Server log on. Welcome Malkus Vile.
Now opening direct communication with Zerstörung. Waiting for reply. . .
Connection complete.
Zerstörung: Ready to commence operation. What is the purpose of the connection?
Vile_proto: Just to insure that little Gabrielle/Garoo is completely gone. Apparently she is.
Zerstörung: Ready to commence operation. What is the purpose of the connection?
Vile_proto: Indeed. . .sentience is gone. Fine. Commence.
Zerstörung: Now commencing operation.
Without warning, the many wires that had connected the robotic Blumaroo to the machine seemed to be ejected out immediately, falling to the ground. The eyes, which had been dark moments before, suddenly reactivated, though they were no longer of the calm demeanor that expressed the personality of Gabrielle/Garoo/Psyche. They were a burning red of that pure color, staring forwards into nothingness. Its words were cold and soulless, no emotion backing them. "Commencing operation."
The bottom half of the robotic Blumaroo seemed to suddenly burst off, falling to the ground pointlessly. The insides of the robotic Blumaroo were now visible: twisted and black, they were churning, living yet made of machine. For a moment they writhed together like a bundle of snakes. And then they shot outwards at magnificent speeds, plunging into anything that they could stick onto. It plunged into the grand computers, the ground, and all of the employees around, with the exception of Malkus, standing carelessly, watching, a mere spectator, forgotten by the long tubes.
From the base of the robotic Blumaroo that still remained surged a wave of black-purple electricity, flowing from each of the tubes, making contact with those that it had shish-ka-bobbed. Their anguish was apparent on their faces, their eyes ballooning to enormous proportions as a black plague of worms seemed to crawl through their skin. Their cries were lost on Malkus, calmly smoking a Cuban cigar as if he were merely observing a sport's game. The machines took the damage in a different way, short circuiting, and then beginning to melt into strands of ebony, writhing to the ground, becoming a mass of black goo. This, too, happened to the employees, nothing left of them but small piles on the floor, which suffered a similar fate.
Around Malkus, his empire began to melt, though he cared not for it- and as that faded away, the plague spread to the grass outside, racing down it, morphing the luscious greenery into the black goo, congregating and then hardening, though it still seemed to move, alive. From the robotic Blumaroo's body came more of these tubes, grasping at everything they could touch. A timer came up on the Blumaroo's chest, indicating the time until complete destruction of this world, and then it would move onto the next it could grip: five minutes exactly.
"Fool."
The voice pierced through the sound of the mechanics working inside of the Blumaroo husk, coming from above. Malkus looked up mildly, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. He waved at the approaching helicopter cheerily, as if he were seeing an old friend he hadn't met with in a while. "Ah, Dr. Sloth! How kind of you to join us. I'm sure you've seen this ending many times in simulation-but doesn't it just mystify you to see it actually happening? Absolutely grand." He inhaled a deep breath of cigar smoke, letting it out in a perfect ring.
One of the tubes shot upwards, plunging into the helicopter that Sloth was within. Sloth was thrown from the aircraft, falling to the ground, his fall broken by the cushioning black mass. It seemed to try and suck him in, a quicksand that would not release him. He grasped desperately at the hardened sides, feeling the muck crushing his internal organs. He gasped, the black muck crawling up to his face, trying to suffocate him. In a last-ditch effort, he compiled all of the adrenaline he could manage into one quick burst and managed to rip himself free, throwing himself onto the hardened surface, gasping for air, struggling to catch his breath.
"Now, we are on an even turf, Sloth. I will soon kill you, and have no regrets." With those words, he brought out a gun from underneath his coat, pointing it downwards at Sloth. "I have no desire to let your precious little machine kill you-I'd rather delve into that pleasure myself." He jerked the gun upwards, indicating that Sloth should stand and turn. He did, struggling to get to his feet, turning. He could feel the cold metal of the gun against the base of his neck in an instant, another hand grabbing his arm tightly, nearly crushing his bones. "I will enjoy this too much," laughed Malkus.
