[for Joe]
Zero sat at the center of his cell, tin arm plate in his hands, idly flexing the armor over and over at the elbow joint. It squeaked now. Not the typical noise of basic movement of the piece, either, but the clear, unmistakable sounds of metal that just hasn’t been properly tended to.
The mostly quiet prison probably just made it sound a lot worse than it actually was, but it didn’t matter; it shouldn’t have been there at all. No self-respecting Longcoat squeaked… (Except they did. A lot. Metal. Leather. The uniform wasn’t designed with stealth in mind. Intimidation over function.)
Squeak, squeak, squeeeeaaak
He doubted any of those IPD idiots kept oil cans on their person. He wasn't even sure if they all had guns.
The mostly quiet prison probably just made it sound a lot worse than it actually was, but it didn’t matter; it shouldn’t have been there at all. No self-respecting Longcoat squeaked… (Except they did. A lot. Metal. Leather. The uniform wasn’t designed with stealth in mind. Intimidation over function.)
Squeak, squeak, squeeeeaaak
He doubted any of those IPD idiots kept oil cans on their person. He wasn't even sure if they all had guns.