No time for a real update this week, so you will once again have to make do with some mildly hackish sci-fi crap. The Atom blog is on break for the month but will return, in case you were wondering what happened to them, and in the meantime I am busy trying to teach myself how to write screenplays. Anybody have any practice with that? Or recommendations for decent online resources? As a side-note – why am I so obsessed with Abraham Lincoln cyborgs? Is this a diagnosed mental condition that I am unaware of? As further evidence, I not only present to you the story below, but also point to my concept art for The Adventures of Rocket-Punch Lincoln, and to the first character I ever made on City of Heroes, Lincoln 3000.
The Lincoln’s exposed gears ground together harshly, their echo reverberating throughout the ruined cathedral. I felt Joshua tense in my arms. I put my hand gently over his mouth, and held him closer. The grinding reached a crescendo as the Lincoln dropped into a hunched run, came up to the first pew, and launched itself into the air. There was an impossibly long, quiet moment, as if all sound in the world were tensely holding its breath. I tightened my grip around the boy’s mouth and tried to make our bodies as small as possible. The Lincoln crashed into the benches like a cannon-strike, his massive bulk of steel and plastics sending a shockwave of destruction across the hall. I felt Josh attempt to cry out, and bit down on his ear to stop him. He caught himself, stifled the sound, and shivered silently. The rusty taste of blood filled my mouth.
“On this most esteemed occasion,” began the Lincoln, straightening up and mounting the pile of wreckage before him like a pulpit “we come together to participate in one of the oldest rites of nature: The hunt. Heedless to the greater needs of our noble and high-minded politics, we call upon our basic instincts of survival to govern us. Our fear becomes the only ruler whose edict we hear, our terror the only God whose commandments we obey. In this instanceanceanceance-“
The Lincoln’s normally deep, resonate speech began to screech, growing higher with each repetition of the syllable. Its head rotated slowly on the neck-joint, approaching inhuman angles.
“It’s caught in a rhetoric loop,” I told Josh, pushing him from beneath the low stone ledge we had shoved ourselves under, “go, go, go!”
Josh, his childish agility apparent, was up and bounding towards the door like a rabbit from a bolt-hole. He was through the entrance and out, disappearing over the distant wreckage before the echo of my words was even dead upon the air. I struggled, my leg still mostly useless from the devastating kick I’d taken from the Lincoln just moments earlier. I pulled myself to a low crouch and, ducking behind the cross, tried to pull myself to a standing position.
“…anceance we are as pure as the creator can make us. Intelligence becomes need, and need becomes the essence of ourselves.” The Lincoln snapped abruptly from its trance. It struck one foot up at the pinnacle of the wooden mound and kicked the stone head of John the Baptist through the far wall.
The Lincoln straightened its stovepipe hat upon its head and smoothed the burned and torn remnants of its suit. The gears my rocket blast had exposed on its right shoulder shuddered, and gnashed futilely. The arm was dead, and part of the torso lay open. If I could spear it through the core and rupture the boiler, its engine would die and I would be safe. The Lincoln tilted its head quizzically, raising its good arm as if to silence the protests of a crowd.
“No, my fellow countrymen, it is not our place to figure the reason of these actions. For all feats of man must strive to satisfy the basic tenets of freedom. You must strive to free yourselves from unjust rule, no matter the cost! And is life not an unjust rule? Do you not rush to obey hunger, when its ravenous call sounds within you? Do you not lust for carnal pleasures, oppressed by your want for procreation?”
I made my breaths shallow, focused the pain away from myself. I willed myself straight, and tried to find my calm. If it kept up at this booming tirade, more Lincolns might come. We had heard there were fewer in the South, Josh and I, but there was little way to be sure. I would have to silence its demonic “Speech on the Freedom of the Grave,” before it really got going. The Lincolns had a tendency to work themselves into a furor on this particular diatribe, and the last thing I wanted was the Lincoln rampaging about in an enclosed space like a whirling dervish.
“WHAT FREEDOM IS NOT OFFERED BY THE LETTING OF BLOOD? WHAT PRINCIPLES GO UNSATISFIED BY RELEASE FROM THE DUTY BOUND OBLIGATION OF LIFE?” The Lincoln’s pitch rose theatrically.
It gestured passionately to an imaginary crowd while surveying the room, attempting to frighten me out of my hiding place. The Lincoln turned to address the entrance and stopped. It saw the little boy, standing slack-jawed in the doorway.
Josh. My god, why would he come back?
The Lincoln had its back turned to me, but I could picture that smile: That toothy, ear to ear grin that spoke of a certain sheepishness.
“…and who more deserving of this freedom, than the children?” The Lincoln spread its working arm wide, one half of a welcoming hug, and began making its way down the rubble towards the boy.
I straightened my leg, edged out from behind the cross, and got hold of a particularly nasty spike of shrapnel. I would have one shot at this, and I had to get him before he came too close to Josh. The steam from its punctured boiler could melt him down to the bone if I contacted at the wrong angle.
“The future of our children can be assured in only one way,” The Lincoln would be beaming a huge, Cheshire smile about now, attempting to lure Josh in range for one of its deadly kicks, “and that is by establishing them firmly in the realm of the beyond with all the haste we can muster.”
Josh’s eyes flickered almost imperceptibly as he saw me run up. Remembering his training, he tucked into a ball and rolled back just as I struck.
The clang of steel rang out pure and high, like the tones of a bell.
nahomy101 on EXTRA! Mario Lopez Has No… gomijin on Grand Theft Auto IV: The best,… todd on Grand Theft Auto IV: The best,… DevilsAdvocate on I Fight Robots is dead! I Figh… Stephan on Grand Theft Auto IV: The best,…
- July 2010
- June 2010
- May 2010
- April 2010
- March 2010
- February 2010
- January 2010
- December 2009
- November 2009
- October 2009
- September 2009
- August 2009
- July 2009
- June 2009
- May 2009
- April 2009
- March 2009
- February 2009
- January 2009
- December 2008
- November 2008
- October 2008
- September 2008
- August 2008
- July 2008
- June 2008
- May 2008
- April 2008
- March 2008
- February 2008
- January 2008