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. . .trash bin
| the pygmalion. . . ???  OPENING PROGRAM . . . . . . . . . _PROGRAM CRASHED _PROGRAM REBOOT? >N >SCAN PROGRAM . . . _PROGRAM CRASHED . . . >EMERGENCY LEVEL . . . >EMERGENCY LEVEL . . . _EMERGENCY LEVEL LOADING LOADING. . . LOADING. . . LOADING TEXTURE-NIGHT-SKY, TEXTURE-FULL-MOON, TEXTURE-DIRT-PATH, TEXTURE-CAMPFIRE LOADING SOUND-CRICKETS, SOUND-GRAVEL, SOUND-WIND, SOUND-FIRE-CRACKLING UPLOADING USER UPLOADING USER UPLOADING USER UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL TRASH BIN It feels more like an electrical zap than dying. Dying might feel a little bit more like falling asleep, but this is harder, more painful. If you've ever been electrocuted, the feeling might seem familiar; the discovery you make when you open your eyes, too, is likely very familiar. It's the night sky. Stars twinkle, a fire cracks warmly. You sit up and observe the surrounding area, and it's like you've woken up in some sort of canyon. The fire burns brightly, the moon shines beautifully, the crickets sing, and it is ... peaceful. Mostly. You know you're dead. This must be, then, the after life? Or something like it, at least. The horizon stretches on forever, the dirt and gravel seemingly endless. The moon is so big and bright, it's like you could reach out and touch her. There's a shed not too far from the fire, only but a stone's throw away, as if someone else might have made it, and then went inside it. Approaching it, you can see the light glowing inside it through the dusty windows that are littered with fingerprints. A computer screen, so large and wide that it's baffling, sits, waiting. Turning knob reveals that the shed is unlocked, and stepping inside... it doesn't feel any different from the outside. A chair sits in the center of the room, a strange contraption strapped to the head of it. It looks like it would lower itself upon the head of whoever dares to sit on it, and wires from it's bottom curl up towards the machines attached to the screen. Several smaller desktop screens sit beneath the giant monitor. They, too, are hooked up to the machines scattered around the room, to the ominous one perched on top of the medical chair, and they blink, as if fighting to stay alive without use. Pressing the giant monitor on, it lights up, and displays, strangely enough... a security camera feed. You push the button. It switches to another room. Again, another room. Again, another room. So on and forth. You peeping tom! But no one can blame you, in the end. You might as well digitally haunt the rest of the ship until the game ends, and AL-2955 can clean out the trash bin. ...Right? rule book taken characters information cards |
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[As he pauses, she comes forward to start helping as well. It's the least she can do.]
Machias. The boy I killed.
[It's said as mildly as everything else, but it should explain why she considers the damage her fault even if she didn't cause it herself. She drove him to this anger, and she won't blame him for it.]
These devices seem sturdy. I'm glad.
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[ Maybe spending all this time here -- watching the trials, welcoming the newly dead -- maybe he's just a tad desensitized to it all. ]
I'm sorry.
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Sorry? I... Thank you for saying so, but I don't understand.
[She isn't the one who deserves sympathy, is she?]
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[Eyes drier now, she holds the handkerchief back out to Allen.]
Thank you for letting me use it.
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[ He'll wash it later. For now, he tucks it into his breast pocket. ]
But you didn't do anything to deserve being put into that position either. Yes, you made your choice -- but does it really count as a choice when you're caught between a rock and a hard place?
[ Even though all this happened to Adelina, Allen's the one who sounds bitter. ]
And... it's not like any of us are innocent. Each week, we vote [ voted ] for someone to be sacrificed. We don't stop ourselves and if we aren't certain, then we pick someone who deserves to die more. Someone we'll feel less guilty killing. It's with luck that we -- that they've been right for the most part.
[ He stops then, tensing up; he looks angry and sad at all once. ]
I'm sorry -- none of us deserve any of this. What you did, it's not your fault. That's all.
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A pause as she hesitates before speaking.]
You must be very tired of having to watch all of this occur week after week. [She's tired, too, but up until now she's had some degree of influence. She hasn't been stuck in this place.] I'm so sorry.
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[but.]
You don't need to apologize for that at all. You've been very kind, the least I can do is return that kindness.
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It is a little hard in that... well, we don't have much to do down here, and a lot of our time is spent watching you all. So we -- so I've grown to learn bits and bits about the rest of you, even if you don't know me very well. [ His fault for stupidly dying so early on. ] And... Ha... I suppose it's too easy to start caring and worrying about you and them. It's hard, at times, to realize that it's all one-sided.
[ His smile turns a tad embarrassed. That might have sounded a bit creepy, and he's sorry for it. ]
There's nothing to lose by being kind, at this point. We are all, truly, on the same side now.
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In that case... It would be lovely to have the opportunity to get to know you in turn. Would you tell me about yourself? Then we could be on the same page, perhaps.