"Do you know why I created you?" asked Sloth, his voice strained by the pain in his arm. The blood dripped from his hands, but their pain was the last thing on his mind. Malkus' grip seemed to loosen slightly on his arm, but then tightened quickly, rage rising into Malkus' voice.
"Yes-as a prototype for that stupid Neopets Version 2. You put me into this hellish body and left me to be on Earth, all alone. A misfit. In this world, you cannot be half and half-you must be whole. And that I was not. Nobody wanted me. Nobody wanted to be my owner. Everybody hated me. It was only natural I turned to a life like this-and I hate you for abandoning me like that. I hate you, and I hate my twisted self, created by you. I know that this personality isn't real, but I want to deny it, to think that I am somehow all organic, or even all machine. But I am neither. I am a damned freak, and it's all your fault. And so I will kill you, and then let myself die."
"Heh," said Sloth, a slight smile sliding onto his face. He closed his eyes gently. "It figures."
"What figures?"
"God created humans in his image. At least, that's what they believe. And I have created something in my own image, though unintentionally."
"Neopets Version 2."
"No. Yourself."
"Liar," snarled Malkus. "I am nothing like you."
"Aren't you? We were both lonely. We were both rejected. We both turned to paths that neither of us like."
"I am fine with the way I have decided to live my life!"
"No, you aren't. You hate it. You hate the crime. You hate the killing. And yet you let it happen. Just like me."
"No! That's not true!"
"Yes, it is. You hate yourself. You hate your creator. You hate your parents, in a way. You have locked your emotions behind doors. And so you will kill me, completing your step away from sentience. You have a choice, Malkus-you can kill me, or you can't. But if you kill me, you will have let something else choose for you: the path you have chose to live."
"Hypocrite. What you say makes you no more sentient than myself."
"Yes. But for you, it could be different. It could be very different, Malkus. You could let me live, and I could stop this machine."
"Never! You're all dying with me!"
"Do you really want that, Malkus?"
"Yes! I want you all to die! I hate you, you fuckers! I hate you all! I hate you all! I HATE YOU ALL!"
Sloth prepared himself for his death, quick as it would be, being the bullet would be delivered to the back of his neck. He heard the deafening crack of a bullet being shot, but did not feel the pain-perhaps this was finally the death he had craved before: a complete lack of feelings, a complete lack of anything. But he found that he was capable of opening his eyes, capable of moving his hands, the pain returning to them, two burning holes in them as well as his wrists. The cold metal was no longer against his skin. He lifted up his hand and clenched it and opened it. Pain. He was not dead.
He turned around, and found that Malkus was not behind him. He looked downwards, and saw the rotund form of the Skeith on the ground, the barrel of the gun inside of his mouth, as if he were planning to eat it. His eyes were opening, twitching, short-circuiting occurring inside of his mind. His lips moved slightly, jerking, a scratchy voice coming out. "I. . .hate. . .you. . ." His body then stopped jerking, the hand pulling away from the gun stationed firmly inside of his mouth, falling to the hardened muck with a hard thump. Sloth looked down on his creation with pity, but could find no tears for the tortured android. He bent down and closed the eyelids of the Skeith, taking the gun out of his mouth, though it hurt his hands. He inspected it for a moment, and then threw it aside, the gun getting sucked up by the muck. He turned his attention back to Malkus, a mixture of blood and oil dripping from his mouth. Shaking his head pityingly, he spoke two words that Malkus had sought his whole life:
"I'm sorry."
Kummer saw the destruction around him and wondered why he was not dying. Around him humans and Neopets fell to an invisible plague, its essence radiating from not far away. He wondered why he was not dead in the first place, destroyed by the police. He wondered what had happened to Sloth, what had happened to Psyche, and finally, what had happened to Tacitus and Tristus. He was alone, though he did not feel it. He felt empty, moving aimlessly about, the plague not seeming to effect him, nor the emotions of so many perishing around him. He strolled carelessly past two people clutching desperately to one another, lips locked as they both were attacked by the plague at the same time, transforming into the muck in only moments of their last kiss.
