Execution Scene
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'Use Of Weapons' by Iain M. Banks.
'The story,' the intruder said 'Once upon a time, over the gravity well and far away, there was a magical land. They had no kings, no laws, no money and no property, but where everyone lived like a prince, was very well behaved and lacked for nothing. And these people lived in peace, but they were bored, because paradise can get that way after a time. And so they started to carry out missions of good works;charitable visits upon the less well-off you might say; and they always tried to bring with them the thing they saw as their most precious gift of all. Knowledge, information and as wide a spread for that information as possible, because these people were strange in that they despised rank and hated kings... and all things hiearchic... even Ethnarcs.'
The young man smiled thinly. So did the Ethnarc. He wiped his brow and shifted slightly back in his huge bed, as though getting more comfortable. But one look was enough to tell his heart was pounding.
'Well, for a time, a terrible force threatened to take away their good works, but they resisted it and won and came out of the conflict stronger than ever before. And had they not been so unconcerned with power for its own sake they would have been terribly feared, just as a matter of course given the terrible, terrible scale of their power. And one of the ways it amused them to wield that power was to interfere with societies they thought might benefit from the experience. And one of the most efficient ways of doing that in a lot of societies is to get to the people at the top.'
'Many of their people people become physicians to great leaders and with medicines and treatments that seem more like magic to the comparitively primitive people they're dealing with, they ensure a good leader has a greater chance of surviving. That is the way they prefer to work, you see; they offer life rather than deal death. You might call them soft, because of their reluctance to kill, and they might even agree with you. But they are soft only in the way the ocean is soft and, well; ask any sea captain how harmless and puny the ocean can be.'
'Yes, I see' the Ethnarch said, sitting back a little further on the pillows, with his hands subtly checking exactly where he was in relation to the hidden compartent on the headboard that concealed his gun.
'Another thing they do, these magical people, is they offer leaders of certain societies below a certain technological level the one thing all their wealth and power cannot buy them; a cure for death. A return to youth.'
The Ethnarch stared at the young man, suddenly more intriqued that afraid. Did he mean the retro-aging?
'Ah, I can see you are beginning to understand.' the young man smiled. 'You are correct, precisely the process you've been going trough, Ethnarch Kerian. A gift you have been paying for the past year. Remember, promise to pay for with more than just platinum? Do you remember?'
'I...I'm not sure' the Ethnarch stalled. The headboard was right under his hand, he had almost found the latch under the pillows.
'You promised to stop the killings in Youricam, remember?'
'I may have promised to review the segragation and resettlement policy in-'
'No,' the young man admonished 'I mean the killings, Ethnarch. The death trains. The trains where the exhaust, eventually, comes out of the rear end even when the locomotive is at front.' The young man sneered and shook his head. 'Trigger any memories, that?'
'I have no idea what you are talking about,' the Etnarch said. His palms were cold, sweaty and slick. He rubbed them slighty to the bedclothes behind him. The gun musn't slip his hands if he got to it. The intruders gun was still lying on the beds footboard.
'I think you do remember. In fact, I know you do.'
'If there have been any excesses among my staff I will-'
'This is not a press conference, Ethnarch.' The man tipped back slightly, away from the gun on the footboard. THe Ethnarch tensed, quivering.
'You made a deal and then didn't stick to it. And I'm here to collect the penalty clause. YOu were warned, Ethnarch. That which is given, can also be taken away.' The intruder tipped further back, glanced around the dark suite and nodded to the Ethnarch while clasping his hands behind his head. 'Say goodbye to all of this, Ethnarch Kerian. You're-'
The Ethnarch turned, banged the hidden panel with his elbow for the emergency switch and a section of the headboard turned around. He tore a gun away from the wooden holster and swung it at the man, finding the trigger and pulling.
Nothing happened.
The Ethnarch pulled the trigger a few more times. The young man kept watching him with the same dispassionate gaze he had been holding for the past few minutes.
'Works better with these' the man said, reaching into his shirt and dropping a dozen bullets into the bed at the Ethnarcs feet.
'... I'll give you anything.' he said, over a thick and dry tongue. Sweat was again forming on his brow as the quivering on his hands increased.'Anything. Anything. I can give you more than you've dreamed of; I can-'
'Not interested. The story isn't finished yet. You see, these nice, kind, soft people, who prefer to deal in life... when somebody goes back on a deal with them, even after they've said they wouldn't, they still don't like to kill in return. They'd rather use their magic and compassion to do the next best thing. And so...people disappear. They - these nice people - they disappear bad people. And they employ people that come at night and collect these bad men and take them away. And these collectors - they like to put the fear of death into the collectees and tend to dress-' the he gestured at his own colorfoully motley clothes '...casually. And of course, thanks to their almost magical technology, they never have any problems getting into heavily guarded palaces and such.'
