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[objectsdeconstructed]

Chapter 1, Tale 2: “Home"

“Now, in the following chapters, Mr. Plankpine wrote down several poems on the brutality and meaninglessness of war, and memoirs regretting the loss of his youth, and innocence, reflecting his post-war attitudes. He kept these anti-war sentiments up until today.”

Of note is the poem on page 753, which is particularly harsh on the Literopian government, and their decision to implement recovery and regeneration technologies in object warfare. These values held by Plankpine led to the heavy censorship of his book, in the years following the war. And that's-

RRIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!

-That's the bell. Well, bye, kids, We'll, uh, continue on with the book on Friday, so, your assignment for today is to do an analysis on page 632 to page 636, detailing Plankpine’s meeting with Dr. Harrison Flasks. Christ, finally.”

Mr. Keyes slammed his book close, and roughly shoved it into his satchel, and with the air of a man who had better things to do, speed-walked out of the room. He had a reputation of being even less excited about school than the kids he taught, and it seemed he wasn't gonna lose said reputation anytime soon.

A moment later, it finally set in for the rest of his classroom that the day was over. John rose from his desk to pack up for the day, as he did so, a metal slat slapped him on the back.

“What the FU-” John turned backwards, his arms out in defense.

“DUDE! WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!” Bryan screamed at him.

"What?! What the fuck was that for!?“ John exclaimed, slowly regaining his composure.

“YOUR FUCKING BIRTHDAY! YOU HIT EIGHT-FUCKING-TEEN AND YOU DIDN'T MENTION IT, ON OBJECTCONNECT OR IN REAL LIFE!” Bryan motioned at his phone “WHO DOES THAT?!”

“What- my Birthday?! Oh, GOD. Who told you ‘bout that? Jesus. I- I told you! I don't like celebrating my birthdays! Haven't done one since- I was 14, man.”

“Yeah! But it's your 18th birthday! It's special! It's- you're officially a grown-up!”

“Heh, doesn't feel like it. I feel like nothing's different. I'm still confused about almost everything, and I still feel tired all the time. I don't get additional rights or anything. Look, just drop it, okay? I'm 18. Yes. It's not that big of a deal, everyone hits 18.” John turned to his backpack.

“Okay, but- Look, man, why are you so against birthdays! It's the best! You get free shit, free cake! What kinda object hates birthdays?”

“Well, I guess the novelty of me being alive wore off a while ago, sorry, man. Bye, I'm leaving.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever, okay. Well, don't be sorry when you don't get a present from me, J.”

“I'm too old for presents, man.”

John continued packing for a few seconds before he realized that Bryan wasn't leaving.

“...Can I help you? Or are you just gonna stand there. Like, I'm being creeped out.”

“Oh, uh, sorry. Tony, good ol' Tony told me to hand you this.” Bryan slipped John a piece of paper. It felt warm to the touch, as if recently printed.

“Again? How many time is this?” John snatched the paper, inspecting it.

Bryan didn't reply, he was already heading for the exit.

“Oh, and, when you get online, DM me.” Bryan waved back.

John slipped the poster into backpack, headed to his locker, and retrieved his school-issued key, and headed headed to the school entrance.

John's school entrance consisted of a regular gate, to allow entry and access into the building itself, but to the side, there lies a sleek, metallic building, where rows upon rows of objects were standing in line, one by one, they were entering the building.

John pocketed his key, and got in the nearest line to him, and waited for his turn. He waited as familiar and unfamiliar objects went past him, and entered the building, some of them waving to him before entering the place.

Finally, the crowd began to thin, and it was finally his turn. John entered the building, and walked into a small hallway, with a bunch of doors. He retrieved his key, and inserted it into the door in front of him, and it opened. Inside was a small booth, slightly smaller than a public toilet. It contained an empty tray on one side, and a timer with a button on another. John walked into the room, the door locking into place as he did so, shutting out all outside noises, and shrouding him in momentary darkness. A light inside the booth turned on, illuminating the place.

John removed his backpack, and clothes, and placed them on the tray. He pressed the button, and the timer started.

5 seconds.

John wondered what they he was going to have for dinner today.

4 seconds.

Maybe pumpkin soup again? John liked pumpkin soup.

3 seconds.

John wondered why Bryan wanted him to DM him. Maybe that bot account  updated?

2 seconds.

John suddenly became aware that he hadn't kept track of the bot account as much as he'd like. Realizing this, he made a mental note to do so as soon as he got on the net.

