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[Essay] Reportorial style - medium specificity, satire, and the 'oral' story

If you don't feel you need permission in essay form to use the style of narration discussed below, you're probably far enough along in your craft that this doesn't apply to you.
A friend of mine is trying to coin the term 'longpost®' to describe an otherwise high-effort post that verges on being a 'shitpost' for reasons of coming unsolicited, rambling, sloppy formatting, and sheer excessive length.
Let's preface this longpost® with the most useful Burroughs quotation I've come across:
"consider what actually happens when you read… Reading an alphabetical language we tend to lose sight of the fact that the written word is an image, and that written words are images in sequence… when you read you are seeing a film, and if you don't see anything you won't read the book" - lecture on creative reading, 1977 (starting 4:19)
If you're big into medium specificity, then the fact that the orally-told story is capable of immersing a listener and delivering plot development with no or minimal engagement of their senses may hold limited bearing on your writing - the novel is long-form, compact and composed, and lends itself with greater facility to imagery, metaphor and extensive description
But there's only so far into medium specificity you can be before it becomes a source of tension that the novel is less suited to the direct display of visual and audiovisual spectacle than painting, photography and film.
So if one is big, indeed very big, into medium-specificity, one would naturally conclude that the novel's specific utility lies somewhere midway between pure reporting and the presentation of spectacle, and in its overreliance on neither, allowing it to weave between the two freely according to its immediate motivations.
It will become apparent that what is ostensibly a stylistic difference may in practice have more to do with what you write than how you write about it - there are obvious logistical and artistic reasons that each of the following examples' subject matter works better in the form in which it is delivered.
The purpose of this essay is to address the author's subjective assessment that on these forums, the reportageward limit of written fiction's utility is seen as a hard boundary, while the spectacleward limit is frequently unacknowledged.
In plain English: too many of us are trying to write films.
As a rule, if you peruse submissions on critique subs, though you will find examples of both reportorial and immersive style, the latter tend both to be more common and more engaging. This can be conducive to the assessment that an immersive style is generally better writing. I would suggest that this is the case more as a function of what people decide to write about - which itself is a function both of what appeals to the writer and what is cognitively accessible to them.
This latter factor is of interest: it occurs to us to write things that are similar to what we are used to reading. Often we base what we write about on a nebulous impression of what is marketable, compiled from a composite of what we have read. We've often heard bemoaned the fact that the style of many beloved classics is not viable to imitate in the modern market. If we accept this as true, it would suggest that the stylistic panorama ostensibly offered by the internet and postmodern tradition is practically blinkered by a set of dominant preconceptions.
I don't think this is necessarily the case, but I do think that there is a salient, if not entirely representative, trend in modern artistic preference toward immersive, descriptive, cinematic writing.
This very plausibly results in writers restricting themselves based on the impression that their content must be cinematic, immersive, and 'shown' in order to hold entertainment value for a modern audience.
As illustrated by some of the following examples, a writer who labours under the impression that 'showing' is mandatory practically restricts their treatment of certain subject matter that is best delivered in a more reportorial style. I suspect that the most impacted genres include comic, historical and satirical writing.
The most extreme example of reportage-style literature I have come across is The Romance of the Three Kingdoms - and by modern standards it is indeed extreme: a fourteenth-century Chinese historical romance in which characters are introduced, characterised and dispatched in the course of a sentence, and in which a plotline that has occupied a chapter can be concluded in a few words.
"With this victory the Eunuchs grew bolder. Ten of them, rivals in wickedness and associates in evil deeds, formed a powerful party known as the Ten Regular Attendants, Zhang Rang, Zhao Zhong, Cheng Kuang, Duan Gui, Feng Xu, Guo Sheng, Hou Lan, Jian Shuo, Cao Jie, and Xia Yun. One of them, Zhang Rang, won such influence that he became the Emperor’s most honored and trusted adviser. The Emperor even called him “Foster Father”. So the corrupt state administration went quickly from bad to worse, till the country was ripe for rebellion and buzzed with brigandage."
I am perhaps being unfair to the Romance in the passage I've chosen, since more descriptive passages do occur, but in general passages like this are much more frequent than most modern readers are accustomed to.
Beyond the conventions of the time, there are two obvious logistical reasons for which the Romance is delivered in such an expository manner: the fact of its basis in history and the difficulty of gathering detailed first-hand accounts; the sheer length of its action.
