Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2012 22:27:33 GMT -5
Jake Andrews. MONROE. Whitey Ford. MJW.
They know what they did.
For a...man...that wasn't accustomed to feeling emotion, Machine was feeling many things. Embarrassment. Humiliation.Fury.
Revenge was a concept unfamiliar to Machine. Until this past Tuesday, that is. Hunched over in his bed chambers, his golden robe folded across the back of a tall wooden chair, Machine sits on the edge of his bed and thinks.
How had it happened? How had Machine been beaten down by mere men? Four of them, but men, nonetheless.
The Giant German slowly eased his head onto the straw-stuffed pillow to recharge. Sleep did not come easily. He hadn't informed Basilisk of the dreams, and the frequency and intensity had been turned to BOIL.
It started the way it always did. A stir of echoes. And blackness. Always that overpowering blackness. But he could hear it. All of it. Like wind whipping through the Caverns of the Damned, Machine could almost smell the foul stench of burning souls. Cries of pain, shrieks of terror, the cracking of whips, and depraved, sadistic laughter...that was all just background noise. The message was always the same, with each dream more vivid and demanding than the last. Words were never spoken; words weren't needed. But the message was clear. It was as if someone - or something - was trying to imprint thisrequest demand directly into Machine's CPU.
Machine awoke with a start. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of his custom-built bed; not many bedsets could accomodate Machine's massive frame. What had jarred Machine from his reverie?
*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*
The echoes rang hollow in Machine's bed chambers again. Slowly, the heavy wooden door eased open. "The Grand High Exalted One" Usali Basilisk stepped into the room, kind eyes hidden behind hard ceremonial mask. Cane in hand, he strolled over to his giant companion and placed a genuine hand on Machine's broad shoulder.
"How are you feeling, my frien..."
Usali pulled his hand away before he could finish the sentence. Machine's garb was absolutely saturated with perspiration! Basilisk's intuition told him that something was amiss. Machine's sweatbath was definitely out of place given the cold chill of the castle.
"Something's wrong. Are you well?"
A brief pause. Then Machine gave a rushed nod that Basilisk immediately knew was unthruthful. Basilisk continued to gaze upon his giant follower, but decided not to press the issue. Machine would confide in him in due time, and he didn't want to do anything to damage their trust.
"Very well, then, friend. I have important matters to tend to," stated Usali. "I shall send for you later."
The Grand High Exalted One turned on his heel and strode to the door.
Machine wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Should he tell Basilisk? Trusting others was something Machine hadn't made a habit of. Not since James Nightbane had the Giant German put his faith in another human being. But Usali seemed different. Usali seemed...authentic. Besides, if Basilisk couldn't help him with these "dreams" they were going to drive Machine mad!
Reaching the heavy door, Basilisk let himself out into the corridor.
Machine knew what was at stake here. The same demon that had invaded Basilisk's thoughts and dreams had now moved on to Machine. The horror's demands were simple: Set Me Free. Sure, they'd been enemies in the past, but this time the demon proposed an alliance. In exchange for his release, the horror offered a powerful ally...a powerful ally they'd desparately need if the threat that loomed over PCW was any indication. Oddly enough, the demon seemed truly genuine.
Machine lifted his head in Basilisk's direction.
With the cursed Phinehas Dillinger and the AWA hounds waiting for them at Trauma, maybe releasing the elder Dillinger wasn't such a bad idea afterall.
And then Machine used something he hadn't used in years: His vocal chords.
"Jeffery..."
They know what they did.
For a...man...that wasn't accustomed to feeling emotion, Machine was feeling many things. Embarrassment. Humiliation.Fury.
Revenge was a concept unfamiliar to Machine. Until this past Tuesday, that is. Hunched over in his bed chambers, his golden robe folded across the back of a tall wooden chair, Machine sits on the edge of his bed and thinks.
How had it happened? How had Machine been beaten down by mere men? Four of them, but men, nonetheless.
The Giant German slowly eased his head onto the straw-stuffed pillow to recharge. Sleep did not come easily. He hadn't informed Basilisk of the dreams, and the frequency and intensity had been turned to BOIL.
It started the way it always did. A stir of echoes. And blackness. Always that overpowering blackness. But he could hear it. All of it. Like wind whipping through the Caverns of the Damned, Machine could almost smell the foul stench of burning souls. Cries of pain, shrieks of terror, the cracking of whips, and depraved, sadistic laughter...that was all just background noise. The message was always the same, with each dream more vivid and demanding than the last. Words were never spoken; words weren't needed. But the message was clear. It was as if someone - or something - was trying to imprint this
Machine awoke with a start. Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of his custom-built bed; not many bedsets could accomodate Machine's massive frame. What had jarred Machine from his reverie?
*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*
The echoes rang hollow in Machine's bed chambers again. Slowly, the heavy wooden door eased open. "The Grand High Exalted One" Usali Basilisk stepped into the room, kind eyes hidden behind hard ceremonial mask. Cane in hand, he strolled over to his giant companion and placed a genuine hand on Machine's broad shoulder.
"How are you feeling, my frien..."
Usali pulled his hand away before he could finish the sentence. Machine's garb was absolutely saturated with perspiration! Basilisk's intuition told him that something was amiss. Machine's sweatbath was definitely out of place given the cold chill of the castle.
"Something's wrong. Are you well?"
A brief pause. Then Machine gave a rushed nod that Basilisk immediately knew was unthruthful. Basilisk continued to gaze upon his giant follower, but decided not to press the issue. Machine would confide in him in due time, and he didn't want to do anything to damage their trust.
"Very well, then, friend. I have important matters to tend to," stated Usali. "I shall send for you later."
The Grand High Exalted One turned on his heel and strode to the door.
Machine wasn't sure what to make of the situation. Should he tell Basilisk? Trusting others was something Machine hadn't made a habit of. Not since James Nightbane had the Giant German put his faith in another human being. But Usali seemed different. Usali seemed...authentic. Besides, if Basilisk couldn't help him with these "dreams" they were going to drive Machine mad!
Reaching the heavy door, Basilisk let himself out into the corridor.
Machine knew what was at stake here. The same demon that had invaded Basilisk's thoughts and dreams had now moved on to Machine. The horror's demands were simple: Set Me Free. Sure, they'd been enemies in the past, but this time the demon proposed an alliance. In exchange for his release, the horror offered a powerful ally...a powerful ally they'd desparately need if the threat that loomed over PCW was any indication. Oddly enough, the demon seemed truly genuine.
Machine lifted his head in Basilisk's direction.
With the cursed Phinehas Dillinger and the AWA hounds waiting for them at Trauma, maybe releasing the elder Dillinger wasn't such a bad idea afterall.
And then Machine used something he hadn't used in years: His vocal chords.
"Jeffery..."