once more. It felt alien to him.
Now... as for the Coach. He may have thrown away his duties, but he still did not feel at all amicable towards the Coach. He realized uncomfortably that the Coach was probably the same as the Artiste, which would have made him another god. His mind rejected the idea, but... he needed answers. He needed guidance. He went through his mental files, and found a set of rules, as announced by the Coach himself. It had been categorized as Unimportant, due to his rejection of the Coach. Now, however....
He remembered that he was supposed to kill the other contestants. Thize had already died, at Eriz's hands. Axys had been spirited away, by the Coach, he assumed. That left five more. He supposed that maybe it was actually not all that necessary to kill the contestants, but the Coach had ensured that it was the only way out of this competition. And he so desperately wanted to leave. He needed his sense of control back. Without it, he felt so pathetically lost.
His regular tick-tock was back, but it was not right. It was not calibrated to the proper time. He would have to fix it. He floated off in search of a working clock.
---
Meanwhile, at a water processing plant.
A worker scratched his chest. The suit they had put him in was uncomfortable as fuck. And it was a gaudy orange, on top of that. He couldn't wait to get off his shift in 10 minutes. If today were a normal day, he would have been home 15 minutes ago. Maybe with an ice cold beer in front of the TV, watching football. But no, he had to have plans.
He looked down at his watch. It was time. He walked over to a drinking water filtration area, took out a packet from his suit, and poured the chemical in it, whatever it was. It smelled like someone threw up all over roadkill. Trust him, he would know. He chuckled a little bit at the memories. He carelessly tossed the now-empty packet over his shoulder and went outside to his pickup truck. He looked in the back, ascertaining that he still had the boxes filled with clean bottled water, and he drove home at last.
Now he would finally be able to pay off his debt and leave this town.
---
Caring little for whoever saw him, he departed the alley, and headed right. He ended up in front of a gigantic toy store. He noted that people were looking at him in shock. He was about to excuse himself into the store, when one of them piped up.
"Whoa. Is that the new Digital-Analog Warden Clock Mechanism I've been hearing about?"
"It looks really expensive. And kinda scary."
One of the employees, who had also been staring in shock, chose this moment to become Employee of the Month in one fell swoop.
"Why, yes, this is indeed the Digital-Analog Warden Clock Mechanism. Just got it in yesterday. It's a top-of-the-line model that can tell time down to the exact nanosecond. It floats on... magnetism, and it can be fitted in your wall just as easily. Only $300,000."
"Gosh. I'd certainly like that."
"It's gruesome, yes, but I bet my son would like it."
"Isn't it just a little bit off, though? My watch says it's 15 seconds slow."
Warden had been uncomfortably scrutinizing the people who were inspecting him, and none of the crowd seemed to have committed any sins, with the exception of the employee and his minor displays of greed. He supposed it didn't matter, because he was no longer worthy to punish sinners. At the comment of his watch, he chose to speak up.
"Ahem."
"Wha-!"
"May I see that watch? I will perform the necessary calibrations on myself."
"It talks!"
"Wow! I thought the price was a little steep, but it actually seems like a bargain, for this fantastic invention!"
The one with the watch nervously showed his wrist to Warden, and Warden clacked back 15 ticks, and resumed his rotation. The feeling of finally being on the right time was so very satisfying. Never again would he lose track of time. He may not be the Demon's Clock anymore, but he was a clock, after all. He had the right to tell time. While he was relishing in the unusually organic feeling of pleasure, a very rich-looking gentleman actually wrote a check and handed it over to the employee, who looked like he was about to die from glee. This customer then pompously indicated Warden to follow him. Having nothing else to do, he followed.
He was, of course, deep in thought. Why did he feel so wrong when his time was only off by 15 seconds? Could it have been his mechanical brain fighting back for control? And there was the employee, who had swindled the rich man out of his hard-earned money. It was such a flagrant display of greed that he ought to have punished the man right there and then. He didn't even need any instruments, his claws were plenty sharp enough. The urge nearly overpowered him, and he had to fight himself for control. Something bristled inside him, and he turned around without thinking.
The rich man had noticed, and he yelled, "Hey! You turn around right this instant! I will not allow you to deprive my son of a birthday gift."
To which Warden said, "I am NOT a gift."
Red rage boiled over, and he punched the wall besides him. It exploded forth, collapsing this entire side of the store. Debris hit the next building, and that one collapsed as well. Lifelines flickered out before his metaphysical eyes, and at each one, he felt more and more shattered. The lives of the dead spoke to him, and they all said:
"Heretic. Heretic. Heretic.
You have sinned. Present yourself to Lucifer for dis-assembly.
