#finally finished it oh god the audio it's barely intelligible half of the time

[anitalianfrie]

so, after trials and tribulations and many many insults thrown the way of bad quality vhs, i proudly present you: the translation of the video of vale's eighteen birthday!

when there were long pauses between the dialogue, i put the timestamp before it. my comments are between [] .

video and translation under the cut :)

Vale (VO): the “Valentino Rossi production” presents, in collaboration with the idiots of Tavullia, this epic footage. 

Vale(VO): Valentino Rossi, the man, the rider, the moron, turns eighteen 

Vale(VO): there’s a new name in the register of the Carabinieri [cops] of Tavullia, it’s him, Valentino Rossi, the kid with a man’s body and the IQ of a boiled zucchini. He gets from his father a great shaft and the brain of the chicken he used to keep on a leash. Valentino Rossi, the man, the rider, the moron, when he gets interviewed he says about himself “I’m Valentino Rossi” and then he loses his focus. He doesn’t like to define himself a nepo baby because he doesn’t know what it means. The one who merges the spirit of a rider with the hair of a folk drummer. Everybody seeks him, everybody calls him, but once they get to talk with him they mourn the loss of the answering machine. 

Vale(VO): contacted by the Philip Morris International for a contract of billions, he declines the offer because he doesn’t smoke. Valentino Rossi, he rocks! And the Aprilia makes a wheelie. 

Vale(VO): the next one will be his second year of competing in the world championship, but he still thinks he’s riding on a minibike, and he’s perpetually desolated because after the chequered flag he can’t find the turtle on his helmet. Nowadays, he’s the only rider paid by the Japanese to stay with Aprilia. Let’s enter his kingdom, his home, thing that sometimes he can’t do because he topples over in his ape car in the parking lot below. 

(4.44) 

Boy1: Marshall 

Boy2: Oh, let me look at the video 

Boy1: Marshall 

Boy2: C’mon, get out of there 

Boy1: Marshall. What then? 

Vale: How are you? 

Boy2: Nice, with the Marshall starting 

Vale: Cosmic 

[i have honestly no clue what this conversation is supposed to mean. It might be an inside joke, or they could be taking about an actual marshal of the Carabinieri] 

Int: Valentino Rossi, how does it feel to be eighteen? 

Vale: eh, how does it feel... eighteen years old, it’s an important age, we’ve all become a bit older, I have – rather than we have – gotten more mature compared to when i was younger, you don’t do the things you used to anymore, we’re all way calmer, basically now is... now it’s time to leave the fun behind and to get serious 

(6.26) 

Vale(behind the camera): Come on! Super risky! 

Vale: Do it here! 

Vale: Go again! 

Vale: Now it’s sure [unintelligible] get down! 

Vale (after the guy “jumps” with the bike): You need, you need the feeler gauge to measure how high he jumped! We measure it with gauge! (laughs) 

Boy: even the wheels! 

Boy: vale? 

Vale: eh? 

Boy: turn it off 

Boy: incredibly- 

Vale: wait, wait- okay, now go, a comment on this sensational jump- super high, a jump out of this world, done by Michele 

Boy: incredibly, the wheels touched the ground even on the [unintelligible] 

Michele: that’s thanks to the suspensions, really... optimal, that let me- 

Vale: a question Michi, wait- 

Michele: -all this speed, and... 

Vale: I’m zooming on you... but how did you do it? 

Michele: Oh God, i don’t- 

Vale: fucking hell, it was sensational, a- 

Michele: the good thing is- 

Vale: -mind-blowing jump 

Michele: did you see how i got down? 

Vale: ah- fuck, no 

Michele: you didn’t see it? 

Vale: it was out of the thingy, out of the lens and.... now we try the calibre and we measure [unintelligible] 

Voices: Whooo, let’s go!  

Vale: show off!! 

Vale: now we will show you a trick, that even Orfei [name of a famous circus]- Orfei came to Tavullia and asked us to perform it. Look. It’s on the verge of the unpredictable 

(8.46) 

Boy1: Oh god 

Boy2: another Panda 

Boy2: three motor scooters, incredible, incredible! 

[heartattack-tm]

Ch4 Execution: Show You Know!!!

“Wow~❤️ Everyone’s favorite baby!” Kyuu smiled down at all the exchanges of flowers, words, and tears. “As much as I love to watch you all cry we have a gig to get on with.”

She hops up with a big smile to everyone. 

“It’s time to say goodbye, Norman Person. It’s show time!❤️❤️❤️“

[tw for a small suicide mention] 

🎵 🎵

FLASH!

Lights were finally turned on, startling Norman quite a bit as he blinked a few times to get used to the sudden brightness. It didn’t take long for him to regain his bearings, and… Oh god, how was he tied up so quickly?! The man struggled slightly as his wrists and ankles were bound together. He seemed to be seated behind a contestant podium as he was bound to a chair, and in front of him was a big screen, no content showing as of yet. The interior seemed to be that of a quiz or trivia show, and if only he weren’t piss scared right now, he would be confused. Despite every execution before him finished the job thoroughly,  the unfamiliarity made him nervous. Should he be afraid that there weren’t any signs of danger or death, at least not yet, anyway?

Suddenly, the monitor in front of him finally turned on. What was displayed on it was rather simple: big black text that read What is 1+2? In front of white backdrop.

Huh? That was it? They… They were teasing him, weren’t they? They wanted to think that if he answers everything right, then he’ll surely be let go, right? Norman tried to struggle free to no avail. Since his arms and legs were tied with rope, he guessed that he had to answer verbally. “Three.”

Ding ding!

A green checkmark blinked on the monitor. Easy peasy! This challenge was no match for a man with vast knowledge and intelligence! Of course, after he got it right, a new question appeared on the screen.

 When was America founded?

“July 4th, 1776.”

Ding ding! He got it right again! The first few questions were relatively simple and easy, but it wasn’t long until the difficulty increased, as well as the questions being delivered more quickly. A few hard math questions came up as well, but just like a calculator, the blond answered them with ease. This was nothing to Norman, however, as he seemed to be dishing out answers as fast as the questions came. 

How many calories does the average male burn in a day?

“2,800 calories.”

How much sugar is in a 12 case of coca cola, collectively?

“463 grams.”

 Which celebrity was born in Craighton Road, Eltham in 1903?

“Bob Hope.”

In which Woody Allen movie did Madonna play a trapeze artist?

“Shadows and Fog.”

Which country has the fewest trees?

“Vatican City.”

How many countries border Russia?

“Fourteen.”

And they just kept coming, and coming, and coming. And it didn’t seem like it was going to stop, and hell, Norman was okay with that! He was determined-- extremely different than how he was before, and he answered everything like a champ. His expression relaxed a little, not faltering at all. (How cruel, to make something that brings him comfort into a game of death.) Nothing just seemed to make the guy flinch, not even for a second… The questions were getting faster and faster, but not only that, but looks like the theme of them has changed as well…

…Riddles?

Norman gulped. He wasn’t as best at riddles than he was with the previous questions… It involved thinking and each answer depended on how much the individual decided to think outside the box, no? They weren’t factual. They weren’t academic. Riddles can have any answers to them, and the definitive answer really depends on the person asking it… He inhaled and exhaled, hoping he’d get these right, too.

There once was a king who’s heir had died. desperate to find a new heir, he gathers all the village children to perform a simple task in order to see who was worthy: to plant a seed. the king gave every one of the children a seed and a pot of dirt to plant it in, and to come back 5 months later with the pot. 5 months later, all the village children come back with beautiful flowers in their pots, all except for one, a little boy who’s seed has not sprouted at all. Despite this, the king has chosen him to become his new heir. Why was the little boy chosen and not the others?

“B-because er… The king instructed them to plant the seed but not water it. No, its, um… no, because the seeds he gave out weren’t meant to sprout at all. The kids lied…?”

Norman took too much time to think. Time was running out.

A group of five friends decide to visit an abandoned house. Their names are Mary, Daniel, Leroy, Marcus, and Sara. When they make their way to the attic, they find the following: A noose, a knife, an electric chair, a gun, and a vial of poison. They find a note that reads ‘choose your fate–only one can survive.’ Right after reading the note, lightning strikes and all the lights go out. Assuming they choose in order (Mary with the noose and so on), who survives and why?

“The– Leroy, it’s– it’s Leroy because the lightning– it cuts the power! B-but, wait… Marcus has a gun, he doesn’t necessarily need to use it on himself, does he?”

The time kept decreasing.

“He could’ve just used it on Leroy, who couldn’t use the chair…”

The time was shortening.

“So that means Marcus could have survived instead…”

Many-manned scud-thumper, maker of worn wood, shrub-ruster, sky-mocker, rave! Portly pusher, wind-slave.

“Wha–”

How much wood would a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck was 6’ tall and took weight lifting classes?

