(no subject)
Title: Erhabenheit (Superiority)
Fandom: Megaman
Characters: Bass, unconscious!bby!Zero
Genre: Is angry a genre? Drama, General
Rating: R. God Bass has a mouth on him.
Summary: Playing Bass at luceti really has influenced my muse.
Goddamn girly bot.
Just one little motion, that's all it would take; I could blow apart that pretty little head with just one thought, one shot from my Buster. I could go into the computer, delete all that meticulous programming, hunt down the extra hard-copy backups, crush them in my hands. That fucking old bastard thinks he's so clever; acts like I can't see him hiding them, can't see him plotting and planning and working on this fucking- This-
Great. Now the table's dented. I'll blame it on someone else.
Why the hell would he even go to the trouble to make it fucking pretty? I mean- I can see why he would with me, I'm perfect. You hear that, you Goddamn Barbie doll? I am perfection. Me. Not you, not you!
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch! So what if I haven't killed Megaman yet?! Neither has anyone else! Besides, it's all luck; he has luck on his side. I'll get him- I probably already would have if those fucking other Masters weren't such insufferable fuck-ups-!
God DAMN it!
...I'm being replaced. I'm obsolete. Ha ha, ironic isn't it? These stupid, shallow humans...they create something, praise it as perfection, label it the peak of technology...and toss it aside for an upgrade a few years later. Rumor has it that Dr. Santa-The-Fucking-Saint has his own little side project. Wonder if he's told that blue eyesore? Maybe I should do him a favor and inform him, or better yet; I could tell Protoman. That'd be a nice surprise, not that it's anything new to him.
Hey, there's an idea; I could always just leave, just pack up and go. Might be rough, but it's not like I'm some teenage runaway. I'm a fucking bioroid for Chrissake, I'm pretty sure I can manage. This idea's looking better and better; I'll grab Treble, disable our homing devices, and we can disappear into the night. Maybe get a scarf, ha ha! No, I'd look just as retarded as him.
...It's nice to dream, anyways. I suppose I've got it better than the others; I at least know that I'm shackled. They don't even realize it, the thought never enters their painfully simplistic minds. Although...I wonder if that makes them the fortunate ones? Doesn't matter. They aren't complex enough to matter.
I'll do it someday. I'll find a loophole, just one little slip in coding is all I need...one little glitch. Maybe I'll mess with the lines and tell him I have a problem- he can repair it and fuck up, as always, and I'll have my reason. It doesn't take much, not nearly as much as some people might think. I'll just...no. It won't work. He has it on file, and he'll know I did it and take away more of me.
I'll just sit here. And rust. And wait for the end to wake up.
Fandom: Megaman
Characters: Bass, unconscious!bby!Zero
Genre: Is angry a genre? Drama, General
Rating: R. God Bass has a mouth on him.
Summary: Playing Bass at luceti really has influenced my muse.
Goddamn girly bot.
Just one little motion, that's all it would take; I could blow apart that pretty little head with just one thought, one shot from my Buster. I could go into the computer, delete all that meticulous programming, hunt down the extra hard-copy backups, crush them in my hands. That fucking old bastard thinks he's so clever; acts like I can't see him hiding them, can't see him plotting and planning and working on this fucking- This-
Great. Now the table's dented. I'll blame it on someone else.
Why the hell would he even go to the trouble to make it fucking pretty? I mean- I can see why he would with me, I'm perfect. You hear that, you Goddamn Barbie doll? I am perfection. Me. Not you, not you!
Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch! So what if I haven't killed Megaman yet?! Neither has anyone else! Besides, it's all luck; he has luck on his side. I'll get him- I probably already would have if those fucking other Masters weren't such insufferable fuck-ups-!
God DAMN it!
...I'm being replaced. I'm obsolete. Ha ha, ironic isn't it? These stupid, shallow humans...they create something, praise it as perfection, label it the peak of technology...and toss it aside for an upgrade a few years later. Rumor has it that Dr. Santa-The-Fucking-Saint has his own little side project. Wonder if he's told that blue eyesore? Maybe I should do him a favor and inform him, or better yet; I could tell Protoman. That'd be a nice surprise, not that it's anything new to him.
Hey, there's an idea; I could always just leave, just pack up and go. Might be rough, but it's not like I'm some teenage runaway. I'm a fucking bioroid for Chrissake, I'm pretty sure I can manage. This idea's looking better and better; I'll grab Treble, disable our homing devices, and we can disappear into the night. Maybe get a scarf, ha ha! No, I'd look just as retarded as him.
...It's nice to dream, anyways. I suppose I've got it better than the others; I at least know that I'm shackled. They don't even realize it, the thought never enters their painfully simplistic minds. Although...I wonder if that makes them the fortunate ones? Doesn't matter. They aren't complex enough to matter.
I'll do it someday. I'll find a loophole, just one little slip in coding is all I need...one little glitch. Maybe I'll mess with the lines and tell him I have a problem- he can repair it and fuck up, as always, and I'll have my reason. It doesn't take much, not nearly as much as some people might think. I'll just...no. It won't work. He has it on file, and he'll know I did it and take away more of me.
I'll just sit here. And rust. And wait for the end to wake up.