1 second.

John grimaced and braced himself. Nowadays, the process doesn't feel like anything, but he still hated the brightness.

A flash of light erupted in the room, evaporating all things inside the room, yet leaving the walls untouched. It obliterated everything of John's body and his belongings, and John was no more.

But John's consciousness lived on. He felt himself in the dark, weightless, deaf, blind, mute, formless, floating in mid-air. Then, a light appeared, as though seen through a tunnel, it rapidly approached him, and he was enveloped in the light.

John opened his eyes to find himself in the booth again, with his clothes and backpack on a tray next to him, his body a little warmer, lacking a few kinks and cramps, a few ink stains on him that were there previously wasn't there anymore. He put his clothes back on, and his backpack, and left the booth.

He was in a building much like the one he'd been in, but he wasn't at school anymore, he was a block away from his home.

“Man,” John thought, for the thousandth time, “These things are really convenient”.

____________________________________________________________

John logged into his ObjectConnect account to find a bunch of notifications from his friends. He clicked through all of them.

Yup. That's Anna. You’ve actually never met Anna in real life, so you wonder if she's as... chipper there as she is here online.

Yup. That's Tony. You actually HAVE met Tony in real life, being that he's your classmate. And you can say with absolute certainty that he hates conversation online as much as he does in real life.

Now to DM Bryan, like he asked.

Bryan, strangely, is nothing like his real life self on the net. He's simply more polite, or more articulate. For most people, the anonymity given to them worsen their behaviors. For Bryan, it had the complete opposite effect.

Now, what does he have to say?

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

____________________________________________________________

The next day, Bryan was absent. John’s skepticism grew, maybe Bryan was just pulling his leg? No, Bryan was a practical joker, a shitposter, and other things, but he hated lying. So could it be that Bryan was really onto something? That Bryan really had info on the Literopian government's misdeeds, crimes, and everything else they tried to keep under wraps? That he possessed what conspiracy theorists everywhere considered to be the holy grail?

As days grew into weeks, and as Bryan failed to show up at school, or to respond to John's messages, skepticism turned to worry, and worry turned to paranoia. Had they silenced Bryan? No, they couldn't have, could they? They're the government, they very well could have just assassinated Bryan. He could've been killed moments after that last text he sent John.

But John also knew that Bryan would have known the risks, too. For a long time, he had been skeptical of the Literopian government. Maybe he's gone into hiding? John would later ask Mr. Keyes the reason for Bryan's continued absent. Mr. Keyes told John that Bryan was on an extended family trip.

Bryan hated going outdoors. So, either this was a lie from his assassins, or it was cover-up for Bryan going into hiding.

But after a month, and Bryan wasn’t back yet, John quickly focused his paranoia on himself: Bryan had told him about his discoveries. If ObjectConnect was really in league with the Literopian government, then could he be silenced?

But John hadn't time to really process that concept, for his problems were soon replaced with another.

That day, when John returned home, he looked at the house, it was quiet and solemn. Something was wrong. He stood outside his abode, wondering whether he should enter or not, when Larson opened the door.

“...Heya, kid.” Larson muttered, his voice was thin, there was no hint of the energetic spark that was once there.

“Larson? Something wrong? You look like shit.” John said, chuckling nervously.

“...Sorry. Heh, I do feel like shit, though. Enter quietly, and follow me. Mom's asleep. Bad day.” Larson opened the door wider.

As John entered, he noticed Susan peering down at him from her room through the slightly opened door. Her face was wet. They made eye contact, and Susan quickly slammed the door shut.

“...You uh, you probably don't read the news much, kid?” Larson enquired.

“What's wrong with Susan?” John pointed at Susan's room.

“Nothing.” Larson waved him away, “Bad day. Look. I'll be blunt. Today has been shitty as fuck.”

“Lars. What the hell is going on?”

Larson didn't reply. John followed him to... John's room.

“Larson, come on, what did I do?”

“Nothing, it's... Look, get in.”

Larson went in the room. John followed, closing the door behind him.

“Sorry, John. Just needed some sound-proofing. Don't need to wake Liam up again. Ugh.” Larson groaned.

“Larson. What the fuck is going on? Why is Susan crying? And mom never sleeps at this hour.”

“She spent the last hour in a screaming match with a government agent. That's what happened.” Larson said flatly.

Something caught in John's throat. He felt like throwing up.

“A g- government agent? What, am I being arrested or...” John forced a chuckle. Was this it? Were they here to kill him?

