Dead Man Walking
Chapter 3 - Oblivion
The voices got closer, their hissing sending cold spasms down his back and legs. Lister gripped the sword with both hands and tried to look as though he knew how to use it. He realised it was useless when he gave a practice swing and almost overbalanced nose first. The voices laughed, their eyes fading into view from the dark. Numerous, glowing bloodshot eyes with slit pupils, Lister was not looking forward to meeting their owners but he agreed with his subconscious classification of dangerous life forms that they were better than flaming infernos in void-like sockets. This did not make him feel at all better.
"Ok, joke over! Get me the smeg out of here!"
He clapped his hands again, the rough hilt of the sword rubbing his palm and causing him to almost lose his grip on the weapon. Then as usual in his times of stress, he found someone to blame.
"Rimmer, you smeghead! Why didn't you bin this stupid game? You love chucking out my stuff don't you? Well now would be a great time to show up and bloody well do something about my A.R hobby! Take your smeggin' time!"
His babbling getting him nowhere, he concentrated instead on his present, not very rosy situation and decided that he had better take charge.
"Ok.Who wants some?!"
Swinging wildly with the sword, he rushed forward and found himself in the scene from a nightmare. Red rushed into his vision and acrid smoke burned his lungs. Looking behind him for a possible way to go back, the dark room had completely disappeared. The monsters - the huge, salivating monsters - had not.
He stood in the ruins of what seemed like a great city, towering buildings rose above him on a wide street, but many had been partially destroyed and rubble littered the streets. Hunks of metal, perhaps cars or furniture lay twisted on the pavements: and there was red. Everything was red.
The sky was a dull rust colour with dark menacing clouds rushing along at impossible speeds, the buildings were bathed in red light or burning in blood coloured fire. Along the streets were bodies, all of them mutilated and all devoid of colours but for that awful red. Lister gagged, and stumbled backwards, the sword getting tangled with his legs and tripping him.
He was surrounded, with no way out. Creatures of all shapes and sizes, none he could name were coming out of the buildings, leaping over the ruins of cars and sneaking round corners as only monsters can. They were all heading directly for Lister.
Lister decided that a "sitting duck" posture was not a good plan, and sprang inelegantly to his feet. Cursing and swearing at no one in particular he picked up the sword and decided to try the last resort. What Rimmer would call "diplomacy" and what Lister more commonly called "sweet talking," "cowardice," and in this case "suicide."
"Come on guys, this is just a game, right? I am sure you get loads of people to kill. I'm really unfit too, so it's going to be no fun at all: promise. "
The monsters laughed again. Lister noticed with disgust that they drooled more awake than he did drunk and unconscious. Also rather worryingly, they were sharpening some knives.
"Sorry, we have to kill you, boss's orders."
The nearest thick-skinned, large-toothed monster slobbered, grunted and snarled all at once, while even managing to make itself understood.
".but we enjoy it too, which is a bonus!"
It chuckled maniacally while alternately drooling and sniffing. Apparently multi-tasking was not possible while it was laughing. Lister was not comforted. It's two evil eyes in their evil sockets were still fixed firmly on him, and he knew that one move and he would be sliced, diced and sautéed in about fifty different ways. Back to the sweet-talking.
"Good for you. Must be great to have a job you enjoy."
The monsters looked a bit taken aback.
"Well yeah, 'course it is."
The other monsters nodded agreement, and Lister mentally giggled at the spectacle: he was trapped in a game with hundreds of too-real monsters all wearing the same expression. They ludicrously reminded him of estate agents. The kind that try and sell people a building with dry-rot as "weathered". He wasn't sure if the monsters sold anything, but he thought that they would be great taxmen. Judging by the state of the city estate agencies were out of business by now.
"So I um, have to die then?"
"Well yeah, isn't that why you came?"
"Not really, I just wanted a laugh."
"Too bad. We have to kill you anyway. Attack!"
The last rational thought that crossed Lister's mind was "Who the hell really says: "attack" when attacking anyone?" Then as the monsters closed in, his mind began gibbering insanely, to anyone, anything. Pleading for someone to come and save him.
No one came.
****************
Rimmer was pissed off. He had had to sit in the very uncomfortable cockpit chair for fifteen whole minutes more than necessary. Even his military sock collection could not alleviate the boredom and the growing pain in his rear, and eventually he shot out of his chair like a bullet from a gun, sending the cat's hair curlers flying.
"Hey goalpost head! You messed up my hair!"
