[He squeaks when he sees the fist come flying at him.
Technically he could have dodged it, but he's stuck between a rock and a hard place because he knows people can see him and he's got a lifetime of keeping his shit together enough to keep him palatable for people who might be a little weirded out by his whole limb situation. Regardless, the way that his head swings back might have spectators wondering if his neck just broke.
His vision goes white for a split second, and before he can try to get his sight back, he gets shaken like a rope toy in a pitbull's mouth. If Dolph is trying to jog his memory, all he's really accomplishing is the direct opposite. For a second, he can barely remember the crosses on the Board's masks, much less the details of a set he wasn't there for.
He scrambles around in his memories of the last twenty-four hours. Fuck, that's right, he barely has any sleep in him. The morning news, delivered by "himself". A line. Sigma's random phone call. The judicial hall -- wait, there were kids there! No levers, though. Bullfrog's enclosure. Just the two of them. Then Red--
Why does he keep getting beat up by Eden's elite forces? Defected or otherwise. The Board should have protected him from -- No, shut up dipshit, focus.
He left and bought firearms. Tried to sober up at the cafe. Told himself to go fuck himself (no, not the one on TV). Marched his ass right to the studio, dealt with almost no security (what the hell was that all about), sends a bullet flying and makes his demands. He gets them to call...
The countdown...
The little human girl with the excited smile, like she'd gotten on the gameshow of her dreams.
A gameshow, like watching someone die, guilty or otherwise, was merely entertainment.
No, wait, go back. The kid and the lever.
You can see the realization dawn on him, eyes large as dinner plates. He tries to say something, but it comes out as only a choked noise. He may not have a throat, but he still needs those lungs to breathe. In a desperate and fruitless bid for release, he grasps Laserhawk's metal forearm in both hands and kicks at the air below him.
He knows what this looks like, and there's nothing he can say that won't make him sound absolutely fucking unhinged or coming up with impossible lies. Even if he could figure out what to say, he can't get enough air in him to get it out.]
no subject
Technically he could have dodged it, but he's stuck between a rock and a hard place because he knows people can see him and he's got a lifetime of keeping his shit together enough to keep him palatable for people who might be a little weirded out by his whole limb situation. Regardless, the way that his head swings back might have spectators wondering if his neck just broke.
His vision goes white for a split second, and before he can try to get his sight back, he gets shaken like a rope toy in a pitbull's mouth. If Dolph is trying to jog his memory, all he's really accomplishing is the direct opposite. For a second, he can barely remember the crosses on the Board's masks, much less the details of a set he wasn't there for.
He scrambles around in his memories of the last twenty-four hours. Fuck, that's right, he barely has any sleep in him. The morning news, delivered by "himself". A line. Sigma's random phone call. The judicial hall -- wait, there were kids there! No levers, though. Bullfrog's enclosure. Just the two of them. Then Red--
Why does he keep getting beat up by Eden's elite forces? Defected or otherwise. The Board should have protected him from -- No, shut up dipshit, focus.
He left and bought firearms. Tried to sober up at the cafe. Told himself to go fuck himself (no, not the one on TV). Marched his ass right to the studio, dealt with almost no security (what the hell was that all about), sends a bullet flying and makes his demands. He gets them to call...
The countdown...
The little human girl with the excited smile, like she'd gotten on the gameshow of her dreams.
A gameshow, like watching someone die, guilty or otherwise, was merely entertainment.
No, wait, go back. The kid and the lever.
You can see the realization dawn on him, eyes large as dinner plates. He tries to say something, but it comes out as only a choked noise. He may not have a throat, but he still needs those lungs to breathe. In a desperate and fruitless bid for release, he grasps Laserhawk's metal forearm in both hands and kicks at the air below him.
He knows what this looks like, and there's nothing he can say that won't make him sound absolutely fucking unhinged or coming up with impossible lies. Even if he could figure out what to say, he can't get enough air in him to get it out.]
Ee-egh--t!!!