"Zerstörung," he mumbled to himself, looking into the distance. He could see a great looming form in the sky above, many tubes coming from its body, many others shooting out, but none directed at him. "It has been activated. Psyche.Psyche is gone." The permanence of his words seemed to strike him after he had spoken them, but he did not have time to weep-he was too exhausted to cry, to weep over his loss. Instead, he plowed forward towards the form in the air, his face a stony impression of apathy.
As he approached, he could see the familiar figure of Sloth-or rather, himself, if he hadn't merely been a simulation, not physical at all. The man looked upwards at the machine of destruction that he had created, a grim look on his face. At his feet, the Skeith known as Malkus Vile lay dead, lying in a puddle of oil and blood.
"We never wanted Project PSYCHE back for this purpose," said Sloth sadly, not bothering to look towards Kummer, knowing his presence already. "I just wanted my child back. My intentions were good. Why did this happen?"
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
"We have long completed that road, Kummer. And now it is time for me to reach the final destination."
"Me? Not us?"
"No. I do not require you to sacrifice yourself to stop this demon. It is my responsibility. Not yours."
"You were the one that told me I was you."
"Indeed, you are. But you did not create a monster with your own hands." Sloth's mouth pulled into a straight line. "I am gravely sorry for all the trouble I have caused you, Kummer. I have given you more grief than someone even with that nickname of yours deserves. But do not strike my physical self-it is necessary that I utilize it to halt the destruction, and reverse it appropriately."
"Yes. Universale Einlösung. But you realize, you will die."
"Yes, I do. My life is inconsequential compared to all of the others."
"You just want to join Gabrielle." Sloth smiled.
"That too. But I doubt I can ascend to Heaven with all of the sins on my soul. They will sink me to Hell."
"There is a way that you will not have to die."
"I said, Kummer, you need not sacrifice yourself. This is my dilemma- not yours."
"We are the same-and thus it is also my dilemma. A carbon copy's life should not have priority to the original draft. Now, take me in your hands, and we will finish this."
Sloth could do nothing more than oblige, the robot's face set on his decision. Sloth picked up the Kiko, holding him forward, towards the machine of destruction before them. Together, they spoke in unison, their voices blending into one. "Ich bin der Leidtragende!" they cried into the sky together.
The machine seemed to halt in its rate of destruction, the numbers :30 printed on its chest. The robotic Blumaroo's burning red eyes turned down to the two souls on the ground, the ones that it had forgotten to strike. With a madness, it suddenly ripped away some of its many tentacles and flung them at the two of them, the two standing firmly in place.
The tentacles struck through Kummer's body, cracking his facial screen and going clear through his body easily, the black electricity contrasting with the yellow that came out of his body from being struck clear through. The tentacles, however, kept on going, though they were not supposed to, searing all the way down to Sloth, striking him through the stomach, piercing all the way through his body as well, coming out of his back, wriggling and twisting about. Sloth gagged, crumpling over, but still managed to hold Kummer tightly, his blood staining the white paint on Kummer's sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, grasping to Kummer as if he were the only life support he had. Tears budded from his eyes, running down the sides of his face, Kummer looking forward, an expression of suffering evident on his face. Their thoughts, however, were focused on the same thing.
'Gabrielle. . .'
"Daddy, what's Christmas?"
The question came from nowhere, Sloth working on a project as Gabrielle stood by, Adalheid asleep in the chair, not doing her duty of keeping Gabrielle occupied while he attended to business. He turned a questioning eye towards her. Her smile was ever-present on her face, able to melt him in a single glance. Sighing, he turned away from his work and motioned for her to jump up onto his lap. She was more than happy to oblige, scrambling up onto his lap and resting her head on his chest.
"It's been the longest time since I've celebrated that holiday. Where did you hear about it?"
"School."
"Well Christmas is. . .well, not everybody celebrates it, first of all. Only Christians, although by all the media attention it gets, you would expect that the whole world worships Jesus Christ. Christmas is basically. . ." Sloth's shoulders slumped, slightly stumped at explaining the holiday. Gabrielle knew little to anything about the Christian religion, and he aimed to keep it that way-that particular worship had offered him nothing but regrets. Gabrielle had even heard of Jesus Christ. ". . .well, it's basically when everybody's family gets together for one time of the year to celebrate an. . .event of joy."
