𝜯 ten

[wearethemeta.livejournal.com]

Wilderness Filter

[Meta may look relaxed outwardly, sitting on the stump, journal open on his lap, unmoving as he records the more interesting dictated entries into his audio logs for future reference. Beneath the surface, however, under the helmet, the AIs are all but still. Speculation, anticipation, and strategy. Giddyness and a resounding, malicious patience.]

[At this point he was only paying peripheral attention to Amy, seemingly to have forgotten her at the moment. He purred, deeply, as something in the journal caught his attention. ]

[His guard was down. Or, it was misdirection. It could also be that he just didn't believe Rory to be any sort of challenge, and hardly worth the effort of posturing. Whatever the driving force behind it, that was the scene that Rory would find.]

Comments

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[there's enough time for Rory to register that the second shot got through and that maybe (hopefully, please please please) the third shot will do some damage, when--

--suddenly the last two shots are fizzing into empty air and the Meta's popping back into existence right next to him, armored hands gripping his gun arm hard enough to crush--

--and Rory's snapping his head around to look at him, mouth dropping open in a second of awful clarity.

Oh, shit.

He doesn't even have enough time to say it]

[wearethemeta.livejournal.com]

[Gripping hard and pulling, he's bound and determined at this point to get what he came for, one way or another.]

[too-fairytale.livejournal.com]

STOP!

[Amy screams, because she just had that moment of awful clarity, too]

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[and Rory's pulling up and back hard with his forearm, eyes wide and frantic, even though he knows it's no use--]

[wearethemeta.livejournal.com]

[Pulls. HARD, tearing the arm at the shoulder with no hesitance or thought towards its owner. It's odd, not like any cyborg he's known, the plastic skin more snapping with a clean break instead of a rough, uneven rip. Fluid leaks out of both ends as he finally separates it with a quick, sharp jerk.]

[Letting go of Rory and walkng off, inspecting his prize]

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[Rory is in such shock that at first he doesn't even register that the Meta has ripped his bloody arm off. He can only stare open-mouthed at the blank space where his arm should be, blinking. Then the Meta is turning and leaving and he can see his hand, hinge open and gun still out, leaving with him.

Then he's blinking at his shoulder--which ends abruptly and is leaking hydraulic fluid (how does he know that?) and trailing a few tiny tubes, shiny metal visible and poking out of flesh-colored plastic. There's a funny roaring in his ears and Amy might be screaming but he's not sure; his vision is fritzing and fading and he can feel himself shutting down--everything's gone into overload--and he tries to say something as he sways on the spot, but nothing comes out]

[too-fairytale.livejournal.com]

[Amy is indeed screaming, because if she isn't screaming then she's going to throw up--there's no blood or bits of bone or flesh, of course, but that doesn't make the fact that Rory just had his fucking arm RIPPED OFF right in front of her any less horrific to have witnessed. She wants to get up and try to grab his arm back, chase the Meta down and latch on to him until he gives it up, something, ANYTHING, but when she tries to stand, a sharp throb of pain shoots through her stomach and she subsides back to the ground with a whimper.

[wearethemeta.livejournal.com]

[He's turning it over, looking at it from every angle, poking it, pulling at it, trying to figure out where the gun starts and the hand ends]

[He stops. It just doesn't make any sense, this weapon. The AIs are snapping and shrieking in his head.]

[With a dissatisfied growl, he'll toss it over his shoulder, and go about collecting his discarded belongings, the axe, maces, and journal, before slumping off into the night.]

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[Rory's too far gone to notice this. His vision sputters as whatever passes for his internal systems try to restart one last time before finally going dead. He falls over onto his back with a sick thud, eyes closed, unconscious. Offline. Powered down. Broken battery. He's not sure what it would be called, were he awake, but it doesn't matter. He's motionless and unresponsive and that's that]

[too-fairytale.livejournal.com]

[Amy flinches, hard, as Rory hits the ground and the OH MY GOD the Meta just THREW HIS ARM AWAY LIKE A BROKEN TOY--]

Rory!

[she pulls herself over to him, unaware that tears are streaming down her cheeks, a sharp throb of pain shooting through her stomach but she ignores it; he looks like he's unconscious but robots can't pass out. Can they? He can't bleed... can he even be in shock? She jostles him with her good hand, then slaps at his face]

Rory--wake up! Turn back on!

[nurse-boy.livejournal.com]

[sorry, Amy. Nothing. His face just limply rolls to one side when slapped. You don't even get the reassurance of a pulse to let you know whether or not he's still alive (or able to wake back up)]