Post by Vocado on Sept 18, 2020 18:31:41 GMT -6
Vocado felt a searing pain in his chest. It wasn't like a battle scar or some sort of magic hex. It was something else. Some sort of unknowable force that brought itself down on him like a weight. He'd felt this before, though never as intense as now. Try as he might to move, the effort was wasted. He was stuck where he was, which, until just a few seconds ago, he hadn't noticed.
He was in a bed. Not the lodgings of a hovel or even a simple home. This was akin to a hospital bed, though perhaps not as formal. Tubes and strings of all sorts stuck out of him like alien tumors, trailing off to machines he could not see, and his clothes had been replaced by a hospital gown. The eerily plain white room he found himself in left his mind frantic for something, anything to focus on. It took some time to find a focal point, but it did arrive shortly in the form of a person. They walked in slowly, their clothing simple and their face devoid of any feature. What was strange however was their hair. It was long and messy; much more unique and noticeable than the rest of them. So very familiar, too...
The person spoke, but its voice came out as a muffled mess of words. Certain phrases stuck out, like "sick" and "rest" but the majority was alien. Vocado hadn't noticed it before, but the person seemed to be carrying a tray of food. The person tried setting the food down, but the bedridden warrior resisted. It took all the effort he could muster, but his arm escaped the covers and lashed out, knocking away the food, allowing the contents to clatter helplessly onto the floor below. It was a strange, goopy assortment of food. Not precisely soup but nowhere near a solid block of anything. The surreal nature of things gave him a razor-sharp anxiety. What was this place?
It was then that the thing spoke plainly, only it did not use its own words. Instead, a mouth opened itself on the blank canvas that was its face, and a foreboding ooze seeped from it. A familiar voice bubbled from the ooze, and Vocado's worry turned to to annoyance.
"All things are fragile," The Shape explained. "Just as all things are unbreakable, so too are they soft as paper. Hear this; learn from this, and you will be one step closer to your true self."
How annoying. Each puzzle seemed more foolish than the last. First a phantom Saibaman and now they've fallen to pretending to be sick? He wanted to spend a few hours chastising the spirit guide for boring choices, but he felt the effort would be wasted on him. Besides, he had to focus on the task at hand, as well as whatever the hell the new challenge was. Did he need to fight off the sickness within? Speak with the medic and empathize with them? The possibilities were endless, and yet he wished to try none of them.
Whatever sludge or slime The Shape used to communicate was gone now. As if it had never existed. Vocado had noticed this when he was the guinea pig too, but when he was being used it seemed like a metaphorical sludge. The feeling was there but not the thing itself. Now though, it was obvious that for at least a few moments that strange substance had indeed existed. Was The Shape putting more power into this illusion than the rest?
With the way his innards felt, that might very well be true.
Mouthing out words, the medic tried their best to become accustomed to having a mouth. Sounding out letters before finally deciding that speaking wouldn't be so hard. "Hello," it said, its voice decidedly high-spirited.
"Just get on with it."
"I'm sorry?"
"The test. The scheme. Today's lesson. Whatever it is the ghastly bastard decided to use you as. Am I supposed to remember I can get sick? That I can catch a cold? Give me a break. Why not slip me something a little tougher next time! I can take the punishment; I'm dead, after all!"
The medic looked him over, and for a moment Vocado thought he could see its brow furrowing. "Are you alright, sir? I have no idea what you're going on about. I'm just a simple nurse. The doctors asked me to check in on you. We haven't deduced your sickness yet, but the symptoms do seem worrying. Heightened aggression is usually the sign of a powerful disease."
"Heightened aggression?!" He sat up, and immediately let himself fall back. That weight was on him. Guilty weight, or perhaps something akin to it. Why was it that the pain enhanced with each trial? By the maker's own logic, wouldn't his weight get smaller as he sheds the sins? Maybe. Or maybe he wasn't shedding them right. Clinging to each and every failure like a tick to skin.
The medic droned on a while, but he ignored them. He had to find a way to solve this one. Groaning and straining, the Saiyan forced himself to sit up. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he was able to break the invisible barrier and even stand a few moment later. The tubing and wires jutting from his skin popped off with little issue in comparison, almost as if they were for show more than any real medicinal help. The medic seemed to ignore the whole of this, opting instead to continue listing symptoms that barely even registered. Runny nose? Itchy chin? Wait, Vocado had both of those right now...
But regardless, he pressed on. Giving a dismissive wave, he walked past the faceless thing, but found it hard to make much progress. While the first step was fine, each movement after was slower and slower. It felt like he was trudging into a deep and unending sea, yet the room was empty. Speaking of, the goal ahead of him seemed not to exist. Rather than the room ending somewhere in some way, it seemed to go on forever. Endless tiles and countless windows. Buzzing lights and the echo of slower and slower footsteps.
