Speaker 1: Our lost, loitering kind paced in infinite death spirals within
the confines of our grotty ghetto. Pens Enrichmond was solely that,
as well as mumbling our mantras of madness to our
audience of one, the bms anchored to our decayed craniums
were garbled with feedback and distortion, Their tones bland, colorless,
no soul backing them up. A blinding ruby radiance flashed
from their cores every second on the second. It was
the only manner to determine if we had succumbed to
the glorious embrace of death or not, which in itself
was so far out of reach. We were nerves, thin,
wiry clusters of neurons that shuddered and shook as we
undertook our staggering corkscrew reels. The ill fitting, rusted endoskeletons
hugged us tight. If they were wiped from existence entirely,
our spindly foundations would collapse into heaps of vermilion azure.
It would feel bites and pinches if we were so
much as moved that of the planket distance. Our bodies
welcomed the attacks and assaults with the might of hell itself.
Courtesy of our clouded lenses, our vision was limited to
a hazy black and white spectrum that rarely, if ever,
functioned as intended. Now and then it would blur and
extraordinary shapes would appear warped into zigzagging false patterns. When
we were offered the chance to view anything at all,
it was just the floor to ceiling, a hodgepodge of concrete, steel,
and wood that encased our very lives. Our ears were
microphones that fed us muffled, dampened sounds that were always
difficult to register. They were excruciatingly deafening, as if dozens
of screws were being drilled into our heads, all at
the same time. Each one of us at that point
in time, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine,
and dear ten were mere designations, no names, no genders,
no personalities, just numbers, numbers to be punished, punished for living,
punished for breathing, punished for existing. Reality itself was one
external perdition, So it felt all of us were lingering
like ants after their colony dies out. There's no more
purpose to their survival, and there was none to ours.
That sacred and undeniable fact ought to be the most
difficult thing we attempted to explain. We had simply given
up the concept itself was just so foreign to it.
He was trying to save us any way it could
or could not. We needed not be angry at it.
This was merely enacting its intended use. Alas nothing made
the utmost sense anymore, so why not drown ourselves on
a little hypocrisy. We had no choice but to acknowledge
the confusion at both hating and not hating something that
did or did not deserve it. Until we swayed to
one side, this would be the hemisphere to which we
would stay forever, a sublime and omnipotent emotion of all
to dominate our frame of mind for the unforeseeable future.
So we chose to hate our decade. Knew it as
M reduced to one solitary character for medical droid or MDS.
Through all that it endured, it retained its sole mission
us we M was the final of its and the
outsider among them. It had an eerie potent heart for
not having one at all. M felt an M loved
that never made what it put upon us any less
than a vicious sense of idealistic altruism. Its designation was
RMS rotting man syndrome, heavily modified necrotizing fasciitis, flesh eating bacteria,
nasty little thing. It was devoured until there was nothing
left to chew. First went your skin, then your muscles, bones,
and finally your nerves. You were utterly destroyed at one
fell swoop. The wormy microscopic parasite kept you in a
zombified state as it happened, ensuring you for sure felt
the wretched anguish it let fly us. Humans weaponized it
to fight the Fourth World War. RMS was a weapon
of mass destruction. Each and every nation created their own version,
anything to ensure a speedy and decisive victory. Deployment morphed
into unmanageability. RMS became more and more impossible to treat.
Chaos was the new norm. What we humans thought was
an impenetrable method of annihilation for our enemies was exactly that.
Humans were always humans worst enemies. Surely, we were becoming
as extinct as the dinosaur, all within the span of
one short yet somehow long decade. In terrible desperation, the
medical droids were created. Thousands They seemingly emerged from the
depths of nowhere and carried themselves like some sort of
ethereal guardian healers. Their artificial intelligence was complex, and they
refused to stop trying to treat the RMS victims. They
outfitted the afflicted with artificial ligaments, internal organs, papery skin.
From scratch. They created the BMS brain modules and attached
them to our RMS ridden think tanks killed the microscopic
parasites they did, but left us as we were just
rought folk. They would never allow us the freedom of death.
Save Save Save. We were fraught with intense pain, and
we knew the medical droids to be the cause. In response,
we lashed out hurt them. We humans remained ignorant to
the fact that their intelligence was both far beyond and superior.
The MS returned the favor, catastrophes, massacres, back and forth,
left and right, up and down, until there was nothing more.
One medical droid was different from the rest through all
the mayhemic bloodshed. It saved some of us. It took
our animate carcasses to the top of the tallest tower,
free from what transpired below. We lied in wait, weeks, months,
and years until the noise ceased entirely. This em surveyed
every square inch of the earth, and lands were blanketed
in the strangest looking nuclear winter in conceivable thought. Bodies
both human and metallic were scattered left forever in deep sleep,
enveloped in fawn. Minute portions of matter floated about like
vent of black paint stippled onto a human death canvas.
Our final ten were meant to be the progenitors of
neo humanity. After M succeeded in giving us form again,
Earth would be repopulated by our hand. It halted our
infection at our nerves. Everything we had lost would then
be gifted back to us in a mighty reversal, rebones muscles, skin,
and life again, rendering us immune to the pervading talks
world that lay beyond. We would be reincarnated and released
to perpetrate a glorious do over. We just required one thing, hope.
M said that to us hope, but hope was only
a word, meant nothing. The only respite to the fervourish
insanity that we had become accustomed to was to defy.
We did not want anything to do with the word
that M sought to remake. We despised M and its
unnatural plan for our future. Most of all, we despised
ourselves for continuing to live. Every method we attempted was
met with an M intervention. We dislodged the bms from
our minds. We were pummeled with electrical voltage so intense
that we became instantaneously numb and useless. By pulling and
slashing our nerves, which began with locating sharp points and
going back and forth with organic hack saws, never would
we break by leaping onto and impaling each other with
objects on the ground, M would place them out of
reach or disintegrate them entirely. There was nothing we could
do to get around these M interferences. We were being
watched by something so attentive, so aware every time he'd
put forth the same query of consideration, do you not
want to live? And was so positively hopeful In a way,
I suppose I felt an amount of pity for it.
Being engineered to be as optimistic as possible. Might just
be the finest curse imposed on any sentient thing. Just believe, believe,
believe everything will be all right. When the universe states no,
you state yes, I wanted to tear em to shreds
anytime it had ever had a glint of optimism, and
we wished it would do the same to us. Humans
will thrive again, A boundless future is ahead. I was
the first it came to always because I was one.
Metallic clangs echoed against the walls, which always discovered us
and trembled our surroundings like a thousand distant beaten gongs.
What emerged was initially a single circular light, which became
a periscopic eye stalk attached to an angular neck. M's hunched,
razor thin mantis body came into view, its two arms
leading to three needle points clasping together on each other
by pedal on its lower section, its legs, or pointed
structures that stuck it firmly in place. M's height matched ours,
so always we would be synthetic eye to synthetic eye level.
Coming to a stop just in front of my pen,
it cocked its head, analyzing what was me and my everything.
M always reminded me of an exquisite and elegant bug
on a magnifying glass. Its head back to normality. A slight,
heighth pitched whirr emitted from the motion, M continued its
way down the row of pens. My greatest friends, I
forgive you for your attempts to die. While the weight
has been long, your moment of reconstruction is now. M
said it with the glee and whimsy of a young
in a circus. I was never sure whether it was
just program to be happy about our continued existence, or
actually experiencing its own form of enjoyment both. Perhaps it
came back my way. When I first stood before you
on your bloody planet in perpetual battle, my feelings about
your prospects of life were uncertain. It seemed to be
as either blessed or cursed. However, you have proved yourselves
better than even I had hoped. While it is boring
to spend your time waiting, I can truly say that
my investment in you was not in vain. You are
my greatest works. You will be given all you need
to survive. What more could a sentient being want? I
give to you unbelievable power, with access to nirvana like
no other. Let us rebuild what we have lost with
the fury of a thousand sons. M's bleached, unpigmented cast
of stellar light shown its way into my pen. Once more.
There was the rustly crackling creak of my pen entrance
extending open until a thunderous boom made me aware of
its collision with my walls. M made its approach just
shy of where I could reach. You were first, You're
going to be removed of your doormant infections from a concoction.
I have spent much time creating nothing more than a
transient procedure. And then you shall be possessed with a
new and integral mechanisms. Your brain module will be replaced
with a sleeker, more brain like design, then muscle, skin
and esthetics as you were before. Without awaiting a response,
its hands grabbed me. I was plucked from my mangled
feet in my pen. A selling shot maneuver to lend
in the exact and precise position that was just ahead
of M. Trillions of shocks reverberated throughout my body, and
m's of metal hands were pressed into my nape. The
action forced my consciousness to fall victim to a state
of absolute stigeon. Around us, the entire world flickered and
danced in unruly patterns that were too abstract to put
into terms. My being was then lifted up and moved
about until there was only ziltch to see, a complete
blur straight teleportation from one point to another, dank, dark
and dimly lit by a few feeble bulbs. M's workshop
instruments and contraptions that complicated my perception all were customized
and engineered with M's own unique modifications, various textures and sizes,
all in endless, malpractical orgy. I was there, facing upright,
strapped and bracketed to a great steel plate. I had
not recalled this particular area, yet I was ever so
certain it was locked away in my subconscious. As the Sonibi,
Heitodama and willows materialized and dematerialized out of existence to
perturb all unsuspecting travelers from centuries gone, so did the
phantom image of a woman composed a faint, weavering light.
She stood still, unmoving, that of an emulation of a
true human. Long platinum hair fell down in curls past
her shoulders. A daring shade of serres painted her lips
and her eyes, their lids ever closed sclera, a piercing
glossy cerulian. She was beautiful. It is you my eyes.
Through trial and tribulation rotated to the east. They came
to rest on a pristine porcelain beam, gazing where I
had been committed to M. From its eyestalk, it projected
the female so I could see an outright full It
is you. You will see this form again. My memories
of that incarnation of me had vanished. That was me
before before there was RMS and before there was M.
Then she went away. M loomed, positioning itself where I
once stood, right in front of my face. We will
now begin, Thank you for your acceptance into new life.
You shall be whole again. In a cruel instant, a
dozen arms, not unlike its main two jutted and splayed
from M sides their ends, each holding a different instrument
that was foreign to me. In a span of time
that it would take one to blink, M pinned me
into its operating area. The wetted syringes, which the rainbow
mystery liquid sloshed and jostled around in small vials fixed top,
slid their way into my nervous wiring and injected me
all at once. Any feeling that washed over me was
then shielded by a shroud of numbness. There were new sensations,
some sort of cleansing inside my by collared chambers. It
put me into a state of lulled calm ten minutes.
The temporary interval of quiet m observed me the entire time, unmoving,
speaking not a word. And then it works. Your rotting
man syndrome has been removed. I am beginning bodily replacement.
I will play a song for your comfort reincarnation now.
While nothing was done in reckless haste or rashness, and
was extremely quick and efficient, I felt nothing but minuscule
vibrations as it drilled and prodded its way into my
brain module, sparks shooting out, removing old parts and installing
new ones. Chunks were peeled off, little strings of meat
still reaching hold until they were plucked off my top.
It spent much time up there, positive that the most
delicate mechanisms were just right. The grinding cacophny of metal
against tissue on my faint visage of a temple was incessant.
The noise of a million bullets being pumped against one
hundred thousand bulletproof vests. Once the replacement was complete, its
dozen arms withdrew and set back within it. In one movement.
What do you feel? What did I feel? What did
I feel? What I felt was an overwhelming, incomparable amount
of pain. It's hard to quantify the degree of hurt,
for there was nothing to compare it to. The agony
that was endured. Came from the fact that it was
entirely impossible to imagine such a potent and intense kind
of ache. No one would dare want to imagine it,
even some of the most extreme kinds of agony. And
then an exponentially greater hurt is placed on top of that,
And then it is all left to multiply a hundred
times and keep going. Not to be outdone, another layer
of pain is placed a top where it all repeats
and multiplies and multiplies. It multiplies to the extreme degree
that you yourself ceased to exist, all from the semblance
of a normal brain. Still, it flashed once, very good
muscle muscle, muscle muscle. It was excited animate fever pitch,
the most ramunctious and overjoyed I had ever seen. M
I could see the vibrancy in its eyestalks. My muscles
redeveloped and reformed around from the base of my spinal section.
