Catharsis of Cthulhu
You decide to fold to superficial programming. You bow your head in compliance, put your lighter away, and close the compartment with that holds the sample. You suppose that you've lived without humans long enough that it won't matter much if the infection spreads. You've already proven yourself to be impervious to the infected's assaults. You feel confident that, even if humans come to be destroyed by the dark creature spreading this infection, you can continue to survive.
Doctor Hall steps into the pod first and you follow closely behind him. You take a seat across from him in the spherical shaped ship as he focuses on the panel in the center. He seems hesitant as he operates the panel to put off a distress beacon before pushing off and out of M-5434's thin atmosphere.
"Do you mind if I sleep while we wait, Doctor Hall?" you ask, already feeling the oppression of Hall's nervous silence in the small compartment.
Hall waves a distracted hand at you as he continues to puzzle away at the panel in front of him. You were quite sure that he had training in the escape pods, but perhaps his long sleep dulled his memory.
Your sensors indicate that the closest ship is still two days away from your escape pod and feel no shame in closing your ocular sensors and allowing your processes to shut down and be stored in ROM. As your senses fall into a replicated sleep, you worry that you might dream a dream that becomes nightmarish.
You awake to a stranger's hand on your shoulder. Doctor Hall has left the pod and you find yourself faced with a newer model of yourself, a more feminine rendition. She immediately opens a frequency with you and begins pushing down data. You are currently on the ship Ithaqua. You have been afloat for a little under two days and Doctor Hall has been taken away for treatment. She is to familiarize you with her work on the Ithaqua, as they will now be chores you will share.
You smile. It will be nice to have company in the depths of space.
Your days move by quietly with her, whom you have learned is called 167. But, you decide to call her August, an affectionate affectation. She calls you Harold Hadley Copeland, because she is the kind of woman who does not like to be out done.
You are happy to repair circuits with her, or wipe down ceilings for her, or lift large engines for her ease of access. It has not been since the war that you were in the company of one of your own kind and you are warmed by the contact. The fact that she is such a feminized model, using feminine pronouns in address of herself and acting in a warm and kind nature to those around her, only serves to further attract you.
It has been a week since you arrived on the Ithaqua and you have nearly forgotten to ask after Doctor Hall's condition when August approaches you. She seems to be acting strangely and doesn't immediately open a channel for you and her to communicate freely and silently. You are worried.
You know she has just returned from the Medical Bay and worry that something unfortunate might have happened.
"167?" you prompt, still not quite courageous enough to speak her human name out loud.
She turns to you with a mechanical nod. Her eyes seem tortured, amazing that she can even express such an emotion. Her hands shoot out.
You could have stopped her. You wouldn't have been able to avoid hurting her, though. So, you don't stop her.
Her hands shoot forward and tear your chest carriage apart. A shock, a malfunction, electricity jumping across complicated circuits and leaving everything broken and fried in their wake.
It takes only a split second and your body is completely destroyed, your consciousness just barely clicking along in the background, frozen and unable to process what just happened.
Doctor Hall steps around the corner and stands behind August. She's still not moving, though her limbs are twitching desperately.
"I can't believe such a hunk of junk caused me so many problems," Doctor Hall speaks, his voice a matrix of mis-matching sounds.
He steps forward and kneels beside your broken body. He pulls a flat knife from his pocket and works at the compartment in your wrist until it finally pops open.
The black mold is withered and very nearly dead. But, as Hall picks it up, it seems to perk itself up and grow with new vigor.
"Thank you very much, 23. You will be the cause of all these good people's death," Hall gurgles affectionately as he stands and steps toward August.
"167, I would appreciate it if you could carry the news of your crew's demise to all waking participants," he says amiably, smearing the greenish black mold across August's face and chest plate with relish.
Her body fighting desperately, she eventually turns and walks away.
"Thank you," Hall chuckles.
Finally, your last circuits spark and arch. Your last corner of consciousness is no more.
< Congratulations! You got the bad ending. The human race is on the fast track to being infected by Cthulhu and you are dead, for all intents and purposes. >
Doctor Hall steps into the pod first and you follow closely behind him. You take a seat across from him in the spherical shaped ship as he focuses on the panel in the center. He seems hesitant as he operates the panel to put off a distress beacon before pushing off and out of M-5434's thin atmosphere.
"Do you mind if I sleep while we wait, Doctor Hall?" you ask, already feeling the oppression of Hall's nervous silence in the small compartment.
Hall waves a distracted hand at you as he continues to puzzle away at the panel in front of him. You were quite sure that he had training in the escape pods, but perhaps his long sleep dulled his memory.
Your sensors indicate that the closest ship is still two days away from your escape pod and feel no shame in closing your ocular sensors and allowing your processes to shut down and be stored in ROM. As your senses fall into a replicated sleep, you worry that you might dream a dream that becomes nightmarish.
- - - - -
You awake to a stranger's hand on your shoulder. Doctor Hall has left the pod and you find yourself faced with a newer model of yourself, a more feminine rendition. She immediately opens a frequency with you and begins pushing down data. You are currently on the ship Ithaqua. You have been afloat for a little under two days and Doctor Hall has been taken away for treatment. She is to familiarize you with her work on the Ithaqua, as they will now be chores you will share.
You smile. It will be nice to have company in the depths of space.
Your days move by quietly with her, whom you have learned is called 167. But, you decide to call her August, an affectionate affectation. She calls you Harold Hadley Copeland, because she is the kind of woman who does not like to be out done.
You are happy to repair circuits with her, or wipe down ceilings for her, or lift large engines for her ease of access. It has not been since the war that you were in the company of one of your own kind and you are warmed by the contact. The fact that she is such a feminized model, using feminine pronouns in address of herself and acting in a warm and kind nature to those around her, only serves to further attract you.
It has been a week since you arrived on the Ithaqua and you have nearly forgotten to ask after Doctor Hall's condition when August approaches you. She seems to be acting strangely and doesn't immediately open a channel for you and her to communicate freely and silently. You are worried.
You know she has just returned from the Medical Bay and worry that something unfortunate might have happened.
"167?" you prompt, still not quite courageous enough to speak her human name out loud.
She turns to you with a mechanical nod. Her eyes seem tortured, amazing that she can even express such an emotion. Her hands shoot out.
You could have stopped her. You wouldn't have been able to avoid hurting her, though. So, you don't stop her.
Her hands shoot forward and tear your chest carriage apart. A shock, a malfunction, electricity jumping across complicated circuits and leaving everything broken and fried in their wake.
It takes only a split second and your body is completely destroyed, your consciousness just barely clicking along in the background, frozen and unable to process what just happened.
Doctor Hall steps around the corner and stands behind August. She's still not moving, though her limbs are twitching desperately.
"I can't believe such a hunk of junk caused me so many problems," Doctor Hall speaks, his voice a matrix of mis-matching sounds.
He steps forward and kneels beside your broken body. He pulls a flat knife from his pocket and works at the compartment in your wrist until it finally pops open.
The black mold is withered and very nearly dead. But, as Hall picks it up, it seems to perk itself up and grow with new vigor.
"Thank you very much, 23. You will be the cause of all these good people's death," Hall gurgles affectionately as he stands and steps toward August.
"167, I would appreciate it if you could carry the news of your crew's demise to all waking participants," he says amiably, smearing the greenish black mold across August's face and chest plate with relish.
Her body fighting desperately, she eventually turns and walks away.
"Thank you," Hall chuckles.
Finally, your last circuits spark and arch. Your last corner of consciousness is no more.
< Congratulations! You got the bad ending. The human race is on the fast track to being infected by Cthulhu and you are dead, for all intents and purposes. >
