GuNNhead

“Release the M.A.S.C. Ltd. “Cybosquid™”! C.H.A.O.S. will not lose this day!” the commanding voice reigned down from the loudspeakers.

Wall panels slide open sending more water flooding into the compound, carried along this current are creatures. I’d read about their possibility, but never suspected they had been able to actually create them. The half robotic squid quickly fuse into one giant monster, with a diamond sharp beak, and ten mechanical suctioned tentacles. It sends out a piercing electronic squeal as terrible techno music blasts from the speakers, and charges at me. I swim as fast as I can to the blackened, burning wreckage of the Verdigris Crush. I climb onto the chassis, and make my way to the fried firing mechanism; I use my universal interface, and fuse the wires together. I command the remaining turret, and just as the squid’s beak is hovering over me, ready to tear open the monster truck like it was tissue paper, I fire. The blast immediately fails, but I press the button again rapidly, and: success! The cannon ball blasts a hole through the mechanical aquatic sea creature, causing a magnificent mushroom cloud explosion of flaming black, inky oil.

I’d like to take a moment here to talk to you about the universal interface. It is an electronic device and symbol. It, and they, are separate things that are one. It, the symbol, means that one can interact with technology. It, the device, can be anything. It is about using a simple device, they are. It, the they it, is about logic, and counter-logic; it is about nothing but life, and nothing that is life.

I assimilate pieces of the creature, begin to scale the wall. Upon reaching the glass dome, where the spectators and owners/announcers C.H.A.O.S. are, I cut it open with the tip of the beak. Empty. Damn, I really wanted to shoot some people. A British voice booms over the loudspeaker:

“You fool! It was all a set up!” I know that voice, that’s the leader of C.H.A.O.S. I start running. “You made us a lot of money tonight, agent. Oh, I bet your friends at M.A.S.C. caught ‘their man’, the announcer, but, perhaps as your fellows are now finding out…” I run up the stairs of the rows of stadium seats. Cigar butts, lost initialed handkerchiefs, 10,000 forgotten purses, tumblers, and champagne glasses adorn the floors. “Yes, that’s right, he was simply another sleeper agent, a hypnotized buffoon! You’ll get nothing out of him.” I run through desolate back hallways, searching for anything that cloud lead to an exit. “Oh, and, you know, as a small payback for trying to create that pathetic M.A.S.C. team?” I’m slicing and kicking down doors, trying to find one that doesn’t lead to a cemented wall. “I made sure to go ahead and place the captive lead engineers into the squid, and pilot it by remote. I hope you enjoy their blood on your hands!” I’m searching frenetically.

“Oh, and by the way, you have about three seconds to escape.” I cut open the final door, and it leads out into the sky, nothingness, I run down a small hallway, and jump down several stories into the sea below as the entire coliseum explodes behind me.

Soon, a F.A.T.E. helicopter appears out over the horizon, homing in on my location. I begin to swim towards it, free from Stadium Hate.

This entry was posted on June 24, 2010 at 3:33 am and is filed under Desolation. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.