Eventually, Vocado was forced to stop. Not because he wanted to, but rather because his foot physically could not rise anymore. Try as he might, the effort was wasted.
From afar, a new set of footfalls could be heard. Much quicker and more driven than the Saiyan's own. Before he could turn around to see, a hand was clasped around the back of his neck, and he was forcibly yanked backwards. He struggled under the grip, but it was no good. This thing was incredibly strong, or perhaps he was incredibly weak. Being drug across the room, he couldn't help but feel useless. Couldn't even walk down a hallway. What a pain.
In the end, he found himself back in bed, thrown onto it casually by the medic. He gave it a serious attempt to break free, but his overseer was too strong. Each motion was met by fierce resistance, until he finally sighed and laid down. He still resisted the blanket, though. Something about it annoyed him.
With little else to do They had eyes now, and a nose too. Was that...
"Nashua?"
"Who?"
"Whatever. Just shut up and give me the damn soup."
The medic obliged, offering the bowl to Vocado. When he tried to reach for it, they pulled away, wagging a finger and producing a spoon. They pushed it toward the Saiyan, acting like a parent trying to feed their child baby food for the first time. Rolling his eyes, Vocado opened his mouth begrudgingly. If he had to play the part, he supposed he might as well go for it.
When the slimy concoction hit his tongue, his mind went dark. It lit up again in what seemed like seconds, and the hospital was gone. Instead, he found himself in the cave again, his simple Gi returned to him. That was it? The whole test was to eat some soup.
"That soup was literally your pride," The Shape explained.
Only he wasn't speaking through Vocado, nor through some puppet. Instead, the door behind him spoke. Sludge oozed from the plain wooden door, and The Shape continued. "I wanted to see if you could swallow your pride and be cared for. You passed."
"You're kidding."
"Well, I was going to wait to explain it to you later, but yes. It seemed you had trouble with the last few tests and their true meaning, so this seemed the best way to go about things going forward."
Vocado punched the wall next to the door. Did this being think him stupid? Cryptic puzzles weren't exactly easy to parse meaning from, let alone equate it to ones self. Swallowing pride? From drinking soup? The very idea irritated him. He supposed though, with the answer given, that the original riddle made sense. Things are fragile, like being sick. It was a roundabout way of saying that being helped was okay, or so Vocado imagined.
"Next time I can figure it out myself. Don't butt in on your own tests, damn fool."
"Very well..."
The door swung open, and what lay before him was quite curious...
He was in a bed. Not the lodgings of a hovel or even a simple home. This was akin to a hospital bed, though perhaps not as formal. Tubes and strings of all sorts stuck out of him like alien tumors, trailing off to machines he could not see, and his clothes had been replaced by a hospital gown. The eerily plain white room he found himself in left his mind frantic for something, anything to focus on. It took some time to find a focal point, but it did arrive shortly in the form of a person. They walked in slowly, their clothing simple and their face devoid of any feature. What was strange however was their hair. It was long and messy; much more unique and noticeable than the rest of them. So very familiar, too...
The person spoke, but its voice came out as a muffled mess of words. Certain phrases stuck out, like "sick" and "rest" but the majority was alien. Vocado hadn't noticed it before, but the person seemed to be carrying a tray of food. The person tried setting the food down, but the bedridden warrior resisted. It took all the effort he could muster, but his arm escaped the covers and lashed out, knocking away the food, allowing the contents to clatter helplessly onto the floor below. It was a strange, goopy assortment of food. Not precisely soup but nowhere near a solid block of anything. The surreal nature of things gave him a razor-sharp anxiety. What was this place?
It was then that the thing spoke plainly, only it did not use its own words. Instead, a mouth opened itself on the blank canvas that was its face, and a foreboding ooze seeped from it. A familiar voice bubbled from the ooze, and Vocado's worry turned to to annoyance.
"All things are fragile," The Shape explained. "Just as all things are unbreakable, so too are they soft as paper. Hear this; learn from this, and you will be one step closer to your true self."
How annoying. Each puzzle seemed more foolish than the last. First a phantom Saibaman and now they've fallen to pretending to be sick? He wanted to spend a few hours chastising the spirit guide for boring choices, but he felt the effort would be wasted on him. Besides, he had to focus on the task at hand, as well as whatever the hell the new challenge was. Did he need to fight off the sickness within? Speak with the medic and empathize with them? The possibilities were endless, and yet he wished to try none of them.
Whatever sludge or slime The Shape used to communicate was gone now. As if it had never existed. Vocado had noticed this when he was the guinea pig too, but when he was being used it seemed like a metaphorical sludge. The feeling was there but not the thing itself. Now though, it was obvious that for at least a few moments that strange substance had indeed existed. Was The Shape putting more power into this illusion than the rest?