"What event?"
"A birth."
"Of who?"
"Whose birth it is doesn't really matter-people rarely put this into account anymore. The basic spirit of Christmas is. . .just a time to be happy, to be released temporarily from the harbors that life brings upon a person. A time for happiness, being around loved ones. . .everything that brings you elation."
"Don't you celebrate Christmas, Daddy?"
"I used to, but. . .I haven't for years. I haven't had any family to be with."
"You have me now, Daddy-so let's celebrate! I wanna put up a tree'n everything!" squealed Gabrielle, hugging her father as hard as she could. "We'll be happy together!"
"Yes. . .I'll be happy," said Sloth, almost in surprise. "No. . .we'll be happy. Together. And it won't matter what anyone else thinks-as long as we have ourselves, we'll be happy." A smile graced his lips as he came to a realization he had missed for the past few years. He was happy. He was finally happy.
Kummer awakened slowly, his consciousness coming very gradually. The sun shimmered on the morning dew of the grass, glistening into his eyes. There was dew on his facial screen as well, and he wiped it away as best he could, blinking his eyes. How had the grass grown so tall around here? He didn't remember there grass being here-only darkness. But it was gone now, so he needn't think about that existence anymore-this time was now, the past past. One word came into his mind, however, as he blinked again, this time against the sun.
"Psyche. . ."
He lifted himself from his sideways position on the ground, everything else wiped from his mind. In the distance, he could hear the recovering bustle of Neopia Central, many wondering what had happened in the last few hours. Humans as they were, they would soon move away from their thoughts of things that no longer existed in their mind and keep on moving with their lives. They were beings of constant change-they could get past what had happened long ago. They were adaptable beyond any other organism on the planet.
Kummer looked around, his eyes falling upon a glittering piece of metal in the field. He was suddenly quite awake, moving rapidly towards the still being. Indeed, it was a robotic Blumaroo, and as he checked over more thoroughly, it was the body that Psyche used. Her eyes, however, were blank, and his heart jumped-she couldn't have been destroyed, could she? What had happened that could've caused this catastrophe? Why couldn't he remember?
"Father?"
Psyche's eyes became brighter bit by bit, looking upwards at Kummer. For a moment, her face turned into a goofy grin-but then it faded, and her expression became confused. "Kummer." The confusion gave way to a more even smile, and she sat up slowly. She looked towards the rising sun, and shook her head. "I have this feeling I should remember something. . .but. . .it passes me by. I don't remember much about the past few days. . .what happened, Kummer?"
"I don't know," admitted Kummer, resting his head against Psyche's shoulder. "But I feel.better. I think.I guess something good happened."
"What about Tristus and Tacitus?"
"I'm sure they're around. Somewhere. They're happy somewhere, happy together."
"Those two could never be happy together."
"You never really know how people work, Psyche."
"We're not human, Kummer. We're just robots."
"Are we?"
"Yes. But I think I can be content with that now," said Psyche, her smile becoming gentler. "I don't know what happened. . .but I agree, it must have been something good. I like being just a robot. I don't want to be anything more."
"Me neither."
"I'm tired, Kummer," Psyche said softly, her eyes dimming slightly. Kummer offered her a shoulder to sleep on, and she obliged, resting her head on his shoulder. "So very tired. . .but. . .wake me. . .if you remember."
"I will," assured Kummer. "I will." Kummer settled himself down, allowing Psyche to rest on him. Where there had before been emptiness, there was now a sense of wholeness. He looked up into the deep blue sky and forgot about forgetting about the last few days. He moved on from what had shackled him down to the past, breaking through doors that had been before locked and inaccessible. He was happy. He was finally happy.
Author's Note: The crappy, happy ending of doom! Aaand it's over. By far my longest Neopets fic ever. Thank God nobody read this, I think it would explode their brain from its sheer badness.