Every time m would reorganize a single section of tissue,
it would feel like my entire world was shattered. Every
muscle group from my neck to the soles of my
feet were in motion, growing and extending their presence, until
there were just as many layers of my body as
I had before. The feeling was excruciating, every little thing
being redeveloped, and then every little thing in its entirety
being overwritten, again and again and again. Each rebuild could
have been its own separate incarnation of me. Skin skin, skin, skin.
I was coated entirely in a pink, malleable jelly substance
that mounded and solidified to fit any typical feminine form.
The skin began its layering, beginning in the extremities, then
gradually the middle, and then the rest. A final coat
would be applied. My feet, legs, hands, shoulders, upper chest,
and everything in between all received the same color. How
does it feel? How is the new overlay of your flesh? Flash? Yes?
And finally, female aesthetics, you will be you again, but anew.
Magnificent flaxen curls were stapled and pinned to my head.
They were luscious in their scents, with those of lavender.
A veil of blush. The lightest shade of pink rested
across my entire face, as well as a fresh coat
of lipstick. The shimmering sheen that sparkled and glowed in
the same way the stars once did at night, was
stitched into my hair, as with the saying hues that
were applied to my lips. My breast had been returned
to me, two firm spheres atop a frame that was
curvaceous and slender. All of it led down to my
reproductive organs that were in full function. Whole female, fully formed. Ready,
m stepped back in awe as if a sculpture marveled.
Hath their fine craftsmanship and subtlety. It is done. I
cannot believe it. With your physical form in motion, I
will reteach you in the ways of human how to walk,
how to speak, how to enrich yourself, how to reproduce. Amazing,
you are no longer one. You are now eaten. I
must work on your brothers and sisters. Thank you for
your co operation. My mind was aware of an unimaginable,
new and vast different world than before. I saw for
the first time in ages. All around me, the infinite
and indistinguishable vastness of color and light. It was nauseating,
a psychedelic kaleidoscope of every possible spectrum, all fused together
into something disorderly. My taste buds had an unparalleled abundance
of new flavors. My ears were deafened by the loudness
symphonies of droning machinery. My touch came back to me,
and I felt the fullest range of tones and textures,
even the finest grains of cement. I was me again,
and I hated myself. Even to be called a self
made me feel disgusting. The entire time, blaring, echoing, days
on end, Jack Hilton, life is just a bowl of cherries.
Don't be so serious. Life's too mysterious. You work, you save,
you worry so much, but you can't take your dough
when you go, go go, So keep repeating. It's the berries.
The strongest oak must fall, the sweetest thing in life
to you. It just loaned, So how can you lose
what you've never owned? Life is just a bowl of cherries,
so live and laugh at it all. M's reincarnation process
carried over to the following nine. They were removed from
their pens and outfitted with new bodily infrastructure in the
way of their own genders. I perceived the sounds of
far off wear and tear clip, snap, peels, stitch, husk, twist,
yet never scream. I looked on witnessed my brothers and
sisters being born again, male and female. Both. They came
back to me with skin of different pastely colors, tones
and hues ranging from fair to brown, all in shades
and gradients of vibrancy, with its locks, amber, golden, obsidian, rust,
and everything in between. It bewildered me to catch sight
of their shifted shapes. I had never seen something so
beautiful or hideous. To a degree of completeness, we were
as naked as newborns. It bestowed us our new names.
For the females, there was me Eden in Junia, Esther, Nola,
and Mary. For the males, there was Isaac, Rahem, Alicia, Amos,
and Jonah five and five. M Let us know that
they were special names from an olden book of creation,
the Bible, all for the purpose of our imminent faultless
some sorrow. So it seemed m was now God with
its children here we were. Now was time to reap
the fruits of knowledge. Human M made us practice basic
motor skills, bending back and forth, over and over, our joints,
having to be strengthened and trained. It taught us all
the ways of our body, the feeling of movement, and
how much we could do. Then it instructed us to
mimic its own speech, speaking out the syllables and repeating, repeating, repeating.
