Dramatic Death Scenes!

Evil!Cricket

I flipped the switch, and a light flicked on. "Ah. Lovely. Artificial light . . . y'know, I like light. But I only like it in certain situations, say, when it's surrounded by darkness. Without darkness, light's just boring, but black compliments it t' th' point of brilliance." The knob turned easily, in whichever direction I so chose. I took a guess at which one was the highest voltage and settled for something close to that. "Ah, maybe there's a purpose for you. Your murdering self makes th' few average people in th' world seem good."

T.Mor:

Well...those...those were comforting words to hear...as you were shocked with 120 volts. By someone you'd thought...was...like...a friend...scratch the word like..someone...who was a friend...although...I didn't deserve any comforting words.

I really didn't...have...much time to process it all really...It was like...more truth...electricity...screaming...then...ow... Everything got all tense and painful...and twitchy...I mean...every single nerve jumped...It was...Awful... And I was till confused... but that didn't really matter...because I didn't deserve an explanation... Just this...pain...agh...

And then...well...uh...it all stopped...and...everything went limp... and...er... that was the end...of that...

Evil!Cricket

He went limp. I felt nothing, aside from the suddenly lonely feeling in the air, and a more pressing silence. He was gone in an instant, which left only me . . . standing in an empty cell. " . . . Mr. Face," I said, knowing that he could somehow hear me. "Do you believe me now?"

Mr.Face:

One could safely say that something was wrong when one is sitting in a room, listening to someone scream their lungs out because they were being slowly dissolved in a vat of acid, and feels absolutely nothing but deepseated resentment towards the plurality of humanity, and simply felt compelled to commit more atrocities. And, when the same person is responsible for such hideously elongated sentences.

I sat in cellblock five, and was doing precisely that. "I really have no ideaWHY YOU THINK THAT YOU HAVE THE...WHAT? DIVINE RIGHT BESTOWED UPON YOU BY CEILING CAT? To...IMPOSE AS YOU JUST HAVE...upon my time for such nonsensical trivialities as... RIOT FIRES? Do you not think that I AM AWARE that there are fires swelling all across the city in response to the tax increase? WHAT KIND OF IMBECILE DO YOU TAKE ME FOR? If you wnt to set out your own house, BY ALL MEANS, PROCEED. However, YOU DO NOT NEED TO WASTE MY PRECIOUS TIME BY ASKING FOR...What was that word...FUNDING?!" ...I realised about halfway through that rant that I had autonomously begun carving him up with an exacto that I did not remember pulling out of my suitcoat. Hm.

I had someone else in cell 4 whom I could hopefully try out the new Arm dislocator on, but first, probably ought to make a request to have this cleaned up and the body replaced with a living one.

As I walked out of the iron door, I allowed it to slam behind me, sending vibrations through my world...clarifying everything. "...My Prisoner...Deal with that will you? And replace the living one?" I asked, although it really wasn't a question. I walked across the hall, where some...one was already strapped into the contraption. Excellent. Maybe THIS WOULD HELP...without so much as an introduction, I threw the lever, and heard a loud crack, and then...screaming. A momentary relief.

I so wished I had the immortality back...and that I was not currently spending up all of my diskspace uploading a more intimidating firewall... And...I needed more violence. Her screaming did not suffice any longer.

(Evil!Crick and Cricket have magically switched places.)

Cricket

I never thought I'd say it, but I honestly missed working for Uncle right then. It would only be for a while, aye? Just . . . until I figured out how to calm him down without giving him what he wanted, if that was even possible. Until then, well, I had to lay low. I was completely expressionless behind that mask, as I wished there were a way to block out the screaming. I just retreated into my mind, as was routine.

Then that nickname cut through the air. My Prisoner. Time to . . . clean up. See, that part wasn't new . . . Uncle'd made me clean up several times, but still, it had never been as bad as this. I clenched my jaw at another scream. Just walk forward. Don't think about it. "Aye," I responded, though he'd already dissapeared to work on someone else. Alright . . . here it went. I stepped down the hall.

Oi my my. I was working for Mr. Face.

Distraction, distraction!

And suddenly, I was whistling.

Mr.Face:

I was JUST about to vacate the room with the arm dislocator, in favour of something more...hands on, when I heard...Loud. Loud, shrill...D sharp. It sounded like tinnitis.

The tone changed. F. And again. To G. WHY. WHY WAS THERE ANYTHING OTHER THAN SCREAMING AND THEN SILENCE IN THIS CELLBLOCK?

I didn't even bother slamming the door as I stormed back across the hall. "WHAT ON ERF DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, MY PRISONER?" I asked, completely...engulfed in rage. He had no right to be imposing that...drivel upon my hearing space. Especially not here, where I wanted to hear the screaming. Not chord progressions.

