Murmur’s eyes, though sad, are still captivatingly beautiful - like points of enchanted green fire, and as Jon’s gaze is tilted up to Murmur, he thinks that he is glad the last thing he will ever see is something so otherworldly and brilliant. That momentary pause gives Jon the space for two more final thoughts he desperately hopes the angel will hear: I’m sorry, and Thank you.
A third final thought, I love you, is truncated by the shock of Murmur’s power.
Jon expects it will hurt - he’s seen how smiting a tape recorder goes, after all - but he’s grateful that the blow works through him quickly. He doesn’t scream, just gasps sharply, taking in a final breath as he is ripped apart into nothingness, then releasing the contents of his lungs as his body - now an empty vessel - crumples onto the floor.
Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, is no more.
The crowd of robots that has intently watched this execution unfold in silence now quickly descends on the body. The Prophet must be shown the evidence of his orders carried out. Murmur, it seems, has been forgotten.
no subject
A third final thought, I love you, is truncated by the shock of Murmur’s power.
Jon expects it will hurt - he’s seen how smiting a tape recorder goes, after all - but he’s grateful that the blow works through him quickly. He doesn’t scream, just gasps sharply, taking in a final breath as he is ripped apart into nothingness, then releasing the contents of his lungs as his body - now an empty vessel - crumples onto the floor.
Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, is no more.
The crowd of robots that has intently watched this execution unfold in silence now quickly descends on the body. The Prophet must be shown the evidence of his orders carried out. Murmur, it seems, has been forgotten.