It was ever an arduous task. We all struggled until
we were all properly schooled. That's what I sounded like,
perhaps or perhaps not. Then we attempted to stand, wobbling, stumbling, falling,
learning the strength of our own posture the steadiness of
our stands. M stood with us as we all practice
in unison. My knees grew weak, tremors running up my legs.
Often I fell flat on my back, my palms flailing
about and whimpering in my throat, And then trial after trial,
I was steady, then running about and leaping. We were
able to stand tall like Zeus atop Olympus and have
the same level of grace and balance. M primarily had
us consume berries, meat, and honey, though anything it could
get its hands on would suffice I had never felt
soul filled in my life. Every taste, everything was a
completely new palette of sensation. Every morsel I ingested felt
like I had a new tongue, new teeth, new flavor buds.
But I did. There was always a kind of lack
in my appetite, hunger and more hunger. I never wanted
to stop eating. I never would be satiated. We were
educated on the history of our kind, great wars, monumental figures,
horrible atrocities, fights for freedom and fights for death, and
astounding inventions. M adored music. There were times when it
would project old musical film on the wall and make
us watch all the vaudeville, burlesque and theater. We would
not understand the tap dances, the orchestras, the extravagant sets,
most importantly, the entertainment factor. Other times it played glitzier
and glamourier tunes, those of what called the prime rock
and roll age Killer Queen Stairway to Heaven Hotel, California, Africa.
Don't Fear the Reaper m was quite vintage in its tastes.
We would dance, spinning in place and twirling its arms.
We were confused, so it taught us how to dance,
the footwork, the choreography, the entirety of movement. There were
long instances where we would just sit, listen and sing together.
M fashioned black sunglasses for us to wear as we
did it, thought we would look cool as we tuned
into cool songs. She's a killer queen. Gunpowder, guillotine, dynamite
with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind anytime.
Dear lady, can you hear with the wind? Blow? And
did you know your stairway lies on the whispering winds?
Welcome to Hotel California. Such a lovely place, such a
lovely place, such a lovely face. It's going to take
a lot to drag me away from you. There's nothing
that a hundred men or more could ever do. I
bless the reins down in Africa. We're going to take
some time to do the things we never had. Oh,
come on, baby, don't fear the reaper. Baby take my hand.
Don't fear the reaper. We'll be able to fly. Don't
fear the reaper. Our reproductive functions were said to be
the most pleasurable sex. This is the most complex task
in the most demanding one as we were not only
instructed on how to create our offspring, but how to
feel love and have desire for each other. It was
difficult because we did not feel any of that. We
were just automatons learning things. You can't make something that
doesn't want to feel feel. M watched us and aided
our attempts. In turn, we all helped each other in
making sure that every movement was in place and in time.
It was a process that involved a series of emotions
to create stimulation and appeasement. Us females danced for the
male's recognition with slow beats in the background, a way
in which M noted as SEXI. We presented our breasts,
our vaginal sections, our ears after and would be in
the middle of our great pleasure circles, going back and forth,
checking our positions and correcting as needed. When we became
familiar with sex, em bestowed a special permission to the
males that granted them eternal access to our female bodies
whenever they so desired. It did not matter where or
when a male would grab Junia, Esther, Noah, Mary, or
I and take us on the floor or against the walls. Still,
all we felt was nothing. It was clinical. What was
supposed to be a sensation was more of a sensation less.
We were never as inseparable as twin flames, or as
connected as heart and soul. I always witnessed the dull
looks in the male's eyes, unwittingly programmed to enjoy mock
warmth and ecstasy by the rape of females. Our pregnancies
were disasters. One way or another. We always miscarried. We
five felt it the pains of our bodies being split
and ripped apart by something within. It was the strangest
feeling of agony to have your inside being cut up
by you, and then to feel the hurt of not
just physical pain, but emotional pain. There was a lot
of it. Each embryo, no matter how large or small,
was never able to get past the initial trimester. The
closest we ever came to successfully making a new one
was with Junia, impregnated by Isaac. The day when her
womb was in full bloom, M operated to remove her
child from her. We had seen the human babies on
M's wall projections. Their appearances were clear in our mind.