Cricket

I stopped dead in my tracks, still expressionless. I'd been whistling . . . I didn't remember making the decision to do so, but I had a feeling I was about to pay for it. I'd just thrown my plan-in-progress out the window, unintentionally. This was bad. This was very bad. "I'm dealing with that and replacing it with a living one," I said calmy, gesturing to the door I'd been heading to.

Mr.Face:

"Don't play wordgames with me. Don't you dare. You know exactly what you were doing." I stated, My face mere inches from his. 2.5 inches actually, if you want to get technical. "Do you not think that If I wanted to hear music down here, I would have installed Dolby Surround Sound instead of PVC? That maybe, I would bring a radio? Or OS? Were you really THAT unaware of the acoustics in this place?" I continued, without waiting for a response, and completely disregarding the amount of clicking my own teeth were producing.

I wondered if I actually had any cells open at the moment. Hm...That could be potentially problematic, although...Easily fixed.

Cricket

I winced, but pressed my heels into the floor and didn't move an inch. If I made any smart remarks, I was dead . . . if I made any remark I was dead, and if I didn't say anything, I was dead. I had a sick feeling that it was only a matter of how enraged he became at what . . . and that was beyond much of my control. "Pardon. 'ow terribly idiotic of me," I said, my voice just a hair away from sounding sarcastic. "It's an 'abit, more than anything. I can stop."

Mr.Face:

A humourless smile crept across my face. "Oh, you will stop. In fact, I would find it fascinating if you could make any noise ever again..." It briefly occurred to me that this was the third guard that I'd personally fired today. Then I decided that I could promote Mr.Namechov later, and listen to him be all...how he is around this kind of stuff, and thusly stimulate the ecomomy by opening up new employment positions.

Although, who needed validation for this kind of thing? He had been whistling. And I detested it. I straightened myself out and randomly opened a cell door. Occupied. Hm.

I pulled out my pistol and shot the occupant several times in the head vicinity. I really ought to work more on ranged weaponry, dispatching an entire round of dakka every time I was trying to kill someone, seemed a bit like...overkill. However, this had effectively cleared the room, and I de-shackled the recently deceased, going back out and grabbing My Prisoner without even bothering to otherwise relocate the body.

Cricket

I don't know why I didn't run. I didn't have anything more to lose. For some odd reason, I was frozen to that spot, and the thought didn't occur to me until I heard the gunfire.

Run.

Run.

Run, damnit!

His cold hand clutched my arm in a death grip. I wouldn't have made it far, anyhow. Oi my my, this was bad, very bad, and I was dead, very dead. "Why am I always th' scapegoat?" I muttered. It smelled like blood in the cell, so I held my breath, and tried not to look at the body.

Mr.Face:

I shackled him to the wall, carelessly moving the other body with my foot in order to get it out of the way. I heard him not breathing. That would be an issue. "Start breathing again, My Prisoner." I commanded seriously, as I turned to my toolbox. I was looking for something that would eradicate that noise making he did. Hm...

If I just stuffed him full of knives, That would be rather effective, but...I've been stuffing people full of knives all day. Needless to say, I am now running low on knives...Which, somewhat impairs my ability to stuff him full of knives. I have just said the word 'knives' far too many times in my own internal monologueing, And really need to formulate another plan for how to permanently silence that whistling.

...Or I could just go pull some knives out of a dead body somewhere... I felt as though this bad mood was stifling my creativity.

Cricket

I had a few smartass things to say to that, but I thought better of it, and quietly started breathing the rusty air again. I didn't want to put him in a worse mood for other people to deal with, and if that meant obeying . . . well, it's not like I would gain much from being a bother, anyhow. I hung my head-- Igh. I shuddered at the gore beneath me and shot my gaze up again. "You're not quite yourself t'day, Mr. Face, I've noticed, and I'm afraid it's showing in your . . . 'andiwork. A friendly tip; you might want t', say, take a day or two off until you can think straight, aye? All this rampaging isn't 'elping you, if I may be so bold," I said quickly.

Mr.Face:

Psychological advice? Really. I didn't need that...useless nonsense. "What do you mean it's not helping? Can't you hear the screaming? It's FANTASTIC...Or it was...Until you so RUDELY INTERRUPTED WITH YOUR...TINNITIS INDUCING WHISTLE NONSENSE." I yelled at him, and then realised he was still in the plastic mask.

That would have been an issue later if I tried to shove sharp implements in his mouth. Good thing I caught it. I pulled it off of his face and tossed it over my shoulder, before returning my attention to the toolbox. What to do...what to do...Hm...Ah. Screwdriver. That...That would suffice...

