Friendly Reminder

[seafronted]

[Somewhere, it is said that the greatest fear is the capability of creation within oneself. The monsters the mind creates. Torment is their forte and they show no pity for those prone to their attacks. They show remorse to no one, only prey on the weak

Comments

>.< 'scuse me while I wordvomit. Everywhere.

[notglitching]

[Rinzler doesn't take much dodging-for now, all he's looking for is a fight, and this damaged subject doesn't seem like a worthwhile target. The multilimbed things were at least mobile, looked strong enough, with limbs flexing and reaching to rend, break. (They looked somewhat like larger, more fleshy gridbugs, really). Target. Threat. (Distraction.)

The program's injured. Damaged. (Broken.) Nearly to derezz. He's utterly drained of energy, processes sputtering with error, mismatch, and has spent the last few days in the second worst prolonged experience of his existence. He's still so much better than these things.

Orange circuits sharpen in their glow as Rinzler passes the prone figure, weapons scything in across to block a thrashing arm. The creature in front is forceful, but slow to react, and his disks jerk apart with practiced ease to sever the limb as he stabs out, disks digging into-

Error.

...No.

His weapons slice in, tear, cut. But not through code. He hadn't expected code, not wholly-the ISO was the only threat he'd fought here who had that much right.

But he hadn't expected this thing to bleed.

Dark liquid spurts from the limb, twisted muscle and white bone showing through. His disks jerk free, red up to his grip, flickering half-active as he clenches the weapons, stares at them. At the creature. Creatures. Users. But no, they aren't, can't...

(He keeps hurting users.)

No. WRONG. (Error.) This isn't-can't-he doesn't know. Mismatch, conflict, threat/error/user/corruption. He can't make sense of it, can't understand-needs to destroy, fight. (why?) The program's frozen. Locked up. And the reanimati move closer. To both of them.]

:D

[arethebettermen]

[ Charles simply sits on the ground, staring up at the strange masked man. His fingers raise to his temple, trying to hold the reanimati in place and use his other arm to pull himself back towards the mansion, the Eevee huddling behind him. He glances at the man again and tries to speak to him. ]

If you stay, you'll die. You need to leave.

>.>

[notglitching]

[No.

The helmet jerks sideways in denial. Refusal. He's not sure what the damaged user's doing, but it's not enough. He can see that. Even if the creatures stay held, even if the user could move faster, the creatures/users?/gridbugs/things are there already. Between them and the structure, twitching limbs and gaping mouths twisting, eager, ready. The program stares at the man. User. He's barely mobile, effort clearly focused toward the threats. Locking them up, corrupting their runtime somehow. And he's telling Rinzler to leave.

'Go.'

It's not supposed to work that way.

Motion, immediacy, presence-the program's focus flashes upward as a shape drops down. The branches above have shifted, dark and tangled, and the creature managed to climb above them both before falling, three mangled arms twisted to grab and rend. The program twitches, instinctive protocol demanding motion, distance-then holds, braces in a crouch. One disk comes up to intercept the fleshy core, another strikes at the metal junction between two of the arms, limbs splitting and dropping from the creature to writhe faintly on the ground. The rest of the creature hits him solidly, and he falls back, rolling aside with the mostly-limp form before pulling free, blood prickling off his circuits and broken data with a spike of panic, error. He's surprised, somewhat, to find himself undamaged from the impact.

The program turns back towards the other, circuitry fluctuating unevenly as he stares. No. He can't (won't) leave the user to fight for him. That's not-he's not-

WARNING-

he's supposed to...]

mother of god.

[arethebettermen]

[ He winces and for a moment his hold on the creatures threatens to break, but Charles holds it. It's not like holding Shaw in place. It's sheer numbers as opposed to how powerful one person is. His telepathy only does well on wraiths. These are things he can't use his mind to fight and it makes him feel even more useless than he already is. He still tries to push himself back with one arm, the other firmly against his head as he's trying to hold them for the man. Either to fight or for him to run away, either way the man has to make his choice. ]