A Very Short SOS: text; 5/22

[notglitching]

Data request. Repair: mental functions (users).

[Is somebody taking the time to be comprehensible? Not today! A second later, one word appends itself to the end of the mass text.]

Urgent.

Comments

[sickbays]

[ McCoy'll be waiting for him there, hovering as close to the entrance as he could without making it seem too obvious he was expecting someone. It's an agonizing experience standing around like this, playing out every worst case scenario in his head.

Maybe he should have asked the man for his location. Nothing could have happened to him or the patient along the way, could it? The doctor frowns down at the scanner he has in his hand, eyeing the doorway. ]

[notglitching]

[It won't take long. Rinzler usually moves quietly as a rule, but here and now, stealth is so far down the priority list as to not even be in queue. There's a dark blur of motion, a clank of metal, and the program slides to a stop just in front of the door.

The doctor will see a man-shaped figure encased entirely by flexible dark armor and a mask. Rinzler's outfit is covered by sparse clusters of red-orange lights—circuitry—and an odd mechanical rumbling emits constantly from the program's shape. Right now, it's clipped and harsh, closer to a growl.

Batons are clipped to the program's sides, the curved edge of some kind of blade visible over one shoulder. The other side is obscured entirely. For all that the program's build seems to be much slighter, he's lifting (and running with) the human in his power armor using one arm and no effort. The position certainly isn't medically optimal, and it's probably fortunate Wash isn't physically harmed. His mental state, on the other hand...]

[hatesimprovising]

[ Just as he has been the entire way that Rinzler has carried him, Wash is utterly limp where he hangs off of the program's shoulder. The gray and yellow power armour covers his body, everything but his head as his helmet had been forced off long ago. He would appear unconscious if it wasn't for the fact that his eyes are open, blinking, though staring off into the distance without really seeming to be looking at anything.

There is no awareness. He doesn't know where he is, that he's being carried around, or that there's even anything going on in the world outside of his head. Everything in there has finally gotten the better of him, broken him, reduced him to...this.

The one thing that makes him seem to be even remotely conscious of anything is the fact that he's speaking--mumbling, really. It's all nonsense though, no context given and ultimately it will mean little to nothing to most who hear it. To Wash, though, it's everything. All the things that have plagued his mind for months, the things that have come up again and again, all of it so important.

But important to whom? They're all memories in his head, but not all truly belong to him. They could be important to Washington, to Epsilon, to Alpha, or to Leonard. Even he isn't sure of which is which anymore. ]

T-Texas... She's-- I couldn't help her, I couldn't...save her... My fault, it's...

[ There's a noise like a soft, pained groan, but it ends as quickly as it started. ]

...Hate goodbyes...

[ It should be clear to just about anyone that his mental state is, put lightly, Not Good. ]