I use a less brusque example of text written as pure exposition in a 'satirical infodump' piece that forms part of a novel, an extract from which follows:
"Dickless Lim Tang's sole role in the Institution is to participate in a perpetual competition for the posts of its administration. He arrived at this occupation in a similar way to that by which I arrived at my own: a lack of inclination towards or talent for any other established avenue of study. Disputes over administrative posts are as trivial as they are ferocious, the reason for this ferocity being unclear, since all forms of remuneration and benefit are unconditional on the level and nature of position they are able to attain. The contest over administrative roles spills out into the wider Institutional community and frequently engages the intervention of other departments, most often the Solicitors' and Historiographers' Departments, with frequent coinvolvement of the Commerce and Statistical Faculties. Indeed due to its lucrativity and political utility an entire branch of the Historiographers' Department is devoted to the History of the Administrative Department: Causes, Consequences, and Contemporary Applications. Indeed it was through this avenue that Dickless Lim made his approach to the field. As far as his motivations for pursuing this pageantry go, he has assured the rest of us that he is in it entirely for the Lulz. My own department is also routinely called upon for consultation on oratorial rhetoric and my services are almost continuously engaged in the production of speeches, to which end I issue weekly translation assignments arbitrarily to fourteen of my students, the first seven of which each translate the text they are provided into Japanese and the rest of which translate the first lot's finished assignments back. The source texts provided are the completed assignments from the previous week. I am rarely engaged to provide more than seven speeches a week and on the rare occasion that I am my effort consists in rewording the most incoherent of the speeches into a refreshing text of fluent English, and this piece of copy will enter the rotation at the cost of its incoherent predecessor. It is notable that these texts do not exceed their shelf life at a uniform rate. The text on the subject of modernising the Institution's plumbing infrastructure had a shelf life of four translations on average, while the text on the categorical denial of historical criminal acts has never been replaced."
This piece goes on in a similar vein, and is essentially a continuous, mock-anthropological exposition on a projected school-like employment institution occupied by adults. Now, whatever justifiable reservations the reader may have in terms of the piece's satirical pertinence and sense of humour, I think it's fairly arguable that it does have: a mood; content - in the form of information rather than plot; character development; some degree of humour. In short, despite having limited visual description of characters and setting, and little to no plot, it is readable in the sense that when you read it something is transmitted to you, and arguably worth reading in the sense that a reader may enjoy it.
The expositional style is used largely in a parody of academic pomposity which drives the mood of the piece, and it would simply be cumbersome to contrive a series of plot points to 'show' each one of these details to the reader, when the intended humour or satirical value is likely as present and well-paced as it is ever going to be in this form.
The most salient criticisms an overly reportorial style will elicit will likely include:
"Too expository."
"Too straight-ahead."
"Visually lazy."
"It all just… happens…"
These are all valid criticisms, and a poorly executed iteration of this style will likely deserve them. But at this point we come to the reason why, when I want to share something I've worked on, I prefer to do so with people who do not write.
It's a pitfall of the enterprise that we train ourselves to recognise certain features of a text and make a judgement based on a generalised, often received attitude toward those features.
More concretely: if I have written a passage in a style that is largely reportorial - or experimental at all - and am interested in feedback on its effectiveness, I find I receive much better feedback if I offer it to a friend who does not write, observe whether and how much they laugh or otherwise react, and afterward ask them if they had a clear, coherent impression of what was going on.
If I offer the same piece of text to another writer, I can expect to hear back that it lacks description.
Extreme cinematic examples are abundant, most saliently in genre fiction. A non-genre example is Gilbert Adair's "The Dreamers", which, being about cinemaphiles, very deliberately incorporates cinematic staging:
"One afternoon, wearing white overalls, an improvised white turban and a pair of white-rimmed dark glasses, like some nineteen-thirties Hollywood actress snapped in a relaxed pose on the veranda of her Bel Air mansion, she happened to look into Guillaume's bedroom where he and Matthew were reading aloud to each other from back numbers of Cahiers du Cinèma. Her beady eyes instantly registered the mounting clutter of books, magazines, underclothes, half-consumed sandwiches and peanut shells. Smiling slyly to herself, she took a cigarette, one she had already trisected; but, before inserting it into her holder, she started tapping one end of it against the side of the pack with a kind of clipped, staccato violence. Then, ostentatiously puffing on the cigarette, omitting to inhale between puffs, chewing the remark in the corner of her mouth as though it were a wad of bubble gum, she spat out: 'what a dump!' Guillaume, without raising his eyes from the page he was reading, mechanically called back, 'Elizabeth Taylor in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolfe?'"
