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just can't help myself
May. 18th, 2023 03:04 pmahahah take this as a cringe re-write for a layzner episode. my bad. technically it's fanfic i guess (embarrassed).
It was painfully easy to ignore the system's bright voice reminding me of my imminent death. When your whole existence is lived alongside machines, you can tune out that shrill chime of artificial feedback. But I wonder, maybe all that constant instruction got to my head. And yet I still wanted to fight that promise of mortality without lifting my gun.
Every strike upon the machine's body resonated in the cockpit. As it was failing, I felt like I too could slip away. An unnatural feeling gripped me. As I watched the metal shatter off my vehicle I felt like my body was being chipped away too.
I wanted to pray that the sheer force of the machine would make me pass out, but I still maintained a dulled awareness. It was like a dream. The machine tapped into that primal thought of mashing and tearing to stay alive. Utter annihilation.
From the distance, to others, it was a brilliant blue light. But I could see the pearls of red float across my display.
In that vast blackness was a kaleidoscope of twisted metal and crimson shards of glass. I wanted to look away from the crumpled body strapped to the seat; I didn't want to perceive the weak and shallow breaths over the headset. The man who grew up beside me, taught me how to fight, was stubborn till the damn end. But only now did he realize that the blood and muscle underneath the flesh was a real, palpable thing. And only now could the glint of that fated blue planet reach his eyes. I didn't care about what beauty was perceived by him at that moment. It's like you could only open your eyes and view the significance of life when it's slowly being ripped out of you.
Finally, it all went quiet. I screamed until my throat seared.
It was painfully easy to ignore the system's bright voice reminding me of my imminent death. When your whole existence is lived alongside machines, you can tune out that shrill chime of artificial feedback. But I wonder, maybe all that constant instruction got to my head. And yet I still wanted to fight that promise of mortality without lifting my gun.
Every strike upon the machine's body resonated in the cockpit. As it was failing, I felt like I too could slip away. An unnatural feeling gripped me. As I watched the metal shatter off my vehicle I felt like my body was being chipped away too.
I wanted to pray that the sheer force of the machine would make me pass out, but I still maintained a dulled awareness. It was like a dream. The machine tapped into that primal thought of mashing and tearing to stay alive. Utter annihilation.
From the distance, to others, it was a brilliant blue light. But I could see the pearls of red float across my display.
In that vast blackness was a kaleidoscope of twisted metal and crimson shards of glass. I wanted to look away from the crumpled body strapped to the seat; I didn't want to perceive the weak and shallow breaths over the headset. The man who grew up beside me, taught me how to fight, was stubborn till the damn end. But only now did he realize that the blood and muscle underneath the flesh was a real, palpable thing. And only now could the glint of that fated blue planet reach his eyes. I didn't care about what beauty was perceived by him at that moment. It's like you could only open your eyes and view the significance of life when it's slowly being ripped out of you.
Finally, it all went quiet. I screamed until my throat seared.
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