Now opening direct communication with Zerstörung. Waiting for reply. . .
Connection complete.
Zerstörung: Ready to commence operation. What is the purpose of the connection?
Vile_proto: Just to insure that little Gabrielle/Garoo is completely gone. Apparently she is.
Zerstörung: Ready to commence operation. What is the purpose of the connection?
Vile_proto: Indeed. . .sentience is gone. Fine. Commence.
Zerstörung: Now commencing operation.
Without warning, the many wires that had connected the robotic Blumaroo to the machine seemed to be ejected out immediately, falling to the ground. The eyes, which had been dark moments before, suddenly reactivated, though they were no longer of the calm demeanor that expressed the personality of Gabrielle/Garoo/Psyche. They were a burning red of that pure color, staring forwards into nothingness. Its words were cold and soulless, no emotion backing them. "Commencing operation."
The bottom half of the robotic Blumaroo seemed to suddenly burst off, falling to the ground pointlessly. The insides of the robotic Blumaroo were now visible: twisted and black, they were churning, living yet made of machine. For a moment they writhed together like a bundle of snakes. And then they shot outwards at magnificent speeds, plunging into anything that they could stick onto. It plunged into the grand computers, the ground, and all of the employees around, with the exception of Malkus, standing carelessly, watching, a mere spectator, forgotten by the long tubes.
From the base of the robotic Blumaroo that still remained surged a wave of black-purple electricity, flowing from each of the tubes, making contact with those that it had shish-ka-bobbed. Their anguish was apparent on their faces, their eyes ballooning to enormous proportions as a black plague of worms seemed to crawl through their skin. Their cries were lost on Malkus, calmly smoking a Cuban cigar as if he were merely observing a sport's game. The machines took the damage in a different way, short circuiting, and then beginning to melt into strands of ebony, writhing to the ground, becoming a mass of black goo. This, too, happened to the employees, nothing left of them but small piles on the floor, which suffered a similar fate.
Around Malkus, his empire began to melt, though he cared not for it- and as that faded away, the plague spread to the grass outside, racing down it, morphing the luscious greenery into the black goo, congregating and then hardening, though it still seemed to move, alive. From the robotic Blumaroo's body came more of these tubes, grasping at everything they could touch. A timer came up on the Blumaroo's chest, indicating the time until complete destruction of this world, and then it would move onto the next it could grip: five minutes exactly.
"Fool."
The voice pierced through the sound of the mechanics working inside of the Blumaroo husk, coming from above. Malkus looked up mildly, pulling the cigar out of his mouth. He waved at the approaching helicopter cheerily, as if he were seeing an old friend he hadn't met with in a while. "Ah, Dr. Sloth! How kind of you to join us. I'm sure you've seen this ending many times in simulation-but doesn't it just mystify you to see it actually happening? Absolutely grand." He inhaled a deep breath of cigar smoke, letting it out in a perfect ring.
One of the tubes shot upwards, plunging into the helicopter that Sloth was within. Sloth was thrown from the aircraft, falling to the ground, his fall broken by the cushioning black mass. It seemed to try and suck him in, a quicksand that would not release him. He grasped desperately at the hardened sides, feeling the muck crushing his internal organs. He gasped, the black muck crawling up to his face, trying to suffocate him. In a last-ditch effort, he compiled all of the adrenaline he could manage into one quick burst and managed to rip himself free, throwing himself onto the hardened surface, gasping for air, struggling to catch his breath.
"Now, we are on an even turf, Sloth. I will soon kill you, and have no regrets." With those words, he brought out a gun from underneath his coat, pointing it downwards at Sloth. "I have no desire to let your precious little machine kill you-I'd rather delve into that pleasure myself." He jerked the gun upwards, indicating that Sloth should stand and turn. He did, struggling to get to his feet, turning. He could feel the cold metal of the gun against the base of his neck in an instant, another hand grabbing his arm tightly, nearly crushing his bones. "I will enjoy this too much," laughed Malkus.
