Question, is this dead or no?
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The Digimon Queen
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Hehe. This is still continuing right?
So, how is everyone doing?
Doing as he was told, Liron reached forward with his good hand - and the only non-mechanical one - and felt the skin on her arm. It was softer than his and not as hard, after all she was an artist not a firefighter - they wouldn't have the same muscle tone. Still it felt like his, unless hers was synthetic as well. But that wouldn't make sense, so he threw the thought away.
"It feels the same to me," Liron said rather bluntly. "Plus I am bleeding-" he gestured to his wounds to prove his point. "Plus, what is the point of synthetic flesh? The newer models don't have it."
There was definitely a trace of sullenness in his last sentence. Who could blame him? While he was still fuzzy on the details, he realized he had been thrown away and now he was asking a human who didn't build him the equivalent of philosophical questions. If Mel had ever watched Digimon, it was like he was reinacting BlackWarGreymon's quest for answers. Except with a whole lot less destroying.
"It feels the same to me," Liron said rather bluntly. "Plus I am bleeding-" he gestured to his wounds to prove his point. "Plus, what is the point of synthetic flesh? The newer models don't have it."
There was definitely a trace of sullenness in his last sentence. Who could blame him? While he was still fuzzy on the details, he realized he had been thrown away and now he was asking a human who didn't build him the equivalent of philosophical questions. If Mel had ever watched Digimon, it was like he was reinacting BlackWarGreymon's quest for answers. Except with a whole lot less destroying.
"So, alive," he said, understanding her meaning now. He was "normal " because he was alive. That wasn't normal for cyborgels. His brow furrowed at the thought, feeling there wasn't something quite right with the statement. After all hadn't that creature from earlier been a cyborgel? Yet she didn't act like one, no more than he was.
He winced as a headache throbbed. Closing his eyes he began to wonder new things he hasn't before. Like why he was made out of flesh. The newer models weren't. He saw chief looking online at them...
Chief's back was turned, only the light from her computer illuminating the room. She had told him to clean the barracks, and after long hours of toiling, he had finally finished. Putting the rags away, he turned to see chief hunched over her computer, clacking away at her keys.
"Chief, can I get you anything? he asked as he approached the computer, his eyes catching what she was looking at. Chief didn't turn around, grunting coffee.
A feeling of sadness washed over him as he realized why he had been left in the ally. He had been thrown away, no longer useful. Honestly he wasn't sure why he was functioning considering his injuries.
"Why was I made with flesh?" he asked to no one in particular.
He winced as a headache throbbed. Closing his eyes he began to wonder new things he hasn't before. Like why he was made out of flesh. The newer models weren't. He saw chief looking online at them...
Chief's back was turned, only the light from her computer illuminating the room. She had told him to clean the barracks, and after long hours of toiling, he had finally finished. Putting the rags away, he turned to see chief hunched over her computer, clacking away at her keys.
"Chief, can I get you anything? he asked as he approached the computer, his eyes catching what she was looking at. Chief didn't turn around, grunting coffee.
A feeling of sadness washed over him as he realized why he had been left in the ally. He had been thrown away, no longer useful. Honestly he wasn't sure why he was functioning considering his injuries.
"Why was I made with flesh?" he asked to no one in particular.
Normal. Her attempt to make him feel more accepted only sent him into a further state of confusion. After all, what was normal for? A human? A cyborgel? Something else entirely? Plus there was always varying definitions of normal which nobody could seem to agree on.
"Normal for what?" he asked, voicing the question circling his mind. "A cyborgel? A human? Something else?"
"Normal for what?" he asked, voicing the question circling his mind. "A cyborgel? A human? Something else?"
Dude, that is fucking awesome! I can only imagine the time and effort you put into it, and God knows I love a good story, let alone graphic novel. I'm perfectly OK if you wanna use Liron. Honored really ^^
I know ^^ But I usually don't like controlling NPCs unless I have a solid idea of their character, which I don't yet. Plus I tend to treat named NPCs as secondary characters, which I view off limits <.<
Alright, if I got any inner musing or whatever wrong, just let me know.
Liron opened his mouth to respond, that of course he was a machine, all cyborgels were machines. However, the words didn't come out of his mouth. Couldn't come out of his mouth. He didn't know why, but something made him hesitate. Instead of it being natural that he had mechanical parts, suddenly he felt like it was more natural that he was flesh and bone. His eyes felt foreign and he felt suddenly the lost off a limb where his mechanical arm was.
With his good arm, he scratched at some inflamed skin near his heart as it uncomfortably settled in his chest. Pain prickled at him, but he preferred that feeling over the sense of dread and sickness which was beginning to plague him. How was he supposed to respond to that?
"Are ... other cyborgels not like me?" he asked tentatively, unsure of himself. He had seen other cyborgels to be sure, but for the most part he never really paid attention. Was his level of flesh something abnormal? To him it felt right ... at least more right than the mechanical parts which he was trying to avoid thinking about. "I was always told I was very ... human."
It was true. Sometimes when he was fighting the large forest fires which razed the landscape, some of firecrew members he fought with - some of whom were criminals - would think he was one of them until either his eyes or arm was shown. Usually though the appearance of his wings did the trick. His arm reached back and brushed the ashen feathers. They were very soft, and they felt, well, natural.
"Of course that was usually before they saw my eyes and arm ... or my wings," he continued on. "I assumed it was supposed to be a compliment, but now I'm not so sure."
With his good arm, he scratched at some inflamed skin near his heart as it uncomfortably settled in his chest. Pain prickled at him, but he preferred that feeling over the sense of dread and sickness which was beginning to plague him. How was he supposed to respond to that?
"Are ... other cyborgels not like me?" he asked tentatively, unsure of himself. He had seen other cyborgels to be sure, but for the most part he never really paid attention. Was his level of flesh something abnormal? To him it felt right ... at least more right than the mechanical parts which he was trying to avoid thinking about. "I was always told I was very ... human."
It was true. Sometimes when he was fighting the large forest fires which razed the landscape, some of firecrew members he fought with - some of whom were criminals - would think he was one of them until either his eyes or arm was shown. Usually though the appearance of his wings did the trick. His arm reached back and brushed the ashen feathers. They were very soft, and they felt, well, natural.
"Of course that was usually before they saw my eyes and arm ... or my wings," he continued on. "I assumed it was supposed to be a compliment, but now I'm not so sure."
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