Abu-Dhabi Khristatata
25-06-2005, 04:14
It was the end of the world they said, but many had said it before. Those terrible organic malcreations. Those demons from the darkest depths of space that rumbled across the deserts of the Martian Noachia. Ever approaching, constant destruction. All the rumbling! So overwhealming and uncomprehendable! Their ever constant need to devour and mangle and destroy! But were they really that different from us?
The 'superior' Khristian race, as once thought by, that bastard to end all bastards, Quin Izumi. Oh no, it was a farce. Those trillions of dollars, those hundreds of millions dead for his name. How many had been slaughtered, how many harmed? All for his sake, all because of him. But he was dead now, all of those members of the old order. Dead.
Blasted to bits by the combined forces of the solar system more than fifty years ago, the particles of their bodies collecting dust on space junkers. Their once great war machines salvaged and turned into toasters and razors and guns and God knows what.
But what really happens to a nation when it dies, so severly struck down like that of Abu-Dhabi Khristatata? Swoards turned into plowshares is an understatement. but no, no.... his life was at risk the Great Devourer, ever marching towards him. The rumbling, oh God, that rumbling destruction that rolled across the Nochain desert!
And yet, he thirsted to destroy. To mangle and murder. To buther babies in front of their mothers eyes. Damn this bloodlust bred into him by that Quin Izumi! Cursed be his name! But it was all useless, meaningless, irreversable. It was all the past.... Bred into him by 200 years of genetic cloning and manipulation. Yes, the Khristian race, sentient cockroaches of the universe.... Yes... their wars and destruction, they had rumbled just like the Great Devourer. They're terrible machinations ever crushing, be it their enemies or their own blood.
Their twisted logic so caustic and destructive to themselves. Their hatred and passion for things unseen and unknown. Their blind faith and pointless rambling. Oh, how he rambled in his head staring at the loaded gun in his hand. This disgust he felt for himself for being Khristian. His hatred of the past and the present and the future. His fear of the awaiting unknown that sat in that gun.
Had he been lied to? Did God really exist? Was he just part of Quin Izumi's plan? That 'holy institution' the church? It was all a mockery, al to decieve and control them, wasn't it? Yes, it could only be.... It was all lies, it could only be, it could only be....
He gripped the handgrip of the gun... It could all be over soon. Just like it had been with his family. Ripped apart by the teeth of the great Devourer, in a rose flouresence of death and passion. What was pasison, mere instinct? Perhaps.... But in the end they were all animals, one coul even say that the robots of Zero-One were mere artifcal animals. No better than a dog or a frog or a worm....
It was all just instinct. Escape. Escape from the inevitable. Run from destruction. Run from misery. Heros don't ask why, but none of us are heros. It all comes down to this descision. This lethal psedo-philosophical arguement. Die now, or later? It was an intriguing question for him, his mind so ravaged by paranoia and manic behaviour.....
The world was coming to an end they said, and he had seen it, heawrd it, smelt it, felt it... It must be true... His ancestors and leader and friends and countrymen could all lie.... But his body told him the truth. It was all just instinct, meaningless and thoughtless... It was all meaningless, it all ended... He would die anyways, they all did. He wouldn't hand himself over to devouring pandemic that threated all of Mars... Sanity had left him long ago...all that remained was psychosis...
The bore of the gun was cold against his temple. His hand shook and he trembled, he even prayed, praying to that which he knew deep within him was a lie. Sweat poured off of him, he was drenched. And he finally did it, release from this Goddamned world with all of its rumbling machinations of destruction. The gunshot echoed throughout the small concrete room right as it was covered with what could've been a brilliant mind. A pity that he couldn't have afforded a plasma pistol, it would've been a lot less messy...
The 'superior' Khristian race, as once thought by, that bastard to end all bastards, Quin Izumi. Oh no, it was a farce. Those trillions of dollars, those hundreds of millions dead for his name. How many had been slaughtered, how many harmed? All for his sake, all because of him. But he was dead now, all of those members of the old order. Dead.
Blasted to bits by the combined forces of the solar system more than fifty years ago, the particles of their bodies collecting dust on space junkers. Their once great war machines salvaged and turned into toasters and razors and guns and God knows what.
But what really happens to a nation when it dies, so severly struck down like that of Abu-Dhabi Khristatata? Swoards turned into plowshares is an understatement. but no, no.... his life was at risk the Great Devourer, ever marching towards him. The rumbling, oh God, that rumbling destruction that rolled across the Nochain desert!
And yet, he thirsted to destroy. To mangle and murder. To buther babies in front of their mothers eyes. Damn this bloodlust bred into him by that Quin Izumi! Cursed be his name! But it was all useless, meaningless, irreversable. It was all the past.... Bred into him by 200 years of genetic cloning and manipulation. Yes, the Khristian race, sentient cockroaches of the universe.... Yes... their wars and destruction, they had rumbled just like the Great Devourer. They're terrible machinations ever crushing, be it their enemies or their own blood.
Their twisted logic so caustic and destructive to themselves. Their hatred and passion for things unseen and unknown. Their blind faith and pointless rambling. Oh, how he rambled in his head staring at the loaded gun in his hand. This disgust he felt for himself for being Khristian. His hatred of the past and the present and the future. His fear of the awaiting unknown that sat in that gun.
Had he been lied to? Did God really exist? Was he just part of Quin Izumi's plan? That 'holy institution' the church? It was all a mockery, al to decieve and control them, wasn't it? Yes, it could only be.... It was all lies, it could only be, it could only be....
He gripped the handgrip of the gun... It could all be over soon. Just like it had been with his family. Ripped apart by the teeth of the great Devourer, in a rose flouresence of death and passion. What was pasison, mere instinct? Perhaps.... But in the end they were all animals, one coul even say that the robots of Zero-One were mere artifcal animals. No better than a dog or a frog or a worm....
It was all just instinct. Escape. Escape from the inevitable. Run from destruction. Run from misery. Heros don't ask why, but none of us are heros. It all comes down to this descision. This lethal psedo-philosophical arguement. Die now, or later? It was an intriguing question for him, his mind so ravaged by paranoia and manic behaviour.....
The world was coming to an end they said, and he had seen it, heawrd it, smelt it, felt it... It must be true... His ancestors and leader and friends and countrymen could all lie.... But his body told him the truth. It was all just instinct, meaningless and thoughtless... It was all meaningless, it all ended... He would die anyways, they all did. He wouldn't hand himself over to devouring pandemic that threated all of Mars... Sanity had left him long ago...all that remained was psychosis...
The bore of the gun was cold against his temple. His hand shook and he trembled, he even prayed, praying to that which he knew deep within him was a lie. Sweat poured off of him, he was drenched. And he finally did it, release from this Goddamned world with all of its rumbling machinations of destruction. The gunshot echoed throughout the small concrete room right as it was covered with what could've been a brilliant mind. A pity that he couldn't have afforded a plasma pistol, it would've been a lot less messy...