The Resi Corporation
04-05-2004, 23:56
((OOC: Yes, I know I posted this already. Don't even start with me. I'm forced to re-post this because the last version of this thread was riddled with comments from pricks who just read the title and posted something about how they liked classic rock, not even bothering to read the contents. I know this because you don't read the contents of this thread and then say things like "Nice work" or "Good writing" just because of the subject material. The comments ruined the flow of the thread, as does this OOC blurb, but I still have to say that this is better than what was at the bottom of the last thread.))
IC:
"Wake up, hon. Everything's alright now."
These were the first words that Sara Resi heard out of Washu, just a month earlier when Sara was brought back from the brink of death after almost being assassinated and whitnessing the death of her boyfriend by the man trying to save her. Now, sitting in her room in the Resian Elite Archology with the lights off, looking out her open window at the sun setting over Resi City, she thought how dead wrong Washu was. Everything was not alright, in fact, nothing was alright. Every man who had loved her had gone insane or died, all because they loved her. She felt like some kind of monster.
She reflected again back to the hospital just after her recovery. It pained her to do so, but at this point she didn't care. Her every waking moment was pain sense that day...
"That was some dream I had while I was out, Washu," she saw herself saying, "It was so real, too. It'd be horrible if it was, I don't know what I'd do."
"Hm?" Washu grunted, looking at some charts, "tell me about it. They say dreams mean things."
"I drempt that Frederick was fighting off all these guards in a forest somewhere, and just when he was about to win when a man or a demon of some kind swooped down from the heavens. I felt that this person was a friend, y'know, that I could trust them. Then, the first thing he did when he landed was blow Frederick's face off in one shot. One shot, and the man I love's head was completely gone."
Washu paused, awestruck. This was the part of the memory that pained Sara the most to recall.
"Funny dream, huh?" Sara said, nonchalantly.
Washu had let her clipboard slip from her hands. It clattered to the floor, which made her jump. She turned to Sara slowly, shaking a little.
"Oh Goddess..." Washu said under her breath, "I thought you were taking it well..."
"Washu?" Sara looked up with concern, "What's wrong?"
"Child," said Washu, taking a seat and stairing at the cealing, "I don't know exactly how to say this, but..."
She took a deep breath.
"But that wasn't a dream." Washu finally managed to say.
"Y-you're kidding, right?" Sara stammered, "Don't joke like that, the dream was scary enough without you doing this to me."
"You poor thing..." Washu breathed out, tears welling up in her eyes, "I'm not joking. He's dead. Frederick's dead, and the man that killed him was ment to rescue you."
Sara blinked. Once. Twice.
She collapsed, her last concious memories of the event being Washu rushing to her side before her lights went out.
But that was then, this is now. This is the now, where Sara was running her hand along the blade of a sword given to her by her first boyfriend, Prince Xander of Mythical. The remarkable thing about this blade is that it was left to her in his will, and that he would not have been killed where it not for her love. Xander met his end when a certain paranoid Resian General ordered his execution in fear that Sara could link the two countries together in ways that would be unbenificial to the corporation. General Davis met his end at the hands of Sara herself, and she remembered with relish when she tore out his throat and watched him trying to scream as he bled slowly to death. She cut that affair short by crushing his head with her heel, and remembered how invigorating it felt to kill that monster of a man. She loved every bit of it.
She gasped aloud, drawing back. She couldn't believe she thought those thoughts, but they were a part of her all the same. She was some half-human half-machine abomination unto the lord, and there was proof, so to speak, in the flesh. She was immortal, immune to any and everything, completely bulletproof, heatproof, diseaseproof, agingproof, and about a million other proofs on top of that. It was all due to that headband of hers, that circlet that healed her when she was wounded, when she showed the slightest sign of malfunction. She was a machine, and it was her mechanic.
Looking down at her hand, she realized she had rubbed the blade so hard it had started to make her bleed. She watched the red liquid that filled her dribble over the blade, its soft drops tracing lines down the chrome of the sword as they ran towards the hilt. This facinated her, watching herself bleed this mysterious red liquid, neither blood nor oil in her eyes, but a mix of the two. She was a half-human that had no place in this world. As to reinforce that fact, a cluster of nanomachines coursed down from her circlet and began to mend the broken flesh on her hand, gradually ejecting the sword from the wound. She watched her mechanic try to repair her in vain, and realized that she was broken in ways it could not fix. She was a defective unit, her intelligence, artificial or no, was flawed and was killing her from the inside. Her nanomachines, her mechanic could not fix this, and it was swallowing her whole. She was faulty, and so was her mechanic.
In anger, she took her non-bleeding hand and grasped the circlet, ripping it off of her head with such force that it took our a wad of hair with it. Her scalp began to bleed a little too, which the nanomachines began to climb down her arm to fix, but she tossed the circlet across the room so that it could no longer sense her. She felt the blood, warm and wet with what one would assume to be life, trail down her face, down her neck and into her mouth. She tasted it, and found it delicious. Did this make her a monster too? Most likely, but she no longer cared. She was a monster, an abomination of man and machine that was unfit to live among men and serve among robots.
Is it not fitting for a monster like her, a slayer of men and a traitor of the heart, to die? Surly it would be just for someone to slay her, but who would to this deed? It would be a good deed, to kill a monster such as her, to slay it so that others may live free without threat of its curse.
Taking up her sword, she moved towards the window, standing on its ledge.
"It's beautiful," she said aloud, watching the sun sink into the sea in its final blaze of burning glory, "This world... it's too good for me. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve this life. I, who am not human, deserve nothing."
She raised the blade in both hands, and held its blood-stained chrome in front of her.
"Come, sweet blade,
Pierce my bosom,
Rupture my heart,
Slice my mortal coil."
With this, she held the blade pointed towards her at arm's length, and plunged its cold steel into her heart. Gasping her last breath, she watched the sun disappear over the horizon as she fell out the window, down through the twilight air towards her doom thousands of feet below.
"Goodbye... Dad... Washu... Dae..." she breathed out as the wind whipped her blood-soaked dress around her as she fell down, down, down to her metal and concrete grave.
IC:
"Wake up, hon. Everything's alright now."
These were the first words that Sara Resi heard out of Washu, just a month earlier when Sara was brought back from the brink of death after almost being assassinated and whitnessing the death of her boyfriend by the man trying to save her. Now, sitting in her room in the Resian Elite Archology with the lights off, looking out her open window at the sun setting over Resi City, she thought how dead wrong Washu was. Everything was not alright, in fact, nothing was alright. Every man who had loved her had gone insane or died, all because they loved her. She felt like some kind of monster.
She reflected again back to the hospital just after her recovery. It pained her to do so, but at this point she didn't care. Her every waking moment was pain sense that day...
"That was some dream I had while I was out, Washu," she saw herself saying, "It was so real, too. It'd be horrible if it was, I don't know what I'd do."
"Hm?" Washu grunted, looking at some charts, "tell me about it. They say dreams mean things."
"I drempt that Frederick was fighting off all these guards in a forest somewhere, and just when he was about to win when a man or a demon of some kind swooped down from the heavens. I felt that this person was a friend, y'know, that I could trust them. Then, the first thing he did when he landed was blow Frederick's face off in one shot. One shot, and the man I love's head was completely gone."
Washu paused, awestruck. This was the part of the memory that pained Sara the most to recall.
"Funny dream, huh?" Sara said, nonchalantly.
Washu had let her clipboard slip from her hands. It clattered to the floor, which made her jump. She turned to Sara slowly, shaking a little.
"Oh Goddess..." Washu said under her breath, "I thought you were taking it well..."
"Washu?" Sara looked up with concern, "What's wrong?"
"Child," said Washu, taking a seat and stairing at the cealing, "I don't know exactly how to say this, but..."
She took a deep breath.
"But that wasn't a dream." Washu finally managed to say.
"Y-you're kidding, right?" Sara stammered, "Don't joke like that, the dream was scary enough without you doing this to me."
"You poor thing..." Washu breathed out, tears welling up in her eyes, "I'm not joking. He's dead. Frederick's dead, and the man that killed him was ment to rescue you."
Sara blinked. Once. Twice.
She collapsed, her last concious memories of the event being Washu rushing to her side before her lights went out.
But that was then, this is now. This is the now, where Sara was running her hand along the blade of a sword given to her by her first boyfriend, Prince Xander of Mythical. The remarkable thing about this blade is that it was left to her in his will, and that he would not have been killed where it not for her love. Xander met his end when a certain paranoid Resian General ordered his execution in fear that Sara could link the two countries together in ways that would be unbenificial to the corporation. General Davis met his end at the hands of Sara herself, and she remembered with relish when she tore out his throat and watched him trying to scream as he bled slowly to death. She cut that affair short by crushing his head with her heel, and remembered how invigorating it felt to kill that monster of a man. She loved every bit of it.
She gasped aloud, drawing back. She couldn't believe she thought those thoughts, but they were a part of her all the same. She was some half-human half-machine abomination unto the lord, and there was proof, so to speak, in the flesh. She was immortal, immune to any and everything, completely bulletproof, heatproof, diseaseproof, agingproof, and about a million other proofs on top of that. It was all due to that headband of hers, that circlet that healed her when she was wounded, when she showed the slightest sign of malfunction. She was a machine, and it was her mechanic.
Looking down at her hand, she realized she had rubbed the blade so hard it had started to make her bleed. She watched the red liquid that filled her dribble over the blade, its soft drops tracing lines down the chrome of the sword as they ran towards the hilt. This facinated her, watching herself bleed this mysterious red liquid, neither blood nor oil in her eyes, but a mix of the two. She was a half-human that had no place in this world. As to reinforce that fact, a cluster of nanomachines coursed down from her circlet and began to mend the broken flesh on her hand, gradually ejecting the sword from the wound. She watched her mechanic try to repair her in vain, and realized that she was broken in ways it could not fix. She was a defective unit, her intelligence, artificial or no, was flawed and was killing her from the inside. Her nanomachines, her mechanic could not fix this, and it was swallowing her whole. She was faulty, and so was her mechanic.
In anger, she took her non-bleeding hand and grasped the circlet, ripping it off of her head with such force that it took our a wad of hair with it. Her scalp began to bleed a little too, which the nanomachines began to climb down her arm to fix, but she tossed the circlet across the room so that it could no longer sense her. She felt the blood, warm and wet with what one would assume to be life, trail down her face, down her neck and into her mouth. She tasted it, and found it delicious. Did this make her a monster too? Most likely, but she no longer cared. She was a monster, an abomination of man and machine that was unfit to live among men and serve among robots.
Is it not fitting for a monster like her, a slayer of men and a traitor of the heart, to die? Surly it would be just for someone to slay her, but who would to this deed? It would be a good deed, to kill a monster such as her, to slay it so that others may live free without threat of its curse.
Taking up her sword, she moved towards the window, standing on its ledge.
"It's beautiful," she said aloud, watching the sun sink into the sea in its final blaze of burning glory, "This world... it's too good for me. I don't deserve it, I don't deserve this life. I, who am not human, deserve nothing."
She raised the blade in both hands, and held its blood-stained chrome in front of her.
"Come, sweet blade,
Pierce my bosom,
Rupture my heart,
Slice my mortal coil."
With this, she held the blade pointed towards her at arm's length, and plunged its cold steel into her heart. Gasping her last breath, she watched the sun disappear over the horizon as she fell out the window, down through the twilight air towards her doom thousands of feet below.
"Goodbye... Dad... Washu... Dae..." she breathed out as the wind whipped her blood-soaked dress around her as she fell down, down, down to her metal and concrete grave.