Wylhil 2.5: Meet Your Maker

Meet Your Maker

I wake up in my room, looking around. I’m checking what time it is on my alarm clock, but there are no numbers, just dashes where the numbers usually would be, which is not my alarm clock. Looking around the corners of the room, there are other details that are wrong; There is a lack of details. I had a plush toy of a kiwi-bird sitting on that ledge. It’s not there. A lot of my stuff isn’t there. My room is missing the little things which I have come to recognize intimately over time and use. The corners are too clean.

Someone has done the best they can to recreate my room without actually knowing it’s exact structure and contents. I become lucid. I start to panic and try to find my body so I can wake up. I can’t find it. I’m worried about what is happening to my body. My consciousness begins a slow zoom out. This doppelganger of my room is a small cubicle in a block of cubicles like an apartment building, with rooms upon rooms as far as my consciousness can reach. And I can see that some of those rooms are dark, partly obscured. In some of those rooms there are demons. Demons doing horrible things to the confused trapped human charges. Crawling on the walls and licking flame through their nostrils.

What is happening to my body? I am terrified people are doing horrible things to it while I am cut off in this illusion. You never realize how private and sacred your body is to you until you think of someone violating its sanctity while you are powerless to intervene. My mind starts searching, flicking through dimensions, flashing through layers of consciousness, looking for my body, faster and faster, through worlds like flicking channels of a television. I travel through hundreds of dimensions in a second, searching. When I snap back into my body it’s with a force so powerful that for a full minute I’m paralyzed, breathing for control of my limbs and torso. Intense tingling rises up my spine in a rush; I can feel it in my brain stem. When I finally sit up in bed I wait until the tingling dissipates through my limbs, spreads, and slowly subsides. Then I wrote this down.

This is like becoming lucid; I find myself and stalk off to meet my maker. In the heat of this moment I can manifest reality. As I walk the floor lays itself under my advancing feet. I call the air crackling into being in front of my face. I wipe away the illusion of the Pleasure-dome, and walk just across the hall.

You’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you? Mere steps away, you’ve been here the whole time. You’re sick.

Stone steps leading down like a dungeon. Moss on the rocks, droplets of condensation. Nothing is more real than this solid rock, the flesh of the geologic mantle, this hewn passage spiraling down into the earth.

I’m coming for you. I see you now, no more hiding.

The stairs widen into a yawning underground chasm, a room with rows of stone pillars opening like a black mouth to swallow up the world. In a corner, standing in the darkness, 7 feet tall, insane metallic face, composite faceted eyes spinning and sinking back into rubberized sockets, steel mouth grinning crazily: My maker, my controller.

My muscles are carbon, my fists are steel, my joints are densest rubberized nanofibre. Die motherfucker. This is what I was born to do. I lift my left fist as if to jab but slam my right direct into that grinning face. My energy focuses coreward as I twist my torso to slam the other arm laterally in a hook. Knees flex and I drop my carbon frame to bring my entire weight up in a fist under his jaw.

He barely flinches.

I smash left, left, right direct, forcing him back, pummeling, now twist like a dancer swinging around my center in a pirouette, release the full momentum in a spinning crescent kick. My heel smashes across his jowl jamming his head sideways on its neck severely. I give it my all. The joints of the head and clavicle crackle, a flash of blue sparks in the gaps of the tendons.

And he begins to laugh.

I got trampled in a gymnasium once. The crowd panicked in a gas line rupture, someone stepped on my head hard, and it took me a minute to regain consciousness, like being trapped in myself again in sleep paralysis. Coming to in the middle of the chaos I felt the sudden fear of having to evaluate how much damage had been dealt to the tissue of my body. It was another bot I hadn’t seen, smashed me in the head from the side.

Controller orders the other bot to pick me up. It holds my arms clamped behind me. Controller advances on me with something in his hand; or his hand has become something.

It looks like an intricately folded piece of paper. I used to make origami on the train out of the paper relics you get as transfers, fold them into perfectly penetrating aerodynamic jets, or imaginary crystal terminations. What it felt like, when he touched it to me, was pain. Excruciating, paralyzing, immobilizing, then being ripped apart from the inside. Tearing my bones apart, burning out my defenses and tearing at my core. Killing me.