I picked it up and turned back around towards My Prisoner. "As I mentioned earlier. You will NOT be interfereing with my airwaves with that nonsense again." I drove the screwdriver between two ribs...not entirely equidistantly between the two, I realised after I was already pulling the screwdriver out. I was actually scraping one of the ribs as I pulled it out....It could have been so much cleaner. But...Exerting all that force, hearing a satisfying 'pop' as the lung deflated...I wasn't in the mood to be picky. That would do for the moment...I didn't want him dead in the next three to six minutes...It wouldn't be any fun. And I desprately needed a laugh.

Cricket
I clenched my jaw, refusing to scream, but couldn't hold back a pained growl. Something collapsed inside of me . . . Oi my my. I thought I'd just lost a lung. As the screwdriver tore out I gasped for air, but it felt like no matter how quickly I breathed, it wasn't enough. Aye. That was a lung, all right. My heart was racing like it could somehow make up for the lost air. "Fine, little--" I cut myself off, huffing. "--shortness o' brea--" My sentence was broken again, this time by sputtering coughs. Suddenly, I tasted blood. Lovely.

Mr.Face:

Alright. Alright...I just need more screaming. That...yes. More screaming...And violence. Yes. Horribly audible violence...with blood spilling everywhere. I needed the place bathing in gore...That would fix this. That would compensate for the... Lack of Immortality. I just...Was so...frustrated. Whistling, Riotfires...MY FIREWALL BREAKING DOWN DUE TO AUTHORIAL INTERVENTION...

I picked up my bonesaw to start hacking away at...I didn't even know...I had walked into this whole thing completely lacking a plan, and was really looking to just...revel in the screaming or something...I didn't know, and attempting to articulate it didn't seem to be helping.

I dragged the blade of the saw across his arm with more force than was entirely necessary, and felt the tissues seperate beneath it...I pushed it forward, and felt it hit bone.

AND I WAS STILL GETTING NOTHING FROM THE EXPERIENCE.

"...This...This is exterraneous. Absolute nonsense...what am I doing? I mean...really? What was my plan there? I mean...You're bleeding, fine...but...ARGH!" And the bonesaw flew off somewhere behind me, lost to my...rageful irritation. " I. CANNOT. TOLERATE. THIS. ANYMORE." I stated, not entirely sure what I was tolerating in the first place. I felt like doing more stabbing...but, I realised it would be futile, and result in the same lack of satisfaction as every other thing I'd done today had. It was...so very aggravating.

Cricket

One moment, I was holding back what screaming was possible with a punctured lung, and the next moment, Mr. Face was the one screaming . . . and I didn't think he was screaming at me. "Waitpardonwhat?" I sputtered, looking up at him, terribly confused. He couldn't tolerate . . . he what? He what?

He was probably talking about how I hadn't yet screamed to full potential, aye. That was it. Well pardon me, friend, it's hard to scream when your lung is filling with blood! Oi my my. I just stared at him, then stared at the red-stained bonesaw flung across the cell, and then back at him. This was odd.

Mr.Face:

I sat down heavily on my workbench. I didn't even understand what was happening really...I mean, yes. I was mad. Yes...I was frustrated...but...Killing people normally made things better. That was the source of all my problems wasn't it? People? Apparently not at present. And...I was so...perplexed by that.

"My Prisoner...I don't even know. I don't even. At all. I wish I could provide you with somekind of well-thought out, articulate response...or some kind of...Long winded explanation as to why I sent that saw flying in a parabolic arc...But...I don't. I am having trouble rationalising. I mean...I killed no less than 25 people today...personally...And NOTHING HAS HELPED...I mean...You'd think that ripping someone's spine out through their mouth would make you feel better. It's SUPPOUSED TO MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER." I had no idea why I was ranting at My Prisoner about this, except for the fact that he's dead anyway, and I seemed to be ranting uncontrollably. I was not entirely in control of the ranting. I hadn't really been in control of myself all day, I realised...Did I even close the door to my lab this morning? I didn't know...

I mean...I had had it. Immortality...for a few brief hours...It had been MINE. And then...so rudely...someone interrupted, while I was...I don't even know, ranting about geometry for some reason, and...Manually wiped my disk. AND IT JUST WASN'T FAIR. AT ALL. I'D SPENT DECADES ON IT...ON GETTING IT...AND AND...NOW? GONE. ALL THAT WORK...GONE...OUT THE WINDOW...

My hands went to my face, and the heels of my hands were paralell to my mouth, resting just where I'd felt most people's eyes when I would gouge them out.

Cricket

. . . Well.

You know that feeling, when something is so surreal that you have to mentally slap yourself to make sure you aren't dreaming? Mentally, because, well, I currently couldn't reach my face. In fact, it hurt to move my arms at all with those shackles. Anyhow, that surreal feeling . . . aye. Even if that spine comment broke the feeling and reminded me that he was still Mr. Face.