“No, no, you are not, unfortunately.” Larson cracked a weak smile, “But it's uh, not good news. Look, kid. I won't sugar-coat it. You know the Age Bill?”

“Uh, yeah, kind of. There was a buzz about it a few months ago, about it being passed.”

“Well, you know how it was super vague and people were upset at it for a while?”

“Yup. What happened?”

“Well...” Larson rubbed his temples. “It just came into effect. And they just cleared up a bunch of things. Really bad things.”

“What kinda things?”

Larson didn't respond for a while.

“The Age Bill’s details reveals that the Literopian government's enacting a protocol. A relocation protocol. They're randomly selecting “contestants", anyone of age from 18 to 25, and they're forcing them to undergo an advanced 24-months long course to determine who gets to stay behind and who has to be relocated. They're taking away our recovery and regeneration rights if we do get relocated.” Larson said, in a single breath. “Literopia's getting too crowded, they said.”

The two were silent for a while.

“They're... taking away our regeneration rights?” John spoke up.

“Yes.”

...

“...18 to 25. We got selected, didn’t we?”

“That's what the agent said.”

“Damn.”

...

“Out of the entire neighborhood, we're the only ones who got selected.” Larson mused, chuckling. “Fucking unlucky.”

“So, we're gonna have to leave?”

“Yes. You and me.”

“But... we just need to get through the course and we'll get to stay, right?”

“They're not making it easy”, Larson sighed. “Overpopulation’s been a pain in the world's ass for a while. This protocol, will definitely make it so that the majority is relocated. If most of the “contestants" gets to stay, the problem still remains, right?”

“Why do you keep using the words “Contestant”?’

“That's what they said in the official bill announcement, this evening. You should really start watching the news. “Think of it as a contest, and you're the contestants”, they said. They fucking compared people fighting to live to participants in a game show. Fucking crazy.”

...

“So I that the odds are against us.”

“Yup.”

...

“What about school, and work?”

“To hell with school. You've only got a few months left anyways. And for work, mandatory paid leave for the entire duration. At least I still get to support Mom and the kids, even though we're away from home, so that's good.”

...

“When are we going?”

“Next month. We'll get on a bus, and get taken there.”

...

“...but... if we do get relocated, then where will we be relocated to?”

Larson sighed, and stood up. His limbs were wobbly. “The same place where the rest of the world dumps their unwanted trash and waste,” Larson said. “They're relocating us to goddamn Foodsworth.”

[objectsdeconstructed]

Top Image: A YoyleCorp. billboard, picture taken somewhere in in South Goiky. Note the Yoyle Bush in the foreground.

Middle Image: Segment of a  YoyleCorp. brand YoyleFizz™ TV advertisement.

Bottom Image: New YoyleCorp. recruitment/hiring posters. Picture taken somewhere in Literopia. Note the appearance of Yoyley™ the Yoyleberry, the main mascot of YoyleCorp.

[objectsdeconstructed]

John scrolled down the thread, then clicked back at the @countdownbot account, awaiting a notification, but exhaustion got the better of him, and he drifted off.

The notification did not come that night.

[objectsdeconstructed]

Chapter 1, Tale 1: “The Present"

“What are you doing!? Get your hands off of me, you jerk!” Leafy screamed.

“Leafy, leafy!”, Firey defends himself. “Leafy, I’m sorry for what I did. I realized what I wanted most wasn’t Dream Island, It’s you. Your friendship. I just want you to know that I’m tired of all this turmoil that’s going on, all these conflicts and stuff. And I’d rather spend my time with you, whether It’s on Dream Island or not.”

“Really, you mean it?” Leafy whispered, as they hang glided away.

“Hurry up! We have to get back to the execution!” Golf Ball shouted, from the ground.

But it was too late. The lovebirds were already flying off into the sunshine, to a better life, a better tomorrow.

“THE END”

“Battle For Dream Island.”

“Written by-”

________________________________

The TV is shut off. “What a load a’ bullshit.“ Larson mused. “That was corny as hell.”

“Larson!” Mariette shrieked. “We have children in the room!”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, Ma’. Lil’ Liam’s been out for 10 minutes already.”

It was true. Liam had fallen asleep in his mother’s lap. It seems that he’s been asleep for a while.

“Cute lil’ fella. Here, let me-” Larson gently lifted up his youngest brother, whispering. “I’ll take ‘im to the bedroom.”

Mariette thanked Larson, and Larson left the room, with Liam in his arms. Seeing this, Susan spoke up. “Wow. Uh… so, any thoughts on that episode?”

John turned to his sister, “I thought it was kinda good. I mean, for a season finale. Wrapped up stuff nicely. Good enough for me.”

“Wait, really?! I thought it was disappointing as heck! Like, seriously! Even for a cartoon that was absurd! Where did all that come from!? The love arc at the end was jarring and out of place!” Susan complained.

“Well, dear, like you said, It’s a cartoon. Don’t think too much about it, dear.” Mariette replied, yawning. “I’m getting kinda tired, though. You kids wanna keep watching TV, go ahead, but remember to clock in early for tomorrow.”

“What? No, mom! It’s not just a cartoon- We’ve been following this show for like, 2 years now, and It-”

“It’s getting a new season in a few months”, John interrupted. “Don’t worry too much ‘bout it. They’ll probably tie up a few loose ends.”

“Yeah, but- Urgh! I can’t wait that long! I need my fix now!”

“Well, what about Inanimate Insanity? That’s still going.”

“But It’s on hiatus!” Susan groaned.

“Well, you’ll have to find another show on your own. There’s literally hundreds. I’m goin’ to bed.” John remarked, before standing up, carrying his empty drink cans, and heading to his room.

“Ugh, fine. Bye, bro.”

“…Also, you should probably go to sleep soon. It’s getting late-”

“Yeah, no.”

Susan flipped through the other channels, searching for something else to watch.

John walked up the stairs, tossed the cans into the trash, and retreated into his bedroom.

John’s bedroom was a mess. But It wasn’t an ugly mess. It was the kind of mess that felt comfy, and warm, and familiar. There was a mattress at one corner of the room, covered in magazines, books, and other reading materials.

Next to the bed was a desk, textbooks, notebooks, pens and pencils strewn everywhere upon it. Upon the desk was also a laptop. This was John’s most prized possession, and it was old.

John booted up the computer, checking to see if anything interesting has been happening recently.

John was pleasantly surprised to see that his posts have gotten some attention. Making a mental note to check out the comments later, he created a new post, trying to, admittedly, capitalize on BFDI’s recent finale.

Since he didn’t really had anything else interesting to say on the matter, John turned his attention over to what his relatively small social circle had to say on recent events. Maybe there’s some drama or something weird happening.

And away, we go…

Click.

Huh.

John had to admit that he was friends with some really peculiar people. Welp, Anna was… being her usual self. Tony was, in John’s opinion, still trying to influence things outside of his control (John found this trait of Tony’s admirable, but mistaken in this situation). Bryan was still raising questions about his sanity (and apparently, his abilities to spell the word “evasion"). The next post was-

Wait.

What the fuck?

That account uploaded a post.

That account never uploads.

Hold on.

As expected, everyone’s going wild in the comments, but that’s not what matters right now. Something is going on. John had to find out what.

John immediately opted out of his social media tab, and opened up another tab, typing in the address of a less-popular, less-friendly website.

Enter.

The web-page loaded. John stretched back, and scrolled down-

The door to John’s room slammed open.

John slammed his laptop down like hell.

“AAAH!”

Liam was standing in the door way. Larson stood behind him, looking extremely sleep-deprived, yet, amused.

Liam inquired, with large eyes, staring up at him. “John? Are you okey?”

Larson glanced at John, who realized that the sight of him holding down his laptop, staring wide-eyed at the door might not have given off the best impression.

Larson chuckled, “Welp! Uh, Liam. I think we walked in at a bad time-”

John shot him a look.

“No! It’s- Sorry, uh, Liam! Bro! What’re you doing here?”

“…I want give you pwesent.” Liam whispered.

“What?” John asked, flatly.

“Present. Liam wants to give you your Birthday present.” Larson motioned at his mouth “Gotta work on that “Arr" sound. Look, we know that you don’t wanna celebrate your B-Day, and haven’t done so for the last few years, but, what the hey! It’s not every day our boy turns 18!  I mean, our man turns 18. Wait-”

“Ah! Thanks, Liam! But uh, you didn’t have to!” John said, beaming at Liam.

Liam just looked down.

“Uh- No. Kid! Liam! He means that in a good way. Now, give him the drawing, Liam.” Larson said, reassuringly.

Liam beamed up at John again, shoving a slightly wrinkled drawing in his face.

“It’s a pic of our- our family, and- that’s, um, you. And, um, mom and sis, and me and larson! Um, and that’s our ages, but yours is, um, eighteen! With an explooooosion! Because you turn eighteen! Today!” Liam babbled, pointing at the multi-colored representations on the paper.

“Not sure why I’m wearing a suit.” Larson whispered, grinning.

Frankly, it was one of the finest works of art that John had ever seen, despite the fact that Liam drew his arms on his head.

“Wow! It’s awesome, champ! I-”

John was interrupted by Liam giving a huge hug.

“I love you bro.”

John put his hand on Liam’s back. “…Love you too, Liam.”

Larson was just kinda hanging at the door, absorbing the general awkwardness of the situation. “So! Liam! You wanna hit the hay yet? Because I’m about to give out any second now. So! Hop to it, lil’ buddy.”

Larson clapped his hands together. “Chop chop.”

Liam walked to Larson, and they left together.

John was about to reopen the laptop when Larson popped in again. “Hey, uh, kid-”

“Dude, you gotta stop calling people that. I’m 2 years younger than you now-”

“-Sorry, force of habit. John. Uh, I wanna have a word.”

“Yeah, can you make it quick? I’m kinda tired.”

“Don’t worry, I will. I’m pretty close to collapse myself. So, uh…” Larson clasped his hands together. “Enjoy your life, make the most of it, don’t panic,  be careful, don’t hold grudges, be a good man, save up money as soon as possible, word smart not hard, something something eggs in baskets, and uh, don’t take shit from anyone. Oh! and invest in some stuff smartly, watch the stock market closely- And BUY. BITCOINS. Yeah, okay. I think that’s it.” Larson said, extremely quickly.

John blinked.

“…Sorry, what?”

“Life advice, John. That’s life advice. Good night.” Larson yawned, “You can proceed with whatever…” Larson waved his hands “…weird stuff you were doing before. Not gonna judge you, kid.”

“Lars!”

“Right! Not gonna judge you, John. Look, I’m super-”

“What was that?! The life-advice thing!”

“Well, Ah’ don’t really see a point in making that some kinda big deal, so I gave you all I got at once. Don’t expect anymore advice for a while, John. G'night.” Larson was closing the door now.

“…Uh, okay, yeah. Good night, Lars.”

Clank.

Finally. Silence. Privacy. Now-

Bam!

“Lars! For crying out loud-”

“Shit. Sorry ‘bout the door- Happy 18th Birthday, John!”

“Yeah, thanks, bro. Just-”

But Larson had already closed the door.

John waited.

Sensing no one, he opens the laptop again.

[objectsdeconstructed]

Above: “The Literopian Times” newspaper, dated ██/██/████

Below: Modified version of the same “The Literopian Times" newspaper. Seized by police after a raid on an abandoned warehouse, suspected to be the former headquarter of illegal religious organization, “Children Of The Echoes".

Other than this artifact, nothing of note has been found in the warehouse.

Artifact has been sent back to HQ to be analyzed for DNA and Fingerprint information.

[objectsdeconstructed]

Teacher’s note: You forgot to list the separate areas in the regeneration station area, Douglass! Don’t worry, this was definitely a marked improvement from your last assignment. 8/10.

-Miss Gala A.

[objectsdeconstructed]

Tales Of War: “104.”

TRIGGER WARNING: Object War Violence, Object Body Horror, Object Death, Regeneration Horror.

Reading of this particular story is optional.

_____________________________________________

104.

Lawrence awoke with a start. He panicked as he felt his own face, body, and limbs, confusion setting in as he realized that they were, in fact, still there. The panic diminished when he finally remembered what exactly had happened to him. He realized that he was getting sick of this.

He was sitting on what seemed to be a slightly modified hospital bed, in a strangely quiet barrack building, wearing a loose undershirt, and a pair of boxers. Confused and agitated voices whispered all around him, from all the other objects in the room. Most of the inhabitants in the room were unconscious, smouldering, while being treated by field nurses and doctors. To his left, a worn-out looking pair of stethoscope was cauterizing a very large wound on an unconscious glass jar’s body - melting the glass and sealing it shut again. Lawrence watched on, slightly repulsed - yet intrigued, by the process. Rubbing his temples as he turned away, he heard a voice.

“Rough go, Larry?”

Lawrence turned his thin, wooden body to stare at the piece of coal to his right. They were part of the same squad, and they’d been through this way too many times to care anymore.

“Yeah, Joe. Just like last time, and the time before that.”

