The voice coming over the intercom brought Farfarello awake in an instant. Opening his eye, he stared up at the ceiling, seeing institutional off-white instead of skylights. He sat up, stretching his arms and struggling to remember the feeling of waking up with his body free to move as he pleased, no straightjacket to bind him.
Not in my cell. Where? Hospital? Farfarello recalled some of the gist of the intercom announcement, and scowled darkly. Mental hospital. If he was back in an institution, without a trial, without even a deportation hearing, without any memory of how he got here, there was only one reason for it.
They sold me out. Schwarz sold me out. Rage filled his head with red light and white noise and Farfarello went into predator-mode, slipping out of bed and moving to the foot of it to examine the desk for potential weapons. Later, he would wonder at the strangeness of it all, at an institution giving someone like him a room with furniture, without padded walls, with a roommate breathing quietly in the other bed. Right
( ... )
The door opened, slowly, the nurses who greeted new patients having learned long ago to stand back a bit before entering the room, just in case. They'd experienced everything from flying kicks and punches, hurled notebooks to furniture coming at them. Some patients just couldn't calm down on their own.
"Mr. Whelan?" The nurse called cheerfully, poking her head in the door. A pair of orderlies stood behind her. "Are you up?"
Farfarello kept the chair in his hand, narrowing his eye at the cautious entrance. If he threw it now, it would be wasted.
His gaze flickered briefly to the orderlies behind the nurse. Two. Small room. No weapons. Bad odds. But he was still too worked up for any kind of subterfuge, like pretending to put the chair down.
So Farfarello just snarled at the nurse, and gripped the chair hard enough that the plastic creaked.
"Mr. Whelan, just set down the chair," the nurse said, soothingly. "No one's going to hurt you. You're in a hospital." She kept her voice even, pleasant and friendly. It was always best to try and soothe confused and upset patients.
"Don't you remember coming here?" They rarely did. This place did seem to specialize in very severe disorders!
“Oh Mamo-chan,” Usagi murmured in her sleep. She rolled over a bit to get closer to him and toppled straight over the side of the bed with a resounding THUD. Usagi was a heavy sleeper so the fall wasn’t enough to rouse her completely. She also failed to hear the sound of the intercom. He must be up making me breakfast, she mused dreamily, snuggling her face into the blanket. Eggs and ham and soup and...But something wasn’t right. There was no smell of eggs or ham or soup in the air. And these blankets smelled nothing like her Mamo-chan
( ... )
HK-47 was... happy. Yes, that was the proper term. His Master was back, and just as wonderfully efficient and brutal as she had been before. Granted, there was the annoyance of the new apprentice- the female meatbag who had always attempted to lecture him before on the evils of senseless violence. At least now she seemed to have come to her senses! But she had already switched allegiances twice, and HK was determined to remove her entrails if she tried to betray the Master. Until then, he would follow his Master's orders faithfully. The thought of killing for his Master made his capacitors humm merrily, charging in anticipation of the impending violence
( ... )
HK stayed there on the floor for a few minutes, trying to piece together a coherent, logical assessment of his current (dire) situation. He kept breathing, as much as he wanted to stop the humiliating process. The charge in his capacitors hit an all time low- he wasn't going to be able to survive this. It would drive him to critical errors throughout his programming. But...
He regained clarity. His Master's orders. He had to find his Master. Master would have the answers. After all, Master was the only meatbag capable of engineering a droid such as himself, and the only one who could solve near-impossible tasks so efficiently, and with so much wonderful violence. Yes, Master would know how to make him better
( ... )
The trip through Rayden's portal must have been rougher than he'd initially expected it to be, because he found himself... waking up? Had he hit his head exiting the portal
( ... )
Comments 19
Not in my cell. Where? Hospital? Farfarello recalled some of the gist of the intercom announcement, and scowled darkly. Mental hospital. If he was back in an institution, without a trial, without even a deportation hearing, without any memory of how he got here, there was only one reason for it.
They sold me out. Schwarz sold me out. Rage filled his head with red light and white noise and Farfarello went into predator-mode, slipping out of bed and moving to the foot of it to examine the desk for potential weapons. Later, he would wonder at the strangeness of it all, at an institution giving someone like him a room with furniture, without padded walls, with a roommate breathing quietly in the other bed. Right ( ... )
Reply
"Mr. Whelan?" The nurse called cheerfully, poking her head in the door. A pair of orderlies stood behind her. "Are you up?"
Reply
His gaze flickered briefly to the orderlies behind the nurse. Two. Small room. No weapons. Bad odds. But he was still too worked up for any kind of subterfuge, like pretending to put the chair down.
So Farfarello just snarled at the nurse, and gripped the chair hard enough that the plastic creaked.
Reply
"Mr. Whelan, just set down the chair," the nurse said, soothingly. "No one's going to hurt you. You're in a hospital." She kept her voice even, pleasant and friendly. It was always best to try and soothe confused and upset patients.
"Don't you remember coming here?" They rarely did. This place did seem to specialize in very severe disorders!
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
He regained clarity. His Master's orders. He had to find his Master. Master would have the answers. After all, Master was the only meatbag capable of engineering a droid such as himself, and the only one who could solve near-impossible tasks so efficiently, and with so much wonderful violence. Yes, Master would know how to make him better ( ... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment