Elenion Aura
Two Thousand Club
Ezekiel Locke
The Maverick
Mechanic
The Maverick
Mechanic
System Ready. . .
Oh, fuck this. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking. . . F U C K.
Things so far were good. They were going good. Okay. Okay. Things were, eh, they were okay. Could be better, could be better. Alright, alright! Things were pretty bad. Between the alarms blaring, and the doors suddenly auto-unlocking. Oh, and the imminent threat of assault by a hostile invading force. Yeah. Not a great combo. AND, to make matters worse, Zeke was in the middle of a particularly sweet little side-project that he'd hate to get out before he'd finished it. Luckily, for the time being, it seemed there weren't any peeping Toms around. Or murderous insurgents for that matter. Which was good. All that left was the matter of the alarm.
Lugging his rickety metal chair underneath the blaring siren, Zeke hopped up, popped off the plastic casing and - in a few ticks - had reset the whole system. He took a moment to bask in the blissful silence. And now, hold on, I know what you're thinking. . . "B-.. B-b-but Zeke! T-t-the b-b-bad gu--" Sh, sh, sh! Shut up. Anybody with half a brain knew by now that the rig was under attack. Having the alarm continuously running was an irritating redundancy that was, as of now, rectified. You're all welcome. Now, to get those pesky door locks back online.
Whistling a cheery little number as he squatted down in the doorway that divided his room from the hall outside, Zeke reached his cybernetic arm into the space between door and door frame, the soft-metal components squishing and rearranging to fit - snugly - inside. He started to fiddle around. It was only a matter of time before his finger port found an access point, and from there it was all gravy, baby.
Zeke was happily working when he thought he heard muffled, hurried footsteps coming from around a bend in the hall. He convinced himself it was only his imagination - til he heard it again, clearly this time. Someone - or something - was coming this way. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" He worked faster, and sloppier. So I don't work well under pressure? Cut me some slack, I almost died - like - twice this week, okay? Jeez. "Fuck!" He was out of time.
Double fuck. His hand was stuck. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of some Tron-looking dude coming up the hall, heading his way. Okay, Zeke. Play it cool, play it cool. Maybe he's a friendly. Either way, don't wanna piss 'im off. "Ha, uh.--" He grunted, trying to wrench his arm out of the slat behind the door, to no avail. "How's it-- c'mon, ugh -- going?" He thought he felt something loosen. "Uh, hold that thought..." He entreated the armored energizer bunny as he braced his leg up against the door frame and push/pulled with all his might. Pop. He was free! Phew.
"Ah, shit!" He'd forgotten his manners. "The name's Zeke." He put out his cybernetic hand to shake, only to realize it looked more like a half-filled water balloon stuffed with oblong hunks of pseudo-flesh and exposed wiring. Zeke quickly recovered with some well executed finger-guns. Excuse me, finger gun. "So, uh. . . If you don't mind, I'll just go, uh, back in here," he motioned with his non-gimp arm to his room behind him, "and you can go. . . On your way." He cleared his throat, then looked to see if anything interesting was happening over on the other end of the hallway. Awkward.
Tags: The Regal Rper BriiAngelic
Oh, fuck this. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking. . . F U C K.
Things so far were good. They were going good. Okay. Okay. Things were, eh, they were okay. Could be better, could be better. Alright, alright! Things were pretty bad. Between the alarms blaring, and the doors suddenly auto-unlocking. Oh, and the imminent threat of assault by a hostile invading force. Yeah. Not a great combo. AND, to make matters worse, Zeke was in the middle of a particularly sweet little side-project that he'd hate to get out before he'd finished it. Luckily, for the time being, it seemed there weren't any peeping Toms around. Or murderous insurgents for that matter. Which was good. All that left was the matter of the alarm.
Lugging his rickety metal chair underneath the blaring siren, Zeke hopped up, popped off the plastic casing and - in a few ticks - had reset the whole system. He took a moment to bask in the blissful silence. And now, hold on, I know what you're thinking. . . "B-.. B-b-but Zeke! T-t-the b-b-bad gu--" Sh, sh, sh! Shut up. Anybody with half a brain knew by now that the rig was under attack. Having the alarm continuously running was an irritating redundancy that was, as of now, rectified. You're all welcome. Now, to get those pesky door locks back online.
Whistling a cheery little number as he squatted down in the doorway that divided his room from the hall outside, Zeke reached his cybernetic arm into the space between door and door frame, the soft-metal components squishing and rearranging to fit - snugly - inside. He started to fiddle around. It was only a matter of time before his finger port found an access point, and from there it was all gravy, baby.
Zeke was happily working when he thought he heard muffled, hurried footsteps coming from around a bend in the hall. He convinced himself it was only his imagination - til he heard it again, clearly this time. Someone - or something - was coming this way. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" He worked faster, and sloppier. So I don't work well under pressure? Cut me some slack, I almost died - like - twice this week, okay? Jeez. "Fuck!" He was out of time.
Double fuck. His hand was stuck. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of some Tron-looking dude coming up the hall, heading his way. Okay, Zeke. Play it cool, play it cool. Maybe he's a friendly. Either way, don't wanna piss 'im off. "Ha, uh.--" He grunted, trying to wrench his arm out of the slat behind the door, to no avail. "How's it-- c'mon, ugh -- going?" He thought he felt something loosen. "Uh, hold that thought..." He entreated the armored energizer bunny as he braced his leg up against the door frame and push/pulled with all his might. Pop. He was free! Phew.
"Ah, shit!" He'd forgotten his manners. "The name's Zeke." He put out his cybernetic hand to shake, only to realize it looked more like a half-filled water balloon stuffed with oblong hunks of pseudo-flesh and exposed wiring. Zeke quickly recovered with some well executed finger-guns. Excuse me, finger gun. "So, uh. . . If you don't mind, I'll just go, uh, back in here," he motioned with his non-gimp arm to his room behind him, "and you can go. . . On your way." He cleared his throat, then looked to see if anything interesting was happening over on the other end of the hallway. Awkward.
Tags: The Regal Rper BriiAngelic
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