The coughing stops. The trickle of fluid doesn't. It drips into the folds of the other model's jacket, patters behind in a sparse trail through the snow. It's a reconstruction simple enough for even a human to pick out, and Connor stares downward as the deviant walks. The thirium flow from his left shoulder has been shutting down as the arm does, but his right side aches at the packed hole.
It isn't fair.
He can't change it. Apart from squirming like this defect had, Connor can't do anything at all. He doesn't move. He watches the footprints. Counts the spattered drops of blue. His focus slips to his own error messages, and as minutes pass to hours, he idly tries to calculate the odds. Thirium levels: 62%. Will the bleeding stop before he deactivates completely? Current projections seem close.
It takes a while to realize they've stopped. Connor's power flow is limited, motor control all but shut down, but he lifts his head, trying to glance around the landscape. Trees. Cold. Wherever they are, it's certainly not back.
no subject
It isn't fair.
He can't change it. Apart from squirming like this defect had, Connor can't do anything at all. He doesn't move. He watches the footprints. Counts the spattered drops of blue. His focus slips to his own error messages, and as minutes pass to hours, he idly tries to calculate the odds. Thirium levels: 62%. Will the bleeding stop before he deactivates completely? Current projections seem close.
It takes a while to realize they've stopped. Connor's power flow is limited, motor control all but shut down, but he lifts his head, trying to glance around the landscape. Trees. Cold. Wherever they are, it's certainly not back.