[ The first few days were terrible - hooked up to too many machines, unable to breathe, no way to translate what time or place or Plane it was - to the point where Tank's probably shoo'd Alex off multiple times. But it's been- some. Amount- of days since then and Tank is some kind of miracle wizard. The only problem left is whatever the hell is wrong with his leg and being absolute garbage at measuring time, and neither of those come across in phone recordings. This entire paragraph is relevant if only because waking up from sedation is even worse. Only sleeps three hours normally, and that nightmare being of a doctor forced him into eight.
Worse is that, muffled but still audible through Alex's vigil of the door, every five minutes gets an obnoxious robotic voice.
"You have. One. New message!"
Can he cut his arm off? Or at least get a better bracer? It's useful at times like this, but please, Silvanus, Lord, Lucretia, someone invent a fucking mute button. He can't hear the 'play message' as a response, but Alex will know when he's woken up, because the accursed voice of Microsoft Mary says something different this time.
"First message. From username: Jay. Dee. Eee. Enn. Vee. Ay-ch. Eight. Are. Eighty-two. Can eye come over?"
Shit. He probably looks like a mess. Not on the oxygen but still on the morphine, and it's been, what, ten days since he sent those messages? Wait- that's wrong- Mia's gift still sits on the side table, a no-nonsense digital clock, reading 12:37pm, October 12th. Okay, a little under eight hours. Readjust, hide evidence, continue. 'Response field: yes. Send message.' 'Message has been sent! What w-' 'Turn off.' 'Bye bye.'
At the exact same time, Alex's own bracer goes off with a text. Any sense of movement in the room goes dead silent at the noise. As one small positive, at least it doesn't start going off in the worst text-to-speech imaginable. ]
Yes.
[ Permission to barge in immediately and jumpscare him granted. ]
action-adjacent
Worse is that, muffled but still audible through Alex's vigil of the door, every five minutes gets an obnoxious robotic voice.
"You have. One. New message!"
Can he cut his arm off? Or at least get a better bracer? It's useful at times like this, but please, Silvanus, Lord, Lucretia, someone invent a fucking mute button. He can't hear the 'play message' as a response, but Alex will know when he's woken up, because the accursed voice of Microsoft Mary says something different this time.
"First message. From username: Jay. Dee. Eee. Enn. Vee. Ay-ch. Eight. Are. Eighty-two. Can eye come over?"
Shit. He probably looks like a mess. Not on the oxygen but still on the morphine, and it's been, what, ten days since he sent those messages? Wait- that's wrong- Mia's gift still sits on the side table, a no-nonsense digital clock, reading 12:37pm, October 12th. Okay, a little under eight hours. Readjust, hide evidence, continue. 'Response field: yes. Send message.' 'Message has been sent! What w-' 'Turn off.' 'Bye bye.'
At the exact same time, Alex's own bracer goes off with a text. Any sense of movement in the room goes dead silent at the noise. As one small positive, at least it doesn't start going off in the worst text-to-speech imaginable. ]
Yes.
[ Permission to barge in immediately and jumpscare him granted. ]