RE: The Relentless Slaughter [Round 3: Tormentorland]
07-07-2014, 07:53 PM
”Sir? You might want to see this.”
At these words, Dodger broke out into a sweat. That particular sentence was never a suggestion, even when it was, and it was never about something nice. It was never 'you might want to see this video of a cute animal walking into a mirror' or 'you might want to see this graph of numbers going up instead of down,' but something more like 'you might want to see this list of all the casualties we've had and all the lawsuits that are currently being filed against us oh and also here's a picture of a satanic ritual involving your mother.' (That last one actually happened too, a nightmare for PR.)
He took a deep breath for self-defense and braced himself. “What?”
“We have taken into custody an individual who claims to know something about the bombing of the InDim trains. He is currently being held in the interrogation room, and I thought you would like to oversee – “
“Wait, hold on; we have an interrogation room?”
The secretary, bless its five hearts, managed to make no significant response whatsoever to that obviously stupid question. Dodger didn't know its name at all, but it was very efficient, even if it sometimes chittered unnervingly and stared at him with carefully suppressed emotion. “Please follow me.”
They did indeed have an interrogation room. It was tucked away like a child afraid of vampires somewhere below the Roll Like a Rollo Ride. Inside the room, Dodger could see what seemed to be a young, bipedal boy, rather unfussed about the whole situation. For some reason, he had square holes in his hands. His eyes flicked about the room lazily, trying to find some detail to hold his attention, but to him, the only thing to really stare at was himself and the chair he was in.
The secretary leaned into a microphone. “We have returned. We have decided to hear what you have to say.”
The boy brightened up and uncrossed his arms, though he still didn't know where to look. “Great, okay. So how're we doing this? You ask me questions and I answer, or I just blab?” his voice crackled, clawing its way out of a nearby speaker.
“Tell us the identity of the bomber.”
“First option, alright. So, uh, I don't think I can actually pronounce his name or anything, so can I just say 'Vuul' or something? His full name's like...Vum....ramlamvul...you get the idea. He's, um, a Battlecleric? Of the 'Alvum Imperium' or something like that. Really scary. Really well-armed.”
Leaning towards his secretary, Dodger whispered, “He really doesn't sound very sure.”
“There is no need to whisper, sir, he cannot hear us as long as the microphone is off.”
“Oh.”
“I can confirm that the race of 'Alvum' exists and is listed in the Interuniversal Database as a classified sentient and sapient species. They are rigorously caste-focused and constantly seek to expand their territory. If an Alvum Battlecleric truly is here, it does not bode well for the future of this establishment. One Battlecleric is akin to an army, and we do not currently have the proper equipment to deal with one, nor are we capable of asking for it as all travel and communication systems are down.”
“Oh,” said Dodger, and he nodded slowly because he thought he was expected to do so. “That's bad. So what does some one-man army want with an amusement park?”
The secretary blinked behind its holographic visor and leaned into the microphone once more. “What does some one-man army –- “
“Woah woah, that was just a hypothetical! I didn't mean – “
“ – want with an amusement park?”
The boy in the room stopped rocking in his chair immediately. “Oh. Um.” Apparently, the question hadn't occurred to him. “I mean...he's kinda insane...? I guess...he's a real religious nut...or something. Like...always doing something in the name of whatever god he's following?”
“Interesting,” the secretary chittered, doing that thing with its tongue analog that instilled a deep, ancestral fear broiling in Dodger's gut.
“It is?”
“I would have expected the answer to be along the lines of conquest. However, this boy seems to be uncertain about the basic nature of the Alvum species. I apologize, sir, I believe this informant is not very informative after all,” the secretary said, punctuating its remarks with a tap on the microphone button.
“He isn't?”
“You are a poor liar, boy. If we were in danger from an Alvum attack, it would be made obvious.”
“It would?” Dodger repeated, and was very gratified to hear the boy say the same, in the same bewildered tone.
“The Alvum are not a species known for subtlety and subterfuge in tactics. By claiming a danger that does not exist, you seek to sow unwarranted panic during a time that does not need it. This puts your intentions under a more sinister light, and so we will perhaps require a more probing interrogation until I am convinced you have told us the truth.”
