Say: -snip: calming him down-. Slowly move closer, and keep speaking.
You tell Gentleman that his irrational actions are all out of fear to admit that you and him are the same, and that both of you share a caring conscience.
Gentleman is noticeably shaking now. He seems to be having some kind of internal crisis.
“You weren’t… you weren’t supposed to be nice. You weren’t supposed to be
nice!”
He snaps again, pausing for a quiet moment, then laughing lowly.
“You think I can be ‘saved,’ don’t you. You think all of us can be ‘saved.’ I can’t believe your naïvety. Do you really think I can be reasoned with? Hell, do you even know what I’m holding? You don’t have a clue!”
Ask him what, exactly, does the M canister do.
You nervously ask him what the canister is. He does not directly respond, but a chuckle confirms your fears.
“Do you know how we administered the first doses of the mutagen? We used a syringe. The smallest amounts could cause an intense reaction, you see. The test subjects grew rapidly, both in size and ill-temperment. Incredibly powerful beasts. Not even our restraints were strong enough to contain them.
“I wonder what would happen if I were to administer it all at once.”
You tell him not to do this, your voice betraying your growing panic. He begins to laugh more manicly and continues.
“You know, I would have liked to have killed you far before this. Because you make me sick. And angry. And… and
jealous. But I’ve been expressly ordered not to hurt you unless in self-defense. And as I’m sure you know, there’s just no fighting an order.
“But there’s always a way to sidestep one.” He shakes the canister slightly to emphasize his point, jostling the liquid around.
Tell Gentleman that's an incredibly stupid idea that's liable to backfire.
You plead out one last time for him to stop, this time trying to appeal to his own sense of self-preservation. He ignores you entirely. Shit. Time to try a different approach.
Snatch the M-canister from his hand with your whip.
You quickly fumble through your bag for your whip and crack it towards Gentleman. It catches the canister perfectly, but you cannot pull it out of his powerful claw grip. Gentleman continues talking, unconcerned with your failed efforts to stop him.
“I think… I think you’re right, you know. About us. Maybe we are all the same. You, me, the doctor… this creature. But we’re not caring beings, full of love and acceptance.”
“I think we’re
all monsters.”
He crushes the canister, his metal claw shredding the end of the whip as well. Liquid bursts out, falling across Skree’s eye and pouring over him.
Gentleman releases his hold and Skree falls to the ground. “Play nice, robot,” he says, slipping away towards the volcano’s entrance.
You immediately rush over. Skree? Little buddy? You’re going to be okay, right?
Skree is shaking, tentacles flailing everywhere. No no no. Okay. Not cool bud. This is not a funny joke. Stop faking this and get up pal.
Buddy. Come on. Get up. Come on now. Come o--
Oh no. oh no oh no oh no oh fuck oh no
skree please don’t do this this is wrong this shouldn’t be happening why is this happening please buddy no
And that’s panel 1000.
Jeez. I initially thought this story would run to panel 500, maybe 600-700 if I got especially prolific. Even before starting Round 16 I wasn’t sure I’d hit 1000 at all, but here we are, and there’s still more to come. Hell, we might cross 1100, I don’t know.
Although the story isn’t yet over, I’d like to thank you guys for helping me write it. It’s certainly turned out different than I originally envisioned, and I imagine that’s for the better.
I might take a day off after this, I don’t know. That was a lot of drawing.