Crackling, warping energy, inside of him, inside of him- His internals scream warnings across his vision, disintegrating into static as soon as they form; his body is crying out for help, Quick's crying out for help, and there's no one to hear.
His frame feels too big for itself. It's his brother's Atomic Fire all over again. It is worse than his Atomic Fire. At least when Heatman melted him down to slag it was all of him, not the horrifying, sickening feeling of sloshing inside of him; he chokes and gags, and he thinks it might be on his own internals. There's the sound of metal warping, all around him and in his audials, so loud he thinks even he might go deaf.
He's not sure how much time has passed. Too little and too much. It's time being relative, all over again. Did he black out, briefly? His systems are throwing up errors again and half of them don't make sense. There are pieces missing except they are fine except they are not and- It hurts. It hurts.
The screams choke off into wheezing, spatters of silver coughed through unsteady vents. The pain doesn't go away. It is less, but it aches solidly inside of him, instead of the woozily sloshing feeling from earlier. It's hard to think through it. He tries so hard to blink away the 'ERROR: INCOMPATIBLE PARTS' that pops up over his vision, and tastes metallic on his teeth.
For a moment, something in him wants to break. Wants to bend to this. Nearly, he drops his head. But then black and red flashes over his vision, a new spike of pain through his processor, and his head jerks up into a whimper. It's all he has left to give. ]
HEY DO YOU LIKE ROBO-GORE I LIKE ROBO-GORE
Crackling, warping energy, inside of him, inside of him- His internals scream warnings across his vision, disintegrating into static as soon as they form; his body is crying out for help, Quick's crying out for help, and there's no one to hear.
His frame feels too big for itself. It's his brother's Atomic Fire all over again. It is worse than his Atomic Fire. At least when Heatman melted him down to slag it was all of him, not the horrifying, sickening feeling of sloshing inside of him; he chokes and gags, and he thinks it might be on his own internals. There's the sound of metal warping, all around him and in his audials, so loud he thinks even he might go deaf.
He's not sure how much time has passed. Too little and too much. It's time being relative, all over again. Did he black out, briefly? His systems are throwing up errors again and half of them don't make sense. There are pieces missing except they are fine except they are not and- It hurts. It hurts.
The screams choke off into wheezing, spatters of silver coughed through unsteady vents. The pain doesn't go away. It is less, but it aches solidly inside of him, instead of the woozily sloshing feeling from earlier. It's hard to think through it. He tries so hard to blink away the 'ERROR: INCOMPATIBLE PARTS' that pops up over his vision, and tastes metallic on his teeth.
For a moment, something in him wants to break. Wants to bend to this. Nearly, he drops his head. But then black and red flashes over his vision, a new spike of pain through his processor, and his head jerks up into a whimper. It's all he has left to give. ]