The balance between descriptive detail and action in this passage might not be conspicuous to most readers, but if attended to can be observed to fall in quite the opposite direction from the previous examples.
This scene would critically compromise its value if it were delivered in a reportorial as opposed to a descriptive style.
In the same novel as the 'Dickless Lim' passage, I employ a few almost-entirely visual sequences, many of which imitate documentary film productions:
"A girlfriend of my girlfriend got married the other weekend and her husband is some species of policeman. He tells me he's been conducting some permutation of a training exercise with dogs which involves him holding a service beagle under the chest and pelvis like a shotgun and manoeuvring it over cupboards and lockers to better facilitate its olfaction of any drugs. It's a Swedish technique. I can scarce imagine the terror of a party of blanketed stoners flickering comfortably in front of the set when on cuts a documentary in an unsubtitled Scandinavian language with a Bjorn-haircut enforcement officer positioned at a bank of lockers vacuuming them with a dachshund, all the while narrating in Hoobloob, and the collective fumble for the remote and whoever's next to you has started rocking in his blankets and sobbing "If they're coming at us like that man I don't want to be alive" and another voice out of sight and emotive like the autumn of an acid trip whisper-bellows "You know they give those dogs drugs? How else do you think they smellem so good?" Of an instant the dog goes berzerk cold crazed eyes of Harry J. Anslinger while the still-narrating Scando crowbars the locker open and extracts a cloudy sachet of rocks, which he proffers to the camera. The dust-covered dog is wagging primly - the officer congratulates it pulling its collar into focus of the camera. Its name is spelled with an impossible multiplicity of vowels. He pronounces it as a single syllable. Cut to the Swedish offender shown in misery as he is escorted by the elbows to an ice pit where he is buried under shovelfuls of snow. As the remote is discovered and the channel flashes to another you are left with the negative of the dog being lowered by the officer on a stabproof harness connected to a winch to lap up the icicle tears hanging from the offender's face."
This scene, being derived entirely from an arresting image and the absurd consequences of an attempt to reconcile it with what we already know about drug enforcement, would be logically impossible to deliver in a fully reportorial style.
Counter-intuitively, certain novels proven highly conducive to film adaptation can themselves be comparatively uncinematic - (I'm talking about Fight Club). Fight Club is not delivered in a strictly reportorial style, moreso as a sequence of allusions and intimations made to the reader, which nebulise around the occasional flat, hard statement of fact, with the occasional strong, minimalistic sensory impression.
The most salient example you will likely find of yourself eschewing sensory spectacle is during asides - often incidental memories or oral stories told by one character to another.
In Fight Club, the aside about going to the medical school to have a genital wart removed features little to no visual detail - it's essentially a straight report. As much as Chuck is an advocate for 'unpacking' and displaying, rather than explaining, to the reader, he does on occasion simply state:
"except for their humping, Tyler and Marla were never in the same room. My parents pulled this exact same act for years."
What these examples have in common - the reason they, on their own, would be insufficient justification for this article's thesis statement - is that they are auxiliary to the main purpose of the scene. They contextualise the action and build mood around it, rather than substituting for it.
We will now discuss examples of more central reportorial writing.
One of my favourite novels happens to be one which weaves pretty sharply between reportage and spectacle - being William S. Burroughs' Naked Lunch. It was the first place in which I encountered the format of satire as infodump - the most prominent example being "Now a word about the parties of Interzone":
"The Divisionists occupy a midway position, could in fact be termed moderates...They are called Divisionists because they literally divide. They cut off tiny bits of their flesh and grow exact replicas of themselves in embryo jelly. It seems probable, unless the process of division is halted, that eventually there will be only one replica of one sex on the planet: that is, one person in the world with millions of separate bodies...Are these bodies actually independent, and could they in time develop varied characteristics? I doubt it…" and so on.
This passage is a straight, journalistic summary of the prominent political factions in the Zone, their characteristics and aims. Knowing the details of these Parties is not significant to the reader's understanding of the plot. The passage's function seems to be in part to characterise the Zone in general, and in part as a self-contained piece of contemporary political satire.
The novel also comprises a number of oral-style 'routines' - essentially the hip equivalent of what where I'm from we call 'shityarns', of which "The man who taught his asshole to talk" and "Piece of ass" constitute examples.