"Do you know why I created you?" asked Sloth, his voice strained by the pain in his arm. The blood dripped from his hands, but their pain was the last thing on his mind. Malkus' grip seemed to loosen slightly on his arm, but then tightened quickly, rage rising into Malkus' voice.
"Yes-as a prototype for that stupid Neopets Version 2. You put me into this hellish body and left me to be on Earth, all alone. A misfit. In this world, you cannot be half and half-you must be whole. And that I was not. Nobody wanted me. Nobody wanted to be my owner. Everybody hated me. It was only natural I turned to a life like this-and I hate you for abandoning me like that. I hate you, and I hate my twisted self, created by you. I know that this personality isn't real, but I want to deny it, to think that I am somehow all organic, or even all machine. But I am neither. I am a damned freak, and it's all your fault. And so I will kill you, and then let myself die."
"Heh," said Sloth, a slight smile sliding onto his face. He closed his eyes gently. "It figures."
"What figures?"
"God created humans in his image. At least, that's what they believe. And I have created something in my own image, though unintentionally."
"Neopets Version 2."
"No. Yourself."
"Liar," snarled Malkus. "I am nothing like you."
"Aren't you? We were both lonely. We were both rejected. We both turned to paths that neither of us like."
"I am fine with the way I have decided to live my life!"
"No, you aren't. You hate it. You hate the crime. You hate the killing. And yet you let it happen. Just like me."
"No! That's not true!"
"Yes, it is. You hate yourself. You hate your creator. You hate your parents, in a way. You have locked your emotions behind doors. And so you will kill me, completing your step away from sentience. You have a choice, Malkus-you can kill me, or you can't. But if you kill me, you will have let something else choose for you: the path you have chose to live."
"Hypocrite. What you say makes you no more sentient than myself."
"Yes. But for you, it could be different. It could be very different, Malkus. You could let me live, and I could stop this machine."
"Never! You're all dying with me!"
"Do you really want that, Malkus?"
"Yes! I want you all to die! I hate you, you fuckers! I hate you all! I hate you all! I HATE YOU ALL!"
Sloth prepared himself for his death, quick as it would be, being the bullet would be delivered to the back of his neck. He heard the deafening crack of a bullet being shot, but did not feel the pain-perhaps this was finally the death he had craved before: a complete lack of feelings, a complete lack of anything. But he found that he was capable of opening his eyes, capable of moving his hands, the pain returning to them, two burning holes in them as well as his wrists. The cold metal was no longer against his skin. He lifted up his hand and clenched it and opened it. Pain. He was not dead.
He turned around, and found that Malkus was not behind him. He looked downwards, and saw the rotund form of the Skeith on the ground, the barrel of the gun inside of his mouth, as if he were planning to eat it. His eyes were opening, twitching, short-circuiting occurring inside of his mind. His lips moved slightly, jerking, a scratchy voice coming out. "I. . .hate. . .you. . ." His body then stopped jerking, the hand pulling away from the gun stationed firmly inside of his mouth, falling to the hardened muck with a hard thump. Sloth looked down on his creation with pity, but could find no tears for the tortured android. He bent down and closed the eyelids of the Skeith, taking the gun out of his mouth, though it hurt his hands. He inspected it for a moment, and then threw it aside, the gun getting sucked up by the muck. He turned his attention back to Malkus, a mixture of blood and oil dripping from his mouth. Shaking his head pityingly, he spoke two words that Malkus had sought his whole life:
"I'm sorry."
Kummer saw the destruction around him and wondered why he was not dying. Around him humans and Neopets fell to an invisible plague, its essence radiating from not far away. He wondered why he was not dead in the first place, destroyed by the police. He wondered what had happened to Sloth, what had happened to Psyche, and finally, what had happened to Tacitus and Tristus. He was alone, though he did not feel it. He felt empty, moving aimlessly about, the plague not seeming to effect him, nor the emotions of so many perishing around him. He strolled carelessly past two people clutching desperately to one another, lips locked as they both were attacked by the plague at the same time, transforming into the muck in only moments of their last kiss.