A large argument had ensued, with Rimmer the loser as usual. He simply could not find the words that would justify a fashion faux pas to the cat and had stormed out in a huff.
Now if he wanted any peace at all he would have to find Lister, and Rimmer knew that getting Lister away from the A.R machine would be a job and a half. He ran through all the possibilities in his head as he walked, deciding that a sudden disconnection of the A.R cables (causing a nice visual and audio feedback sensation) and a bucket of cold urine-recyc water in the face would suffice.
Striding purposefully into the A.R suite, he gave a long disapproving sigh on the off chance that Lister was disconnected. It was only half hearted, and he was soon groping round for the leads connecting Lister to the computer. Tracing it along with his fingers, he reached Lister and realised he was slumped on the floor, a thin stream of blood coming from his eyes and nose.
Rimmer froze on the spot, and then did a double take, making sure he wasn't hallucinating again. No, Lister was still there, and he didn't appear to be breathing!
Rimmer at last found his voice. His yell brought Kryten at a run, and caused the Cat to have a fringe reminiscent of "There's something about Mary."
Rimmer crouched beside Lister, and shook him. Hard.
"Get up Lister! For God's sake get up! What the smeg is going on?"
Kryten ran over to the computer and began typing furiously, his eyes and hands moving so fast it was impossible to see. He gave a running commentary of his progress.
"The main computer has been compromised, this program is running from a vast amount of it's memory, and it is also controlling all of the A.R equipment, including the nerve connectors. It's killing him, Sir!"
Rimmer shook Lister again, and he finally took one huge laboured breath. Blood gurgled out of his mouth onto Rimmer's hands. Rimmer panicked, and began hitting him round the face. Kryten whirled round and yelled:
"It's no use, Sir! He is dying, and I can't work out what the program has done! It is still running far too many processes for me to track!"
"Just track them!"
Rimmer screamed, yanking Lister into a sitting position and trying to pull the helmet from his head. It came off with a sickening "Squelch" and bloody needles, the remains of the sensory stimulator, fell to the floor. Lister gave one final breath, and then sagged, all his life signs faded from the screen.
As Rimmer alternately panted and yelled abuse at the prone Lister, Kryten watched in horror as the program continued to run, something blinked up onto the nearest monitor.
"Dead Man walking - The End"
Everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All reviews and constructive criticism welcome. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. ^_^
Chapter 3 - Oblivion
The voices got closer, their hissing sending cold spasms down his back and legs. Lister gripped the sword with both hands and tried to look as though he knew how to use it. He realised it was useless when he gave a practice swing and almost overbalanced nose first. The voices laughed, their eyes fading into view from the dark. Numerous, glowing bloodshot eyes with slit pupils, Lister was not looking forward to meeting their owners but he agreed with his subconscious classification of dangerous life forms that they were better than flaming infernos in void-like sockets. This did not make him feel at all better.
"Ok, joke over! Get me the smeg out of here!"
He clapped his hands again, the rough hilt of the sword rubbing his palm and causing him to almost lose his grip on the weapon. Then as usual in his times of stress, he found someone to blame.
"Rimmer, you smeghead! Why didn't you bin this stupid game? You love chucking out my stuff don't you? Well now would be a great time to show up and bloody well do something about my A.R hobby! Take your smeggin' time!"
His babbling getting him nowhere, he concentrated instead on his present, not very rosy situation and decided that he had better take charge.
"Ok.Who wants some?!"
Swinging wildly with the sword, he rushed forward and found himself in the scene from a nightmare. Red rushed into his vision and acrid smoke burned his lungs. Looking behind him for a possible way to go back, the dark room had completely disappeared. The monsters - the huge, salivating monsters - had not.
He stood in the ruins of what seemed like a great city, towering buildings rose above him on a wide street, but many had been partially destroyed and rubble littered the streets. Hunks of metal, perhaps cars or furniture lay twisted on the pavements: and there was red. Everything was red.
The sky was a dull rust colour with dark menacing clouds rushing along at impossible speeds, the buildings were bathed in red light or burning in blood coloured fire. Along the streets were bodies, all of them mutilated and all devoid of colours but for that awful red. Lister gagged, and stumbled backwards, the sword getting tangled with his legs and tripping him.
He was surrounded, with no way out. Creatures of all shapes and sizes, none he could name were coming out of the buildings, leaping over the ruins of cars and sneaking round corners as only monsters can. They were all heading directly for Lister.
Lister decided that a "sitting duck" posture was not a good plan, and sprang inelegantly to his feet. Cursing and swearing at no one in particular he picked up the sword and decided to try the last resort. What Rimmer would call "diplomacy" and what Lister more commonly called "sweet talking," "cowardice," and in this case "suicide."
