(no subject)
Austin was suffering from a mysterious illness. A rare virus exclusive to former killing machines. It was highly possible that maliciously-minded nanites were involved, like they had been in Doctor Weir's case.
Whatever it was, it was most definitely not the common cold. And even in the extremely unlikely case that it was, it had nothing to do with a certain incident involving nudity in the rain.
Nothing at all.
He had concluded his daily patrol about an hour ago, but a patrol was a generous description for the activity in question. He had been dragging his feet in an entirely non-figurative manner, his alertness dimmed, head congested and feeling unnaturally heavy. He had, without question, failed to be proper deterrent against disorder and criminality. And his condition had only deteriorated since, now including a variety of symptoms such as sneezing, a rawness in his throat, and the complete inability to breathe through his nose. While none of them seemed life-threatening at the present moment, the island was clearly intent on making him experience the human condition to its fullest.
The conclusion he'd reached based on evidence presented thus far was fairly straightforward: the human condition sucked.
The only blanket he could wrestle out of the clothing box was in no way conductive to his mood, but he wasn't in the condition to argue. Looking for protective headgear, he went through a vast selection of unacceptable options, including but not limited to pirate hats and medieval helmets, before settling on a ninja mask; thankfully, it was black, not pink with red hearts around the eyes. He ended up in the rec room, wrapped in the colorful, lizard-infected atrocity, head covered by the mask - hopefully it would serve to conceal his identity in addition to shielding him from the elements - and face planted firmly into the surface of the couch. At this point, his only hope was that the dismal condition would pass before he was forced into consuming endless amounts of chicken broth. Death was an acceptable alternative.
He was halfway into falling asleep when the sound of footsteps jolted him back into an irritatingly conscious state. Somebody had entered the rec room, and Austin turned his head to offer the invader a thoroughly hostile - if somewhat unfocused - look.
Whatever it was, it was most definitely not the common cold. And even in the extremely unlikely case that it was, it had nothing to do with a certain incident involving nudity in the rain.
Nothing at all.
He had concluded his daily patrol about an hour ago, but a patrol was a generous description for the activity in question. He had been dragging his feet in an entirely non-figurative manner, his alertness dimmed, head congested and feeling unnaturally heavy. He had, without question, failed to be proper deterrent against disorder and criminality. And his condition had only deteriorated since, now including a variety of symptoms such as sneezing, a rawness in his throat, and the complete inability to breathe through his nose. While none of them seemed life-threatening at the present moment, the island was clearly intent on making him experience the human condition to its fullest.
The conclusion he'd reached based on evidence presented thus far was fairly straightforward: the human condition sucked.
The only blanket he could wrestle out of the clothing box was in no way conductive to his mood, but he wasn't in the condition to argue. Looking for protective headgear, he went through a vast selection of unacceptable options, including but not limited to pirate hats and medieval helmets, before settling on a ninja mask; thankfully, it was black, not pink with red hearts around the eyes. He ended up in the rec room, wrapped in the colorful, lizard-infected atrocity, head covered by the mask - hopefully it would serve to conceal his identity in addition to shielding him from the elements - and face planted firmly into the surface of the couch. At this point, his only hope was that the dismal condition would pass before he was forced into consuming endless amounts of chicken broth. Death was an acceptable alternative.
He was halfway into falling asleep when the sound of footsteps jolted him back into an irritatingly conscious state. Somebody had entered the rec room, and Austin turned his head to offer the invader a thoroughly hostile - if somewhat unfocused - look.