[There is- as the ceaseless blare of system alarms cannot fail to remind him- damage of some kind or another to over eighty-five percent of Zenyatta's frame. Scuffs and dents, wires pulled dangerously loose, the near-runic gouge across one half of his face-plate left by a Korokiel's glancing spear. He catalogues each injury with his hands and fixes what he can, then promptly dismisses it.
While he still functions, there is always someone worse.
By the time Team Beta is swept back to the moon base by these new, ill tides the place is overrun. Vierge jellyfish still swarm, their tentacles suckling against his LIFE suit wherever they can reach, even as he enters the transport vehicles he had previously thought an oasis in the middle of the chaos; Korokiel prowl in the silent, eerie way of sharks in the darkest oceans, their own among them with glazed eyes and an unquenchable thirst. But they must regroup if they are to overcome Tempeste. Any shelter is better than none at all.
It does not surprise Zenyatta to find a friend here, among the shattered monitors and sparking consoles. He can only hope that the cornflower eyes he knows lie behind the visor that gleams at him through the flickering darkness recognise him as an ally rather than an enemy- or, indeed, as prey.
He holds still, half-expecting to be shot on sight.]
Are you injured?
[Distantly, he registers a new alert. There is blood in here, somewhere. His body can smell it.]
for soldier: 76
While he still functions, there is always someone worse.
By the time Team Beta is swept back to the moon base by these new, ill tides the place is overrun. Vierge jellyfish still swarm, their tentacles suckling against his LIFE suit wherever they can reach, even as he enters the transport vehicles he had previously thought an oasis in the middle of the chaos; Korokiel prowl in the silent, eerie way of sharks in the darkest oceans, their own among them with glazed eyes and an unquenchable thirst. But they must regroup if they are to overcome Tempeste. Any shelter is better than none at all.
It does not surprise Zenyatta to find a friend here, among the shattered monitors and sparking consoles. He can only hope that the cornflower eyes he knows lie behind the visor that gleams at him through the flickering darkness recognise him as an ally rather than an enemy- or, indeed, as prey.
He holds still, half-expecting to be shot on sight.]
Are you injured?
[Distantly, he registers a new alert. There is blood in here, somewhere. His body can smell it.]