Perceptor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
percept) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2012-10-29 05:52 pm
percept) wrote in re_alignment_logs2012-10-29 05:52 pm
[ OPEN ]
WHO: SniPerceptor & whoever wanders by
WHERE: Medbay
WHEN Post-rescue
WHAT: Guess who's waking up on the wrong side of the limbless bed.
WARNINGS: Severe physical trauma including dismemberment, eye and face trauma. Potential mentions of torture.
Opticless, limbless, numb. What a fine state he'd found himself in.
Perceptor recalled very little of the rescue. After his second arm had been crudely shorn off, he had blacked out. Everything after that came in snippets of sound and sensation, flashes of excruciating consciousness snuffed out as quickly as they arose. At some point there were more voices, comfortingly familiar, sounds of conflict, the details of it beyond his ability to decipher in his current state.
He had lost his tenuous grip on consciousness again when he felt himself being moved, the jarring shocking his systems into shut down. Waking up had been less than pleasant. For a brief, panicked moment he had thought himself still with Overlord, had struggled only to find himself blind and immobile, his vocalizer rasping as he tried to call out. Hands had still him then, hands that were almost shockingly careful, helping where there had only been hurt. It was only then that he could register the berth beneath him, the pain dulled, voices soothing him.
Sensor blocks in place, Perceptor drifted in a warm, dark sea of nothingness. It should have been blissful, compared to Overlord's treatment, a welcome reprieve from the pain. Instead it left Perceptor alone with his thoughts.
He was an idiot. A weak, foolish mech. Overlord had dispatched him so easily, used him as bait, left him this... this useless lump of metal. History had repeated itself in the worst of ways, right down to the identity of his rescuer. He could recall Drift's voice clearest, and it made his fuel reserves churn to think of how pathetically relieved he had been to hear the other mech. Drift. His savior. Again. He felt furious. Sick. Pathetic. Frustrated. And the longer he lay along the longer he had to stew, playing it back, recalling the last time he'd been so seriously damaged and left an invalid.
[ ooc; prose or action as you see fit, i'm cool with either whoop ]
WHERE: Medbay
WHEN Post-rescue
WHAT: Guess who's waking up on the wrong side of the limbless bed.
WARNINGS: Severe physical trauma including dismemberment, eye and face trauma. Potential mentions of torture.
Opticless, limbless, numb. What a fine state he'd found himself in.
Perceptor recalled very little of the rescue. After his second arm had been crudely shorn off, he had blacked out. Everything after that came in snippets of sound and sensation, flashes of excruciating consciousness snuffed out as quickly as they arose. At some point there were more voices, comfortingly familiar, sounds of conflict, the details of it beyond his ability to decipher in his current state.
He had lost his tenuous grip on consciousness again when he felt himself being moved, the jarring shocking his systems into shut down. Waking up had been less than pleasant. For a brief, panicked moment he had thought himself still with Overlord, had struggled only to find himself blind and immobile, his vocalizer rasping as he tried to call out. Hands had still him then, hands that were almost shockingly careful, helping where there had only been hurt. It was only then that he could register the berth beneath him, the pain dulled, voices soothing him.
Sensor blocks in place, Perceptor drifted in a warm, dark sea of nothingness. It should have been blissful, compared to Overlord's treatment, a welcome reprieve from the pain. Instead it left Perceptor alone with his thoughts.
He was an idiot. A weak, foolish mech. Overlord had dispatched him so easily, used him as bait, left him this... this useless lump of metal. History had repeated itself in the worst of ways, right down to the identity of his rescuer. He could recall Drift's voice clearest, and it made his fuel reserves churn to think of how pathetically relieved he had been to hear the other mech. Drift. His savior. Again. He felt furious. Sick. Pathetic. Frustrated. And the longer he lay along the longer he had to stew, playing it back, recalling the last time he'd been so seriously damaged and left an invalid.
[ ooc; prose or action as you see fit, i'm cool with either whoop ]