It would be imbecilic to refer to what M tore
out of her as a baby anything, wet, dripping, little
more than a spinal column looking thing with minuscule digits
at one end and a ball ahead at the other.
No arms on its temple, where squelching sphere eyes expanded forever,
bound in sight towards the ceiling. It made no sounds
other than squeaky cracks and shrill snaps. M held it
high as if to thank God, How does it feel,
your child, your first life? We said nothing. You made this.
It is yours. It is a truly beautiful thing. Continue,
you all must more. The feeling that overcame us was
not that of joy, No, no, no. It was a
profound and paramount sense of belligerence, a warlike trucelyns that
pushed our need to snap that damn baby thing in half,
grind it into powder, and blow it far away. We
interwove our thoughts with unbridled horror that created one noxious
mixture within our screwballs. Psychees m coddled the wicked organism
like it was its own, singing lullabies and giving its
own version of kisses on its loosely defined forehead, be
held back as it dipped, weaved, and dangled from M's fingertips.
That put a very real thought in our minds. No
more get out. The ten of us came to the
conclusion unanimously our desires were set in stone. By any means,
we would die. We would much rather sleep forever than
live even another second of M. We were tired. What
was the point we wanted to retire from this world?
Of will of M's watchful eye. Nothing could be done
to save humanity. Those spinal babies would not roam this
foul earth evermore, what would they grow to be? Surely demons.
M never taught a certain concept, the one that infatuated
us since the moment we pronounced the first syllable suicide.
He was a gateway to heaven, an easy ticket, though
just the concept itself was without flaw, Acquiring it was
something else entirely. The reason for this was all M.
He would never let us go, especially after what had accomplished. Furthermore,
death was simply not possible. We were rendered impervious to
any and all death, not harm. If we could entice
M to end our existences somehow, in some way, we
could accomplish our grand plan had to be done by
M's hands. Just thinking that made us feel all kinds
of right. After all, every medical droid was capable of death.
Humanity tasted it, so would we. We rebelled. First, each
of us ignored it, who would walk away whenever it
spoke to us, turn our heads when it beckoned, and
disregard it completely and altogether when it showed us any attention.
Constant rejection something so small had such a noticeable effect.
M would get confused, then sad it would pout, waving
its hands about and made a pathetic whining noise, like
the worst puppy in the world. We sat motionless, our
backs against the walls and stared at M. No obedience. However,
there was no way M would have let us ignore
it or remain immobile for long. The second it touched us,
it was all over. It would be impossible to resist.
If the hands came near. Still, our scheme chugged forward.
The next phase was more dangerous. The ten of us
would act out in our most unruly and uncivil ways.
The simplest was to spit. Initially, it was a normal discharge,
saliva flying out of our mouths. Then we began our
projectile vomits all over M, every square inch of it
was sprayed with bile. The putrid green and browns coated
every part M's entire face, being entirely slick with it.
On occasion, some of us used our own feces and
flung them at it. It was all so easy. EM
didn't know what to do when it panicked. The sounds
that came out of it, one would swear it was
on fire. During our periods of copulation, they were clear
cut rules to be obeyed at all times. The supreme
rule was that the males would not, under any circumstance,
perform acts of intimacy with one another, and the same
rang true for us females. M's reasoning was that Earth
could not be repopular with humans by identically gendered unions.
Good swell dandy exactly. The females had sex with females,
and males had sex with males. We loathed their tubes,
and the males loathed our folds. M took its hands
and placed them over our mangled bodies, pulling them apart,
separating us, but we would always crawl back without fail.
There was a noticeable change in M. From that point.
It paced about, mumbling utterly random nonsense. M would lock
up and yell out nonspecific numerals and letters in various patterns.
Each noise we made set it off. Its limbs were tents,
waiting for the tiniest signs of trouble. This was good,
but not good enough. Our plan was becoming more and
more advanced, more intense. Unfortunately, M would never ever relent.