"Come on guys, this is just a game, right? I am sure you get loads of people to kill. I'm really unfit too, so it's going to be no fun at all: promise. "
The monsters laughed again. Lister noticed with disgust that they drooled more awake than he did drunk and unconscious. Also rather worryingly, they were sharpening some knives.
"Sorry, we have to kill you, boss's orders."
The nearest thick-skinned, large-toothed monster slobbered, grunted and snarled all at once, while even managing to make itself understood.
".but we enjoy it too, which is a bonus!"
It chuckled maniacally while alternately drooling and sniffing. Apparently multi-tasking was not possible while it was laughing. Lister was not comforted. It's two evil eyes in their evil sockets were still fixed firmly on him, and he knew that one move and he would be sliced, diced and sautéed in about fifty different ways. Back to the sweet-talking.
"Good for you. Must be great to have a job you enjoy."
The monsters looked a bit taken aback.
"Well yeah, 'course it is."
The other monsters nodded agreement, and Lister mentally giggled at the spectacle: he was trapped in a game with hundreds of too-real monsters all wearing the same expression. They ludicrously reminded him of estate agents. The kind that try and sell people a building with dry-rot as "weathered". He wasn't sure if the monsters sold anything, but he thought that they would be great taxmen. Judging by the state of the city estate agencies were out of business by now.
"So I um, have to die then?"
"Well yeah, isn't that why you came?"
"Not really, I just wanted a laugh."
"Too bad. We have to kill you anyway. Attack!"
The last rational thought that crossed Lister's mind was "Who the hell really says: "attack" when attacking anyone?" Then as the monsters closed in, his mind began gibbering insanely, to anyone, anything. Pleading for someone to come and save him.
No one came.
****************
Rimmer was pissed off. He had had to sit in the very uncomfortable cockpit chair for fifteen whole minutes more than necessary. Even his military sock collection could not alleviate the boredom and the growing pain in his rear, and eventually he shot out of his chair like a bullet from a gun, sending the cat's hair curlers flying.
"Hey goalpost head! You messed up my hair!"
A large argument had ensued, with Rimmer the loser as usual. He simply could not find the words that would justify a fashion faux pas to the cat and had stormed out in a huff.
Now if he wanted any peace at all he would have to find Lister, and Rimmer knew that getting Lister away from the A.R machine would be a job and a half. He ran through all the possibilities in his head as he walked, deciding that a sudden disconnection of the A.R cables (causing a nice visual and audio feedback sensation) and a bucket of cold urine-recyc water in the face would suffice.
Striding purposefully into the A.R suite, he gave a long disapproving sigh on the off chance that Lister was disconnected. It was only half hearted, and he was soon groping round for the leads connecting Lister to the computer. Tracing it along with his fingers, he reached Lister and realised he was slumped on the floor, a thin stream of blood coming from his eyes and nose.
Rimmer froze on the spot, and then did a double take, making sure he wasn't hallucinating again. No, Lister was still there, and he didn't appear to be breathing!
Rimmer at last found his voice. His yell brought Kryten at a run, and caused the Cat to have a fringe reminiscent of "There's something about Mary."
Rimmer crouched beside Lister, and shook him. Hard.
"Get up Lister! For God's sake get up! What the smeg is going on?"
Kryten ran over to the computer and began typing furiously, his eyes and hands moving so fast it was impossible to see. He gave a running commentary of his progress.
"The main computer has been compromised, this program is running from a vast amount of it's memory, and it is also controlling all of the A.R equipment, including the nerve connectors. It's killing him, Sir!"
Rimmer shook Lister again, and he finally took one huge laboured breath. Blood gurgled out of his mouth onto Rimmer's hands. Rimmer panicked, and began hitting him round the face. Kryten whirled round and yelled:
"It's no use, Sir! He is dying, and I can't work out what the program has done! It is still running far too many processes for me to track!"
"Just track them!"
Rimmer screamed, yanking Lister into a sitting position and trying to pull the helmet from his head. It came off with a sickening "Squelch" and bloody needles, the remains of the sensory stimulator, fell to the floor. Lister gave one final breath, and then sagged, all his life signs faded from the screen.
As Rimmer alternately panted and yelled abuse at the prone Lister, Kryten watched in horror as the program continued to run, something blinked up onto the nearest monitor.
"Dead Man walking - The End"
Everything went black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All reviews and constructive criticism welcome. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. ^_^