CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
jgjljjj sick of th el
nto even here
can barley type lol i'm typing much lower thna normal but you won't notiee the difference becaue there are limits when expressiong your self exlcusively with words on a screen.
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fgji_______-
_-
Figor stood rigid as the children looked at him in awe. One said "that thing can't be real!" and kicked Figor's leg. He only hurt his own foot, of course. Figot stayed completely still. It wasn't hard to him. He listened, he watched. He wondered if the teachers knew he was listening and watching. Probably did. Probably didn't seem to matter to them. And it probably didn't matter.
He watched the children at play. Even here, even in his room, even knowing what he represented, what he did to protect them, they still behaved like children. It was remarkable. Some were more scared of the teachers than hours. Some were more in awe of Figor than others. But they were all children. Something Figor had never been.
He felt like he would have liked to have had a childhood. Everyone else had one, why not him? It was only fair. He was certain the teachers hadn't planned on him thinking things like that.
The children and the teachers left, without even a nod to Figor. The lights were turned off. The door was shut. Figor was left alone. For another week.
He didn't sleep. Of course he didn't sleep, what good would he be as school protector if he had to spend a third of the day unconscious? He didn't much like the idea of sleeping anyway. The idea of not being awake scared him. Dreaming, on the other hand, he liked the idea of that. He didn't eat. He thought he would LIKE to eat, but of course he'd never had the opportunity.
He spent the time alone planning and revising security plans for the school. He'd marked out any possible attack scenario in his massive enhanced brain and stored them in his computer backed-up memory. He went over them and over them.
And he got bored.
It had been a mistake to make him sentient, he realised. They hadn't known, couldn't have known, how much he would suffer. And he did suffer, he suffered terribly. The teachers were good people. The children were the future, witches and wizards and technomages of the future. Figor was the school's finest creation. Unaging, unflinching, the ultimate killing machine. The school had been attacked several times, by rival nations who wanted to take the lead in the magic race. Every single time it was attacked Figor was there to fight. He had suffered very little damage in all the attacks. He had killed dozens. And he did not regret it. The wizards and technomages had been very careful in creating him so that he had absolutely no reservations about killing. He did not feel guilty for the lives he had ended.
But he did feel lonely.
They had made him unfeeling in many ways, but there must have been some emotions they'd fogotten to block him from having because they never expected him to ever develop those emotions in the first place. But he felt them and, with his limited understanding of the world, he could not make sense of them. At times he thought he was going mad, utterly mad. He ever felt like destroying himself. He would block it out, for a while, by playing out a new defence strategy in his head. But the feeling always came back. This was his life. THIS WAS IT. Locked up in a basement, only let out when there was killing to do. No interactions. No possibility of ever falling in love. They hadn't given him genitals! Nothing. But this. Forever. He had been in the basement for 17 years and so far there had been no reason to replace him.
He would think about it, once a week at first, then once a day, then all day, every day, think of destroying himself. But he couldn't, because some bright wizard had put a spell on him during his creation to stop him from being able to ever do so, in case an enemy tried to make him comit suicide with a spell. There was no escape. When the time came to defend he would not refuse the call. He cared about the children. They had made him care, so he would fight harder, kill better. And he liked the change of scenery. Any chance to leave the basement was welcome, no matter how short. He thought of refusing to come out. If he did that, they would have no choice but to deactivate him and create a replacment. But he couldn't, because of the children. So he kept fighting. And they would cheer him sometimes, after battle, the children. That did make him feel good, for short moments. Then the nothingness would come back, the overwhelming, unsolvable nothingness. His only companion.
Another group of children came a week later. Figor felt like saying something to them. At least letting them know that he was alive. At least letting them know that all he lived for was protecting them. It would be something. Another moment of happiness, perhaps. But he couldn't even do that.
The wizards hadn't given him the power of speech.
___________
ftheiswillbeht elast finthg of the day nevrgerf
nto even here
can barley type lol i'm typing much lower thna normal but you won't notiee the difference becaue there are limits when expressiong your self exlcusively with words on a screen.
___________--
fgji_______-
_-
Figor stood rigid as the children looked at him in awe. One said "that thing can't be real!" and kicked Figor's leg. He only hurt his own foot, of course. Figot stayed completely still. It wasn't hard to him. He listened, he watched. He wondered if the teachers knew he was listening and watching. Probably did. Probably didn't seem to matter to them. And it probably didn't matter.
He watched the children at play. Even here, even in his room, even knowing what he represented, what he did to protect them, they still behaved like children. It was remarkable. Some were more scared of the teachers than hours. Some were more in awe of Figor than others. But they were all children. Something Figor had never been.
He felt like he would have liked to have had a childhood. Everyone else had one, why not him? It was only fair. He was certain the teachers hadn't planned on him thinking things like that.
The children and the teachers left, without even a nod to Figor. The lights were turned off. The door was shut. Figor was left alone. For another week.
He didn't sleep. Of course he didn't sleep, what good would he be as school protector if he had to spend a third of the day unconscious? He didn't much like the idea of sleeping anyway. The idea of not being awake scared him. Dreaming, on the other hand, he liked the idea of that. He didn't eat. He thought he would LIKE to eat, but of course he'd never had the opportunity.
He spent the time alone planning and revising security plans for the school. He'd marked out any possible attack scenario in his massive enhanced brain and stored them in his computer backed-up memory. He went over them and over them.
And he got bored.
It had been a mistake to make him sentient, he realised. They hadn't known, couldn't have known, how much he would suffer. And he did suffer, he suffered terribly. The teachers were good people. The children were the future, witches and wizards and technomages of the future. Figor was the school's finest creation. Unaging, unflinching, the ultimate killing machine. The school had been attacked several times, by rival nations who wanted to take the lead in the magic race. Every single time it was attacked Figor was there to fight. He had suffered very little damage in all the attacks. He had killed dozens. And he did not regret it. The wizards and technomages had been very careful in creating him so that he had absolutely no reservations about killing. He did not feel guilty for the lives he had ended.
But he did feel lonely.
They had made him unfeeling in many ways, but there must have been some emotions they'd fogotten to block him from having because they never expected him to ever develop those emotions in the first place. But he felt them and, with his limited understanding of the world, he could not make sense of them. At times he thought he was going mad, utterly mad. He ever felt like destroying himself. He would block it out, for a while, by playing out a new defence strategy in his head. But the feeling always came back. This was his life. THIS WAS IT. Locked up in a basement, only let out when there was killing to do. No interactions. No possibility of ever falling in love. They hadn't given him genitals! Nothing. But this. Forever. He had been in the basement for 17 years and so far there had been no reason to replace him.
He would think about it, once a week at first, then once a day, then all day, every day, think of destroying himself. But he couldn't, because some bright wizard had put a spell on him during his creation to stop him from being able to ever do so, in case an enemy tried to make him comit suicide with a spell. There was no escape. When the time came to defend he would not refuse the call. He cared about the children. They had made him care, so he would fight harder, kill better. And he liked the change of scenery. Any chance to leave the basement was welcome, no matter how short. He thought of refusing to come out. If he did that, they would have no choice but to deactivate him and create a replacment. But he couldn't, because of the children. So he kept fighting. And they would cheer him sometimes, after battle, the children. That did make him feel good, for short moments. Then the nothingness would come back, the overwhelming, unsolvable nothingness. His only companion.
Another group of children came a week later. Figor felt like saying something to them. At least letting them know that he was alive. At least letting them know that all he lived for was protecting them. It would be something. Another moment of happiness, perhaps. But he couldn't even do that.
The wizards hadn't given him the power of speech.
___________
ftheiswillbeht elast finthg of the day nevrgerf
