Ridiculous. Unacceptable. He would not let it end like this. He had to get in the last word, the last blow. Had to. For that was the nature of the human spirit, to struggle to the end. And he was still human, no matter how many fangs this illusion gave him.
"The only truly valuable control... is over the self," he whispered as the blood began to snake towards him once again. But this time, his hand did rise up, just a little. "Allow me... to... demonstrate!" His hand came down, slapping the ground in front of him. And then the Major gave the order for himself to die.
It was not easy, to will one’s body to shut down while trapped in a nightmare. He had to work very hard at it indeed, using the interface between his mind and the Attic’s systems to delve deep into his own subconscious. But after all, this was what the Attic was built for: to allow the subject’s mind to be used against them. In this case, it was simply being used by the subject himself, wrenching the necessary control by sheer, overpowering will. The Major found the part of himself that said ‘Heart- beat! Brain- think! Lungs- breathe!’ and commanded ‘HALT!’
In the real world, the Major’s body spasmed and jerked on the table as alarms sounded from the Attic instruments. His teeth snapped against each other, his head threw itself from side to side, his legs banged against the table. Blood began to ooze, first from his nose, then his mouth, then his ears, then his eyes. Smoke curled from his head as circuits blew inside his cyborg body. It was joined by the smoke of instruments sparking from the massive feedback they were receiving.
No calculations from his mind for Herr Langton. No long enjoyment of his suffering. Only resurrection and then retribution. Or perhaps better yet- that final death so devoutly to be wished, to be yearned for and fought for over fifty long years, finally achieved in this last act of defiance.
There was one last convulsion of the Major’s body against its restraints, and then it slammed back against the table and was completely still. Within his mind, there was one last burst of demented laughter, and then darkness.
no subject
"The only truly valuable control... is over the self," he whispered as the blood began to snake towards him once again. But this time, his hand did rise up, just a little. "Allow me... to... demonstrate!" His hand came down, slapping the ground in front of him. And then the Major gave the order for himself to die.
It was not easy, to will one’s body to shut down while trapped in a nightmare. He had to work very hard at it indeed, using the interface between his mind and the Attic’s systems to delve deep into his own subconscious. But after all, this was what the Attic was built for: to allow the subject’s mind to be used against them. In this case, it was simply being used by the subject himself, wrenching the necessary control by sheer, overpowering will. The Major found the part of himself that said ‘Heart- beat! Brain- think! Lungs- breathe!’ and commanded ‘HALT!’
In the real world, the Major’s body spasmed and jerked on the table as alarms sounded from the Attic instruments. His teeth snapped against each other, his head threw itself from side to side, his legs banged against the table. Blood began to ooze, first from his nose, then his mouth, then his ears, then his eyes. Smoke curled from his head as circuits blew inside his cyborg body. It was joined by the smoke of instruments sparking from the massive feedback they were receiving.
No calculations from his mind for Herr Langton. No long enjoyment of his suffering. Only resurrection and then retribution. Or perhaps better yet- that final death so devoutly to be wished, to be yearned for and fought for over fifty long years, finally achieved in this last act of defiance.
There was one last convulsion of the Major’s body against its restraints, and then it slammed back against the table and was completely still. Within his mind, there was one last burst of demented laughter, and then darkness.