"Zerstörung," he mumbled to himself, looking into the distance. He could see a great looming form in the sky above, many tubes coming from its body, many others shooting out, but none directed at him. "It has been activated. Psyche.Psyche is gone." The permanence of his words seemed to strike him after he had spoken them, but he did not have time to weep-he was too exhausted to cry, to weep over his loss. Instead, he plowed forward towards the form in the air, his face a stony impression of apathy.
As he approached, he could see the familiar figure of Sloth-or rather, himself, if he hadn't merely been a simulation, not physical at all. The man looked upwards at the machine of destruction that he had created, a grim look on his face. At his feet, the Skeith known as Malkus Vile lay dead, lying in a puddle of oil and blood.
"We never wanted Project PSYCHE back for this purpose," said Sloth sadly, not bothering to look towards Kummer, knowing his presence already. "I just wanted my child back. My intentions were good. Why did this happen?"
"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."
"We have long completed that road, Kummer. And now it is time for me to reach the final destination."
"Me? Not us?"
"No. I do not require you to sacrifice yourself to stop this demon. It is my responsibility. Not yours."
"You were the one that told me I was you."
"Indeed, you are. But you did not create a monster with your own hands." Sloth's mouth pulled into a straight line. "I am gravely sorry for all the trouble I have caused you, Kummer. I have given you more grief than someone even with that nickname of yours deserves. But do not strike my physical self-it is necessary that I utilize it to halt the destruction, and reverse it appropriately."
"Yes. Universale Einlösung. But you realize, you will die."
"Yes, I do. My life is inconsequential compared to all of the others."
"You just want to join Gabrielle." Sloth smiled.
"That too. But I doubt I can ascend to Heaven with all of the sins on my soul. They will sink me to Hell."
"There is a way that you will not have to die."
"I said, Kummer, you need not sacrifice yourself. This is my dilemma- not yours."
"We are the same-and thus it is also my dilemma. A carbon copy's life should not have priority to the original draft. Now, take me in your hands, and we will finish this."
Sloth could do nothing more than oblige, the robot's face set on his decision. Sloth picked up the Kiko, holding him forward, towards the machine of destruction before them. Together, they spoke in unison, their voices blending into one. "Ich bin der Leidtragende!" they cried into the sky together.
The machine seemed to halt in its rate of destruction, the numbers :30 printed on its chest. The robotic Blumaroo's burning red eyes turned down to the two souls on the ground, the ones that it had forgotten to strike. With a madness, it suddenly ripped away some of its many tentacles and flung them at the two of them, the two standing firmly in place.
The tentacles struck through Kummer's body, cracking his facial screen and going clear through his body easily, the black electricity contrasting with the yellow that came out of his body from being struck clear through. The tentacles, however, kept on going, though they were not supposed to, searing all the way down to Sloth, striking him through the stomach, piercing all the way through his body as well, coming out of his back, wriggling and twisting about. Sloth gagged, crumpling over, but still managed to hold Kummer tightly, his blood staining the white paint on Kummer's sides. He squeezed his eyes shut, grasping to Kummer as if he were the only life support he had. Tears budded from his eyes, running down the sides of his face, Kummer looking forward, an expression of suffering evident on his face. Their thoughts, however, were focused on the same thing.
'Gabrielle. . .'
"Daddy, what's Christmas?"
The question came from nowhere, Sloth working on a project as Gabrielle stood by, Adalheid asleep in the chair, not doing her duty of keeping Gabrielle occupied while he attended to business. He turned a questioning eye towards her. Her smile was ever-present on her face, able to melt him in a single glance. Sighing, he turned away from his work and motioned for her to jump up onto his lap. She was more than happy to oblige, scrambling up onto his lap and resting her head on his chest.
"It's been the longest time since I've celebrated that holiday. Where did you hear about it?"
"School."
"Well Christmas is. . .well, not everybody celebrates it, first of all. Only Christians, although by all the media attention it gets, you would expect that the whole world worships Jesus Christ. Christmas is basically. . ." Sloth's shoulders slumped, slightly stumped at explaining the holiday. Gabrielle knew little to anything about the Christian religion, and he aimed to keep it that way-that particular worship had offered him nothing but regrets. Gabrielle had even heard of Jesus Christ. ". . .well, it's basically when everybody's family gets together for one time of the year to celebrate an. . .event of joy."
