Bullet Box

Considering how much else is strewn about the place, you’d think Rapture had at least one deck of cards worth using. It’s not much to ask. Except clearly it is. Cheers for that. Give me a vending machine and fill it with bullets. Great idea. It’s home away from home, if you happen to be a member of the bloody NRA…

…I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me. This armored chump’s been driving me nuts. I only wanted to ask it about the singing. Except that singing’s probably the wrong word for it, now. I’m starting to think that the constant groaning is simply how it communicates to itself.

It must really, really like talking. That, or I’ve bumped into the third incarnation of Peter Andre. Doubt it’s the latter, personally. The cameras treat it like anything else around here.

The problem I have is that ever since I asked it about whale CDs, it’s been following me around like a bored teenager on a school trip. I don’t dare tell it to zog off, because I might upset it further and it’s carrying a very big gun. If I squint, it looks like the devil after a trip to NASA. Too much of everything, and mostly colored in red.

Wait…I can hear running. Sounds like a prompt- but there’s no shrieking…oh. It’s one of those little girls. The freaky ones. Minus the eyes. Her eyes look normal. Guess this what they look like after rehab. If it wasn’t for the absence of shoes, she’d look pretty ordinary, outside Rapture.

Ah. She’s stopped. Up until now, I thought she’d been alright. No blood, no fear, just the steady gaze of someone who clearly knows where they’re going. I don’t see that expression enough. Not nearly enough in mirrors. But that expression’s gone.

I turn around, only to see my companion Looking at the girl like a wounded animal- impressive for a tin bot, if it wasn’t so creepy. My hands are itching again. And something doesn’t…well, feel right. This Look isn’t a good one. It looks angry. Hurt, even. The light in it’s visor is red.


It doesn’t take me long to realize that, once again, my brain now has some catching up to do. She’s already off. She didn’t need telling twice.

The thing goes after her…

Well, tries to.

If looks could kill-




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s