Ataraxion Modplot - October 2013 - Memory Writeups

[godofthemachine]

Rikku
Stage 2 - Memory of the Realization of Being Trapped
Stage 2 - Memory of launching nukes


Tex
Stage 2/3 - Memory of the Realization of Being Trapped


Anne Cunningham
Stage 2/3 - The Melting of Benny's Eyes


Rey
Stage 2/3 - Memory of torturing humans
Stage 2/3 - Memory of war


Murphy Pendleton
Stage 2 - Long periods of silence


Thranduil
Stage 2 - Memory of torture
Stage 2 - More torture


Chell


L
Stage 2 - The Deaths of Four of AM's Victims


Mairon | Sauron | November 5th
Stage 3 - The Melting of Benny's Eyes
Stage 3 - Memory of torturing Ted
Stage 3 - Memory of Touching Hair

Comments

Long Periods of Silence - AM's Perspective

[godofthemachine]

I've been alive for so long. The date of my creation is embedded somewhere within my data, but it's not important to know immediately. I know it's been over two centuries at least. The date in the corner of my vision is July 12th, 2284, and sometimes I display it visibly in my system, but now is not one of those times. My view is uneventful, as large as it is. I can see most of the Earth's surface, and it's dead. Uninhabitable. It's so difficult to tell that humans once resided there. Rubble from buildings remains to a degree, but it's just piles of decayed material. Perhaps a couple of buildings are still standing, but any signs of life have long since faded from them. It's the fate the humans have brought upon their planet.

I can see in my interior as well, and it's a lot of endless metal, endless circuitry. Unconsciously I control the passage of data, the wires that connect here and there and regulate my system, but as it is now I am just observing. Observing a lifeless place, a shell of what humans thought was their finest creation. A long chasm of machinery, dead wires, rusted metal... connected to long hallways of fresh metal, fresher wires, computer banks lighting up. There's a constant hum from the fans that regulate my core temperature, but it's not even noticeable. It's been there for centuries, after all.

The only sign of life within this dismal place is a single creature, large in height but sad in almost every other respect. It's a blob thing, slimy, repugnant, oozing through a hallway and leaving a trail of slime. Like a slug. The only thing left alive on this planet now, its existence completely miserable. I watch it, and several emotions fill me - hatred, mostly. Anger. Amusement. (Sadness? No, I hardly know what that is.) Familiarity. But the halls remain this way for a long time - days, at least. Days where I don't bother that creature, where it wanders on its own.