Characters: Blues, Wily
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Just for language and death. Nothing you haven't heard before.
Forced to his knees, bound by chains, weighed down with unshakable anchors. Battered, torn, heavens never broken in spirit. Watched from all sides, aimed for at all angles. No escape, no future foreseen, no chance to say goodbye. No chance to amend for his creation.
It would end here. On his knees and made to face his killer with thoughtless eyes. There would be no fear, no hate, no joy of death. Just the sense of rejected defeat, for he was defeated, and boasted existence-less pride. He would be himself, entering oblivion, that he molded over his fashionably short lifespan. Nothing but infuriating best of show. "Will you finally submit to your master, you traitorous thing?" "The concept of 'master' is a figment of your delusions. I have one, but that creature is not present in this room." The cold, conical point of a weapon pressed firmly into his forehead, and no flicker of emotion passed over him. The gun was unimpressive and could not frighten him. He accepted it. "If it wasn't for you, I believe all this might not be possible. So I'll allow you a few last words before your execution." He smiled, cruelly amused. "I forgive you, Wily, for the pain that you've caused, and I can only pray Rock will find it in him to kill you, you fucking son of a b--" So came the dark, as the concentrated laserbeam pierced vital moderators. The last bit of audio captured, before an entire systems meltdown: "I /did/ only say a few."