The boy was standing up now, legs tensed with nowhere to run. Dodger poked at the secretary's shoulder. “Uh. Are you really suggesting that we're gonna torture a kid? Or did I hear you wrong? Please tell me I heard you wrong.”
The secretary stood stiffly, as usual, as its holographic visor blinked on and obscured its eyes. “I will do whatever is necessary for the safety of this establishment, sir.”
“Okay, wow,” said Dodger, shuffling a few steps away, “I really hope PR doesn't get wind of this.”
“He's really here, though!” came the kid's voice, snapping both the secretary and Dodger's attention back to the speaker. The desperation was made somewhat unintelligible through the crackly quality. “Okay, I admit, I don't really know much about the guy, I think I saw him, like, one time? But he's actually here and the longer he's here, the, uh, more bad things that'll happen!”
The secretary clicked its tongue analog on the roof of its, well, Dodger just called it a mouth. “He's being more truthful.”
“So we aren't torturing the kid, right?”
The boy finally walked right up to the one-way mirror, eyes pointed squarely in the middle, right where nobody in particular was standing. “You know about what this guy's like better than me, right? So even if he isn't following like his usual alien overlord or whatever, he's still gonna find someone else to follow, and he's gonna follow that person to the letter. You can see how dangerous that is, right?”
The secretary stared straight ahead, finger hovering over the microphone button. “Sir?”
“What? Oh!” Right. He was supposed to be the top dog, wasn't he? This seemed like one of those top dog decisions that top dogs make in response to a top dog problem. To the soundtrack of an increasingly desperate sales pitch in response to their perceived silence, Dodger said, “Well, it does sound dangerous.”
The secretary leaned into the microphone. “Your concerns have been judged to be adequate enough to require an eviction of this being you call Vuul from the premises.” The lopsided smile the boy gave back was half-relief and half-'eh, good enough.' “But we do not have the resources to do so, and your claims are still questionable.” The relief drained away like water off a camel's back, or however the saying went.
“So, what does that mean?” he asked, backing up towards the chair again.
“It means we are enlisting you to deal with Vuul and remove him from the area with minimal damage to the surrounding people and property, if he really is the threat you say he is.”
Samael blinked. It was entirely possible that things could not have gone any worse than it just did. Proooobably coulda thought this through a little more.
At these words, Dodger broke out into a sweat. That particular sentence was never a suggestion, even when it was, and it was never about something nice. It was never 'you might want to see this video of a cute animal walking into a mirror' or 'you might want to see this graph of numbers going up instead of down,' but something more like 'you might want to see this list of all the casualties we've had and all the lawsuits that are currently being filed against us oh and also here's a picture of a satanic ritual involving your mother.' (That last one actually happened too, a nightmare for PR.)
He took a deep breath for self-defense and braced himself. “What?”
“We have taken into custody an individual who claims to know something about the bombing of the InDim trains. He is currently being held in the interrogation room, and I thought you would like to oversee – “
“Wait, hold on; we have an interrogation room?”
The secretary, bless its five hearts, managed to make no significant response whatsoever to that obviously stupid question. Dodger didn't know its name at all, but it was very efficient, even if it sometimes chittered unnervingly and stared at him with carefully suppressed emotion. “Please follow me.”
They did indeed have an interrogation room. It was tucked away like a child afraid of vampires somewhere below the Roll Like a Rollo Ride. Inside the room, Dodger could see what seemed to be a young, bipedal boy, rather unfussed about the whole situation. For some reason, he had square holes in his hands. His eyes flicked about the room lazily, trying to find some detail to hold his attention, but to him, the only thing to really stare at was himself and the chair he was in.
The secretary leaned into a microphone. “We have returned. We have decided to hear what you have to say.”
The boy brightened up and uncrossed his arms, though he still didn't know where to look. “Great, okay. So how're we doing this? You ask me questions and I answer, or I just blab?” his voice crackled, clawing its way out of a nearby speaker.
“Tell us the identity of the bomber.”
“First option, alright. So, uh, I don't think I can actually pronounce his name or anything, so can I just say 'Vuul' or something? His full name's like...Vum....ramlamvul...you get the idea. He's, um, a Battlecleric? Of the 'Alvum Imperium' or something like that. Really scary. Really well-armed.”
Leaning towards his secretary, Dodger whispered, “He really doesn't sound very sure.”