HERETIC HERETIC HERETIC.
You have proven yourself unworthy of the Greater Demon rank, and you are now nothing but a common imp.
HERETIC! HERETIC! HERETIC!"
He was a sinner. His body shuddered, and started dropping gears. Frantically, he ran off to the roof of the nearest intact building, dropping a trail of gears, and even one arm.
---
A light blinked.
It was coming from the watch.
It spoke to him.
And it told him to get up.
But it was just a machine. Why would it tell him to get up?
Get up.
He was worthless. He was lower than a machine.
Get up.
The light showed him the way.
He tried to move, but he could not.
The watch moved a gear. It guided the way.
Slowly, he started moving.
But he was so tired.
He went to sleep.
The turning intensified, and a gruesome skull finally rose up, tick-tocking on a rhythm indepent of time itself.
Curses. This was an inauspicious situation. He had been left on this rooftop, missing many of his gears. He checked his mental database, and found that his mechanisms had last been interrupted when he spoke to the Artiste. The Artiste would surely suffer for this memory loss.
A watch blinked, and he knew where to go.
He followed the light.
"Mom, can I get this Axys action figure? It's the new one, with the laser eyes and energy drain! And it even talks! Listen!"
The kid pressed a button strangely located on the posterior, and it gave off a tinny "Enough of your damn fish puns."
"Charlie, don't you have enough Axes dolls?"
"It's Axesys, Mom! Everyone knows that! And they're action figures! I swear, you are so uncool. So can I get it? Huh?"
The mother nursed her growing headache, and fingered her purse for those last few aspirin pills. A thundering crash echoed throughout the toy store, and she dropped the pills. Cursing, she looked around for the source of the noise. Her son ran up to her and held her hand.
Someone screamed. It was the keening sound of someone dying. Not that she'd know what it meant.
She held on to her son's hand as tightly as possible.
---
tick
tock
Warden ticked, and he tocked, but otherwise, he did not move.
He was contemplating the Artiste. Why had he agreed to join him? He was a foul despicable being who toyed with living creatures' bodies, and reveled from the depraved sight of blood. He was a heretic of the highest caliber, surpassing even the Coach and the other contestants. Yet... he willfully joined him. He could blame mind control, but a part of him knew what happened there.
He had seen the Artiste as a higher planar entity. As a ... god. Who could help him.
He was a heretic.
Somberly, he stopped ticking. He no longer deserved to be the Demon's Clock, the Harbinger of Pain, or the Great and Majestically Intimidating Warden of the Sixth Ring. Now, he was just an ordinary heretic. He frantically looked around, expecting a severe smiting, but nothing happened. With an eerie calm, he began surveying his location, and considering his new situation. The organic side of his mind rose up at last, and quashed the mechanical side, which was now useless. He could think clearly again. Yet, he was so utterly confused. He had not actually made a successful thought in... a very long time. Was it 100 years? 200? Either way, he was totally lost. But he felt like he could breathe again. Even if he didn't have lungs. Damn this accursed metal body!
He was currently in an uncomfortably narrow yet clean alley. People passed by the entries, but did not so much as glance his way. He remembered the Coach saying something about a watch. He looked down, and discovered a watch, awkwardly attached to one of the gears of his lower left arm. The strap was dangerously close to being shredded, so it was fortunate in a way that he decided to stop his mechanisms. He plucked it off with another arm, and wrapped it around the arrow protruding from his face that would normally have indicated the time. Once he made sure it was secure, he decided to start moving his face once more. It felt alien to him.
Now... as for the Coach. He may have thrown away his duties, but he still did not feel at all amicable towards the Coach. He realized uncomfortably that the Coach was probably the same as the Artiste, which would have made him another god. His mind rejected the idea, but... he needed answers. He needed guidance. He went through his mental files, and found a set of rules, as announced by the Coach himself. It had been categorized as Unimportant, due to his rejection of the Coach. Now, however....
He remembered that he was supposed to kill the other contestants. Thize had already died, at Eriz's hands. Axys had been spirited away, by the Coach, he assumed. That left five more. He supposed that maybe it was actually not all that necessary to kill the contestants, but the Coach had ensured that it was the only way out of this competition. And he so desperately wanted to leave. He needed his sense of control back. Without it, he felt so pathetically lost.
His regular tick-tock was back, but it was not right. It was not calibrated to the proper time. He would have to fix it. He floated off in search of a working clock.
---
Meanwhile, at a water processing plant.