"This you gotta hear. Boy in Los Angeles fifteen year old. Father decide it is time the boy had his first piece of ass. Boy is lying on the lawn reading comic books, father go out and say: 'Son, here's twenty dollars; I want you to go to a good whore and get a piece of ass off her.' "So they drive to this plush jump joint, and the father say, 'All right, son. You're on your own. So ring the bell and when the woman comes you give her the twenty dollars and tell her you want a piece of ass.' "'Solid, Pop.' "So about fifteen minutes later the boy comes out: "'Well, son, did you get a piece of ass?' "Yeah. This gash comes to the door, and I say I want a piece of ass and lay the double sawski on her. We go into her trap, and she remove the dry goods. So I switch my blade and cut a big hunk off her ass, she raise a beef like I am reduce to pull off one shoe and beat her brains out. Then I hump her for kicks.'"
"Piece of ass", while somewhat descriptive, relies fairly little on visuals. Tension is essentially built by the frequent repetition of the phrase 'piece of ass', and dispelled as the boy makes the absurd revelation of his misunderstanding and consequent actions. Tone is set by the language and mannerisms of the narrator, and expectations subverted when the boy begins himself speaking in the same tone.
This event, if delivered as a series of more complete scenes, would likely be both more grotesque and less meaningful.
'Oral' storytelling is one of my favourite external media to 'import' into the novel format. It brings with it its own lexicon of techniques for maintaining and building 'listener' engagement, such that typical prose techniques no longer need to be relied on, and the tone, mood, mannerisms, character, dialect etc. of the speaker bring their own value to the piece.
The following is an example of an 'oral' story imported into the same novel as the 'Dickless Lim' and service dog scenes:
"At Syrups' this one kid came on like such an embarrassment you're never sure if he's going to ask you to scrap or where he can score some of "The Shit." Other boys used to rip the piss out of him while he grinned dumbly on. Year-Eleven formal rolls round and this kid who never shuts up has said nothing about having a date. It's a shock to the staunchest of us when he rocks up with this stunning hot chick - model type, whole other class from the rest of us. She looks about the same age but no one can sniff out what school. This tick is so full of his own shit he's liable to pop, despite that they spend no more than a minute in each other's company before she steps off and returns bearing far in excess of her allotted single drink, watched after by several boys, each with empty hands. Fella tell me later she is pretty direct about it and pretty polite. "No serious plot developments ensue till the afterparty where she goes to the powder room and leaves her cell phone down the back of the couch cushion. This is 2010 and it's one of those early smart phones with the slide-out keyboard. Dickless Philpott goes through it and what he finds is a whole gallery of really violent S&M porn featuring the shitstain's date. The boys are half pissing themselves half genuinely perturbed. This kid is admitted to the circle for the sake of making him see so he can explain. Clams right up. Couldn't open his mouth with an oyster knife. Says nothing the rest of the night. The date doesn't blink when Dickless meekly returns her phone, just says "Thank you," and sits down by herself, smoking. Pretty soon after she gets a phone call and is picked up from the party.""
The description in this passage is minimal, and it relies on visuals very little. The 'shitstain' is characterised by an off-hand example of his habitual behaviour, the characters' demeanour and reactions are related fairly succinctly. The porn is not described visually beyond a single adjective - seen only secondhand reflected in the boys' reactions as they peer into the phone. The listener is outside the circle.
This short passage serves to characterise the relationship between and attitudes of a group of schoolboys, and the fact of their specific vocabulary for 'scrap' and conspicuously affected vocabulary for 'the shit' simultaneously signals their preoccupations and naïvety. The denouement is a culmination of perverse interest resulting in their finding themselves, as a community, out of their depth when exposed to the tip of a cultural iceberg they do not understand. The humbled meekness with which Dickless returns the phone both affirms and recontextualises the girl's status as a member of a 'whole other class' they are unqualified to interact with. If you want to go that far, it also recontextualises his name. The situation and all the characters are presented ambiguously.
At least, that's what I thought the passage did when I transcribed it.
Conversely to the infodump and routines, Naked Lunch also comprises Vaudeville-inspired sequences that are pure spectacle, complete with stage directions, and sequences like the opener of "and start west" which incorporate the cinematic action of a noir:
"vault a turnstile and two flights down the iron stairs, catch an uptown A train … Young, good looking, crew cut, Ivy League advertising exec type fruit holds the door back for me. I am evidently his idea of a character. You know the type: comes on with bartenders and cab drivers, talking about right hooks and the Dodgers, calls the counterman in Nedick's by his first name. A real asshole."
