[transcribed from voice recording]

[craigjustcraig]

[click to play recording]

Woo.. forgot how much fun it is to get out for a while. I also finally have a decent illustrated robotics manual since I couldn't find my old copy to save my frigging life. Kitty emergency averted! **whoop, followed by a crash** Ow. Stupid chair..

That sure as hell WAS NOT FUNNY! **irritated grumbling, unstranscribable

Comments

[mega_bluebomber]

The sound in question was the unique and induplicable sound of smoking pile of scrap coming out of a botched teleport beam and slamming into the floor.

Actually, the pile of scrap was a robot, but he might as well have been destined for the junk heap considering how much damage had been done to him. Parts of his armor were missing, torn off his body by whatever explosion had charred what remained to the point that he was mostly black and gray with only a few bits of the original blue showing. The exposed circuits and wires were hopelessly melted together, as were the strands of brown metal hair that poked through the bot's broken helmet. Somehow, miraculously, his face, while dirty and smudged, only sported a few places where the synthetic skin had torn.

The robot groaned softly, only barely conscious. His hand still clamped onto his buster casing, pressing the button that had initiated the messed up teleportation.

[craigjustcraig]

"Crapcrapcrapcrap..." Craig picked himself up out of the mess of chair he was in after falling over and raced (well, half hopped around tables and chairs) to the robot's side.

"Aw, man, you had a real winner of a day.." Craig frowned and started prying the hand off the teleport controls before the unit tried to go unstable--his strength was up to the task, though he went slow to avoid doing any more damage.

"Let's see.. boot up the mainframe and try to get a schematic to work from out of memory.. find out where I put that stuff. That stuff.. he needs it more'n me... Hope like hell there's a contact number in the communicator, otherwise."

[mega_bluebomber]

Mega Man weakly resisted having his hand removed, not yet comprehending that the teleport has, if not succeeded as planned, had at least been completed. There had been too much damage, though, so his systems simply couldn't muster up enough strength to put up any kind of a fight. In fact, his systems could barely... keep his mind... on... line....

The worlded faded in and out, and with his internal clock royally screwed up, there was no way for the battered blue bomber to tell how much time passed between each bout of consciousness. He was vaguely aware that someone was doing repairs on him, but he didn't know who.

"Dr.... Light...?" he mumbled.

[craigjustcraig]

Each time Mega Man woke, he could hear snatches of a one-sided conversation.

"Look, just turn the page and stop making faces...

"67 percent? Crap! Okay, rewiring that one. Stupid numbers..

"Where else am I going to find high-grade stuff like that? I can wait until the next shipment.. and it is pretty stupid to have armor that's crappy enough you can blow your foot off accidentally! Okay, so it won't quite match up that well.. it's still something!

"I guess band-aids will just have to do, since I'm cleaned out.. Yeah, it does look a little silly."

Each time also brought a few steps more clarity, a little bit more lucidity as his systems were stabilized and repaired. Of course, an extensive restore job like that was the sort to definitely take several days at the very least. Like Craig keeps track of time well.