A worker scratched his chest. The suit they had put him in was uncomfortable as fuck. And it was a gaudy orange, on top of that. He couldn't wait to get off his shift in 10 minutes. If today were a normal day, he would have been home 15 minutes ago. Maybe with an ice cold beer in front of the TV, watching football. But no, he had to have plans.
He looked down at his watch. It was time. He walked over to a drinking water filtration area, took out a packet from his suit, and poured the chemical in it, whatever it was. It smelled like someone threw up all over roadkill. Trust him, he would know. He chuckled a little bit at the memories. He carelessly tossed the now-empty packet over his shoulder and went outside to his pickup truck. He looked in the back, ascertaining that he still had the boxes filled with clean bottled water, and he drove home at last.
Now he would finally be able to pay off his debt and leave this town.
---
Caring little for whoever saw him, he departed the alley, and headed right. He ended up in front of a gigantic toy store. He noted that people were looking at him in shock. He was about to excuse himself into the store, when one of them piped up.
"Whoa. Is that the new Digital-Analog Warden Clock Mechanism I've been hearing about?"
"It looks really expensive. And kinda scary."
One of the employees, who had also been staring in shock, chose this moment to become Employee of the Month in one fell swoop.
"Why, yes, this is indeed the Digital-Analog Warden Clock Mechanism. Just got it in yesterday. It's a top-of-the-line model that can tell time down to the exact nanosecond. It floats on... magnetism, and it can be fitted in your wall just as easily. Only $300,000."
"Gosh. I'd certainly like that."
"It's gruesome, yes, but I bet my son would like it."
"Isn't it just a little bit off, though? My watch says it's 15 seconds slow."
Warden had been uncomfortably scrutinizing the people who were inspecting him, and none of the crowd seemed to have committed any sins, with the exception of the employee and his minor displays of greed. He supposed it didn't matter, because he was no longer worthy to punish sinners. At the comment of his watch, he chose to speak up.
"Ahem."
"Wha-!"
"May I see that watch? I will perform the necessary calibrations on myself."
"It talks!"
"Wow! I thought the price was a little steep, but it actually seems like a bargain, for this fantastic invention!"
The one with the watch nervously showed his wrist to Warden, and Warden clacked back 15 ticks, and resumed his rotation. The feeling of finally being on the right time was so very satisfying. Never again would he lose track of time. He may not be the Demon's Clock anymore, but he was a clock, after all. He had the right to tell time. While he was relishing in the unusually organic feeling of pleasure, a very rich-looking gentleman actually wrote a check and handed it over to the employee, who looked like he was about to die from glee. This customer then pompously indicated Warden to follow him. Having nothing else to do, he followed.
He was, of course, deep in thought. Why did he feel so wrong when his time was only off by 15 seconds? Could it have been his mechanical brain fighting back for control? And there was the employee, who had swindled the rich man out of his hard-earned money. It was such a flagrant display of greed that he ought to have punished the man right there and then. He didn't even need any instruments, his claws were plenty sharp enough. The urge nearly overpowered him, and he had to fight himself for control. Something bristled inside him, and he turned around without thinking.
The rich man had noticed, and he yelled, "Hey! You turn around right this instant! I will not allow you to deprive my son of a birthday gift."
To which Warden said, "I am NOT a gift."
Red rage boiled over, and he punched the wall besides him. It exploded forth, collapsing this entire side of the store. Debris hit the next building, and that one collapsed as well. Lifelines flickered out before his metaphysical eyes, and at each one, he felt more and more shattered. The lives of the dead spoke to him, and they all said:
"Heretic. Heretic. Heretic.
You have sinned. Present yourself to Lucifer for dis-assembly.
HERETIC HERETIC HERETIC.
You have proven yourself unworthy of the Greater Demon rank, and you are now nothing but a common imp.
HERETIC! HERETIC! HERETIC!"
He was a sinner. His body shuddered, and started dropping gears. Frantically, he ran off to the roof of the nearest intact building, dropping a trail of gears, and even one arm.
---
A light blinked.
It was coming from the watch.
It spoke to him.
And it told him to get up.
But it was just a machine. Why would it tell him to get up?
Get up.
He was worthless. He was lower than a machine.
Get up.
The light showed him the way.
He tried to move, but he could not.
The watch moved a gear. It guided the way.
Slowly, he started moving.
But he was so tired.
He went to sleep.
The turning intensified, and a gruesome skull finally rose up, tick-tocking on a rhythm indepent of time itself.
Curses. This was an inauspicious situation. He had been left on this rooftop, missing many of his gears. He checked his mental database, and found that his mechanisms had last been interrupted when he spoke to the Artiste. The Artiste would surely suffer for this memory loss.
A watch blinked, and he knew where to go.
He followed the light.
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