Friendship is Magic

Mr.Face:

"I am nowhere NEAR as unintelligible as he is. That's downright insulting." I responded immediately. I was much more coherent than that. With a much better grasp of the English vocabulary. "But thank you in advance. For the... " I stopped myself pointedly there to try and get the whole... assistance thing out at once. As much as I hated to consent to even doing anything like this. "For the assistance."

"I suppouse that now I ought to get the projector screen out and have the OS do a search for us." I stated, thinking aloud. I really should have been conserving air, because again, breathing and talking at the same time was nearly impossible on a normal day, due to the lack of orifices, but under whatever duress my ribcage was experiencing, it was downright horrible. "OS, could you run a search on repairing fractured limbs, and put it on the screen?" I asked.

"Certainly sir." Came the immediate reply, and I could hear the loading music, along with the sound that the machines that operated the projector screen made as the projector screen descended from the ceiling behind me.

Cricket

See there, he did it again. A long pause before he could get out 'assistance'. I raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything this time. It was only a small comment. Nothing to be taken personally. I simply found it a small bit interesting for a few small moments, and then moved on to the other things to wonder about. Such as how to fix whatever was going on with Face's arms, or how the big screen worked.

Mr.Face:

I could only assume that after the screen had descended fully and the loading music had stopped, that the page the OS had selected after running the relevance sorting mechanism had been projected on the screen. And I could only hope that it involved very simple and easy to follow instructions.

"A bone fracture (sometimes abbreviated FRX or Fx, Fx, or #) is a medical condition in which there is a break in the continuity of the bone. A bone fracture can be the result of high force impact or stress, or trivial injury as a result of certain medical conditions that ..." Ah. So this was wikipedia we were looking at then. Lovely.

"Can you just move down to the treatment section?" I requested, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"...Sir, there are fifty six links under that heading. Which would you like?"

...fifty six links. Fifty six links on how to repair one of these things? I mean, certainly, I read hundreds of books on torture... but... are there really just that many ways to stick people back together again? This was going to be irritating. I could feel it.

"Re-direct me to arms." I told her flatly.

"There are fifteen links under 'arms'."

Like that was much better. Alright. I paused, uncertain on how to narrow my search terms at the moment. I didn't even know what was broken beyond the incredibly broad terms of: "arms". I mean, I knew that a third of the bones in the human body came from the arms. And I understood that you can inflict fractures into every single one of them. I'd done it before. Very amusing. Some of the wrist bones are easier to just rip out and stomp on. ...But now, trying to identify which one was giving me trouble... or rather which ones and I had no idea. Because the whole arm was in pain. I couldn't tell.

"OS, can you just redirect me to general maintenance on fractured limbs? Like... a useful yahoo answers post or something? Something illustrated, preferably." I asked after a few minutes of thought.

"Of course." She stated. After a few more moments she'd found exactly what I wanted, and was reading aloud the process of it all. ...To be frank, it sounded a lot less professional than the other information... which was worrisome, But it was also generally easier to sort out what exactly one should be doing theoretically.

It boiled down to: Evaluate injury. Decide if everything seems to be where it's suppoused to be or not. If no, proceed by forcing things approximately back into place. If the bones protrude from the skin... do your best. If you do this successfully and the bones do not want to stay in place... tie them to something rigid, and wrap that. If you do not have issues with the bone staying in place.... wrap it anyway, in case the slimy bony bastards decide to pull one over on you in your sleep. Keep bones wrapped for six to eight weeks, downing excesses of pain pills as necessary.

...Well, I suppoused that that was about as good as one could get it without having some bizarre medical practice education that Auda had never had access to.

Cricket

That sounded to be about as much as I already knew about this type of thing. Put it back, tie it up, and hope it works. "First things first . . . I'm assuming you can't simply put your arms back yourself and that I'm going t' 'ave t' 'elp with that. Second things second, do we even 'ave anything t' use as a splint?"

Mr.Face:

"Yes...and possibly are your respective answers." I replied. The assistance thing... was becoming an unfortunate given in the situation, I was slowly realising. One couldn't simply... use one broken thing to fix another. It didn't work like that. Unfortunately.

"...The closet may contain something that could be used to immobilize. I mean, worst case scenario, we can just remove the axe head from the axe handle and use that. You're welcome to go in there and see what all is available. Just... try not to get fingerprints all over the blades... they'll rust." I invited him into my weaponry closet. I had just invited him into the weaponry closet. ...This... This was... unpredecented.

Cricket

The closet. ". . . Th' closet full o' sharp devices . . . axes. Got it." I felt odd going into said closet full of sharp devices with his permission yet without him standing right next to me. It wasn't quite a trespassing exploration or a tour.

Anyhow, finding the axe was like finding a needle in a haystack. Or rather, a needle in a needlestack. Everything was pointy and shiny here. Except for a select few selections of items, one of which was something that looked a bit like twine, and I grabbed it along with the axe handle.

"Torture devices turned int' medical supplies," I said, shutting the door behind me and walking over to spill the supplies onto the desk. "There we are. ...I suppose now I'll probably 'ave t' move your arms back..." That was something I wasn't looking forward to too much. But ah well.

Mr.Face:

"Well, to be fair, most of them can be found under the "woodworking" section of Amazon...or failing that, the art department. So, technically, it's a variety of items, turned torture devices, and then creatively fused to become medical supplies." I extrapolated from his original statement. ...Now, I admit, I was probably just talking so much to keep my mind off of the really profoundly unpleasant things going on with my arms, and with the fact that in a moment here there would be more unpleasant things going on.

"Moving my arms back would be... a very... reasonable conclusion to come to, considering that you are the only other person in the room with arms. " I agreed, though the snide remark again, was more to inject levity into the situation by way of minor insult. ...I was distributing minor insults to the person that was now in charge of moving my bones around. ...I'm not sure that I wanted to be doing that actually. Currying favour would have probably been the better approach to this whole thing,as opposed to insults... though, I wasn't really one to try to do stuff like that. It just wasn't in me, I don't think.

Cricket

Wait a moment here. "Well...Except for th' fact that you 'ave sleeves, per'aps...ah, assuming you don't want me trying t' blindly move your broken arms around, or put th' splint on over your suit which I'm assuming you won't want t' also wear for th' next six t' eight weeks. So on that note..." Wait a moment here. There was an odd reversal of roles here. There was an odd sort of small bit of chuckle building in my throat at the thought of it. Alright, this was terrible, but . . . "Mr. Face! Sleeves." I managed not to chuckle, but there was a sort of grin in my voice. Alright. Now that that was out of my system . . . "Except you can't actually roll up your sleeves and I can't exactly either without most likely messing things up even worse, so I 'ope you don't mind me simply cutting them off?"

Mr.Face:

...That had been... unexpected. Not the fact that my sleeves had to come off, no. That made sense. But... the fact that he'd made a torture room joke. I sort of raised an eyebrow at him there, and I could feel my mouth extend into a slight grin. Certainly this was...a bizarre reversal of the usual part where I do the chopping up and everyone else does the "being in unbearable agony" song and dance, but at the same time... the tone of his voice made it difficult to take his statement very seriously. "I think you need to work on your tone... More foreboding and irritated, and less amused." I informed him. Yes, the thought that I was now the one strapped to the proverbial wall was occurring to me, however... it was still really hard to take him seriously with that tone. "I would also like to point out that I wasn't lacking in punctuality for any reason. Not that it matters at this point in time." I added, having thought about the specific type of situation that he was poking fun at. ...Really it was just exceedingly odd to have him making use of humor that I would have typically refrained from, since it would have probably been considered too macabre. A fantastic distraction.

"Though to answer your question, I don't mind at all- the suit is probably beyond salvaging anyway. You'll probably want to look for hedge cutters or...I miiight actually have smaller sets of shears in there... I don't remember exactly what all I reordered." I replied to the actual question.

Cricket

He was actually grinning a bit at that statement? That was unexpected. You'd think a guy would get a bit more irritable after so many broken bones. Then it was my turn to raise an eyebrow, though the grin was gone. "Oh, aye. Be afraid, be very afraid o' me in my so forebodingly irritated mood," I said as I went back to the tool closet. Let's see. Shears. "According t' th' people who don't exist you might 'ave been a minute or so late. As a matter o' fact, if you 'adn't stopped t' show me that one room you might be very, very dead. And so would 'ave I most likely, so on that note, thank you for being late...ah. 'ere we are." I picked up some big scissor-looking things and walked back out. I hesitated before actually starting to cut the suit, still not quite sure how I felt about this entire situation. Talking was a distraction from that debate. That was for another time. So, I talked as I worked. A cut here, a tear there, piece by piece. " 'owever, this whole process might actually 'urt quite a bit I'm guessing despite th' not-dead-ness and 'owever 'appy I might be t' be alive and 'ow much I probably wouldn't try t' out and cause pain if it were avoidable, so ah...I might stop and mention something real quick 'ere. Karma. Even though you'll probably wave that word off and forget about it, and even though this doesn't amount t' anything you've ever done t' anyone else. I'm even 'elping you, after all. It's not as if you're going t' die at th' end of any of it. Though it's actually quite odd seeing you be th' one t' but 'urt. So on that note, congratulations, then. You're alive and not quite as indestructable as you seem. And just another warning...this will 'urt." The sleeves fell looser bits at a time until I could pull the pieces of fabric clean off. "Ready?"

Mr.Face:

I hadn't asked for a lecture on mortality. Or on Karmic retribution. I didn't need that. Nor had I asked on speculation as to the motivations of the bombers. ...How would they have even known where I was? I didn't open source the building blueprints or anything... They couldn't have known. Still though. I definitely didn't need a lecture on my mortality. It was a non-issue. Or rather... soon to be a non-issue. And he'd mentioned pain. More pain.

The business end of pain was something that I had two large opinions on. I can summarise them concisely. 1. Well, this is hideously unpleasant, I'm done now, we never have to do this again, RIGHT? and 2. ...So, every time I rip out someone's veins it is a reasonable assumption that it feels something like this? ...Awesome.

As he ranted on about morals and mortality and whatnot, I felt him cutting away at my sleeves, and had to note that he wasn't fantastic with the shears. I mean, it would do, certainly. He was getting rid of the sleeves. Which of course... was what he was suppoused to be doing with them. Just... I didn't care much for his technique.

I thought for a moment on the rhetoric of his last question. Ready? ...How is one suppoused to decide when they're ready to cope with what was most likely going to be more pain...? There is no real...moment of decision really, more one of those moments of acceptance, where you realise that, rationally, you are either going to deal with this right now, or deal with the fact that you cannot move your arms in six to eight weeks and are stuck like this forever. There is no real moment of decision of when one is totally alright with such things occurring, I think, more just a bit of psychological hacking required to make yourself seem alright with it. This will simply be helpful. Like all those times one accidentally falls down the stairs as a child. Yes, you probably cut your head open...however, eventually you associated that steep decline below your foot as stairs, and didn't fall any more. So... yes. I was going to go with that. This was going to be irritating and painful. However, like falling down stairs... it would help. Eventually.

...Didn't mean that I was at all enthused about it.

"Ready is one word you could use...I suppouse." I finally replied.

Cricket

"I'd tell you t' brace yourself, but that'd be a bit repedetive in th' 'stalling' sort o' fashion. But ah...'ere we go." Was I stalling? Perhaps, for a second or two. I still wasn't quite sure of this situation at all. Should I have gotten some sort of satisfaction out of this? He probably deserved it, aye? Perhaps I got a small bit of a laugh from the 'sleeves' comment, but otherwise all I got out of it was a dazed sort of feeling that translated to the thoughts of 'this is simply upside down'.

I finally bit my lip, bit the bullet, wrapped both hands around an arm and started hesitantly unbending and twisting and straightening to get it into the best normal position I could. It's odd . . . his arms were about as cold as his hands.

Bah, distractions. I should be talking about something or another. That would work, aye, talk--

And then I realised that the make-shift splint materials were still just out of reach on the desk, after that was finally through with, several cracks and various wince-inducing sounds later. "...'old that thought." I had to let go momentarily, grab the tools under an arm and hurry back to try to straighten the arm once again to where it had been. After that it was a matter of getting the handle to hold right against it while trying to simultaniously wrap the string around several times, until it was wrapped tight enough that I didn't have to support it so much. Cut the twine, tie a quick, sturdy knot or two, and the one arm was done. " 'alfway."

. . . Now for the other one.

Mr.Face:

See... one can deduce that whatever is going to happen will be really exceptionally unpleasant once the party trying to help you has initiated physical contact and it feels like something burning. It's just a really, really, unpleasant precursor to whatever is about to occur.

And then, as if by some kind of magical ability to tell the future... I heard several horrible cracks, and felt as though someone had set fire to the very bones I had already trashed just fine on my own. ...It was really... really, kind of a sickening feeling. Really, impossible nausea and whatnot as a result of some simple anatomical rearranging. It was about as unpleasant as flying. And flying was... HORRIBLE.

And then he didn't even have the decency to have anything in REACH when he was all done with all of his...distortions? This... This was not good. "Internet...Really?! Really? ...I hate you." I stated, though really...sentiments of hatred from me probably didn't mean much... it wasn't even really an expression of fury as much as it was an outlet for... pain. Yelling and screaming seemed to be rather cathartic to pain... conducive to forgetting about it almost...however I wasn't going to lower myself by doing that. It was already bad enough I was asking for help and what not. No. No I was not going to comport myself anything like the other residents of the cellblocks I worked in. I was better than that. ...This was just... a remarkably excruciating inconvenience, caused by lack of professional skill... and a spontaneously occuring explosion. That was it. This would be fine. It would all be fine. All of it.

Then he finally returned, instants? Maybe an hour? I don't know, time is irrelevant right now anyway, I figured... and had to re-do much of his work... sending another protestant wave of pain up my arm. As if telling me that it was experiencing difficulties functioning would accomplish anything. And it was finally, still painfully, bound to the handle of the axe. ...Lovely.

It was then that I realised that I had another line of puncture wounds in my tongue... the second set tonight. I pulled my teeth apart when he stated that he was halfway. "Can I request that you actually bring your supplies over this way, so as to... ...forgo... all of that...redundancy?" I asked. Though if I sounded unlike myself earlier... I was some kind of unrecognisable now. ...Stupid vocal chords. They had nothing to do with this situation, and were in no way related to my arms. Why were they choosing this moment in time to default on their warranties?

Cricket

"Oi my my, your voice," I muttered, more as a thought out loud than something meant to be heard. Normally I would have whistled that, but I didn't think he'd appreciate it. At the same time it couldn't simply sit in my head like that. His voice sounded different. I knew what he sounded like when he was yelling in anger and what he sounded like in his casual conversations, but this moment and the moment right after I found him...this was something new entirely. It didn't quite match up, him and his voice.

I cut off my thoughts by grabbing the other axe handle and slipping it under my arm along with the twine, as I had before. This was odd, this was . . . backwards, this was . . . what was I even doing? I decided I didn't like it much. It felt wrong. ...Me, feel guilty about Mr. