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It seems no one else has taken 'Down in the Park," yet. So I'm in.
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Sep 5, 2012 23:18
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sebmojo posted:All hail Thunderdome. This sounds like a trap. But this is the thunderdome. I am fearless.
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Sep 8, 2012 19:53
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Down, in the Park Bloody fool. I scanned the field again, disturbing the branches around me as little as possible. "Late for work?" That was your excuse for cutting through the park? I could only afford a few seconds of proper visibility. I pulled my head back into my wooded shell. I don't think any of them saw me. Come to think of it, I don't think I saw any of them. Ten hours I'd been up in this tree. When the Machmen descended upon the park, screeching their horrible siren from their ultra-voces, we'd all scattered. As I found shelter up high, far out of sight, I was exposed blindly to the sounds of death. The mechanical noise- the buzz-saws, the pneumatics- those weren't the worst of it. Nor were the screams- those of the fools who'd tried to run rather than hide. The worst was the quiet that followed. The silence of slaughter. For hours, that silence tormented me. Tempted me. It told me little white lies; told me their game was finished. That they all had left. But I knew better. I just have to wait until dark, then it'll be over. All I had to do was wait. -------------------- It was dusk, and I hadn't eaten. Zom's was only a few hundred meters from here. Zom's meant food, and safety. Even the cruelest, most blood-thirsty Machman wouldn't kill a human in a place like Zom's; our "rights" would be respected, there. I chanced one more look beyond the leaves. The last sliver of light was falling beyond the horizon. Nothing moved in the field; no sign of the hunters. I had to squint just to see the bloodied trophies left behind. It was dark enough. Time to go. Slowly, deliberately, I climbed down the trunk of the tree. My feet quietly met the dirt, and I paused to scan the field one more time. Do I run and risk the noise, or walk and risk the exposure? I ran. I'd been playing defensively all day, and was sick of it. I don't know how far I made it. Maybe fifty meters, maybe even less. But it wasn't far before I heard the whirrs and clanks and knew I'd been spotted. It was a pretty big one. Nine feet tall, maybe. Its chrome finish was dirty and badly stained. The dim light made it hard to pick out details, but its silhouette suggested it was a masher, with powerful, but humanoid, arms, rather than a slicer. It ran toward me at a speed I couldn't possibly match. No point trying to outrun it. I suppose there wasn't a point in trying to fight it, either, but I had to try something. I looked around. Nearby, a park bench had been smashed to bits. That'll do. As my pursuer quickly closed the distance between us, I picked up a broken board. It was long, and felt heavy in my hands. Still, I felt foolish: anyone watching right now would've laughed at how hopelessly outmatched I was. Right before the Machman reached me, I swung that board with a might I didn't know I possessed. Yet it did little more than harmlessly *clank* against the robot's chest, leaving just the smallest of dents. Then the machine broke my shoulder, and I screamed. No, to say it merely "broke" my shoulder wouldn't do any justice to the robot's strength, nor "screamed" to my reaction. The Machman shattered my shoulder with hundreds of pounds of force, and I wailed like a child. As it lifted me off the ground by a pulpy mess that once contained bone, I grabbed the board with my off-hand, and swung at it with all the strength I could muster. This time, the board stuck to the machine. Specifically, a large nail near the end was caught in a gap between metal plates on the Machman's chest. With a couple of good yanks, I managed to pry open a hole. I dropped the board, and grabbed blindly at wires just beneath its "skin." The robot tore my arm backwards in self-defense, tearing it from its socket, but it acted a second too late. Along with my arm, it also pulled out the wires I had grasped, and sparks burst from its gaping wound. The Machman toppled forward, and fell to the ground with me underneath it. gently caress! In his death throes, the machine released its grip on me, but my broken body was still pinned underneath its. My arms were broken and useless. I had difficulty breathing and, despite the enormity of my pain, I couldn't find the breath to cry out. It was completely dark. If no other Machmen had come to aid their fallen comrade by now, then the hunt must be over for the evening. With some luck, humans would sneak into the park under the cover of darkness, searching for survivors. Less luck, and I would pass out soon and die quickly from my injuries. Or, worst of all, when dawn came and the sun cried morning, the hunt would begin again. Then, they would find me. All I had to do was wait.
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Sep 8, 2012 20:04
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The only reason this thread's so quiet is we're all too busy  ing to place our fingers on the keyboard.
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Sep 9, 2012 17:12
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I'm beginning to think this long wait is punishment for what the judges believe to be a bad crop of stories. E: Seriously, I have work in 7 hours but I can't get to sleep without some closure. INSULT OUR ABILITIES, ALREADY!
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Sep 9, 2012 22:28
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SurreptitiousMuffin posted:Just so we get this out of the way, exactly how many people are writing "deal with the devil"? A metaphorical deal with the devil, maybe. By "devil," I of course mean "robot devil." And by "metaphorical," I mean "get your coat."  Oh, and I'm in.
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Sep 11, 2012 18:31
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