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I didn't want to do it. I had to. If I didn't, I would be thrown in prison for the rest of my life. If I knew the future, I knew I would choose to not do it.
My name? Darrin Oliver. You could call me, an inventor. A mad scientist. An insane man, driven crazy by his creations. Possibly, most likely, a terrorist.
Ring! Ring! Ring! I got up lazely out of my warm, safe mattress... never see that again. It was an important day, you could say. It was my first day on my self-profession: inventing. It was time for SimNation to see my true worth. I wasn't some jobless dead-beat anymore. I was a grown sim, ready to tackle the day.
It was obvious the day was harder to tackle than originally thought.
First mistake: Put on sister's old jeans. (How did those get in there?!)
Second mistake: Spilled Cheerios all over the floor.
Get the jest?
After the fifty minutes of useless crap, I finally got to work on my newest invention: The Harvester. Amazed at my work, I quickly sold it. It made what felt like millions. It was beautiful.
If I knew what would happen soon, I would've quit.
5 years later...
At last. I have permission. The temptation to do it... it was to much to handle. I fumbled with the life fruit. I jumbled with the srcaps of metal. Each pound of the nail, each turn of the wrench... it gave me new-found strength. I was proud of my work.
Certainly not proud of the mass destruction I was creating.
The shape was beginning to have a living form, it was... talking to me- in its random-coded tongue. But somehow, I could understand. It wanted life. It was pleading. Do it, Darrin, it told me. Do it and you'll be remembered.
And it was right.
"It's complete," I mumbled to the mayor of Riverview.
"Well done, Darrin. Now, leave. The City Council will decide what to do with this... creation." he said in a gruff voice.
It was obvious he wasn't wanting to say creation.
As I was walking home today, words flew through my mind.
Do it Darrin. Create more.
You must Darrin.
Trample the council with us.
The bad part is, I listened to them.
Do it, Darrin, and we can help.
Don't do it, and we will drive you insane.
Pleading voices flew in and out, in and out. It was really annoying, not much of an epic "OHMYGODI'MGOINGCRAZYSOMEBODYHELPME!"
But they weren't joking about the 'don't do it, and you'll go insane' part.
10 years later...
"If anybody can hear this, we need help. Get us out of here! Please! Diesease is spreading madly through. Help!! Please!! We're dying in here. Please, please, help us..."
You just heard the dying voice of my future wife, Morgana Wloff.
10 years earlier...
The mayor stood on his high seat in the council.
"Darrin Oliver, do you understand the terms of this contract?" he said.
"Yes, I do." I replied, to scared for my voice to be heard.
He heard anyways.
"You realize the consequences of not cooperating with us?"
"Then you may go,"
As I left the City Hall, I knew something terrible was to happen. My creations were being used for tools of war. No way I can stop it.
I just gotta wait and see.
15 years later...
"HELP ME!!! HELP!!!! PLEASE!!!!! Spare me..."
"Have mercy, you rogue tin cans!!"
"Get them off me!! Their everywhere!!!"
"Darrin, please!!! Please!!! Don't kill me!!! Don't!!!!! You can't do this..."
The last one was an audio of me, my army of Simbots, locking my own daughter in her room to starve.