[ i was gonna be all nice and aesthetic and give you the memory only at the right timing in the conversation, but you know what, fuck that. they walk.
they get a decent amount of the way to somewhere nice and dry! maybe towards the mess hall! but of course memshare week is a bitch.
so. the memory unfurls. there is something strange about it, like an old recording, fuzzy and staticky. it is corrupted, blocked and degraded somehow in signal quality. white noise and static threads around the edges of the brief snatches he gets, echoes of your sister's voice youhavetherighttoliveonthisisthebestpossibleending and visage flashing by, stutter-skipping therightchoicesarealwaystheonesthathurtyouthemost like a hung process-
"do you want to die with me so badly? ... go on. the time has come to rewrite our fate."
this image stays a bit longer than the others: your sister steadies your gun for you. her dogtags burn painfully in your palm despite your temperature sensors reporting otherwise. you think you might be screaming as the muzzle flashes.
but that too gets cut off into static. there's flashes of conversation-
"i thought... there wouldn't be any more survivors." "so... even you want to kill me?" "don't bother struggling. i'm sure you know your odds." "the only thing i know... is 'what's right.' i must survive...!"
but nothing concrete, until.
you're pinned. you knew this was a hopeless fight from the start, but still, you tried, that single desperate mantra- you have to survive, no matter what, it's what she wanted, it was her last wish- repeating endlessly in your mind. but the gap in ability is too high, your opponent is an elite, and you've only ever been defective, disposable goods. there is one thing you can try, still, but you're not ready yet, you need time--
"any last words, traitor?" says m16, leaning in. you struggle for your gun, uselessly. "you still want to put up a fight, huh?"
(just a little more...) "... i wonder which of us is the real traitor?"
your opponent scoffs. "are those your parting words? fine. farewell, UMP45."
it's just enough. now is the only chance you'll get, and--
m16 fires. she misses- which should have been impossible, at the point blank range you were at- and leaves two holes in the ground where you were as a loud and vicious crack resonates through the air. your systems and neural cloud are sent reeling by the simple feedback alone from breaking your own arm in an effort to buy yourself a chance to fight back, even though you've already turned off the pain sensors in your left arm. you whirl and kick away as hard as you can, using the recoil to force yourself closer to your gun and take aim in return as m16 recovers quickly.
"... i didn't expect you to be able to disrupt my fire control system in such a short time. you've done very well for a doll like you."
you don't move an inch. you don't dare. "all those dolls from earlier, in front of the door. they were shot in the back... that must have been your handiwork, right?"
"my mission was to eliminate all traitorous dolls."
a small, distant part of you despairs at the confirmation, while the rest of you goes both icy hot and deathly cold. "so you knew something like this was going to happen. you betrayed us all from the very beginning!"
... m16 doesn't respond.
why? you need to know- why? "have you thought about what will happen to you too, after this? do you think you can avoid being silenced as well?"
all of them sent here today... from the start, none of them were meant to survive. who did this? who was responsible?
but m16 doesn't answer your questions. maybe she doesn't know herself. "you shouldn't be thinking about a question like that. all you need to do is die here."
she fires, but can't land a shot for now. sabotaging her fire control system earlier is the only thing that might be able to save your life now, because your speed is all you have, and you're nearly out of ammunition. but what can you do? someone went to great lengths and efforts to set this mission up, sabotage and compromise it, brush it under the rug, make sure that nothing about it can leak, kill every possible witness. and now you two are the only ones left.
you try anyway. you fight back, as best as you can with only one arm, but even with m16 hindered and in pain from an ongoing meltdown, you end up disarmed, grabbed by the collar, pinned underneath her again, scrabbling and clawing desperately at her eye for any possible leverage you can get and breaking your other arm as well in the process, as she pulls a dagger out from her belt and, with both hands, stabs it down toward your head.
you tried. you tried, but you'll die here, and everything and everyone who died here will die with you. ]
[Ah. An old friend. Death is here. A fight to the finish, going out in a blaze of glory, no, that isn't him, who is so keen on laying down and letting death take him into its arms. So this is not him, this will to survive at all costs, fierce and ready to clamp down its jaws. Even as he blinks to reality, the words sound in his mind. The image of that girl, muzzle of a gun pressed against her forehead, the talk of traitors, and, ah, now that's something that resonates a little deeper than most:]
"you've only ever been defective, disposable goods"]
[Anaido stands, hand reaching up to his head instinctively. Part of him wonders if the knife in the memory made a hole in its wake. It didn't, of course.]
[He can hope.]
Hm. [His eyes are closed as he smiles, briefly, taking it all in before he finally lets out a sigh, murmuring:] What a fierce woman you are, 45.
[ it certainly left something. the knife in the memory plummeted down towards the same side that possesses quite the notable scar, after all, running up and down her eye.
perhaps not so much a mystery where that came from, is it? ]
Am I a woman, or a simulacrum of one? Am I fierce, or is that simple self-preservation?
[ why does it matter what she thinks? ]
That first girl you saw -- she thought me too naive to survive, the way I was then. What do you think, hm? You two think different things. Should I just accept one opinion over the other?
