[ A laugh issues forth from the helmet: hoarse, raucous, only slightly broken up into static. ]
Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you'd rather be thrown away and left here to rot? That there's any fucking thing noble about letting them core you out and be done with you? Aren't you a good soldier.
[ The cord snakes itself a little further up his leg, slipping quietly under the cuff of his fatigues to brush against the skin.
It's wet to the touch, and fever-warm, and curious; and the tendril that breaks the skin is terribly, terribly fine, no thicker and no more strange than a needle. After all that, it feels prosaic. Clinical. Almost anticlimactic.
The matter occluding the faceplate writhes. ]
Rot divides its cells so fucking quickly, and by the time you feel it you're too far gone to carve it out of you, and by the time you're that far gone that's the good news. Don't you get it? They can't get rid of us either.
no subject
Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you'd rather be thrown away and left here to rot? That there's any fucking thing noble about letting them core you out and be done with you? Aren't you a good soldier.
[ The cord snakes itself a little further up his leg, slipping quietly under the cuff of his fatigues to brush against the skin.
It's wet to the touch, and fever-warm, and curious; and the tendril that breaks the skin is terribly, terribly fine, no thicker and no more strange than a needle. After all that, it feels prosaic. Clinical. Almost anticlimactic.
The matter occluding the faceplate writhes. ]
Rot divides its cells so fucking quickly, and by the time you feel it you're too far gone to carve it out of you, and by the time you're that far gone that's the good news. Don't you get it? They can't get rid of us either.