#batim chapter 4

To be transformed is, generally, a mixed bag. Some individuals yearn for change, for shifting into something new, to match who they are within their soul. Others fear such a shift, a holistic destroying of what was before, never to rise again. And then, there are those who seek to enhance others, to cause that anatomical rebirth, forging something anew from the old.

There is an innate bond between the creator and the creation.

A vulnerability, the whispering knowledge that there is one that will forever know you better than yourself. The animator knew that well, the discomfort of his craft assuaged by the fact, or what should have been the fact, that their creation would never live in a way to be aware of its miniscule place in the world; of its sheer pointlessness - a cartoon.

No, it would never be aware, sentient of the futility to carve out for itself a new meaning.

That was how it was supposed to be, at least.

However, regardless if the creature was truly a doodle come to life, there were... other people irreversibly changed in this gaping abyss. The obsession with change and perfection made Henry uncomfortable, certainly, though as long as he was left alone, he was content. As content as a man in a personal Hell could be.

The prophet - seeking to change himself for the Demon, for his Lord. Eviscerated by his own ambition, comprehending his own desires too late.

The angel - seeking to change herself for herself, to become Perfection and thus destroy everything. Already thrice dead from her relentless pursuit of her own reincarnation, she continued with tools of iron and bleeding ink.

And the park maker...

The architect...

The octopus....

There was an unnerving, disquieting aspect to that silent ride as Henry entered the room.

Silent and overbearing.

The obvious trap was almost humorous what with how transparent it was, like a thin sheet of paper illuminated by a light table. Yet there was no way but forward, onward into oblivion. With a soft breath, a whispering wind in and out, Henry approached the slumbering giant. His hand reached for the audio player on the table (such a clear, unmistakable snare) and waited.

No, he felt no serious desire to actually touch it. On second thought, why bother? There was no need - he had his ax, the blade honed and sharpened to cut through metal. With ease, he could simply break through the door sealing him in this tomb. Resolved, Henry turned his back to the still sleeping hulk of metal and made his way towards the exit.

A nigh silent creak behind him had Henry gradually turn back toward the ride. There was not a single sign of any motion, however, not even a puff of dust. Apprehensive, Henry continued to edge his way to the door.

Faster than a viper, a leg of the mechanism shot forwards, whipping Henry in the back. It was sheer luck alone which kept him from slicing off his own hand. Breathless, and knocked to the floor, the old man was incapacitated swiftly, ax flung out of his grip. It embedded itself in a cart across the room, and Henry grimaced as he prepared to retrieve it. Now that the fight was inevitable, he had to defend himself or die.

Ended up being a pipe dream- or even, a dream for a pipe with which to fend off the arms that assailed him. Instantaneously, he was swarmed, an uncomfortable grip that lifted him clear off the ground. Eventually, he found himself tumbling into one of the seats, nauseated and off kilter. The brass bar kept him in place as he was dizzyingly pitched forward to the front of the ride.

The doors hiding that waterlogged face swung forward to greet him, Henry lurching back as it felt as though they were eager to crack open his skull.

"If it isn't Henry!" the hulking mass cried, the bloated head staring at him unblinkingly. "I'm so very glad to see you, old friend. Dear me, you look worse for wear!"

Henry did not reply, only stared silently back at Bertrum. The bodiless man's smile, that of an electrocuted man, did not fade.

"It's been some time since I've worked on an upgrade," the rideman mused, bringing Henry closer for inspection. "I doubt that I've gotten rusty, though. Let's give it a shot, eh?"

The arm holding Henry spun around rapidly, then twisted to the side- all the way upside down. It deposited him atop Bertrum's tape player as he tumbled out, knocking the device to the ground as he tried to scramble away and escape. To prevent that, the bars on two carts cinched tight over his wrists, nearly cutting off the circulation. A quiet grunt of pain escaped him, converted into a huff of air as he was slammed back onto the table. A screeching, creaking groan followed the table being dragged across the room towards Bertrum. The man smiled down at him, with that empty, blown-eyed gaze.

"My, time has been kind to you, hasn't it?" Bertrum murmured, a sort of delighted lilt to his tone. Henry kicked and tried to use his legs as leverage to escape, but the bars pressed tighter, pain lancing up the center of his wrist, skyrocketing up his arm to the nerves in his elbow. A half-choked whimper of pain, and he went limp (yet uncomfortable) in the pinching grip. "Your muscle structure appears to be in remarkable shape, and your stamina is rather unyielding from what I've seen. Yes, you would make a fine basis for a roboticized specimen."

Henry decided that he very much did not like what Bertrum was suggesting.

With a renewed effort, he attempted to break free vigorously, only to gasp with the sharp pain of one of his wrists fracturing under the pressure of metal winches. Horrified, his head swiveled to face the limb, seeing red oozing into his flesh- the burst vein seeping through his body. The nausea from before resurfaced violently, swallowing down the need to retch. 

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve done this,” Bertrum hummed, raising another limb- and to Henry’s rapidly increasing horror, he saw the ax tucked between two carts. Without thinking, Henry desperately tried to escape once more. A cart pressed on his chest, pushing him back down, gradually winding him as it crushed his lungs. He gasped, feeling his ribs creaking under the force of pressure. “If you would stop squirming, Henry, it would be much easier for the both of us, you know.” 

He tried to reply, but the cart pressed down once more and winded him. Then, he held his breath unwittingly as the ax pressed to his sternum, directly above his solar plexus. Oh, hell no. If there was one thing worse than a non consensual surgery without anesthetics, it was non consensual surgery without anesthetics by a man turned octopus ride with an extremely limited range of motion and practically no precision at all. 

The ax cut surprisingly straight for those facts, tearing through fabric, skin, bone, and flesh with ease- just as Henry knew it could. Blood welled up in the cavity, spilling out over his side. It was both hot and cold at the same instant, the chills of blood loss shock hitting him- especially with his broken hand; and the lava-like warmth of his ichor. Henry ceased any and all attempts at escaping, understanding now that it was futile. 

Bertrum used a corner of one of the carts to spread open the wound left, the bulky mass pressing now directly on Henry’s lung. It was electrified ice along his exposed veins. 

A giant hydraulic made itself visible, gripped to the point of cracking between another pair of carts. Henry stared at it, unable to even muster any horror as the cloudy shock took over. The hydraulic was carefully placed at the space made in Henry’s chest, not quite a cavity- yet. The pressure of the metal entering his body was unbearable, forcing a space for a huge, heavy cylinder that did not belong in his flesh. 

Bertrum, losing patience, slammed the cart onto the hydraulic. Henry’s vision went black as it jammed fully within his corpus. The ringing in his ears only slightly faded as the ax pressed against his arm. Henry was far too delirious in pain to fight as Bertrum slowly tore into each of his limbs, replacing the bones with those massive hydraulics. Blood splattered along the ground, pooling around the table. Henry could only hear the crack of his bones, the dripping of blood, his own heartbeat in his ears, his groans of pain, and Bertrum’s quiet humming. 

Cut, open, hydraulic. Cut, open, hydraulic. 

Eventually, each and every bone in Henry’s body was replaced. Against his will, he stood. 

“Behold!” Bertrum announced to the void. “The animating automaton!”