Given the Bloodshed

I am barely able to work on repairs for a full day before I am contacted again. It appears that there is a remaining conglomerate who is physically re-enforcing the boarders of the spire-dome, and they are being met with a fierce counter resistance of a unification of the separations. They are confident that my mere presence will diffuse the situation.

Before long, I am within the underground lab staring at citywide closed-circuit television monitors displaying the encircling riots. As I stare at the continuing carnage, I am asked to incapacitate and de-escalate. I can only envision obliteration, I am only driven to death.

Entering the fray, I snap bones and bend metal from street to street. Those in rags and those in armor, all are broken beneath my power. A simple game, even at my impaired power. The majority run when I appear, but street after street I leave the most voracious fighters on all sides crumpled and unmoving. All with heartbeats. Then. I feel connected once more, my drive towards death that is embodied within my power. They will all perish, no matter by my hand or not. Existence will lead to their death. I become their entropy as their attacks against me increase. Over time the sky begins to darken, and I am ripping people limb from limb lit by a red sunset. I am crushing ribcages in splashes of blood and entrails. I am exploding parties against walls and being covered in their blood. Then.

The riots are over. People are no longer fighting. All is quiet.

I am not contacted again for another week. My craft is much further along than predicted, having been left alone to fix it with the components within the facility, but there is a limit of my technical familiarity with its components, and I have reached it. While I am updated on the progress of the functionality of the city, they sneak in information of its inner social goings on. Corporations, those who praise my presence, those against it, those who doubt or fear me. Having nothing better to do, and envisioning an easy potential towards death, I indulge their self-serving attempts. They will all die, and I will remain.

I make myself a presence within the city, my newly shining armor a beacon of unification, styled after the krokodoplis laboratory. The best progress is to progress off of my planet. Over the next few days the reconglomeration of the outer and inner sectors goes smoothly. I am only able to explode a few skulls, and punch a trivial amount of hearts from their thoracic cavities. The rest of the time is deterring corporate security forces away from outer city residents exploring the new landscape and deterring inner city residents from vying for control of the outer city. Ensuring a natural and benevolent flow, say the tall and short ones. It was all so much simpler before, on Loameria. All of this was thought of, and not a problem. This system causes death, against itself.

Through the guidance of my power, events simmer, and a new address is scheduled. In this time, the tall and short one with their bunch have laid out a plan that conforms to the original blueprints of this scientific terraformer. I am invited up to give words of solidarity towards their departure and safety. As I approach the microphone an engine roars and encompasses the crowd’s attention before the cycle and rider land upon the stage. The robotic figure reveals a large scattergun, discharging it through my armored head before I can focus on what is going on. They deliver their oration as my perforated skull dispels its boiling blood onto the stage.


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