At this point, I don’t think my loyalty counts for anything anymore. As much as I’d like to think that my life fulfills destiny’s need to auto-balance the teams, I may have once again crossed the line. Turning on Ming may have been a fairly natural development, but this backstabbing is becoming an obsession bordering on the fetishistic.
Addiction is a powerful thing.
So, we bust into the compound commando style with a small army from firewall, all set to spring the trap and kill billions. I even figured out a way to involve my clones in the slaughter, even though I only had one gun. Armies can always have a few more suicide bombers. Thank goodness Xavier was there to help me convince them it was a good idea, otherwise that could have been a pretty tough sell. But even then, I’m confident that the Power of Poem would have eventually worked; I mean, who WOULDN’T die for me after this gem:
“Proud, the hero stands true in command,
Sure in his judgment and where he should stand,
Arrogant and vain, he thinks his will free,
Trembling, the knave now knows what he be,
Here, one question remains to be sought,
‘How any here can make right what was lost?’
Humbly, I offer a plan for my pawns,
Go down in fire like a Phoenix at dawn.”
Damn, I’m awesome. The cleansing fires would have razed this miserable rock into…well, it doesn’t really matter, seeing as how at that point Ming said he had my memories. Emptying half my bullets towards a terrified and retreating Xavier wasn’t really a choice, so much as a duty. I owed it to each and every clone beside me to find out who we are. Also I wanted to know. Really badly. Really, really badly.
Not that my (most recent) betrayal mattered to much, getting pinned down by 30 Arties inside 2 minutes. Least effective backstabbing, ever. I thought painting the hallway in the freshly drawn blood of a slain clone would at least slow them down, but I guess they just picked THAT EXACT MOMENT to become emotionally stable.
After a long history of being the most naive, fragile, noodle-based-traumatic robot EVER to live in this filthy, dystopian, BULLSHIT EXCUSE FOR A SOCIETY, he decided THAT FUCKING SECOND was a great time to become a jaded badass who can laugh in the face to horror and shrug of Lovecraftian Abominations unphased. EXCUSE ME for expecting a little continuity of character in the people I know, I must have been a RAGING, CHEMICALLY IMBALANCED FUCK-ASS to think that robots can’t SUDDENLY have some kind of MOTHERFUCKING CATHARSIS and overcome EVERY FUCKING fear in this FUCKING UNIVERSE.
Suffice to say I got shot. And since the other clones didn’t like getting sacrificed willy nilly for my improvised plans, they finished me themselves. the end.