“God, I don’t think I’m ever getting used to this.” Joe chuckled, examining his limbs: Larry could see large patches of what appeared to be some kind of adhesive binding his arms and legs together. A familiar sight nowadays. “I mean, I know the tingling wears off, but still, it feels kinda…”

Joe closed his left hand. Bits of coal falls off his body. Then, eventually his fist, then his arm, then, his entire shoulder.

“Oh, dear.” Lawrence said.

“Numb, I guess.”, Joe finished, rather lamely. “Uh, doc? My left arm’s out again.”

The stethoscope fixing up the glass jar stopped, and turned back, slightly annoyed. “Mr. Coalman, you’ve been advised to not move around so much after the procedure. Respectfully, I cannot attend to you right now.”

“Yeah, thanks, ma'am.” Joe winked at the stethoscope, who simply groaned and went back to her job. “Wouldn’t wanna waste ya’ time.”

Lawrence looked down at his hands, noticing the same adhesive stains on Joe. Being slightly weirded out at the sight: His body looked like a teddy bear, with adhesive stains lining parts of him, newer, more distinct stains, below which older, faded stains could be seen.

He stared mesmerized at his own wooden flesh, and felt himself being lost in the stains, pondering the implications of his actions.

An official looking stopwatch came into the room, and clapped his hands: “Listen up! It’s time you useless God-forsaken shit-stains get to work, again!”

Several objects in the room groaned. Lawrence snapped out of his trance. The room had become a bit livelier now - most of the objects were up already. The glass jar fella next to him was the last to regain consciousness. At once, everyone stood up, walked to the entrance of the barrack, large clotheslines were lined the entrance hall. Lawrence and others put on their heavily stained uniforms, riddled helmets, and loaded up worn out guns. Nothing out of the ordinary for an army barrack.

What WAS exclusive to this particular barrack was the appearance of a group of heavily armed, heavily armored objects, standing lined up beside the entrance door. After Lawrence got dressed, one of these objects slipped a ring on him - a tiny machine that he was supposed to wear at all time on the field.

They had gotten used to the routine. Lawrence, his squad, and everyone else in base save the nurses, doctors, and the stopwatch marched out of the barrack and into the dark.

Lawrence’s base had been located deep inside a cave entrance. By now, he had gotten so used to the dark here that he had no trouble navigating the layout at all, save for a few occasional bumps from his peers. Seeing the lights at the end of the tunnel, he sped up, and charged out of the cave.

The sunlight blinded him momentarily. Joe emerged moments from him, panting heavily, arm fixed with some more of the adhesive. Lawrence’s eyes adjusted, and he launched himself, once again, into war. He had plotted everything out - he had an extremely efficient route to get to.

He and Joe rushed down a path, marked by bullets and spent rounds, gunfire, explosions, and screams all around them. Lawrence was half-way to his usual look-out area when a shot rang out.

Lawrence and Joe looked up to see a terrified young paddle-ball racquet standing above them on a sand dune, aiming right down at them.

“No! NO! HOW!? WHY ARE YOU-”

A shot rang out, Lawrence looked to his right, and saw Joe holding a smoking pistol, frantically reloading it after, it seems, he expended its last bullet. Lawrence looked back up, the paddle-ball racquet wasn’t up on the dune anymore, Lawrence saw his shattered corpse tumbling down the sand dune, landing at their feet. The paddle-ball racquet, now that he had a closer look, looked barely older than his own kid by a year or two.

Joe poked at the paddle-ball racquet’s ruined face, making it cave in even more. The paddle-ball had that fearful expression frozen on it’s face. Joe then raised his foot and stomped the paddle-ball racquet’s face in, crushing his face into smaller shards, his empty eyes gazing back at space from a mess of cracked plastic.

“How’s this, you piece of shit? That’ll teach you not to kill a man tw-”

Lawrence was staring at Joe. Joe must’ve seen Lawrence’s appalled and disgusted face, as he simply looked back down darkly, and whispered, quite redundantly: “Just makin’ sure if he’s dead.”

Lawrence continued on the path, Joe by his side. He was making jokes like nothing had happened. The situation seemed too familiar and Lawrence was zoning out again, and he was distracted.

Joe started calling out from behind him - It seems that Lawrence was walking too fast, and was attracting a bit too much attention from enemy units. But Lawrence wasn’t listening. He was thinking. Reminiscing.

A gust of wind shot past Lawrence, and then did he look back. When he did, he was nearly blinded by the pressure and light from an explosion, occurring exactly where Joe had been just seconds earlier. The pressure knocked Lawrence on his back, and as he got up, he saw bits and pieces of Joe, burning up in the wind. Eyes popped out of his crumbling sockets, arms and legs twitching, still. His mouth was 3 feet away from his torso, frozen in a silent scream.