“There is no need to whisper, sir, he cannot hear us as long as the microphone is off.”
“Oh.”
“I can confirm that the race of 'Alvum' exists and is listed in the Interuniversal Database as a classified sentient and sapient species. They are rigorously caste-focused and constantly seek to expand their territory. If an Alvum Battlecleric truly is here, it does not bode well for the future of this establishment. One Battlecleric is akin to an army, and we do not currently have the proper equipment to deal with one, nor are we capable of asking for it as all travel and communication systems are down.”
“Oh,” said Dodger, and he nodded slowly because he thought he was expected to do so. “That's bad. So what does some one-man army want with an amusement park?”
The secretary blinked behind its holographic visor and leaned into the microphone once more. “What does some one-man army –- “
“Woah woah, that was just a hypothetical! I didn't mean – “
“ – want with an amusement park?”
The boy in the room stopped rocking in his chair immediately. “Oh. Um.” Apparently, the question hadn't occurred to him. “I mean...he's kinda insane...? I guess...he's a real religious nut...or something. Like...always doing something in the name of whatever god he's following?”
“Interesting,” the secretary chittered, doing that thing with its tongue analog that instilled a deep, ancestral fear broiling in Dodger's gut.
“It is?”
“I would have expected the answer to be along the lines of conquest. However, this boy seems to be uncertain about the basic nature of the Alvum species. I apologize, sir, I believe this informant is not very informative after all,” the secretary said, punctuating its remarks with a tap on the microphone button.
“He isn't?”
“You are a poor liar, boy. If we were in danger from an Alvum attack, it would be made obvious.”
“It would?” Dodger repeated, and was very gratified to hear the boy say the same, in the same bewildered tone.
“The Alvum are not a species known for subtlety and subterfuge in tactics. By claiming a danger that does not exist, you seek to sow unwarranted panic during a time that does not need it. This puts your intentions under a more sinister light, and so we will perhaps require a more probing interrogation until I am convinced you have told us the truth.”
The boy was standing up now, legs tensed with nowhere to run. Dodger poked at the secretary's shoulder. “Uh. Are you really suggesting that we're gonna torture a kid? Or did I hear you wrong? Please tell me I heard you wrong.”
The secretary stood stiffly, as usual, as its holographic visor blinked on and obscured its eyes. “I will do whatever is necessary for the safety of this establishment, sir.”
“Okay, wow,” said Dodger, shuffling a few steps away, “I really hope PR doesn't get wind of this.”
“He's really here, though!” came the kid's voice, snapping both the secretary and Dodger's attention back to the speaker. The desperation was made somewhat unintelligible through the crackly quality. “Okay, I admit, I don't really know much about the guy, I think I saw him, like, one time? But he's actually here and the longer he's here, the, uh, more bad things that'll happen!”
The secretary clicked its tongue analog on the roof of its, well, Dodger just called it a mouth. “He's being more truthful.”
“So we aren't torturing the kid, right?”
The boy finally walked right up to the one-way mirror, eyes pointed squarely in the middle, right where nobody in particular was standing. “You know about what this guy's like better than me, right? So even if he isn't following like his usual alien overlord or whatever, he's still gonna find someone else to follow, and he's gonna follow that person to the letter. You can see how dangerous that is, right?”
The secretary stared straight ahead, finger hovering over the microphone button. “Sir?”
“What? Oh!” Right. He was supposed to be the top dog, wasn't he? This seemed like one of those top dog decisions that top dogs make in response to a top dog problem. To the soundtrack of an increasingly desperate sales pitch in response to their perceived silence, Dodger said, “Well, it does sound dangerous.”
The secretary leaned into the microphone. “Your concerns have been judged to be adequate enough to require an eviction of this being you call Vuul from the premises.” The lopsided smile the boy gave back was half-relief and half-'eh, good enough.' “But we do not have the resources to do so, and your claims are still questionable.” The relief drained away like water off a camel's back, or however the saying went.
“So, what does that mean?” he asked, backing up towards the chair again.
“It means we are enlisting you to deal with Vuul and remove him from the area with minimal damage to the surrounding people and property, if he really is the threat you say he is.”
Samael blinked. It was entirely possible that things could not have gone any worse than it just did. Proooobably coulda thought this through a little more.