Dammit. Dammit, dammit.

[Clank, and Al drops the PCD on the kitchen table. He's covered in dirt and mud, braid sticking to the side of his face, and his teeth are gritted. He's holding his right shoulder.]

Hey-

[It's a little breathless. He tries to move his right arm and there's a painful-sounding, grinding creak. Metallic. He chokes off a ( Read more... )