What is noteworthy about Naked Lunch is that it consists almost entirely of "borrowed" voices - vaudeville spectacle, noir narrative, oral 'improvisation', political journalism, Kafkan bureau tourism... It constitutes one of literature's prime examples of the novel's medium flexibility, as it careens from the typical delivery style of one medium to that of another like a GTA driver, irreverently hijacking each medium's expressive potential, driving it into a catastrophic pileup, and moving on.
It remains to be demonstrated that a compelling modern novel can be delivered entirely in a reportorial style.
The best example I can think of is Brett Easton Ellis's Less Than Zero, which leans heavily toward telling rather than showing as a means of producing a conspicuous lack of affective response in the reader to its transgressive content, such that the reader is forced to confront their own detachment.
This represents a pretty specific motivation for employing a fully reportorial style, and as I cannot think of a more generalisable one I would tentatively propose that a fairly small subset of possible novels would benefit from employing this style exclusively.
Nonetheless it remains very useful and indeed is often used for the purposes of scene-setting, auxiliary contributions to mood and theme, narrative digressions in the form of oral stories, and similar. These uses are generally brief and unobtrusive, and you likely read them often without considering that they constitute telling rather than showing.
Longer-form applications include passages that proffer entertainment value without necessarily pursuing narrative: satirical passages, mock press releases and news articles, infodumps like Burroughs' Parties of Interzone and 1984's epilogue on Newspeak.
If Jonathan Swift's Modest Proposal had been incorporated as part of a novel, it would likely not have notably detracted from the immersive, artistic and entertainment values of the novel, though due to its length it could present a threat to the pacing.
In your own writing, then, I would encourage you to stay mellow about including passages of direct, reportorial relation.
In particular, 'auxiliary' characterisation and scene-setting asides, while they can be powerful if presented in a shown manner, can certainly get away more easily with being strictly reported, which can leave them more compact, as well as allowing for certain effects such as characterisation through dialogue.
More central passages can also benefit from a reportorial style, most saliently satirical and humourous passages can have better pacing and flow, as well as imitate other mediums such as press releases, more easily when allowed to dispense with immersive imagery, and 'oral' storytelling can more closely resemble its real-life counterpart, which brings with it its own techniques for maintaining immersion, and allows characterisation through dialect.
Thesis statement (at the end, because I am an arsehole): the utility of purely reportorial style in written fiction is understated; its pitfalls overstated, and this practically limits not only how you can write but what you can write about.
submitted by Manjo819 to storyandstyle

Radio Babies [SF]

Marquise and Bonny ran. They both held their coilgun rifles to their chest as if it were logs to which a drowning man would firmly cling to not to drown. Out in a pitch black ocean of hostility the two unlike adventurers would indeed find their death if unarmed, but still the threat they were facing was so submerged and essentially one with said darkness, that they might as well have been carrying pieces of wood indeed. Bonny's heart raced. He felt the bitter taste of sweat in his own mouth but dared not to wipe his face as that would imply a second of carefree distraction from survival. He tried to make the most out of his sight, which was terribly limited in the catacombs of this ancient and forgotten city macrostructure.Marquise was Bonny's boss, but also not a human and didn't share these emotions. Her infra-red vision pierced the dark veil with mechanic precision. Her skin did not lubricate itself with a salty liquid, it was merely held damp by a chiral assembly of glands that produced a mix of water and soaplike disinfectant. Marquise did not express any other emotion on her face either. She looked very focused and indifferent to her surroundings.A sound in the dark caused Bonny to sweep the general direction with atomic darts. Fired from his coilgun, any sort of metal would quickly disintegrate in the atmosphere because of friction. However, the resulting spray of super-heated molecules could be weaponized very well and this was how a coilgun rifle, of the specific series that the two were carrying, with that specific atomic dart kind of ammo worked."No hit." Marquise responded, and shifted her consciousness onto another wavelength, not in a spiritual kind of way, but by actively downscaling the wavelenght of her emission diod in her polydiodic interface. She scanned the area for radio waves."They are communicating. Triangulating radio signal source..."Marquise said. In a way Marquise, or combat androids of her makeup, were the superior predator in this scenario "on paper" if that old phrase does apply itself given the quite advanced year this situation plays out in. But the thing the two adventurers were fighting was at the very apex of evolution itself, at least as far as it comes to predatory animals. They were in fact fighting humans, like Bonny.This gave Marquise, who shared a deal of human cells but was not entirely used to things such as growing up, a massive disadvantage. Her abilities came because she was cloned and designed with them. They were regularly tested and she fulfilled the capacity at 100% every day. But that was about it. Her creativity was entirely blocked out by the many functions present in her auto-cortex.The thing they fought, oh sorry, the people they fought, were very much at that stage of growing up. Only that they also were located in little tanks with nourishing fluids, much like Marquise when she used to be an infant.