Th Ethnarch put down the useless gun with a furiously shaking hand. 'Are you saying...'
'These nice people - who you would call soft - they remove the bad people and take them away. They put them somewhere where they can't do any harm. Not a paradise, but not something that feels like a prison either. And all these bad people have to do is something listen to being told how bad and naughty they have been and how they never get to chance histories, but they lead comfortable and safe life and die peacefully in time... thanks to the nice people.'
'Get dressed Ethnarch, you are leaving.'
He began to put on a shirt, rising from the bed, clearly relieved.
'Who are these people you are talking about anyway?' he asked as he dressed. 'And this is all quite ridiculous, but I suppose I ought to be thankful you're not an assasin, eh?'
'Yes' the young man said, smiling 'must be rather awful, thinking you're about to die'
'Not the most pleasant experience, I admit' the Ethnarcs said, putting on his trousers.
'But such a relief, I imagine, when you get reprieve...'
'yes...' The almost fully dressed Ethnarcs replied with a small chuckle.
'thinking you are about to die and then being told you're only being resettled...'
'hmm...'
'Resettled, by train. That contains your family, your street, your village...'
Suddenly the young man was holding a black gun and he adjusted something on it. All levity was once again gone from the Ethnarc, fear settling back into its place.
'...and then ends up containing nothing but engine fumes and lots of dead people. Don't you think, Ethnarch Kerian?'
The Ethnarcs was staring wide-eyed at the gun, speechless.
'The nice people are called the Culture' the young man explained 'and I always did think they were too soft. I stopped working for them some time ago. I freenlance now.
'I... am called Cheraldine Zakalwe.' he levelled the gun on the Ethnarcs nose. 'And you... are called dead.'
He pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the ornate headboard and began pooling on the carpet.
'The story,' the intruder said 'Once upon a time, over the gravity well and far away, there was a magical land. They had no kings, no laws, no money and no property, but where everyone lived like a prince, was very well behaved and lacked for nothing. And these people lived in peace, but they were bored, because paradise can get that way after a time. And so they started to carry out missions of good works;charitable visits upon the less well-off you might say; and they always tried to bring with them the thing they saw as their most precious gift of all. Knowledge, information and as wide a spread for that information as possible, because these people were strange in that they despised rank and hated kings... and all things hiearchic... even Ethnarcs.'
The young man smiled thinly. So did the Ethnarc. He wiped his brow and shifted slightly back in his huge bed, as though getting more comfortable. But one look was enough to tell his heart was pounding.
'Well, for a time, a terrible force threatened to take away their good works, but they resisted it and won and came out of the conflict stronger than ever before. And had they not been so unconcerned with power for its own sake they would have been terribly feared, just as a matter of course given the terrible, terrible scale of their power. And one of the ways it amused them to wield that power was to interfere with societies they thought might benefit from the experience. And one of the most efficient ways of doing that in a lot of societies is to get to the people at the top.'
'Many of their people people become physicians to great leaders and with medicines and treatments that seem more like magic to the comparitively primitive people they're dealing with, they ensure a good leader has a greater chance of surviving. That is the way they prefer to work, you see; they offer life rather than deal death. You might call them soft, because of their reluctance to kill, and they might even agree with you. But they are soft only in the way the ocean is soft and, well; ask any sea captain how harmless and puny the ocean can be.'
'Yes, I see' the Ethnarch said, sitting back a little further on the pillows, with his hands subtly checking exactly where he was in relation to the hidden compartent on the headboard that concealed his gun.
'Another thing they do, these magical people, is they offer leaders of certain societies below a certain technological level the one thing all their wealth and power cannot buy them; a cure for death. A return to youth.'
The Ethnarch stared at the young man, suddenly more intriqued that afraid. Did he mean the retro-aging?
'Ah, I can see you are beginning to understand.' the young man smiled. 'You are correct, precisely the process you've been going trough, Ethnarch Kerian. A gift you have been paying for the past year. Remember, promise to pay for with more than just platinum? Do you remember?'
'I...I'm not sure' the Ethnarch stalled. The headboard was right under his hand, he had almost found the latch under the pillows.
'You promised to stop the killings in Youricam, remember?'
'I may have promised to review the segragation and resettlement policy in-'
'No,' the young man admonished 'I mean the killings, Ethnarch. The death trains. The trains where the exhaust, eventually, comes out of the rear end even when the locomotive is at front.' The young man sneered and shook his head. 'Trigger any memories, that?'
'I have no idea what you are talking about,' the Etnarch said. His palms were cold, sweaty and slick. He rubbed them slighty to the bedclothes behind him. The gun musn't slip his hands if he got to it. The intruders gun was still lying on the beds footboard.