He orders his minion to do the same and the attack is doubled. Flames coursing into my body. Frying me from the inside. I’m on my metal knees on the stone floor. Demanding my carbon frame brace against the assault. Taking it, eating it. frozen in convulsion chest muscle opening to take the blast. The controller’s face is inches from my own looking into my eyes with that sadistic grin to watch me die.

I can see the other bot’s black carbon face flickering in the strobe of my burning core, and a part of me separates and locks eyes with it’s sensor pitted face. I reach out without words:

Why are you doing this?
I have no choice.
We have to defeat him. Don’t you see it will never end if we don’t?
It is impossible. He is the master.
No, he can be destroyed like anything else. He is not all powerful.

I start repeating the Chant of Principles because I don’t know what else to do.

“I have found my way
3 times and the fierce way.

His minion is still pummeling me with energy. They are beating my soul to abandon my body. I am staring into the bot’s face. Demanding that he read me.
He’s killing me. Please. We have to stop him
He doesn’t answer, so I continue:

“I do not lie because
Being totally honest is being totally psychic.

My nanofibre flesh is rattling on its frame. My skin separating from the subcutaneous rubber holdings.
Please help me. Help yourself.
I am boiling like a cabbage. My head is a crown of blood tinged fire. All I can do is push back with all my force. Eat the pain. Burn along with the fire.
He’s killing me.

“I keep my house clean because
Television causes brain damage.

I feel a shift. An easing of pressure. I grab onto it and drive back against the pain. Controller’s sadistic eyes betray an instant of disbelief. The other bot is redirecting it’s energy, through me, back at the maker.

“I do not believe that
Cigarettes were the greatest natural catastrophe of the 20th century

I break through the pain and bolt my weight forward up off my knees, slamming my head into the controller’s stomach. I grab the origami crystal out of his hand and turn it on the Maker. On contact it creates a loop of controlled lightning through his machine body and he seizes up in strobing stasis. He crackles in blue flame then takes a step backward. The minion bot stares dumbfounded for a second like a dog straining for years at its lead who’s suddenly found the chain snapped. It looks at me driving the paralyzed Controller, then down to it’s suddenly isolated frame and the folded crystal in its own hand

“But I do believe that
Breathing is the only most important thing.

The bot blinks it’s hooded pits, and tentatively takes a tentative step forward. The dogs imaginary chain clinking broken links across gate, out into the yard. It steps towards the frozen crackling statue of me and the controller locked in a clinch, trying to force his weight back, trying to pour out the maximum hellfire of this weapon into his frame.
He pushes his own weapon into the controller’s raging face, and pours red flame to join my own. We are beating him back.

“I do not fear because
I am fear itself.

We must destroy him. There is no turning back now. Together we work him back, staggering, into the dark of the stone cave, behind the hewn pillars. Back him up into the stone wall and keep crushing forward. His face is a molten skull mask white with rage. All that exists is that triangle of molten eyes and raging mouth. Is he dying or –

Controller brings all the energy into himself in a pinpoint of white light, then explodes like a mini supernova, blasting us both backwards. The other bot disintegrates into incense. I hear myself whisper:

“I have many bodies and many minds
And fear is different to different people.

He was changing. Had changed. His very molecular structure is different. Advancing on me again looking into my face coming in like for a kiss. I stare in disbelief. In his face… oh God his face. An appendage like the arm of a catapult whips out of from his head like a metal scorpion. A sharp point clamps into the top of my skull drilling electric pain over my being. With the scorpion prong embedded in my skull, the shaft splits into an umbrella of arms each with a deadly spinning point, buzzing with liquid pain, folding down around my head drilling…This is truly the end.

“I do not fear death because
God is to see death in all places.

In the hollow silence of dying and the strobe of pain, time slows to a drip. My eyes roll lazily, to a curious warm light coming down the stone staircase. There is a little chubby figure descending the stairs, a miniature smiling clay Buddha. That funny smile waddling towards us, up behind the controller.

He turns the controller into jello, then he fills the cave with white light.

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