Tuesday's Ten Minute Tale - the result!
May. 13th, 2008 10:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martinlivingsOkay, here goes... thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
capnoblivious for "old computer games", angriest for "winter", and ariaflame for "Japan".
'Playing the game'
(c) Martin Livings 13-5-2008
"I'm telling you," Professor Otomo declared, "that, according to the laws of probability, we're all living in a simulation."
"That doesn't make sense," a young woman in the front row of the lecture theatre complained, her pretty brows knotted in a frown. Otomo found himself entranced by the perfectly shaped and plucked eyebrows for a moment or two, then realised she'd spoken.
"It makes perfect sense, Miss Ogaya," he said, hoping he wasn't blushing. He was too old to start crushing on pretty students. "You see, in the history of any universe, someone is going to create a simulation of a universe. And chances are, more than one simulation will be created. And, within those simulated universes, there will be created further simulations by the simulated people within them. Since there's only one real universe, and potentially an infinite number of simulated universes, logic dictates that ours is most likely a simulation, rather than the real universe. QED," he concluded proudly, arms folded.
The girl, Natsuko Ogaya, shook her head. Her immaculate bangs swung across her flawless face. Her short skirt rode up a little with the movement, revealing a crescent of smooth thigh. "But nobody's made a simulated universe," she said, red lips pursed.
Otomo shook his head as well, for a different reason. Stop it, he admonished himself. You're old enough to be her father. Maybe her...
The explosion took out most of the lecture theatre's ceiling. Debris tumbled down in large chunks, crushing many of the students gathered before him. He fell over backwards, stunned, his ears ringing from the apocalyptic noise. His glasses flew from his face. He reached out and grabbed them, covered in dust, and put them back on his nose. He looked.
Miss Ogaya was silent, spattered with her own blood. A supporting beam from the ceiling had pierced her chest, pinned her to her seat. She'd never contradict him again. His heart cracked.
He got to his feet, his knees rubbery, and ran outside, into the cold winter's air, snow crunching beneath his feet. He expected to see police, fire engines, government officials. A response to a terrorist attack.
What he didn't expect to see was a fleet of spacecraft hovering above the university.
The UFOs bristled with vicious-looking devices. Every few seconds, they'd glow an evil green, then vomit out a scintillating ball of energy, which fell slowly to the ground and exploded. With each explosion, more buildings were shattered, bodies ruined, screams silenced. Snow melted under the barrage, making the ground wet and slick with sludge. Atkinson watched, horrified, his breath misting before him, as the alien attack proceeded.
Then a new noise, a rumbling, grinding sound. Someone had brought a tank, probably from the local army base. It rolled into view, barrel raised as high as it could manage, and let off a shot. It jerked backwards from the recoil, and a shell sliced the air and slammed into one of the alien craft. It veered left, weaponry falling from its fuselage, then exploded in a shower of red and green sparks.
Professor Otomo cheered, despite his natural tendency to remain dignifed and quiet. The tank moved forward further, took shelter behind one of the university buildings. The alien craft pummelled the building with shots, taking chunk after chunk out of it, but didn't quite get through. Then the tank emerged again, and fired its massive gun into the air. Another alien craft disintegrated. But they were getting lower, and their attack more furious.
The tank was half-way behind another building when the green glowing energy ball caught it. It melted into a grey slurry of snow, metal and mud. The screams of those within were mercifully brief.
Something occurred to Otomo then, as a second talk rolled into the grounds to replace the first one, the battle continuing around him. Something about all this was familiar.
As the tank took its first shot, and an alien spaceship exploded over his head, he realised what it was. And he knew that he'd been right all along. He fell to his knees in the snow and closed his eyes, prayed to his ancestors, ancestors who'd never truly lived, not really. The same as him. He didn't see the spaceship above him release its deadly payload, the green burning missile plunging directly towards him.
They were in a simulation. And someone, somewhere, had decided to play a retro arcade game.
Then the heat enveloped him, and he died instantly, killed by a space invader.
capnoblivious for "old computer games", angriest for "winter", and ariaflame for "Japan".'Playing the game'
(c) Martin Livings 13-5-2008
"I'm telling you," Professor Otomo declared, "that, according to the laws of probability, we're all living in a simulation."
"That doesn't make sense," a young woman in the front row of the lecture theatre complained, her pretty brows knotted in a frown. Otomo found himself entranced by the perfectly shaped and plucked eyebrows for a moment or two, then realised she'd spoken.
"It makes perfect sense, Miss Ogaya," he said, hoping he wasn't blushing. He was too old to start crushing on pretty students. "You see, in the history of any universe, someone is going to create a simulation of a universe. And chances are, more than one simulation will be created. And, within those simulated universes, there will be created further simulations by the simulated people within them. Since there's only one real universe, and potentially an infinite number of simulated universes, logic dictates that ours is most likely a simulation, rather than the real universe. QED," he concluded proudly, arms folded.
The girl, Natsuko Ogaya, shook her head. Her immaculate bangs swung across her flawless face. Her short skirt rode up a little with the movement, revealing a crescent of smooth thigh. "But nobody's made a simulated universe," she said, red lips pursed.
Otomo shook his head as well, for a different reason. Stop it, he admonished himself. You're old enough to be her father. Maybe her...
The explosion took out most of the lecture theatre's ceiling. Debris tumbled down in large chunks, crushing many of the students gathered before him. He fell over backwards, stunned, his ears ringing from the apocalyptic noise. His glasses flew from his face. He reached out and grabbed them, covered in dust, and put them back on his nose. He looked.
Miss Ogaya was silent, spattered with her own blood. A supporting beam from the ceiling had pierced her chest, pinned her to her seat. She'd never contradict him again. His heart cracked.
He got to his feet, his knees rubbery, and ran outside, into the cold winter's air, snow crunching beneath his feet. He expected to see police, fire engines, government officials. A response to a terrorist attack.
What he didn't expect to see was a fleet of spacecraft hovering above the university.
The UFOs bristled with vicious-looking devices. Every few seconds, they'd glow an evil green, then vomit out a scintillating ball of energy, which fell slowly to the ground and exploded. With each explosion, more buildings were shattered, bodies ruined, screams silenced. Snow melted under the barrage, making the ground wet and slick with sludge. Atkinson watched, horrified, his breath misting before him, as the alien attack proceeded.
Then a new noise, a rumbling, grinding sound. Someone had brought a tank, probably from the local army base. It rolled into view, barrel raised as high as it could manage, and let off a shot. It jerked backwards from the recoil, and a shell sliced the air and slammed into one of the alien craft. It veered left, weaponry falling from its fuselage, then exploded in a shower of red and green sparks.
Professor Otomo cheered, despite his natural tendency to remain dignifed and quiet. The tank moved forward further, took shelter behind one of the university buildings. The alien craft pummelled the building with shots, taking chunk after chunk out of it, but didn't quite get through. Then the tank emerged again, and fired its massive gun into the air. Another alien craft disintegrated. But they were getting lower, and their attack more furious.
The tank was half-way behind another building when the green glowing energy ball caught it. It melted into a grey slurry of snow, metal and mud. The screams of those within were mercifully brief.
Something occurred to Otomo then, as a second talk rolled into the grounds to replace the first one, the battle continuing around him. Something about all this was familiar.
As the tank took its first shot, and an alien spaceship exploded over his head, he realised what it was. And he knew that he'd been right all along. He fell to his knees in the snow and closed his eyes, prayed to his ancestors, ancestors who'd never truly lived, not really. The same as him. He didn't see the spaceship above him release its deadly payload, the green burning missile plunging directly towards him.
They were in a simulation. And someone, somewhere, had decided to play a retro arcade game.
Then the heat enveloped him, and he died instantly, killed by a space invader.