Hahaha. [His smile twists upward, ever the fool.] You say it like its "either, or", but I don't think that's right! You're both at the same time.
[Because even she, as whatever she is, can contain a paradox. He knows, because he's one himself.]
From my perspective, you're fierce, because compared to myself, you act more than I ever would. That girl may have felt you were lacking compared to whatever she might have done. So in that way, you're both. We're both right. We're both wrong. That's how it is.
The logical fallacy is in assigning either of them as absolutes, hm? Fair enough. But then again, there are few such things when it comes to these matters.
[ and yet, there has to be an accepted consensus for people that isn't just relative. the usual criterion for someone to be considered friendly isn't just that 'they're more social than i am,' after all.
but, a slight shift: ]
Then, do you think of yourself as an actor on a stage that moves on around you? Not acting is one thing. Deliberate inaction is another. Paralysis, a third thing entirely.
Shakespeare said we were all actors on a stage, huh? Like you say, if I don't do anything, is it because that's part of the script? Or am I outside of it, and choose not to?
Well, only you know the script? I certainly don't. You keep talking about playing the role that society has forced on you like this is a continuation of the same stage, but, well.
Well, maybe its similar scripts? But I suppose my experience only might have passing resemblance to yours.
[He smirks.]
I may not be used to this kind of society, that's right, but...being on strange stages is part and parcel of my job. Though I suppose the people on those stages are nothing more than set dressing. So even conversations like this...well, only brilliant detectives can have things like that, as far as I know.
People on strange stages as set dressing? My, and just what sort of simulations is it that you get put through, Herr Anaido? Don't tell me you're the only self-aware entity in these things.
Do you think all of the rest of us here might actually be set dressing once more? Ah, but I suppose if that were the case, we wouldn't know, would we?
If I told people, they wouldn't believe me, so I don't! And indeed, I'm a little too aware of myself. Even more than I rightfully should.
[His tone is as light as ever.]
I used to think so at first, on the island, but it seems unlikely. But how would I know? Perhaps you're also your own copies, and the real you is somewhere else entirely. One can only assume.
"This killing game they really want you to buy into was just a social experiment all along, everyone! Your real selves are safe and whole outside the simulation, so don't worry. Feel free to murder!"
[ well. yike. chalk that up for another memory she has of dying, then. ]
... Lightning, hm? Quite the simulated death to have.
[ since that's what it was, right? a simulation? there's a deliberateness and design to the setting, it feels, that wouldn't exist otherwise. parameters and limits. ]
A squad shrouded in mystery. ▓▓▓▓▒ has met them once, and others can only guess at the members' identities from rumors. Members of the squad all have advanced AI and high capacity for independent operation. Rumor has it that Squad 404 usually deals with ░▓▒▓▓▓▒▓▓▒▒▒░░
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2020-07-12 03:01 am (UTC)[ i was gonna be all nice and aesthetic and give you the memory only at the right timing in the conversation, but you know what, fuck that. they walk.
they get a decent amount of the way to somewhere nice and dry! maybe towards the mess hall! but of course memshare week is a bitch.
so. the memory unfurls. there is something strange about it, like an old recording, fuzzy and staticky. it is corrupted, blocked and degraded somehow in signal quality. white noise and static threads around the edges of the brief snatches he gets, echoes of your sister's voice youhavetherighttoliveonthisisthebestpossibleending and visage flashing by, stutter-skipping therightchoicesarealwaystheonesthathurtyouthemost like a hung process-
"do you want to die with me so badly? ... go on. the time has come to rewrite our fate."
this image stays a bit longer than the others: your sister steadies your gun for you. her dogtags burn painfully in your palm despite your temperature sensors reporting otherwise. you think you might be screaming as the muzzle flashes.
but that too gets cut off into static. there's flashes of conversation-but nothing concrete, until.
"any last words, traitor?" says m16, leaning in. you struggle for your gun, uselessly. "you still want to put up a fight, huh?"
(just a little more...) "... i wonder which of us is the real traitor?"
your opponent scoffs. "are those your parting words? fine. farewell, UMP45."
it's just enough. now is the only chance you'll get, and--
m16 fires. she misses- which should have been impossible, at the point blank range you were at- and leaves two holes in the ground where you were as a loud and vicious crack resonates through the air. your systems and neural cloud are sent reeling by the simple feedback alone from breaking your own arm in an effort to buy yourself a chance to fight back, even though you've already turned off the pain sensors in your left arm. you whirl and kick away as hard as you can, using the recoil to force yourself closer to your gun and take aim in return as m16 recovers quickly.
"... i didn't expect you to be able to disrupt my fire control system in such a short time. you've done very well for a doll like you."
you don't move an inch. you don't dare. "all those dolls from earlier, in front of the door. they were shot in the back... that must have been your handiwork, right?"
"my mission was to eliminate all traitorous dolls."
a small, distant part of you despairs at the confirmation, while the rest of you goes both icy hot and deathly cold. "so you knew something like this was going to happen. you betrayed us all from the very beginning!"