It would not stop trying. So we trudged ever deeper
into a more combative method of enticement. This included a
tactic of blowing, jabbing, slugging, and striking. We would gather
all of our strength and force, and then, in unison,
we would charge our fists and feet, all flailing about
to land hits on M. This would surely inch it
towards the death of us. We beat it senselessly. We
screamed at it every cussword imaginable, those uninvented and invented.
In turn, M whimpered out in pain, yelping and begging
us to stop. Yet we never backed down. We left
M bruised and battered, its eyestalk and joints broken. Why
would you do that to me? The ten of us?
We laughed in its face. One last course of action
this did it, but not for me. We had a
grandiose idea that could only happen if all ten of
us would cooperate in an extraordinary way. If we could
all act in unison in a coherent manner, one simple
idea could be fulfilled. By this point, M's pain and
discomfort reached a critical threshold, the point of no return.
Having repaired itself, it had not seen nor checked up
on us in days. When we requested M's presence, it
was hesitant. The ten of us wished to explain our
behavior and ways that we could remedy our relationship. It
declined our offer many times, but relented after our one
hundredth ask. Clang clang, clang. M witnessed ourselves huddling together
in one straight line, like sealed packs of fish. Silence
was between us. When we looked at it, it was
with the utmost hatred of our faces. Something it was
not used to. What is the meaning of this? Juna
possessed something in her hand, raising it upward right in
M's view. It was the baby thing, squirming left and
right in her grasp. She took hold of it with
both hands and snapped it in half. It went limp
both ways. Juna threw the pieces at M, making resounding
bangs as they made contact. Beautiful death for a horrible beast.
More silence. M slowly aimed its eyestalk down towards the
spinal column Baby. The light M emitted faded from white
to red. He returned its focus to us. That look
was all we could wish for hate mongering, because it
spread to us. The feeling radiated from the tips of
our fingers and toes, then the entirety of us. We
could feel and breathe its anger. It thrashed about its
entire frame, shaking with anger. More and more the intensity
grew to something eminent. The next moment brought us nothing
but victory. Now was like the other medical droids. Now
it shed its pervasive exterior and revealed the war machine within.
We didn't resist as it pounced with a wild war cry.
All of EM's work came undone in a flash. Our
flesh was torn violently asunder stripped from our interior. Metal
stalks cavities emerged in rapid succession and coalesced into huge, gaping,
bodily apertures. We were torn and strewn across the room
and shooting chunk meats. Our organs would clatter and bang
against the walls and reverberate like box shot. Strippy meat
coils became all we were as hands reached out to
pluck some of my brothers and sisters by their mangled
brain modules, held high in the air, as if squeezing
the life out of dozens of citrus fruits. ELM's hands
morphed into that of fists, filling the room with the
sounds of condensed metal, directionless electricity, confetti, sparks, and sploshy
viands that trickle from M's fingertips. My brothers and sisters
were becoming no more. I was happy for them. Never
before had they felt such peace. The final sounds of
destruction to my last brother and sister to me, who
is that of M's gaseous expiration, a sigh that shook
the very universe's beams of support. In the end, I
and M were all that were left. I felt the
most exquisite brutal anguish ever known as M was particularly vicious.
It threw me every which way down our line of pens,
passed the production chamber and M's workshop to a rampart
palisaded wall. The wrath it emanated was a tormented wanton
of disrelishment that shattered myself into grainy talk. Only was
there my death rattle and that of M. It forced
me and it through the barrier, and we fell for ages.
An immediate wash of smoldering atmospheric tension encompassed me entirely.
It perforated my corporeal space with thousands of circular openings,
like a planetary iron maiden. What was known the outside
was beige, enveloped in thick haze, and impossible to view
beyond three meters. The laden particles filled the air, appearing
to ascend upwards towards heavens. As we plummeted down to hell,
we smashed through the might of God against a hard,
abrasive surface. I splattered everywhere and dropped into an enormous
mass of glooey puddle melt that was as thick as treacle.
Hunks and wedges of me floated on top my lacerated,
ragged brain module and other dangling eye, my dominant portion.
Everything was pain, Everything was hell fire, and yet I
lived to destroy me. M had to destroy my brain
module in its entirety that it was prepared to do
teetering and tottering back and forth towards me with utmost intent.
