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Post by Annasiel » Thu Oct 18, 2018 4:07 pm

The abomination by the door's reply did little to ease Chava's nerves. It only served the worsen the feeling of wrongness that emanated from him, augmented by the chaotic scramble of tones and pitches in his stitched-together speech. Keeping the thing in her peripheral, Chava shifted where she knelt, moving beside the injured officer across from Lind. She returned Lind's smile somewhat awkwardly.

"Hello, Lind. You are a good person." That felt wrong to say as well. Not a proper comment in the flow of conversation, contributed nothing to the matter at hand. Certainly a kind comment, a... compliment, was the word, but now was not the time for compliments. Now was the time for keeping the wounded man from dying.

The girl busied herself by following Lind's advice, taking one of his arms -- what was left of his arm -- and lifting it up. The gauze was already soaked, but the blood flow seemed slower now, an ooze through the coarse cloth rather than the gushing drip from before.

"He is losing less blood," Chava said, barely any inflection in her voice. She spoke as one might speak about a peculiar rock, perhaps, or an interesting portrait, not as one would about a dying man. "Less blood is a good thing, yes? It is slower. Less gone from his body."

Movement near the door caught her attention, and Chava glanced over, where a thin newcomer with a blanked out visor was entering the station. By their tone, they did not seem outwardly aggressive, but neither did the monster who had entered prior. At present, she trusted no one in this station, except maybe Lind. Lind was the only one she knew the name of that wasn't terrifying.

"You have asked for all names," the girl piped up after the cop in question had finished speaking, "but not everyone has given a name."

She frowned at him.

"You give your name too."
Alone she drifts from ancient mists
Nary a candle, nary a wish
But in the wont of wandering paths
Through wooded knolls, and windworn crags
She seeks a face she thought as friend
But now -- she thinks as judgement's end

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Post by illirica » Sun Oct 21, 2018 1:34 pm

Someone actually answered. The information wasn't precisely useful, as Rian could have surmised everything that the stranger had said just by observation. People often were stupid, though. And they assumed others were stupid. Rian couldn't blame them; usually they were right. The opaque face plate was perfect for hiding Rian's Thank you for the recap of the obvious expression. Helmets were a wonderful invention. Rian's script had locked into the building cameras, but there wasn't all that much to see. It kept watch on the channels anyway, partitioning them off into a mental subroutine in case anything came up.

Rian might have just left it at that and gone exploring (anywhere that wasn't here), but the man's inquiry irked him. Rian glanced over at the addressed party. Selmalite thug. Nice chassis though. Still not the sort of person Rian wanted to be associated with. "We don't know each other," it slipped in an answer to the inquiry, before the Selmalite could do something stupid like pretend they were going to be friends.

The girl kneeling on the floor by the leaking guy (yuck) had a few questions of her own. And some observations. And that's why we state the obvious, isn't it? Because of bad assumptions. "Rate of fluid output slows as less fluid remains in the containment vessel," Rian pointed out. It was a helpful comment, but probably wouldn't be taken as one. That was just one of the many things wrong with people. They didn't appreciate useful information.

Rian hoped the leaking stopped soon. It could run an assessment diagnostic, then, and possibly find out some more information on what had killed the man, once he finished the messy process of dying. Dead bodies didn't bother Ryan. Corpses were easy. People were hard.

Rian had a feeling that the girl wouldn't be too happy if the annoying leaking person became a corpse. She seemed all right. And someone had to deal with leaking people. Otherwise idiots started getting the idea that Rian ought to do it, and that was just not a thing that was going to happen. Rian pulled a few vids on empathy to modulate its tone, then added, with practiced gentleness. "You can call me Rian." The vids suggested that she'd respond better to that than RETKON. "Rian" was more human-sounding.

That's me. Just another human-person. Rian Tavros, your local Neurotic Knight.

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Post by UmbraSight » Tue Oct 23, 2018 1:41 am

A tired smile curled Lind’s lips at Chava’s compliment. It seemed a little strange, given all that was happening, but it was nice all the same. “Thank you, Chava.” She said, looking back down as she finished tying off the gauze on the man’s arm. She glanced up as the other woman asked about the man’s blood loss, the amount currently on her shirt was alarming, not counting what was on the table or — so the fact less blood was being lost by the man, even counting the sutures and wrappings was far from good.

Before she had a chance to respond, the newcomer who seemed to be more machine than… man? answered the question. She nodded grimly, her gaze shifting to the officer who said he was going to try to get help from the main station. Could he make it in time? Not likely. Lind reached up and placed her index and ring finger on the man’s carotid artery. Barely anything there at all. She looked back to the officer who had been here when she arrived, “do you have any internal Jager communication network? One that would work during a blackout?” A long shot.

“Or — do you know if you have any blood transfusion bags? Does anyone here know their blood types?” O negative would be too much to hope for wouldn’t it? “Any forensic… thing you can use to quickly check blood types?” Lind asked, her hands slipping into the man’s pockets.

