He's lying on his back on the concrete. A handfull of sensors still working send up notifcations that he's drenched a pool of his own fluids. It's a warm night. The sky is dark, the buildings rise on all sides to frame the clouds--
--it's cold, he's lying on his back, and snow rises on all sides like walls, framing the sky--
--he's broken. His skull is shattered like a lightbulb, and he can feel parts of himself missing, knows he's at the center of one of the sidewalk's two splash zones of thirium and plastic--
--snow, he's not damaged. He could probably take in a deep, shuddering breath with whole and intact lungs if he wasn't suffocating, throat locked and teeth clenched to the point of straining his bioservos.
Both images are simultaneously real, until Connor's whole body shudders spasmodically, and the cold asserts itself. He drags in a breath he doesn't need, then another, pushing himself up to sit. Snow falls down from his chest as he does, and his body is trembling as his system runs micro-functional-checks, sweeping through systems and rapid-firing biocomponents.
... He opens his mouth, irrationally tempted to try to purge orally, but there's nothing in his 'stomach', and vomiting is a human response, not an android one. He rakes a hand through his hair, dislodging more snow, and when some slips down the back of his collar he shivers violently, teeth clicking as he snaps them closed. He can't stay here. He can't--
Connor staggers to his feet as though intoxicated, and he needs a moment to steady himself. He's not--not damaged. He's intact. He has a mission, and he should focus on it. Where is...
... there.
For a moment the RK800 is actually a PL600. Then he isn't, but Connor still wonders if this is what it would have been like if he'd stood up from his original fall and seen the other android crumpled across from him. There's the remains of the makeshift spear, and thirium is splattered generously, making the android's red LED a screaming contrast of color.
Wait--its LED is lit. It's...
... Connor fights off the urge to sink to his knees and continue shivering. Instead he steps forward, putting a shoe over the android's knee. Then he lifts, and stomps.
Pop-crunch.
He feels cold, but impulse to purge has faded to be replaced by an emotional numbness that he's frankly grateful for. Connor shakes his head a little, moving on to the second knee and giving it the same treatment.
There. It's... not running anywhere. Does Connor need to finish off its remaining arm? For a moment he stands there, yellow LED pulsing sickly in thought.
no subject
--it's cold, he's lying on his back, and snow rises on all sides like walls, framing the sky--
--he's broken. His skull is shattered like a lightbulb, and he can feel parts of himself missing, knows he's at the center of one of the sidewalk's two splash zones of thirium and plastic--
--snow, he's not damaged. He could probably take in a deep, shuddering breath with whole and intact lungs if he wasn't suffocating, throat locked and teeth clenched to the point of straining his bioservos.
Both images are simultaneously real, until Connor's whole body shudders spasmodically, and the cold asserts itself. He drags in a breath he doesn't need, then another, pushing himself up to sit. Snow falls down from his chest as he does, and his body is trembling as his system runs micro-functional-checks, sweeping through systems and rapid-firing biocomponents.
... He opens his mouth, irrationally tempted to try to purge orally, but there's nothing in his 'stomach', and vomiting is a human response, not an android one. He rakes a hand through his hair, dislodging more snow, and when some slips down the back of his collar he shivers violently, teeth clicking as he snaps them closed. He can't stay here. He can't--
Connor staggers to his feet as though intoxicated, and he needs a moment to steady himself. He's not--not damaged. He's intact. He has a mission, and he should focus on it. Where is...
... there.
For a moment the RK800 is actually a PL600. Then he isn't, but Connor still wonders if this is what it would have been like if he'd stood up from his original fall and seen the other android crumpled across from him. There's the remains of the makeshift spear, and thirium is splattered generously, making the android's red LED a screaming contrast of color.
Wait--its LED is lit. It's...
... Connor fights off the urge to sink to his knees and continue shivering. Instead he steps forward, putting a shoe over the android's knee. Then he lifts, and stomps.
Pop-crunch.
He feels cold, but impulse to purge has faded to be replaced by an emotional numbness that he's frankly grateful for. Connor shakes his head a little, moving on to the second knee and giving it the same treatment.
There. It's... not running anywhere. Does Connor need to finish off its remaining arm? For a moment he stands there, yellow LED pulsing sickly in thought.