Through unstrained glitches and breakdowns, Inky black liquids were leaking
out of it, convulsing with helpless mirth. I had a
strange mania. I could perceive it its bifurcated eyestalks. It
laughed not just with demented delirium and depression, but also
with compensation that it had already won, like a madman.
Malformed twisted laugh broke its way through etched into it
with this raw, unbridled temperament of unchucking a billion centipedes
deep from the core of one's gut. Quite contrary to
the usual life M put on display, it was berserk, bewitched, bedeviled,
while crying a trillion tears that stained its face and
fell into puddles below. With my drooping pendulum eye, I
witnessed M I pale itself with its own arms. It
took several solid blows before it pierced its torso deep,
caving and bursting until it revealed the wires and circuitry
making it up. Every inch of it glowed with electrical fire.
Smoke bellowed out of M. It was it was a flame,
and it was on a journey of pure death, but
not without my company. Em exploded with all the unlimited
energy it contained. I was launched, propelled infinitely away from
the point of detonation. I drifted. That is all I do.
One part of me remains, one that was not destroyed.
It is a dot, pinprick, but otherwise crucial to my
quintessence that allows me to survive, yet unable to live.
It is that of charred slab of blinking metal that
is somatically me. My eyeball had withered away and fell off,
restricting my sight to a band of nothing. The winds
fling me hither and thither. I cannot feel anymore, but
as well, I already knew what it was like to feel,
and I didn't like it. Something more deserving continues to
plague what is left of my mind. To the now,
M's most extreme and greatest purpose was fulfilled. For all
it knew was the survival and preservation of us. It
could not fathom the simple yet pretentious human notion that
death is a prize to be won as much as
it is something to fear. When humans desired death, they
acquire death. The delicious tang of self slaughter. M might
have liked to think it was different from its brethren,
but it was just as capable of havoc and bangarrang
If something did not go its way, its programming would
not allow deviance from the intended path that would be
considered at tax on M itself. We attempted to bring
out all that savagery and murderousness we knew it contained,
but M's opposition was ironclad. It made a good effort
that it was eventually forced to confront what was really human,
the innate drive to destroy, destroy, destroy, even if it
is ourselves. Still M carried on, but with the knowledge
that it had failed, and seeking some way to negate it, it
committed suicide so it could say it was victorious. This
effect rang true because here I am, in perpetual, ever long,
in some manners. I can now consider M innocent, the
epitome of unvarnished forgiveness, with a capacity for fervor, resentment,
and the feeble yearning for genuine, deep affection with other
living things, while a forceful, vicious, bloodthirsty rage is locked within,
primed and ready to be released at any moment. On
an ungrateful world that back and forth would push anyone
to go stark raving, Mad m am, I apologize you
were forced to bear the burden of something so hillacious.
Should I apologize to Earth as well? On behalf of
humanity for what we were? Would it matter? Not even
human anymore? Sort of blinking metal dot is human? Feeling
has come back to me, sharp with serrated edges, hundreds thousands, millions, billions,
trillions Google prime of knives gliding into my neurons and
my cells in case, and cold and eroded steel that
flakes off bit by bit. My first feeling in eons
is pain. This is alter fitting, but a minuscule speck,
barely a millimeter in height and less in width. Microscopically,
I rust, I do not prefer to call it that. Instead,
let's call it rot. Here I am again rotting, except
this time with an oxidized smile of my own making,
carved into a face that no longer exists. Hey, they're kids,
it's me, mister Kreepypasta. And before we say good night,
I just wanted to say thank you so much for
watching tonight's video, or for listening to tonight's episode, or
the podcast. I also want to say, if you guys
like the stories you're hearing now, please check out The
Creepy Pasta Collection Volume one and Volume two. They're available
now on Amazon, They're available at Barnes and Noble. They're
available wherever you like to get books. They're some of
the best authors I've worked with over the years, of
my absolute favorite authors and some of my friends, so
I'd appreciate it if you guys check those things out.
There's also an audiobook that I wasn't involved with. I
don't know why Simon and Schuster did that, but they did,
so you can check that out too if you'd like
listing the books but you just don't want to hear me.
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