NATE
i would do anything for you to love me,
like i'm an american hero, baby
like i'm an american hero, baby
It’s slow to start. He’s slow to start. Synapses fire slowly, and then all at once, sending servos twitching, reawakening a body that has been asleep for a season. Checks are run through, a system wide scan looking for new damages, hiccups to the waking process, and finds none. Nate’s mind is the last thing to wake up, but it makes up for it by very helpfully providing the last few moments it remembers.
He’s falling.
Nate sits bolt upright in the bed, a snarl tearing out of his throat and and his face twisted in a mask of rage, of seething hatred. His false arms curl around him, defensive but ready for anything, filling the room with a dim glow. The room. The… what?
Online is not necessarily the same thing as functioning, and it takes Nate longer than it should to look around, to really see the place he’s in. And only when it clicks does his mind offer the last little bit of context. He isn’t falling. He’d fallen. Smashed to the ground like a broken toy, having done nothing.
He’s falling.
Nate sits bolt upright in the bed, a snarl tearing out of his throat and and his face twisted in a mask of rage, of seething hatred. His false arms curl around him, defensive but ready for anything, filling the room with a dim glow. The room. The… what?
Online is not necessarily the same thing as functioning, and it takes Nate longer than it should to look around, to really see the place he’s in. And only when it clicks does his mind offer the last little bit of context. He isn’t falling. He’d fallen. Smashed to the ground like a broken toy, having done nothing.
star-spangled in my manner, shaking
every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
every man's hand in the presidential manor, you see