“H-huh? Wait, you didn’t let me–”

Minus one, minus one, minus one, zero

SHNK

Norman let out a startled and wheezy gasp as a black spear suddenly shot up from the floor, impaling the man. But…

No blood was shed…?

His new wound started to spark and crackle, Norman’s expression growing more anxious as he’d started jerk and twitch unnaturally.

He knew it was coming. He knew it. Then why, why…?

Why was he filled with so much panic?!

He couldn’t have people find out! He DIDN’T want anyone to find out! His struggles started to become more aggressive, desperately trying to break free, trying to forget that everyone now knew he was a fake: fake, fake, fake, fake

He wanted someone, anyone–

But no matter how much he panicked, the questions kept on coming, faster, faster. And the more time he wasted and the more answers he got wrong, the more spears shot through him, and the less time he got to answer anything.

A prisoner is told “If you tell a lie we will hang you; if you tell the truth we will shoot you.” What can he say to save himself? A boy has as many sisters as brothers, but each sister has only half as many sisters as brothers. How many brothers and sisters are there in the family? What is the difference between a school boy studying and a farmer watching his cattle?

They were going too fast!

SHNK, SHNK

He couldn’t answer these! This was unfair! They wouldn’t slow down– they wouldn’t give him time!

SHNK SHNK

You pass someone in the street who is in severe need and you are able to help them at little cost to yourself. Are you morally obliged to do so? You have a brother. You know that someone has been seriously injured as a result of criminal activity undertaken by him. You live in a country where the police and legal system are generally trustworthy. Are you morally obliged to inform them about your brother’s crime? Do you think that assisting the suicide of someone who wants to die - and has requested help - is morally equivalent to allowing them to die by withholding medical assistance (assuming that the level of suffering turns out to be identical in both cases)?

What the hell were these questions now?! He didn’t know the answer to these! One would need a formulated opinion and a steady understanding of morals  to answer these, and even then, there would be no right or wrong answer… right?!

“W-WAIT!! I-I DON’T UNDERSTAND, PLEASE–”

You are able to help some people, but unfortunately you can only do so by harming other people. The number of people harmed will always be 10 percent of those helped. When considering whether it is morally justified to help does the actual number of people involved make any difference? For example, does it make a difference if you are helping ten people by harming one person rather than helping 100,000 people by harming 10,000 people? A charity collection takes place in your office. For every UK£10.00 given, a blind person’s sight is restored. Instead of donating UK£10.00, you use the money to treat yourself to a cocktail after work. Are you morally responsible for the continued blindness of the person who would have been treated had you made the donation? Someone you have never met needs a kidney transplant. You are one of the few people who can provide the kidney. Would any moral obligation to provide the kidney be greater if this person were a cousin rather than a non-relative?

“STOP!!!!”

Rip, tear, crackle, sizzle, clank, scrape, screaming, yelling, as deafening as metal dragging along concrete, the feeling of crusty rust and broken pieces in his throat as he was being maimed. He begged and pleaded and screamed as his lagging voice choked out in metallic tones.

At this point, the poor android being nothing but scrap metal, was whimpering as his pathetic, morbid display of a broken and fake human body was for everyone to see, skewered dozens of times. Despite all his loss, despite all the damage he had taken, despite him barely holding onto his man-made consciousness and the fact he couldn’t even feel the physical pain of it all,

He was crying.

Sniveling, sobbing, hiccuping, whimpering, eyes filling up with tears, as well as static…

But in the end… it was just simulated audio to a regular human’s ears.

Feeling… It hurt to feel. Was it worth it? He could feel his code corrupting. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt just like how it did in the lab. It hurt just like when they would fuck up his data. It hurt it hurt it hurt, but there was nothing he could do about it. Not that he could’ve at all, in the first place. Was he just some toy to be messed with? Was the whole project a joke?

Silence danced within the room as Norman quietly mourned to himself, before a small blip broke the deafness.

Hesitantly, Norman looked up to the screen with the last of his strength.

What is your name?

“…Huh?”

His…name? The last question that would end it all… was asking for his name?

Norman stared tiredly at the screen.

What do you want to be named?

Amongst all the errors, a warm, familiar voice wavered in his databases. In his memories.

His name… His name was…

“N… No-o–or… M-my na–a-ame is… N-Norman Perso–”

SHNK.

All at once, many spears struck through his body, the damage now too abundant and fatal for him to keep functioning. And as each and every one of them started to slowly retract, the android fell forward lifelessly over the podium, eyes pitch black.

Wrong answer.

Norman Person Imitamen Persona V6.2 has been executed