originally posted in:The New Dojo
"N-NO! UNHAND ME! UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!"
[i]Dim cried in protest, but the senile old man could barely move with the hunk of metal pinning him down. Dim thrashed hither and yon, becoming progressively more and more violent as he remained still by Orion's grasp. Dim gritted his teeth and stared at Orion, seething with fury.[/i]
"UNHAND ME YOU ELDRITCH THING! MY WORKS ARE NOT YET DONE! HAVEN'T YOU ENOUGH BRAIN MATTER TO PAINT A WALL?!"
[i]Now, the old man was just insulting Orion. But they were both ignoring the real problem here: he was bleeding. He was bleeding a lot. If this remained untreated, the man very well could die of blood loss...[/i]
English
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[i]"OH, SHUT THE -blam!- UP."[/i] [i]Orion's voice boomed to "100%", which was the maximum volume that he could possibly speak at. Combined with the fact that he had yelled, his voice caused the area to shake a little, and probably quite a lot of pain for poor Dim.[/i] [i]Orion hadn't contacted someone for medical attention, he had contacted someone for more help on the man - and funnily enough, he hadn't really even considered the factor that Dim would bleed out, due to his violent combat programming: there was nothing in Orion's capability that he could do for the old man.[/i] [i]Then, unit 17O would arrive.[/i] [i]Dim didn't get a good view at the female android who kneeled down next to him and began to apply something into his arm: his vision became fuzzy, as he vegan to drift into sleep. But what he saw was a sadness and pity in her sapphire-blue eyes, while she studied and began to work upon the wound itself. Soon, he found himself awake: bounded to a table, with his wound stitched up. He was alone, as if...kept there by the things that captured him.[/i]
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Edited by Xeno: 6/2/2017 5:33:31 PM[i]Intrinsically, Dim would have struggled against the bonds that held him, but the old man was too drained of vigor to fight back. Dim did not cry, he did not scream, he did not babble about his life's work and how it must be finished. No, he instead began to hum a melody. Despite his old age, the man's voice was quite serine. He continued to reverberate the tune several times, as if the silence surround him was his audience. But... this was not the case. For no matter where Dim wandered, no matter what he tried to do to help himself, no matter what he told himself day after day after day, his only true audience would be the one that manifested itself when Dim was but a young boy. Only... this audience was nothing but detrimental, deprecatory, constantly beating the old man down. This has been the case for 56 years... [/i]
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[i]He would find himself an audience soon, really.[/i] [i]Entering the room was a young woman - the same that he had seen before, except...different. Her synthetic body was tightly compacted within a black uniform, delicately designed with golden and silver symbols, foreign in design. Her hair was tied into a tight, blonde bonnet, while the skin that covered her skull was a light tan in color: she looked young, oddly enough, yet walked with a professional tone. [/i] [i]As Dim hummed to himself, the woman merely looked up at him and sighed, before beginning to unbind the old man from the table: Dim realized that he had been tied down by poorly strapped leather, tight enough to hold him yet weak enough to be cut by the woman's small blade, which she held in her hand. Once done, she sat down next to Dim, using a small chair next to the bed to do so.[/i] "...If you like, I can bring you your instruments, sir. And listen to your song, if...that would help you."
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[i]Dim let out a melancholy chuckle, before shaking his head and waving his hand dismissively.[/i] "Trust me, my dear. You do not want to hear a song that is not yet complete. Even then, however, it still may not reach your expectations." [i]Dim opened his eyes and gazed upon his savior. His eyes held a certain softness to them and he smiled warmly.[/i] "Are you an angel?" [i]Dim's eyebrows furrowed and creased formed on his forehead. Suddenly, he was overtook by a look of worry. He gazed around to observe the room he was in.[/i] "Am I...dead?"
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"...I do not know much about music, sir. I...don't receive education about music at all, shamefully enough. Though I would help, if I could." [i]Upon hearing Dim's first question, the woman meekly giggled, her hands held together tightly: they were gloved, and stained with blood, as if she was the one who had stitched and healed him. Indeed, his arm was stitched, a scar remaining from the mutilation that he had committed.[/i] [i]Upon his second question, she looked considerably worried, as she once more shook her head.[/i] "No sir, you...are not dead. It seems that I...stopped the bleeding, for the moment anyhow." [i]Dim was currently within a very futuristic room, perhaps a med-bay or something of the sort. The walls were a pure, plain white color, with drawers filled with medical supplies and cabinets filled with vials. A table and computer was in the back, next to a small bed in the wall - the woman's bed - which had a plain white cover and pillow. Stairs lead up to a different area, while the floor was a pearly white stone, perhaps ceramic.[/i] "I am an android that goes by 17O, least...that is my identification. I usually go by Olive - I don't believe that I know your name, sir."