Jager would have the man’s blood type on his issued ID. Or, well, she hoped they did.
//… and it was there, and her blade flicked out catching only air. She backed from the door, worn floorboards shivering with each misplaced step...// Fall of the Aelir Isles, Vol. III

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Post by Someguy500 » Sat Dec 01, 2018 4:10 pm

Trace switched gears internally, his shoulders lowering a little in the dim light. "Luca Trace. Should've mentioned earlier, sorry. As for anything I can do to contact HQ or another station short of walking there, it's out, just like everything else." Shaking his head, he looked over the bleeding man on the table again, and a very unbidden thought crossed his mind.

The guy was probably going to die, and he couldn't stop it.

Luca bit his tongue. There had to be something in the first aid kit that could help, maybe a coagulant or a transfusion bag. He found one of the latter, but it was nowhere near enough fluid in this situation and was more suited to a stabbing than whatever the hell took this poor guy's hands off. As he tried to connect it to an open vein, Trace wished for the ability to look his patient up for anything that would help. Blood types, medical history, height and weight, anything. Of course, everything was offline until further notice. He muttered a low "damn" as the bag quickly ran dry, a contrast from the officer persona he'd been putting up.
Snowskeeper wrote:"I rip off my head and slam-dunk it into the nearest trashcan

Good morning"
- May 2017

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Post by illirica » Tue Jan 08, 2019 12:08 am

People were strange. They tended to fixate on the things they couldn't change. Case in point right now, the guy who was still bleeding all over the floor. Half of them were sitting there discussing how to save him - which wasn't likely - rather than dealing with concerns that Rian felt might be more immediately relevant than how long it took a body to become a corpse based on the amount of additional fluids ported into it, and at what rate.

Rian glanced back to the outside, where the blinding light had been not too long ago. It could just leave, any time - it certainly wasn't going to save the man, and despite what some said about the Neuros Knights, Rian wasn't really the sort who wanted to put things out of their misery, either. It would rather not be involved at all - but the relevant information was that the man had started leaking somehow, and whatever had caused that didn't seem to be any of the standards.

Rian moved forward, crouching down next to the dying man, keeping its helmet entirely opaque from both sides and just watching through a camera feed - it was easier that way, with a little more distance. Easier to pretend this was just a virtual scenario. More like something RETKON could handle. Yeah. It could do this. "I don't think we have the proper technology for vitality assistance at this time," it pointed out. No one would appreciate that, of course, but that didn't change the truth. "How did this happen? A better set of questions to be asking is how we make sure this doesn't happen again."

Wait, "we?" When did this become a "we?" I don't like people! Maybe not, but RETKON did like mysteries, and this was certainly a mystery. "Did any of you see when it happened, or who or what was responsible? There's obviously been a security breach of some sort."

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Post by Snowskeeper » Tue Jan 08, 2019 6:08 pm

Someguy500 wrote:
Wed Oct 17, 2018 3:10 am
"Someone you know?"
"We don't know each other," it slipped in an answer to the inquiry, before the Selmalite could do something stupid like pretend they were going to be friends.
"What, did you forget the Secret Selmie Syborg Society Soirees?" Virtue asked, cutting between pleasantly conversational voice clips rhythmically; the sound pulsed out at the cop(?) with the questions, expressing irritation through cadence rather than tone. 'Trace' was starting to piss him off.

The question wasn't the problem; the amount of effort they were pumping into stopping the dying man from pumping out was what was bothering him. It was a waste. Even if they did stop the bleeding, they'd be carting around a jig-jagged dumbass in a pain-coma until the Blackout ended. Not worth it. Not when you didn't know how long it'd be before essential services were back up. Definitely wouldn't be worth trying to cauterize the stumps with plasma.

Least the helmet-head seemed to get that. Some streetwalker might mistake them for unmodded, if they didn't know what to look for; the balance, the weird head movements, the fucking--helmet... Looked like what some of Virtue's more irritating acquaintances in The Movement in The Clubs, after consuming a few bulbs of The Alcohol, might call a 'reno-job.' Most changes internal. Keep all the walls up, maybe, but give them a nice new coat of paint; take some time to rearrange the furniture. Install kit for a game room, perhaps, or run wiring from the router through the walls. Whatever. No sense in being an elitist prick with shit the way it was now.
"Did any of you see when it happened, or who or what was responsible? There's obviously been a security breach of some sort."
"Some genestitcher's pet freak," Virtue said, sliding into a brassy synthetic monotone. "Did a lot of screaming. Didn't see it deadon. Handiwork's plain enough." Virtue played a soft chorus of booing after the word handiwork. He turned his head towards the other cop--the one soaked in the dead man's blood--to indicate that he might know more.

Steel shit, but this place was turning into a motley; all kinds and varieties of freaks and thugs. Made a lynch squad less likely, though. Pity points for that.

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