"WELCOME BACK!"
Jorge hollered into the room, and Nine nearly urinated in his pants. The shout had waken him from deep sleep.
His eyes opened, and he kicked into alert status. He looked at Jorge, wide eyed and a bit aggravated.
His eyes adjusted to the light of the room. Jorge, ever considerate, had opened the windows for him. He was in a hospital bed, but he seemed none the worse for wear.
"...Where are they?" Nine looked around, confused.
Jorge raised one eyebrow. "The four girls who apparently saved your ass? I donno. Bailey has them in protective custody. I'd have to find out on my shift."
Jorge ambled over to Nine's bedside, offering him a bottled water. "Much obliged. How long was I out?"
Jorge waited a moment, as if Nine was supposed to brace himself.
"I've been in comas before, Jorge. Just gimme the damn number."
"About a month. We got your armor's distress signal."
"...My armor was destroyed."
"Yes, it was. We managed to rebuild the helmet, but the rest was tin-foil. Those girls, though, REBUILT your distress beacon. Bailey was pretty impressed."
Nine got out of bed, and began stretching. He was in a shirt and pants. His prosthetic eye had been replaced, and he probably had a mess of new scars on his body from falling from orbit. "Am I still pretty, Jorge?"
"...Somewhat. You still have your boyish charm, if that's what you're asking. You took a few deep cuts to the neck, shoulders, and your left cheek, but it's nothing your wife will leave you over."
Nine smiled. "Good. These looks pay the bills."
"Your fighting skill sure doesn't. Who beat the shit out of you?" Jorge was curious. Nine didn't outright lose fights often.
"The Promethean. He was sitting on that ship, waiting for me to board. It was a trap. What happened to my team?"
"Andrew, Vance, Deimos, and that other guy got off safe. What was his name?"
Nine racked his brain. "...Samson?"
"SANFORD." Jorge recalled. "Yeah. He took a bad hit. Almost died from infection. He's fine now, though."
Nine smiled. "Good to know he's alright." Nine hardly knew the man, and didn't care, but it was nice to know the Freelancer number wasn't dwindling. "...Did you talk to those four girls? Find out WHY they helped me?"
"Their leader just requested asylum, and to be smuggled off the planet. She said that someone had set up shop there and was looking for them. Probably Legion."
"What's the Legion want with four girls?" Nine raised his eyebrow.
Then he remembered.
"HOLYSHIT it's because they have superpowers."
"...John, you probably hallucinated that." Jorge flatly stated the sentence with a tinge of worry.
"NO! I'm serious! One of them used blades of grass as little knives!" Nine pointed his fingers and needled them back and forth, imitating blades of grass being used, in fact, as knives.
Jorge simply stared at him. "The fact that you hallucinated from blood loss is one thing. The fact that you BELIEVE your hallucination is a bit...worrying."
"I know what I saw, you fuggin' galoot." Nine stretched his arms, and looked around. "Go get me my clothes. I'm not leaving this room in a hospital getup. People will think I escaped a mental ward."
Jorge nodded, dropping the subject. "Fine, but ONLY if the medical team agrees to you being out and about."
Nine villainously rubbed his hands together, staring off into the distance. "We'll see...About THAT."
"No, we won't. Now sit down or I'll punch you down, spaz."
"Whatever, blockhead."
Jorge hollered into the room, and Nine nearly urinated in his pants. The shout had waken him from deep sleep.
His eyes opened, and he kicked into alert status. He looked at Jorge, wide eyed and a bit aggravated.
His eyes adjusted to the light of the room. Jorge, ever considerate, had opened the windows for him. He was in a hospital bed, but he seemed none the worse for wear.
"...Where are they?" Nine looked around, confused.
Jorge raised one eyebrow. "The four girls who apparently saved your ass? I donno. Bailey has them in protective custody. I'd have to find out on my shift."
Jorge ambled over to Nine's bedside, offering him a bottled water. "Much obliged. How long was I out?"
Jorge waited a moment, as if Nine was supposed to brace himself.
"I've been in comas before, Jorge. Just gimme the damn number."
"About a month. We got your armor's distress signal."
"...My armor was destroyed."
"Yes, it was. We managed to rebuild the helmet, but the rest was tin-foil. Those girls, though, REBUILT your distress beacon. Bailey was pretty impressed."
Nine got out of bed, and began stretching. He was in a shirt and pants. His prosthetic eye had been replaced, and he probably had a mess of new scars on his body from falling from orbit. "Am I still pretty, Jorge?"
"...Somewhat. You still have your boyish charm, if that's what you're asking. You took a few deep cuts to the neck, shoulders, and your left cheek, but it's nothing your wife will leave you over."
Nine smiled. "Good. These looks pay the bills."
"Your fighting skill sure doesn't. Who beat the shit out of you?" Jorge was curious. Nine didn't outright lose fights often.
"The Promethean. He was sitting on that ship, waiting for me to board. It was a trap. What happened to my team?"
"Andrew, Vance, Deimos, and that other guy got off safe. What was his name?"
Nine racked his brain. "...Samson?"
"SANFORD." Jorge recalled. "Yeah. He took a bad hit. Almost died from infection. He's fine now, though."
Nine smiled. "Good to know he's alright." Nine hardly knew the man, and didn't care, but it was nice to know the Freelancer number wasn't dwindling. "...Did you talk to those four girls? Find out WHY they helped me?"
"Their leader just requested asylum, and to be smuggled off the planet. She said that someone had set up shop there and was looking for them. Probably Legion."
"What's the Legion want with four girls?" Nine raised his eyebrow.
Then he remembered.
"HOLYSHIT it's because they have superpowers."
"...John, you probably hallucinated that." Jorge flatly stated the sentence with a tinge of worry.
"NO! I'm serious! One of them used blades of grass as little knives!" Nine pointed his fingers and needled them back and forth, imitating blades of grass being used, in fact, as knives.
Jorge simply stared at him. "The fact that you hallucinated from blood loss is one thing. The fact that you BELIEVE your hallucination is a bit...worrying."
"I know what I saw, you fuggin' galoot." Nine stretched his arms, and looked around. "Go get me my clothes. I'm not leaving this room in a hospital getup. People will think I escaped a mental ward."
Jorge nodded, dropping the subject. "Fine, but ONLY if the medical team agrees to you being out and about."
Nine villainously rubbed his hands together, staring off into the distance. "We'll see...About THAT."
"No, we won't. Now sit down or I'll punch you down, spaz."
"Whatever, blockhead."
Last edited by Bad John on July 1st 2013, 11:37 am; edited 1 time in total