Me, I just stared, and tried not to choke on any more blood. It was terribly hard not to cough, but I tried to keep as silent as possible. It felt as if any sound might set him off again. But I mean, he just ranted at me . . . about feelings. I had to say something to that, aye? Mr. Face had feelings. Or he was very upset over his lack-of. Either way, he actually noted the fact that there was a lack of satisfaction, which was an emotion! I didn't know that was physically possible. Born without eyes, with a side of sociopathy. That was Mr. Face. But . . . then what was all this?

"Ah . . ." I breathed hesitantly, "Per'aps there's no-- satisfaction in killing after al--" I spat some blood onto the ground, and continued. "I've never seen . . . an assassin content with 'is life . . ."

Mr.Face:

I thought about that for a moment. "No, I'm quite sure the killing is not the underlying issue. I'm quite sure that once I sort this out...It will be fun again... Or...at least...I hope... This is ridiculous. THIS REALLY IS RIDICULOUS. I should be... killing you. Or... sorting out the pile of useless drivel in my office... BUT I JUST....gah." I realised that there should probably be some kind of frustrated hand gesture there, although, I wasn't one for gestures. "Mentally insert a frustrated hand gesture here." I stated instead.

If I had a desk...I would have probably forcefully applied my head to the surface of it.

Cricket

"Ah . . . did I do something?" I breathed, honestly growing a bit more confused and a tiny bit concerned. I just wasn't sure what to think. See, this was a side I didn't know Mr. Face had the capacity to have, let alone go all out and show it . . . getting bored with torture? Well, I suppose that might happen after killing twenty five people in one day, though I couldn't imagine what that must be like. Killing was killing. You like it, or you don't. What happened? "You're, ah-- not yourself . . ."

Mr.Face:

"I realise that...My Prisoner. And...YES you did something, as that is why you are currently shackled to a wall. However, and I do not think that you intended me to answer regarding your current incarceration, but regarding this....whole...thing as a collective, so I will go ahead and answer that as well. Regarding the bigger picture...the situation you haven't the vaguest inkling of I'm afraid, You have done nothing." There was legitamately no one to torture for this crime. No one. Torturing an author gets you nothing but...rugburns and mild irritation.

This was...horrible. Simply thinking about it made me want to kill someone, and yet, there was no one there that I could kill to feel as though I'd actually nullified my problem. I mean, I'd kill My Prisoner, and go upstairs, and OS would STILL be trying to reconstruct what was left of my wiped drive.

And I would be out fifty years of work, several different speech to text programmes, and a colour to tone identifier that I'd built myself. It was hopeless.

Cricket

On one hand, I was no longer being sawed apart. On the other hand, I was hanging from my wrists with a pierced lung and a deep slice in my arm. I could last a long while on short breath, but oi my my, that didn't mean I could last happily. It wasn't sure which injury hurt worse. The screwdriver wound in particular screamed pain all through my chest, and my throat felt sore from all the blood.

Stall and suffer, or suffer more and die quicker . . . possibly?

I wasn't particularily fond of the idea of having my spine ripped out through my mouth. So. Stall it is. I began pulling questions from my thoughts, taking a small while to get enough breath together to form a sentence. "Something did something . . . what's th' bigger picture--?"

Mr.Face:

Did I even want to TALK about that? ...Well...What could it hurt? I mean, as I said earlier, he's already dead. "For a short while...I was...'Mr.Face...The Immortal Dictator of Auda'. Due to Authorial intervention..."I paused. This was actually surprisingly hard to address. They were just words... but... Still, the admission of such a thing... "This is no longer the case...and all of my files have been wiped in the process of..." Another pause. I didn't know why I was pausing, aside from not really being able to breathe entirely properly, which was highly unusual. "In the process of revoking it. I have lost fifty years of files...Fifty years of...everything...And every single back up, and redundancy I built, Every single precaution I took, Gone. It's all gone. I have to type in my commands manually because my voice to text software is gone." I continued quietly. I didn't eveen know what kind of tone I was employing, It was all just so...gah. My hands remained in that place where most people have eyes.

Cricket

Fifty years gone? Well, now that he put it that way, it would be frustrating-- Waitpardonwhat Mr. Face had been immortal. Ah. That struck me like another screwdriver, and afterwards I fought a tangle of emotions ranging from 'WHAT' to 'PARDON' to 'HAH! YOU FAIL', plus a little sympathy on the side. Aye . . . sympathy, for Mr. Face. I had a feeling that one would come back to bite me.

I watched his mouth warily, unsure of what to say. Stall. Aye, stall, remember the plan of not getting tortured. Except now, I couldn't think of something to say other than 'Karma'. Perhaps I could muster a 'I'm terribly sorry', but I had a feeling he might not care for sympathy. So I winced and settled with a plain, simple, emotionless, "Ah. I see."