Tyl Regor (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
biochemastery) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
reverielogs2018-09-08 11:00 pm
biochemastery) wrote in reverielogs2018-09-08 11:00 pm
Entry tags:
[open] Hello, world!
» WHO? Tyl Regor and YOU! Yes, you specifically!
» WHEN? Day of his arrival
» WHERE? Around the station.
» WHAT? Awakening, first-aid, unwise decisions, and monologuing!
» WARNINGS? Prompt #2 contains blood, injury, medical situation.
01. Arrival
Again. Again! Filthy lizards, how dare they! Breaking, contaminating everything! His Tubemen, his tomb, his favorite set of hands! Organs, too, several of them. Definitely several. There had been pain. So much pain, more parts to repair and replace. Goodbye, kidney, ungrateful little creature.
And he still hurt. But he was awake now, wasn't he? Yes. Yes, he could smell things, dreams didn't do that. But what he smelled was wrong. Not his lab. Not lesser labs, not even a butcher's block on some stinking galleon. Couldn't describe it. Maybe Corpus? Why? How? He couldn't see. Was he blind? Who did this?
Oh. His faceplate was askew. He reached up with an elbow to fix it, but found instead that he had hands. His hands. Good!
But not. This wasn't a Corpus ship either. The wrong metal, the wrong lights. The right hum, but it was through the deck, not whining from the little engines of Ospreys, the poxy, proxy metal flies--
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Who is there?" No one answered. That wasn't going to stop him. "Someone rude. Awful, nasty behavior. Take me from my work, my progress," He pushed himself up--Ngh, his head! Nauseous, but clear-eyed, could remember things, probably no brain damage. "Tenno leeches wriggling through my home and you bring me here!" His feet tik-tik-tiked across the floor as he paced. "Unacceptable. Unbelievable. So who? Not Tenno, not their Lotus, pseudo-Tenno doesn't care. Not Corpus. Perrin peaceniks? Hexus bores? Maybe. Why? Why the capture, why the limbs, who would be idiot enough to--"
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Don't interrupt!" That's it. He was breaking down the walls and leaving. Goodbye.
Oh. The door wasn't locked. Hm.
Tik-tik-tik down the empty corridor, looking for something to accost for this transgression.
02. Medical [warning: blood, injury, and cyborg medical stuff!]
Stupid, stupid kidney. It couldn't make a graceful exit. Well fine, he'd never liked it anyway. Or maybe it wasn't the kidney. But something in there was being annoyingly fussy. Might be bleeding somewhere, or an implant still needed repairs. Well, he'd wanted to find out if this station had a medical bay regardless.
And it did! He was honestly surprised. Well then! Time to take stock.
Ow. No. Couldn't wait. Time to take himself apart instead. Whatever's in easy reach will have to do for now, nosing through the cabinets later. Examine, diagnose, fix what's gone wrong.
And so Regor can be found in the medbay, sitting on one of the beds with a tray of tools and medical supplies next to him, muttering under his breath.
A portion of his suit has been pulled open, revealing an unpleasant sight: ashy-pale skin, shot through with dark metallic tubing and ports leading to more devices hidden beneath the flesh. He's covered in bruises, the worst of which is an angrily inflamed patch around one of the ports. At its center is an open wound, slowly bleeding down to the boundary line between flesh and metal. An indicator light next to it is flickering.
"What idiot put me back together?" he wonders aloud, examining the damage. "Nothing's finished! Mental note: Remember this, when I get back. Find them, give them another scalpel and make them--Rhh! Katrarr!"
He gasps, pulling his hand away. His initial diagnosis: Everything hurts, and he hates life.
03. A Hallway Somewhere
Patched up, dosed with whatever antibiotics and painkillers he could find, and recovering. Brain still buzzing from the stress of messing about in his own torso. Not the first time he'd done it, though results were usually more elegant.
Now. Time to take something else apart. Namely, that wall over there. He'd found a likely-looking section where there was enough space for his fingers to grip the edge of the plating and pull. This wasn't the right pair for heavy work, but those hands were probably still back in his lab, somewhere.
Oh well! "Getting into the guts of something's always the best way to learn how to deal with it," he said, apparently addressing the wall itself as he braced to pull. "And you certainly deserve it." The plating was loose, slowly beginning to warp under his grip. "Open wide..."
He almost gets a look. Almost. But a wave of dizziness and nausea leaves him reeling, losing his grip on the plating and staggering back. "What--?"
It isn't easy to balance on thin little running blade feet when you might've just been poisoned by something. He stumbles, sinking to his knees against the opposite wall. What was that? Oh, if he's just been irradiated, he's going to be so angry.
04. Observation Deck
Another trip to medical later to check himself over, and he's feeling less terrible. The sickness had been temporary. And his earlier patch-job on himself was still holding together. A little more antibiotics, just in case. Had to be careful, though always had side effects.
Side effects usually didn't include astronomical hallucinations, so he was going to have to conclude: He didn't know that planet. He didn't like that planet, on principle.
Did any of this nonsense have to do with the Sentients? None of this looked like the tomb he'd cracked open, too primitive, too plain. But it had still managed to snatch him out of the heart of the Grineer Empire and dump him here, somewhere that couldn't possibly be the Origin System. So he couldn't call for reinforcements, have this place taken apart piece by piece and melt it down to slag.
It was on the To-Do List, but he had no idea how long it would take. "No time for any of this," he groused. "Work's not gonna wait, genome's not gonna wait. Queens won't either." Which was going to be a disaster. "Find someone else, someone's going to take over, take my science!" Unthinkable! "Someone's sticky hands all over my work! Incompetent second-rate tinkerers ripping up all my progress--" His organs not-so-gently reminded him that he was gesticulating too energetically for their tastes at the moment. For a moment, he just stood there and wheezed.
"You're going to regret this," he finally manages, pointing a finger at the planet. Disappointingly, it doesn't answer.
» WHEN? Day of his arrival
» WHERE? Around the station.
» WHAT? Awakening, first-aid, unwise decisions, and monologuing!
» WARNINGS? Prompt #2 contains blood, injury, medical situation.
01. Arrival
Again. Again! Filthy lizards, how dare they! Breaking, contaminating everything! His Tubemen, his tomb, his favorite set of hands! Organs, too, several of them. Definitely several. There had been pain. So much pain, more parts to repair and replace. Goodbye, kidney, ungrateful little creature.
And he still hurt. But he was awake now, wasn't he? Yes. Yes, he could smell things, dreams didn't do that. But what he smelled was wrong. Not his lab. Not lesser labs, not even a butcher's block on some stinking galleon. Couldn't describe it. Maybe Corpus? Why? How? He couldn't see. Was he blind? Who did this?
Oh. His faceplate was askew. He reached up with an elbow to fix it, but found instead that he had hands. His hands. Good!
But not. This wasn't a Corpus ship either. The wrong metal, the wrong lights. The right hum, but it was through the deck, not whining from the little engines of Ospreys, the poxy, proxy metal flies--
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Who is there?" No one answered. That wasn't going to stop him. "Someone rude. Awful, nasty behavior. Take me from my work, my progress," He pushed himself up--Ngh, his head! Nauseous, but clear-eyed, could remember things, probably no brain damage. "Tenno leeches wriggling through my home and you bring me here!" His feet tik-tik-tiked across the floor as he paced. "Unacceptable. Unbelievable. So who? Not Tenno, not their Lotus, pseudo-Tenno doesn't care. Not Corpus. Perrin peaceniks? Hexus bores? Maybe. Why? Why the capture, why the limbs, who would be idiot enough to--"
"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."
"Don't interrupt!" That's it. He was breaking down the walls and leaving. Goodbye.
Oh. The door wasn't locked. Hm.
Tik-tik-tik down the empty corridor, looking for something to accost for this transgression.
02. Medical [warning: blood, injury, and cyborg medical stuff!]
Stupid, stupid kidney. It couldn't make a graceful exit. Well fine, he'd never liked it anyway. Or maybe it wasn't the kidney. But something in there was being annoyingly fussy. Might be bleeding somewhere, or an implant still needed repairs. Well, he'd wanted to find out if this station had a medical bay regardless.
And it did! He was honestly surprised. Well then! Time to take stock.
Ow. No. Couldn't wait. Time to take himself apart instead. Whatever's in easy reach will have to do for now, nosing through the cabinets later. Examine, diagnose, fix what's gone wrong.
And so Regor can be found in the medbay, sitting on one of the beds with a tray of tools and medical supplies next to him, muttering under his breath.
A portion of his suit has been pulled open, revealing an unpleasant sight: ashy-pale skin, shot through with dark metallic tubing and ports leading to more devices hidden beneath the flesh. He's covered in bruises, the worst of which is an angrily inflamed patch around one of the ports. At its center is an open wound, slowly bleeding down to the boundary line between flesh and metal. An indicator light next to it is flickering.
"What idiot put me back together?" he wonders aloud, examining the damage. "Nothing's finished! Mental note: Remember this, when I get back. Find them, give them another scalpel and make them--Rhh! Katrarr!"
He gasps, pulling his hand away. His initial diagnosis: Everything hurts, and he hates life.
03. A Hallway Somewhere
Patched up, dosed with whatever antibiotics and painkillers he could find, and recovering. Brain still buzzing from the stress of messing about in his own torso. Not the first time he'd done it, though results were usually more elegant.
Now. Time to take something else apart. Namely, that wall over there. He'd found a likely-looking section where there was enough space for his fingers to grip the edge of the plating and pull. This wasn't the right pair for heavy work, but those hands were probably still back in his lab, somewhere.
Oh well! "Getting into the guts of something's always the best way to learn how to deal with it," he said, apparently addressing the wall itself as he braced to pull. "And you certainly deserve it." The plating was loose, slowly beginning to warp under his grip. "Open wide..."
He almost gets a look. Almost. But a wave of dizziness and nausea leaves him reeling, losing his grip on the plating and staggering back. "What--?"
It isn't easy to balance on thin little running blade feet when you might've just been poisoned by something. He stumbles, sinking to his knees against the opposite wall. What was that? Oh, if he's just been irradiated, he's going to be so angry.
04. Observation Deck
Another trip to medical later to check himself over, and he's feeling less terrible. The sickness had been temporary. And his earlier patch-job on himself was still holding together. A little more antibiotics, just in case. Had to be careful, though always had side effects.
Side effects usually didn't include astronomical hallucinations, so he was going to have to conclude: He didn't know that planet. He didn't like that planet, on principle.
Did any of this nonsense have to do with the Sentients? None of this looked like the tomb he'd cracked open, too primitive, too plain. But it had still managed to snatch him out of the heart of the Grineer Empire and dump him here, somewhere that couldn't possibly be the Origin System. So he couldn't call for reinforcements, have this place taken apart piece by piece and melt it down to slag.
It was on the To-Do List, but he had no idea how long it would take. "No time for any of this," he groused. "Work's not gonna wait, genome's not gonna wait. Queens won't either." Which was going to be a disaster. "Find someone else, someone's going to take over, take my science!" Unthinkable! "Someone's sticky hands all over my work! Incompetent second-rate tinkerers ripping up all my progress--" His organs not-so-gently reminded him that he was gesticulating too energetically for their tastes at the moment. For a moment, he just stood there and wheezed.
"You're going to regret this," he finally manages, pointing a finger at the planet. Disappointingly, it doesn't answer.