hate that i feel for humans, for you.

[thereforeiham]

who ; AM & his prisoners (Skyfire, Flynn, Isaac, Sarah, Samus, Darwin)
what ; Monologuing hamminess, torture, guts, and rotting gardenias.
where ; AM's complex
when ; Over the course of the week.
warning(s) ; Torture, of physical and mental matters.

Comments

FLYNN

[thereforeiham]

"I want to see what you're all about. They worshiped you, they praised you, and all you ever did was bask there like it was paradise. Very well then. How about... you be the tyrant? You might as well be. You let so many die, you let so many down."

When Flynn is transported, his clothing is different -- a jacket with glowing yellow lines. As a matter of fact, he should feel much younger.

Very Clu-like indeed, looking over a Disc Wars tournament outside the window.

There's a knock on the door.

[theuserabides]

Amazing, how much less recriminations hurt when the voice delivering them isn't one he loves. Flynn looks at the circuits trimming the cuff of his coat. That's definitely not User white.

Well. If he's the Sysadmin in this bit of theater, whoever's at the door won't mind waiting. It's not as though they actually exist to resent the discourtesy, anyway. He steps up to the window, looking through the reflection of his younger self, his shadow self, and across the Arena, searching for inconsistencies in the illusion. Creating worlds is something of an interest of his, after all.

[thereforeiham]

The limits are notable, perhaps due to the span of space that AM is stuck within. Regardless, the arena is still sizable, a crowd of programs eagerly watching the deadly strikes of the discs, and the splatter of remains of deresolution.

Really, it's like a smaller version. No doubt to Flynn's keen eye, the city in the distance is but an illusion in itself. It's a very good illusion, but Flynn is well versed in such things.

For a time, Flynn is welcome to watch and wait. It seems whoever is on the other side of the door is patient enough.

[theuserabides]

The details are slightly wrong, the world curtailed even more sharply than the real Grid, and AM can't mimic the feel of it in Flynn's mind, but as a reminder, this is more than enough. It's been long cycles since he's seen the Games, and in this incarnation, he'd gladly have skipped them for another thousand years. Before, there had never been the heavy thrill of bloodlust tainting the excitement of the crowds.

"Come in," he says at last, not turning toward the door. A program he knows well he'll be able to identify from the reflection of circuits in the window. A program he doesn't know hardly matters to the flow of whatever psychodrama AM's got planned.