'I think you do remember. In fact, I know you do.'
'If there have been any excesses among my staff I will-'
'This is not a press conference, Ethnarch.' The man tipped back slightly, away from the gun on the footboard. THe Ethnarch tensed, quivering.
'You made a deal and then didn't stick to it. And I'm here to collect the penalty clause. YOu were warned, Ethnarch. That which is given, can also be taken away.' The intruder tipped further back, glanced around the dark suite and nodded to the Ethnarch while clasping his hands behind his head. 'Say goodbye to all of this, Ethnarch Kerian. You're-'
The Ethnarch turned, banged the hidden panel with his elbow for the emergency switch and a section of the headboard turned around. He tore a gun away from the wooden holster and swung it at the man, finding the trigger and pulling.
Nothing happened.
The Ethnarch pulled the trigger a few more times. The young man kept watching him with the same dispassionate gaze he had been holding for the past few minutes.
'Works better with these' the man said, reaching into his shirt and dropping a dozen bullets into the bed at the Ethnarcs feet.
'... I'll give you anything.' he said, over a thick and dry tongue. Sweat was again forming on his brow as the quivering on his hands increased.'Anything. Anything. I can give you more than you've dreamed of; I can-'
'Not interested. The story isn't finished yet. You see, these nice, kind, soft people, who prefer to deal in life... when somebody goes back on a deal with them, even after they've said they wouldn't, they still don't like to kill in return. They'd rather use their magic and compassion to do the next best thing. And so...people disappear. They - these nice people - they disappear bad people. And they employ people that come at night and collect these bad men and take them away. And these collectors - they like to put the fear of death into the collectees and tend to dress-' the he gestured at his own colorfoully motley clothes '...casually. And of course, thanks to their almost magical technology, they never have any problems getting into heavily guarded palaces and such.'
Th Ethnarch put down the useless gun with a furiously shaking hand. 'Are you saying...'
'These nice people - who you would call soft - they remove the bad people and take them away. They put them somewhere where they can't do any harm. Not a paradise, but not something that feels like a prison either. And all these bad people have to do is something listen to being told how bad and naughty they have been and how they never get to chance histories, but they lead comfortable and safe life and die peacefully in time... thanks to the nice people.'
'Get dressed Ethnarch, you are leaving.'
He began to put on a shirt, rising from the bed, clearly relieved.
'Who are these people you are talking about anyway?' he asked as he dressed. 'And this is all quite ridiculous, but I suppose I ought to be thankful you're not an assasin, eh?'
'Yes' the young man said, smiling 'must be rather awful, thinking you're about to die'
'Not the most pleasant experience, I admit' the Ethnarcs said, putting on his trousers.
'But such a relief, I imagine, when you get reprieve...'
'yes...' The almost fully dressed Ethnarcs replied with a small chuckle.
'thinking you are about to die and then being told you're only being resettled...'
'hmm...'
'Resettled, by train. That contains your family, your street, your village...'
Suddenly the young man was holding a black gun and he adjusted something on it. All levity was once again gone from the Ethnarc, fear settling back into its place.
'...and then ends up containing nothing but engine fumes and lots of dead people. Don't you think, Ethnarch Kerian?'
The Ethnarcs was staring wide-eyed at the gun, speechless.
'The nice people are called the Culture' the young man explained 'and I always did think they were too soft. I stopped working for them some time ago. I freenlance now.
'I... am called Cheraldine Zakalwe.' he levelled the gun on the Ethnarcs nose. 'And you... are called dead.'
He pulled the trigger. Blood splattered on the ornate headboard and began pooling on the carpet.
Are you kidding? Any shock value was negated by the fact that his head offered little or no resistance to the glass. He looked like he was stabbing sponge or something.-Zen- said:
Yeah, that was quite bad, I'll admit.cuddly_tomato said:
OT: This is one of the deaths from Jason X. It's an awful movie, but I found it quite funny.
The Lawn Mower scene from Braid Dead/Dead Alive. Never again will a yard tool be used to create massvie piles of blood
Inglourious Basterds.
What really makes the scene is the epic music that makes it seem like it'll be a "heroic" execution, for lack of a better adjective, but it just cuts out to the Basterds cheering Donowitz on as he beats the guy down.
What really makes the scene is the epic music that makes it seem like it'll be a "heroic" execution, for lack of a better adjective, but it just cuts out to the Basterds cheering Donowitz on as he beats the guy down.
When they kill a certain person in Inglorious Basterds by basically shooting his entire face off.
The cross crucafix at the end of Saw III
When Kratos slams that guy's head in the door on the steeds of time
The cross crucafix at the end of Saw III
When Kratos slams that guy's head in the door on the steeds of time