(no subject)
Pain. That is the first semi-coherent thought Perceptor acknowledges as he slowly starts clawing his way out of recharge. Every circuit, every relay, every diode in his body aches abominably, and for several long moments, he honestly wonders if it would not simply be easier and more satisfactory to slip into permanent stasis lock. He's been more miserable than this a time or two in his entire existence, but he doesn't recall when.
He keeps his optics off and lays very still until he can get his equilibrium array recoordinated and functional. It takes a few more minutes of careful sorting through his subroutines before he organizes all the dreadful tactile data flooding his systems into something resembling coherence. Only then does he realize that he is lying in collected order on a berth.
Except that he can immediately tell by the texture of the pad and the curiously anonymous feel of the surface below him that it is not his berth. No good can come of that.
With a groan, he onlines his optics, wincing when bright overhead lighting sends sharp lances of pain shooting into his CPU, almost sending him back into stasis right there. It takes only a few seconds for his optics to adjust, which promptly affords him a first hand view of the ceiling of the Medical Bay.
He distinctly recalls engaging the security protocols on the door to his lab, and, though his CPU is still trying to sort out any significant memories after that, he certainly doesn't remember tramping to the medical bay.
A cold sense of dread is slowly filling him from his spark outward. Another groan slips out of his vocalizer as he turns his head slowly to examine his surroundings.
He keeps his optics off and lays very still until he can get his equilibrium array recoordinated and functional. It takes a few more minutes of careful sorting through his subroutines before he organizes all the dreadful tactile data flooding his systems into something resembling coherence. Only then does he realize that he is lying in collected order on a berth.
Except that he can immediately tell by the texture of the pad and the curiously anonymous feel of the surface below him that it is not his berth. No good can come of that.
With a groan, he onlines his optics, wincing when bright overhead lighting sends sharp lances of pain shooting into his CPU, almost sending him back into stasis right there. It takes only a few seconds for his optics to adjust, which promptly affords him a first hand view of the ceiling of the Medical Bay.
He distinctly recalls engaging the security protocols on the door to his lab, and, though his CPU is still trying to sort out any significant memories after that, he certainly doesn't remember tramping to the medical bay.
A cold sense of dread is slowly filling him from his spark outward. Another groan slips out of his vocalizer as he turns his head slowly to examine his surroundings.