"What event?"
"A birth."
"Of who?"
"Whose birth it is doesn't really matter-people rarely put this into account anymore. The basic spirit of Christmas is. . .just a time to be happy, to be released temporarily from the harbors that life brings upon a person. A time for happiness, being around loved ones. . .everything that brings you elation."
"Don't you celebrate Christmas, Daddy?"
"I used to, but. . .I haven't for years. I haven't had any family to be with."
"You have me now, Daddy-so let's celebrate! I wanna put up a tree'n everything!" squealed Gabrielle, hugging her father as hard as she could. "We'll be happy together!"
"Yes. . .I'll be happy," said Sloth, almost in surprise. "No. . .we'll be happy. Together. And it won't matter what anyone else thinks-as long as we have ourselves, we'll be happy." A smile graced his lips as he came to a realization he had missed for the past few years. He was happy. He was finally happy.
Kummer awakened slowly, his consciousness coming very gradually. The sun shimmered on the morning dew of the grass, glistening into his eyes. There was dew on his facial screen as well, and he wiped it away as best he could, blinking his eyes. How had the grass grown so tall around here? He didn't remember there grass being here-only darkness. But it was gone now, so he needn't think about that existence anymore-this time was now, the past past. One word came into his mind, however, as he blinked again, this time against the sun.
"Psyche. . ."
He lifted himself from his sideways position on the ground, everything else wiped from his mind. In the distance, he could hear the recovering bustle of Neopia Central, many wondering what had happened in the last few hours. Humans as they were, they would soon move away from their thoughts of things that no longer existed in their mind and keep on moving with their lives. They were beings of constant change-they could get past what had happened long ago. They were adaptable beyond any other organism on the planet.
Kummer looked around, his eyes falling upon a glittering piece of metal in the field. He was suddenly quite awake, moving rapidly towards the still being. Indeed, it was a robotic Blumaroo, and as he checked over more thoroughly, it was the body that Psyche used. Her eyes, however, were blank, and his heart jumped-she couldn't have been destroyed, could she? What had happened that could've caused this catastrophe? Why couldn't he remember?
"Father?"
Psyche's eyes became brighter bit by bit, looking upwards at Kummer. For a moment, her face turned into a goofy grin-but then it faded, and her expression became confused. "Kummer." The confusion gave way to a more even smile, and she sat up slowly. She looked towards the rising sun, and shook her head. "I have this feeling I should remember something. . .but. . .it passes me by. I don't remember much about the past few days. . .what happened, Kummer?"
"I don't know," admitted Kummer, resting his head against Psyche's shoulder. "But I feel.better. I think.I guess something good happened."
"What about Tristus and Tacitus?"
"I'm sure they're around. Somewhere. They're happy somewhere, happy together."
"Those two could never be happy together."
"You never really know how people work, Psyche."
"We're not human, Kummer. We're just robots."
"Are we?"
"Yes. But I think I can be content with that now," said Psyche, her smile becoming gentler. "I don't know what happened. . .but I agree, it must have been something good. I like being just a robot. I don't want to be anything more."
"Me neither."
"I'm tired, Kummer," Psyche said softly, her eyes dimming slightly. Kummer offered her a shoulder to sleep on, and she obliged, resting her head on his shoulder. "So very tired. . .but. . .wake me. . .if you remember."
"I will," assured Kummer. "I will." Kummer settled himself down, allowing Psyche to rest on him. Where there had before been emptiness, there was now a sense of wholeness. He looked up into the deep blue sky and forgot about forgetting about the last few days. He moved on from what had shackled him down to the past, breaking through doors that had been before locked and inaccessible. He was happy. He was finally happy.
Author's Note: The crappy, happy ending of doom! Aaand it's over. By far my longest Neopets fic ever. Thank God nobody read this, I think it would explode their brain from its sheer badness.