Lawrence dived behind a nearby rock, and pointed his guns at the air. Sirens blaring in his mind. Shadows crept behind the dunes. Lawrence found a clear shot, and was about to take it, when he went blind in one eye.

He stumbled forward, collapsing, feeling the hole in his face. A round had taken most of the left side. The world begins to fade. The pain hasn’t yet, due to the shock he was experiencing. His other eye registered something moving behind him.

Lawrence wished he was unconscious for what would undoubtedly came next, yet his mind was still miraculously hanging on. Unnaturally, even. For he was not dead. Even though he’d like to be.

Into his view came a paddle-ball racquet, slightly older and bigger than the one that Joe had killed. His eyes never betrayed any emotions. The paddle-ball racquet retrieved a can of something from his back pack, and poured it all over Lawrence.

“Oh, great”, Lawrence thought. “He’s pouring piss on me. For something Joe did.”

But then the paddle-ball racquet retrieved a thin stick, and Lawrence started to panic.

It wasn’t piss at all. As Lawrence registered the smell of the fluid on him, he realized it was something much worse.

Lighter fluid.

Lawrence screamed as the racquet tossed the lit match onto him.

Lawrence screamed as he felt his body erupt into flames and burn.

Lawrence screamed as he felt his remaining eye liquefy into goo.

Lawrence only stopped screaming when his vocal cords were reduced to dust.

But Lawrence didn’t die. He was still holding on. He outlasted the flames.

Lawrence had wished the flames went on a little longer, long enough to burn up something vital.

He lied there: Blind. In pain. Yet he could still hear noises. He tried to crawl to them, but his strength gave out.

He heard the racquet coming near him, before suddenly stopping.

Shouting.

He heard more bullets. He heard something falling on to the sand. A soft thud.

Voices. Some familiar, some not.

He could make out what they were saying.

“I found Lawrence Plankpine. He’s a mess.”

“He dead, or what?”

“No, but he’s nearly there. Looks like he got burned. Should we-”

“-What?”

“Should we kill him, now?”

“Yes.” Lawrence thought. “Please. Do it. It hurts. So badly.”

“No. Keep him alive. It’s easier that way.”

Lawrence screamed out protests in his head.

Lawrence felt himself being lifted up by hard, cold metal hands, and placed on rough, itchy wool stretchers.

He felt himself carried over bumpy hills and sand. He felt the harsh sunlight disappear as his skin felt the familiar coolness of the cave.

He felt himself placed on a medical table.

“My God. Did you kill him yet?”

“No. But, he’s going to-”

“Good. The process is much easier if we kill him right on the operating table. Time messes with this kinda stuff. Too many variables.”

Lawrence felt pins digging into body. It was agonizing.

“Restrain him, we really don’t need to deal with his squirming.”

“He’s in terrible pain. Doctor, I truly recommend anesthetic.”

“No anesthetic. Those don’t grow on trees.”

“Of course. God dammit. Of course there’s no anesthetic. There’s never any anesthetic.” Lawrence thought.

“How about a quicker death?”

“Almost done. Just-”

Lawrence tried to scream as the pins pump him full of viscous, burning fluids.

“-a little longer-”

Lawrence tried to scream as he felt every single cell in his body breaking down.

“-Now.”

An electric jolt shocked through his body, obliterating most of his brain in the process, and Lawrence was no more.

_____________________________________________

105.

Lawrence awoke with a start.

[objectsdeconstructed]

Prologue: “Men Of Vision"

Harrison looked down at the notes in his trembling hand, desperately trying to memorize its content as quickly as possible - a feat that he was failing immensely.

It had been a long day for Harrison: He had been flown from his hometown in Literopia to a secure bunker in southern Goiky, to meet with the President, then flown back to his laboratory in New Foodsworth, all within the span of 4 hours, and he was on the verge of giving out completely. He had not slept in 2 days.

He quickly scanned through the pages for the fifth time, eyes gliding across the type-written text, before realizing that he had not gained any meaning from them, and quickly decided that this was, in fact, not worth it. He shoved the pages into his pocket, roughing them up, and sat down against the Stone, his hands on his face, his glass body clanking against the cold, hard, humming steel of his creation.

