RE: Quick Dirty Bastards: Like Cats to a Flame
07-05-2013, 11:59 PM
CYBERINTERROGATION, WITH PETE AND PETEST
"Knock knock!" said Guy Peterson.
"Who... who's there?" said a locked folder, sweating profusely. Pete was turning the air conditioning up to create exactly this result. Also, to compound it, he had brought a virtual boombox and loaded a digicassette of C+C Music Factory's Gonna Make You Sweat into it.
"What's the password?" said Guy.
"What's the password... who?" said the folder.
"Who!" said Petest, to no response. "Well, that's not the password. You're up, Pete."
Pete cyberslapped the bare virtua-lightbulb in the center of the concrete bunker they called an interrogation room. He turned a digital wooden chair around backwards and sat in it, staring across the table at the locked folder, also sitting backwards in a chair, but only because it was tied to the chair like that. Already he was sweating. Even without an iron cybermaiden like he had requested, Pete still had a few tricks up his sleeves. Like the air conditioning. The air conditioning in his sleeves.
Pete cyberslapped the folder. "WHERE'D YOU BURY THE PASSWORD, YOU BASTARD?!"
Guy is all like, "Don't do that! That only happens in crime dramas! It's immoral and ineffective! Wah wah wah wah!"
Pete cyberslapped Guy. "I'M CRAZY NUTSO, I'LL EVEN SLAP THIS GUY WHO I LIKE . DO YOU WANT ON MY BAD SIDE?! DO YA, PUNK?!"
"N-no!" virtua-stammered the locked folder. "I-I-I-I buried it in the digiforest, in a cybershallow virtua-grave, under some digitwigs and cyberleaves, but I don't remember exactly virtua-where!"
Pete cyberspat in the folder's face. It was the closest he could get to virtual waterboarding in this podunk rural virtua-town. "Send out the sprite squandron, Petest. We're gonna check every shallow grave in the area," Pete said, without stammering. Petest and Pete turned to leave. Just before he walked through the door, though, Pete turned around, said, "oh, just one more question," and then he just cold shot the folder in the fucking face and left.
"Knock knock!" said Guy Peterson.
"Who... who's there?" said a locked folder, sweating profusely. Pete was turning the air conditioning up to create exactly this result. Also, to compound it, he had brought a virtual boombox and loaded a digicassette of C+C Music Factory's Gonna Make You Sweat into it.
"What's the password?" said Guy.
"What's the password... who?" said the folder.
"Who!" said Petest, to no response. "Well, that's not the password. You're up, Pete."
Pete cyberslapped the bare virtua-lightbulb in the center of the concrete bunker they called an interrogation room. He turned a digital wooden chair around backwards and sat in it, staring across the table at the locked folder, also sitting backwards in a chair, but only because it was tied to the chair like that. Already he was sweating. Even without an iron cybermaiden like he had requested, Pete still had a few tricks up his sleeves. Like the air conditioning. The air conditioning in his sleeves.
Pete cyberslapped the folder. "WHERE'D YOU BURY THE PASSWORD, YOU BASTARD?!"
Guy is all like, "Don't do that! That only happens in crime dramas! It's immoral and ineffective! Wah wah wah wah!"
Pete cyberslapped Guy. "I'M CRAZY NUTSO, I'LL EVEN SLAP THIS GUY WHO I LIKE . DO YOU WANT ON MY BAD SIDE?! DO YA, PUNK?!"
"N-no!" virtua-stammered the locked folder. "I-I-I-I buried it in the digiforest, in a cybershallow virtua-grave, under some digitwigs and cyberleaves, but I don't remember exactly virtua-where!"
Pete cyberspat in the folder's face. It was the closest he could get to virtual waterboarding in this podunk rural virtua-town. "Send out the sprite squandron, Petest. We're gonna check every shallow grave in the area," Pete said, without stammering. Petest and Pete turned to leave. Just before he walked through the door, though, Pete turned around, said, "oh, just one more question," and then he just cold shot the folder in the fucking face and left.