I'm strolling down one of the long hallways we got here, right? All concrete and gunmetal and serious business… Anyway, I'm enjoying myself; got my earbuds in, grooving to some Peppers'. Some people stop and stare, probably because these wonderful military guys and gals aren't so used to seeing anyone this cheerful. At least, not in this place. The fact that I like to wear colours instead of drab probably draws some attention too, but never mind that.
The point is, suddenly, the yellow lights along the walls suddenly turn red. Klaxons start blaring. An intercom squawks before a tinny voice starts echoing out into the hall.
"This is Central Command. We have confirmation of EMF activity. Code Demiurge."
All the soldier boys and girls suddenly become grim, stiffening and running off to do things that need doing. The few that stay behind still can't stop looking at me; some even glare angrily. I can't really help the fact that I'm grinning, though! Command is playing my song, after all.
I meander on down to the Gear Chamber, pausing the song that I'll get back to once we're done here. I'm still humming the lyrics, though, even after I pull the earbuds out. I get halfway through the chorus before my chest and throat seize up, damn cough wracking my lungs. I put my hands to my mouth, and they come away bloody, once the fit has passed. The light above the Chamber door turns green, and Command informs me that "SLUG DES: Heretic is in play. The Gears are turning. Please enter the Chamber. Good luck."
I hook up all the doodads, gizmos, and gadgets before putting on the gloves and pulling the visor down. I'm still smiling, too; most pilots don't really find this process enjoyable, but I love it. It's like the opening band that amps the crowd up before the main act comes onstage, y'know?
This whole thing is like one big concert for me. Most others here think I'm weird because of that; maybe I am weird because of that, but I think I get this way because I have something no-one else here does.
The little lumps and bumps and bulges I can feel in my lungs every time I have a fit? I'm smiling because of them. The best day of my life was the day when the doctor brought me into his office and told me that the cancer in my lungs was going to kill me without treatment (which, I didn't have money for then, and which I sure as hell am not going to pay for now). That was the day that I knew I was going to die.
That was the day that I knew I was going to die, and there was not a thing that any of those Evil Mother Fuckers could do about it. After being tormented by Them for my entire life, from 17 onwards, I was no longer afraid.
That's probably why I was picked to pilot Heretic; could anyone with any ambiguity about death face down the shit that my chosen Fucker brings to the table? The cop hiding from the walking, bullet-ridden corpses of Twin Triangle-tattooed hoodlums behind the cruiser probably wasn't so certain about how he was going to die. His panic-stricken face greets me as Heretic's visual feed powers up. Guess he isn't too comforted by my presence, though (not many people in near-death situations react passively to giant robots, I've found). I check my HUD briefly; Heretic's mounted gun is topped up with incendiaries, but R&D's new toy is still charging. No problem; Huggers don't require that much firepower.
Some pilots prefer to let their targeting computers have all the fun, but I advance and use my arms to guide the shots. I'm still humming that song, it's pretty damn catchy. Getting into a rhythm, now. Oop, looks like the cop is fleeing. Recon'll have to pick him up later, I guess. I switch my controls up, and rip down the doors to the dilapidated church. I'm not afraid of anything, but I'll admit flexing Heretic's servos makes me feel more in control of the situation.
I'm actually singing when I stride on up to the altar. Six people are huddled at the very edge of the dais, looks alternating between fearful, resigned, and desperate as they look at the pile of razors before them. Above the altar, soot-stained nun vestments touch the pages of a bible as the sister in them hovers directly above the podium. She seems to flicker, flashing in and out of sight. There is a huge chunk of wood sticking out of her midsection, damp showing through the black robes. The polished wooden rosary around her neck bears two triangles on its' end. Her smile is serene, and there are only deep, fathomless pits of blackness in her eye sockets, studded with tiny points of light. They say that those are all the souls trapped within It; they say that they shine because they are screaming. They say that everyone ends up as a little star in Its' eternity when they die.
I say that shit sounds a lot like what Its' followers preach when they're trying to get you to drink the Kool-Aid.
I think that It can only get you if you choose It; I don't care if it appears to you as your dead uncle or Siddartha.
I know that of all the Fuckers that were on my case, I hate Demiurge the most. Every time I put pills in my hand, or a blade to my wrists, I could only think of where I'd end up, since It was always watching… Always urging me to follow through. It made me too afraid to end my misery, paralyzed me, prevented me from doing anything to get out of the hell my life used to be.
I guess Demiurge can feel hate. It looks at me. That smile broadens.
My HUD pings. I smile, flick a finger to indicate control switch, and hold my right arm out. I clench my fist slowly; a long blade the colour of dull slate springs from Heretic's arm. Occam's Razor vibrates, and the air around it seems to shimmer, shudder, and blur together as it screams in protest. You can't see it, sure, but air exists. Air is something, tangible and real. Anything real can't stand the even faintest touch of Nothing.
Demiurge loses that Nirvana smile.
"I'm gonna show you some of my good ti-ime…" I sing, stepping forward and sweeping the Razor in a reality-searing arc in front of me.
Demiurge flickers violently, then fades away entirely. That's okay, I love seeing Fuckers high-tail it. Not as good as hitting them, but, hey. Small victories.
I step out of the church just as the twenty-minute warning sounds in the Gear Chamber. I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't get a real show… I power down Heretic, and step out of the Chamber, straight into the arms of the waiting medical team.
As I sit in medbay, getting the routine check-up, I can't help but think; Demiurge didn't like the Razor. Didn't like Nothing, didn't want oblivion. My chest starts to seize up again, and as I'm coughing up more little bits of me, I can't help but smile at the realization that Demiurge left me alone since I've got my own little piece of oblivion too. Right here, inside my lungs.
I'll get Demiurge next engagement. And then, I'm definitely gonna show It some of my good time.
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