... m16 doesn't respond.
why? you need to know- why? "have you thought about what will happen to you too, after this? do you think you can avoid being silenced as well?"
all of them sent here today... from the start, none of them were meant to survive. who did this? who was responsible?
but m16 doesn't answer your questions. maybe she doesn't know herself. "you shouldn't be thinking about a question like that. all you need to do is die here."
she fires, but can't land a shot for now. sabotaging her fire control system earlier is the only thing that might be able to save your life now, because your speed is all you have, and you're nearly out of ammunition. but what can you do? someone went to great lengths and efforts to set this mission up, sabotage and compromise it, brush it under the rug, make sure that nothing about it can leak, kill every possible witness. and now you two are the only ones left.
you try anyway. you fight back, as best as you can with only one arm, but even with m16 hindered and in pain from an ongoing meltdown, you end up disarmed, grabbed by the collar, pinned underneath her again, scrabbling and clawing desperately at her eye for any possible leverage you can get and breaking your other arm as well in the process, as she pulls a dagger out from her belt and, with both hands, stabs it down toward your head.
you tried. you tried, but you'll die here, and everything and everyone who died here will die with you. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-07-12 10:23 pm (UTC)[Ah. An old friend. Death is here. A fight to the finish, going out in a blaze of glory, no, that isn't him, who is so keen on laying down and letting death take him into its arms. So this is not him, this will to survive at all costs, fierce and ready to clamp down its jaws. Even as he blinks to reality, the words sound in his mind. The image of that girl, muzzle of a gun pressed against her forehead, the talk of traitors, and, ah, now that's something that resonates a little deeper than most:]
"you've only ever been defective, disposable goods"]
[Anaido stands, hand reaching up to his head instinctively. Part of him wonders if the knife in the memory made a hole in its wake. It didn't, of course.]
[He can hope.]
Hm. [His eyes are closed as he smiles, briefly, taking it all in before he finally lets out a sigh, murmuring:] What a fierce woman you are, 45.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-12 10:34 pm (UTC)perhaps not so much a mystery where that came from, is it? ]
Am I? I wonder.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-12 10:36 pm (UTC)[He smirks over at her.]
You don't think you are?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-12 10:51 pm (UTC)[ why does it matter what she thinks? ]
That first girl you saw -- she thought me too naive to survive, the way I was then. What do you think, hm? You two think different things. Should I just accept one opinion over the other?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-12 10:54 pm (UTC)[Because even she, as whatever she is, can contain a paradox. He knows, because he's one himself.]
From my perspective, you're fierce, because compared to myself, you act more than I ever would. That girl may have felt you were lacking compared to whatever she might have done. So in that way, you're both. We're both right. We're both wrong. That's how it is.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-16 11:53 pm (UTC)[ and yet, there has to be an accepted consensus for people that isn't just relative. the usual criterion for someone to be considered friendly isn't just that 'they're more social than i am,' after all.
but, a slight shift: ]
Then, do you think of yourself as an actor on a stage that moves on around you? Not acting is one thing. Deliberate inaction is another. Paralysis, a third thing entirely.
Which is it, I wonder?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-21 11:51 pm (UTC)[He echoes, like the eager voice of a dark cave.]
Shakespeare said we were all actors on a stage, huh? Like you say, if I don't do anything, is it because that's part of the script? Or am I outside of it, and choose not to?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-22 05:24 pm (UTC)I asked you first, didn't I?
[ can you believe they're just having this conversation, under an umbrella, in the pouring rain. ]
no subject
Date: 2020-07-22 06:41 pm (UTC)[Sometimes a rainy day is the best time to have an existential conversation!]
no subject
Date: 2020-07-22 08:04 pm (UTC)We're hardly a regular society here.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-22 08:12 pm (UTC)[He smirks.]
I may not be used to this kind of society, that's right, but...being on strange stages is part and parcel of my job. Though I suppose the people on those stages are nothing more than set dressing. So even conversations like this...well, only brilliant detectives can have things like that, as far as I know.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-22 09:44 pm (UTC)Do you think all of the rest of us here might actually be set dressing once more? Ah, but I suppose if that were the case, we wouldn't know, would we?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-22 09:52 pm (UTC)[His tone is as light as ever.]
I used to think so at first, on the island, but it seems unlikely. But how would I know? Perhaps you're also your own copies, and the real you is somewhere else entirely. One can only assume.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-23 03:29 am (UTC)"This killing game they really want you to buy into was just a social experiment all along, everyone! Your real selves are safe and whole outside the simulation, so don't worry. Feel free to murder!"
no subject
Date: 2020-07-23 04:05 am (UTC)[He shrugs.]
If that's the case...then I guess a lot of them would be relieved, huh.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 07:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-26 04:59 am (UTC)But then what is your situation, if I may ask?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-26 05:02 am (UTC)[He winks.]
Wouldn't you like to know?
[And wouldn't you know, that triggers a memory.]
no subject
Date: 2020-08-09 10:28 am (UTC)... Lightning, hm? Quite the simulated death to have.
[ since that's what it was, right? a simulation? there's a deliberateness and design to the setting, it feels, that wouldn't exist otherwise. parameters and limits. ]
Perhaps we've both overstayed our welcomes?