What a question. Alex stares at the opposite wall. "You'd think... weapons, right? And you'd only be half-right. Because of course that place had shit like that in spades. Holograms that couldn't be harmed but could easily kill--an invulnerable army. Suits that covered and protected you--but would keep your body moving and fighting, even after death. The Cloud--"
He pauses. Swallows. "Poison. Like you've never seen. Radioactive waste doesn't come close. It's pure technology. Created." Created by the very place he now owns. Is responsible for. "And it would kill everything and anything if it's duplicated. And let's not forget the legend of the gold itself--enough to buy whatever you needed to take out who you saw as enemies.
"But Neil," Alex says in a strange tone. "What he needed was past that. Weapons, mass destruction, one and all, but what he fucking wanted was--"
He swallows. Smiles. "Vending machines." The words are choppy, bit out. "The last inspired invention of the old world. You could put anything into them--anything--and they would give you anything in return. Whatever you wanted. Food, ammo, clothes, bit and bobbles and fucking dreams. He wanted to wipe out the world. And then, when it came back, he wanted to nurture it. Give people whatever they wanted--whatever they needed. He wanted to make sure people wouldn't go down those paths again." The paths that led to the old world--and now the new.
It's sick. Wrong. And it's a side step away from Alex. Destruction instead of a want for creation-- And yet. Yet.
Isn't it Alex. Isn't Alex the one who ended up destroying something he created? A new world in itself.
no subject
He pauses. Swallows. "Poison. Like you've never seen. Radioactive waste doesn't come close. It's pure technology. Created." Created by the very place he now owns. Is responsible for. "And it would kill everything and anything if it's duplicated. And let's not forget the legend of the gold itself--enough to buy whatever you needed to take out who you saw as enemies.
"But Neil," Alex says in a strange tone. "What he needed was past that. Weapons, mass destruction, one and all, but what he fucking wanted was--"
He swallows. Smiles. "Vending machines." The words are choppy, bit out. "The last inspired invention of the old world. You could put anything into them--anything--and they would give you anything in return. Whatever you wanted. Food, ammo, clothes, bit and bobbles and fucking dreams. He wanted to wipe out the world. And then, when it came back, he wanted to nurture it. Give people whatever they wanted--whatever they needed. He wanted to make sure people wouldn't go down those paths again." The paths that led to the old world--and now the new.
It's sick. Wrong. And it's a side step away from Alex. Destruction instead of a want for creation-- And yet. Yet.
Isn't it Alex. Isn't Alex the one who ended up destroying something he created? A new world in itself.
...He feels sick.