It is worthwhile to add that most of her body had not been much altered ever since because her cells were in fact ageless, but also most of the rest of her body had been added later. She was not a very pretty baby back then, but as you could guess androids build for war did not attend kindergarten and it wasn't necessary to have eyes or limbs, or what you would call an cute face as a baby for her. Really, the sight of seemingly human fetuses being outfitted with strands of dark nanite clusters, growing in their still translucent cellular tissue was really scary. And later, when the cells were mostly grown, but the muscles had not yet formed, the sight just got worse. Only after a production cycle of twenty one months, a combat android like Marquise started looking good. And really good with that, idealized human bodies with all gadgets embedded firmly in the already functioning parts of a human body. To call them androids was perhaps not even a good idea at all, they should be called "intended cyborgs" or maybe "nano-weave improved humanoids".Anyways they had no childhood and all of them were adopted.
The babies they were currently running away from were normal humans. And they were very playful and prone to aggressions. Not all of them of course, but the few trouble children posed a threat. Because these babies were actually part of an experiment that wanted to find out what would happen if babies were given neural interface access to machine bodies which they remote-controlled as they slept in artificial stasis. The experiment was not allowed by the government, and very much suppressed. Bonny and Marquise were send out soldiers with the task to destroy the equipment and rescue these babies. As well as pop as many holes into the rouge scientific officer as they would see fit, and as far as Bonny was concerned, he would most likely disintegrate that asshole's remains with atomic darts for a time span that would last a day or two.Marquise was very simple minded about it, and she didn't yell out murder threats ever. This also lead to her being less frequently detected by the robotic puppets of aggressive infants that had never seen the world as anything else but a playground and were so estranged from normal upbringing, that even after being rescued they would cost the government a very high sum for therapy sessions.
But they were babies and basically innocent. In fact, if this experiment had a good side at all, they were very social. The babies constantly exchanged indecipherable ideas over radio communication with one another's robots. And even if the human empire was as the peak of it's scientific base, there was no expert on baby talk that could derive strategic information from their cheerful whispers.It was without doubt very disturbing to hear a baby laugh over the radio, except said baby never learned to move it's mouth and just send out brain-waves corresponding to said instinctual movement. When the robots were first discovered, people assumed it was in fact an alien species with astoundingly similar knowledge of metallurgy and hydraulics.
A robot crashed down in front of them, tearing open the concrete floor and unearthing several pipes from which forgotten oily substances sprayed forth. Bonny suppressed a short scream and opened fire. Marquise took her time to aim for the enemies hydraulics, but was soon slapped away by a mechanical hand. The robots were hulking and almost humanoid, but resembled slender gorillas as they walked and climbed and had spiney bodies.
Marquise went flying and re-calibrated her combat script in mid-air, to slide out gracefully and not fall over after making ground contact feet first. Her face was bruised and she was bleeding.Bonny called out her name in worries, and she just responded with a salve of darts aimed at the enemies hydraulic systems.Bonny had drawn the attention of the machine-controller towards himself, but these babies were easily distracted and reacted in a very unique fashion to too much information. Babies normally just start crying if they are overwhelmed but since this machine gave the baby a mean to show aggression outside of voice, it just went berzerk instead. And this posed a massive threat to anything really. The frustration not to be in control of a situation, if expressed subconsciously over a giant robot, leads to martial arts ladys and gentlemen and that's a true fact.The robotic hulk improvized it's moves, tearing out pieces of the floor and pipes and smashing them against tiles on which Bonny ran, shooting over the left shoulder at times without aiming and also violently cussing at the maker of this situation.
It would later be revealed that the cussing of Bonny stuck with the babies, after being rescued from their tanks. Good job, Bonny.
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