With the way his innards felt, that might very well be true.
Mouthing out words, the medic tried their best to become accustomed to having a mouth. Sounding out letters before finally deciding that speaking wouldn't be so hard. "Hello," it said, its voice decidedly high-spirited.
"Just get on with it."
"I'm sorry?"
"The test. The scheme. Today's lesson. Whatever it is the ghastly bastard decided to use you as. Am I supposed to remember I can get sick? That I can catch a cold? Give me a break. Why not slip me something a little tougher next time! I can take the punishment; I'm dead, after all!"
The medic looked him over, and for a moment Vocado thought he could see its brow furrowing. "Are you alright, sir? I have no idea what you're going on about. I'm just a simple nurse. The doctors asked me to check in on you. We haven't deduced your sickness yet, but the symptoms do seem worrying. Heightened aggression is usually the sign of a powerful disease."
"Heightened aggression?!" He sat up, and immediately let himself fall back. That weight was on him. Guilty weight, or perhaps something akin to it. Why was it that the pain enhanced with each trial? By the maker's own logic, wouldn't his weight get smaller as he sheds the sins? Maybe. Or maybe he wasn't shedding them right. Clinging to each and every failure like a tick to skin.
The medic droned on a while, but he ignored them. He had to find a way to solve this one. Groaning and straining, the Saiyan forced himself to sit up. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he was able to break the invisible barrier and even stand a few moment later. The tubing and wires jutting from his skin popped off with little issue in comparison, almost as if they were for show more than any real medicinal help. The medic seemed to ignore the whole of this, opting instead to continue listing symptoms that barely even registered. Runny nose? Itchy chin? Wait, Vocado had both of those right now...
But regardless, he pressed on. Giving a dismissive wave, he walked past the faceless thing, but found it hard to make much progress. While the first step was fine, each movement after was slower and slower. It felt like he was trudging into a deep and unending sea, yet the room was empty. Speaking of, the goal ahead of him seemed not to exist. Rather than the room ending somewhere in some way, it seemed to go on forever. Endless tiles and countless windows. Buzzing lights and the echo of slower and slower footsteps.
Eventually, Vocado was forced to stop. Not because he wanted to, but rather because his foot physically could not rise anymore. Try as he might, the effort was wasted.
From afar, a new set of footfalls could be heard. Much quicker and more driven than the Saiyan's own. Before he could turn around to see, a hand was clasped around the back of his neck, and he was forcibly yanked backwards. He struggled under the grip, but it was no good. This thing was incredibly strong, or perhaps he was incredibly weak. Being drug across the room, he couldn't help but feel useless. Couldn't even walk down a hallway. What a pain.
In the end, he found himself back in bed, thrown onto it casually by the medic. He gave it a serious attempt to break free, but his overseer was too strong. Each motion was met by fierce resistance, until he finally sighed and laid down. He still resisted the blanket, though. Something about it annoyed him.
With little else to do They had eyes now, and a nose too. Was that...
"Nashua?"
"Who?"
"Whatever. Just shut up and give me the damn soup."
The medic obliged, offering the bowl to Vocado. When he tried to reach for it, they pulled away, wagging a finger and producing a spoon. They pushed it toward the Saiyan, acting like a parent trying to feed their child baby food for the first time. Rolling his eyes, Vocado opened his mouth begrudgingly. If he had to play the part, he supposed he might as well go for it.
When the slimy concoction hit his tongue, his mind went dark. It lit up again in what seemed like seconds, and the hospital was gone. Instead, he found himself in the cave again, his simple Gi returned to him. That was it? The whole test was to eat some soup.
"That soup was literally your pride," The Shape explained.
Only he wasn't speaking through Vocado, nor through some puppet. Instead, the door behind him spoke. Sludge oozed from the plain wooden door, and The Shape continued. "I wanted to see if you could swallow your pride and be cared for. You passed."
"You're kidding."
"Well, I was going to wait to explain it to you later, but yes. It seemed you had trouble with the last few tests and their true meaning, so this seemed the best way to go about things going forward."
Vocado punched the wall next to the door. Did this being think him stupid? Cryptic puzzles weren't exactly easy to parse meaning from, let alone equate it to ones self. Swallowing pride? From drinking soup? The very idea irritated him. He supposed though, with the answer given, that the original riddle made sense. Things are fragile, like being sick. It was a roundabout way of saying that being helped was okay, or so Vocado imagined.
"Next time I can figure it out myself. Don't butt in on your own tests, damn fool."
"Very well..."
The door swung open, and what lay before him was quite curious...
