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Feel pretty crap. Try not to show it. Still not fully conscious. Shitload of drugs pumping through my veins. According to the Monitor I’m supposed to be grateful I’m alive. Whatever. All I know is my ribs hurt like a bastard and my legs ache from all the strain.
I was brought out of coma yesterday into this white room. Out for over a month. Touch and go for the first two days but once I was out of danger my body apparently recovered quickly. The automated physio getting more intense as my broken bones healed. And now I’m in some kind of muscle suit that’s supposed to get me back in synch. This information is fed to me by a straight faced medico on the Monitor, he described himself as a trauma surgeon.
It was definitely traumatic. I can’t remember the crash…. just the missiles and him… the other Rider. But where the hell did He come from? Doc on the Monitor says not to force the memories, let everything come back in its own time. Fuck that. I need to know what happened, who he was…. who he is. I need Evinrud.
Gabriel came last night. He passed me the Katana and a new pair of black loafers via hermetic seal. Then he sat in the room outside and spoke to me through the door. Nice touch. Says they don’t want to risk infection, my lungs still weak. Same excuse for this unit strapped to my leg, feeding nanotechs into my blood like I’m still connected. They reckon I need it while I recover. I smell bullshit, they’re avoiding telling me something.
G didn’t say much, ‘too soon, you need to get well, not the right environment’. Half dead I could pick he was hedging. My mentor, my fucking friend. Apparently it was him that pulled us out of the wreckage. Can I trust him?
The Monitor says Evinrud is fully repaired. Good old Bin, crafty bugger but he knows what he’s doing with the cy-engine. Forty storey drop and our connection never severed. Probably all that saved me from dying of blood loss.
It says they’re reconnecting us tomorrow. Testing nerve conditions and sensitivity and if I get the green light I can ditch the bag on the leg and get the real thing. Evinrud. Two weeks in the pulse have gotta be better than the robotic limb pummeling I’m getting now.
I need to think, try to figure this shit out. Never been any good at it though, always better at running than cerebral processing. But something tells me that I can’t run from this. And who the fuck can I trust?
Maybe I just I need to let off some steam. G said they would offer me leave once I was well. This time around I’ll take it. Boot shopping and a few beers, back to life presents to myself.
I was brought out of coma yesterday into this white room. Out for over a month. Touch and go for the first two days but once I was out of danger my body apparently recovered quickly. The automated physio getting more intense as my broken bones healed. And now I’m in some kind of muscle suit that’s supposed to get me back in synch. This information is fed to me by a straight faced medico on the Monitor, he described himself as a trauma surgeon.
It was definitely traumatic. I can’t remember the crash…. just the missiles and him… the other Rider. But where the hell did He come from? Doc on the Monitor says not to force the memories, let everything come back in its own time. Fuck that. I need to know what happened, who he was…. who he is. I need Evinrud.
Gabriel came last night. He passed me the Katana and a new pair of black loafers via hermetic seal. Then he sat in the room outside and spoke to me through the door. Nice touch. Says they don’t want to risk infection, my lungs still weak. Same excuse for this unit strapped to my leg, feeding nanotechs into my blood like I’m still connected. They reckon I need it while I recover. I smell bullshit, they’re avoiding telling me something.
G didn’t say much, ‘too soon, you need to get well, not the right environment’. Half dead I could pick he was hedging. My mentor, my fucking friend. Apparently it was him that pulled us out of the wreckage. Can I trust him?
The Monitor says Evinrud is fully repaired. Good old Bin, crafty bugger but he knows what he’s doing with the cy-engine. Forty storey drop and our connection never severed. Probably all that saved me from dying of blood loss.
It says they’re reconnecting us tomorrow. Testing nerve conditions and sensitivity and if I get the green light I can ditch the bag on the leg and get the real thing. Evinrud. Two weeks in the pulse have gotta be better than the robotic limb pummeling I’m getting now.
I need to think, try to figure this shit out. Never been any good at it though, always better at running than cerebral processing. But something tells me that I can’t run from this. And who the fuck can I trust?
Maybe I just I need to let off some steam. G said they would offer me leave once I was well. This time around I’ll take it. Boot shopping and a few beers, back to life presents to myself.
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