The Stone was his life’s achievement, a child of a thousand parents: scientists, physicists, philosophers, engineers, alchemists, dreamers, chemists, and such from all around the world had taken part in Its creation - a process as old as Objectkind itself. Harrison was the one who had perfected it. The Stone had another name. A very professional, wholly more accurate and confusing name. But Harrison disliked this name. To him, the machine he was resting against would always be known as the Stone - a name derived from the tales of his youth.

It was the reason he was here. He was here to deliver an announcement - he was about to let the world know his name, to make his mark on history, to make known his creation - his greatest accomplishment.

Yet, he was unhappy. He buried his head in his hands - a nervous wreck. His face had tiny, hairline scratches on them. His fluid was swishing around him, partially congealing - he hadn’t had time to replace it, and his limbs were shaking.

He rested against the Stone until he heard a loud, croaky voice call out to him: “Harry? Christ, kid, get up. The hell got intae’ you?”. Harry looked up at the thin Magnifying Glass standing before him, and sighed.

“Sorry. Hell, man. I guess I’m just… tired.”.

“We’re all tired here. Get the hell up.”

Harrison obliged. Slightly stumbling as he stood up.

“So, have you memorized the damn memo yet? We’re gonna be out there inna’ few minutes. The cretins back at base are gettin’ fuckin’ antsy.”

“…I don’t think I can memorize all this. It’s several pages long and-”

The Magnifying Glass immediately scrunches up his face, creating a few creases in his glass face, and throws his hands up.

“God DAMMIT! You’re fucking serious!? Do you know how fucking important this whole dang’ thing is!? We-”

“Can we delay this announcement?”

Harrison didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out, but it was a question that had been on his mind since he got the phone call at 3 in the morning.

It definitely wasn’t on the Magnifying Glass’ mind, though, as he made a noise that sounded something like a cross between a shout and a moan, going wide-eyed at the suggestion.

“DELAY?! Are you a damn LOONATIC!? Do you REALIZE where the HELL IN GOD’S NAME WE ARE RIGHT NOW?!”

“Just until we can figure out the implications and details of what we did! This is too big to reveal to the world, we’re being careless! Something of this magnitude would change every single aspect of our society! Just- THINK! We need to delay this-”

“Look, kid-”, The Magnifying glass interrupted, rubbing his temples. “I get that you eggheads are always- overly concerned about these issues. Well, stop. It’s irritating as hell. Do you know how bad things are out there?”

“I do, but-” “Do you know how many folks are being moweddown, as we speak?”

“Yes, but-”

“Do you realize how much public support for this damn thing is dwindling!? How close we are to giving in!? How tight of a grip our God-damned enemies have around our nation’s throat?!’ How many youngs, elders, are being crushed underneath their boots?!”

“I do, but-”

“Then you realize - just how desperate the situation is?! How morale is at an all time low?! How people are tossing away their hopes, and their lives?! And you ask us, the scientists, the laborers, the damn government, to all put a stop to all this!? This, the one thing that can restore our nation?!”

“My Machine is going to change the world, not just our circumstances! You have to let us reconsider this-”

“Have you LISTENED-”

“I KNOW HOW BAD THE SITUATION IS. Before this meaningless conflict, I was a father, a husband, and a brother. Now I’m none of that. Don’t you dare talk to me about whether or not I understand what scum we’re facing. But there are clear and present repercussions if my invention were to be revealed to the public - repercussions that would last well into the next century, and the next, and the next. We can’t be callous with this decision.”

Harrison stared at the Magnifying Glass. The Magnifying Glass spoke first.

“We can’t delay this announcement. The people’s been pushed too far. We desperately need hope. And the orders are in, we’re already in too deep.”

His voice was hollow, cracked, and desperate. Harrison detected a tinge of regret in his words.

The two looked at each other. A bell rang.

A young thermometer rushed into the room. “Dr. Harrison, sir! You’re up in 5 minutes!”

Harrison nodded his head, and followed the thermometer out of the room. He glanced back at the Magnifying Glass, who quickly looked away.

“Coward.”, Harrison mumbled under his breath.

He was led to a wooden platform, curtains before him. A podium in the middle of the stage. He received the notes from his lab-coat pocket, and took a deep breath.

The curtain raised to reveal a large crowd of grim-looking objects. Male and female, all dressed in formal wear. They stared at him, with tired, cold eyes, expecting, awaiting.

Harrison looked at the notes before him, one more time. His gaze remains on the title of the first page:

“The Regeneration And Recovery Contraption And Its Applications In Object Warfare By Dr. Harrison Flasks”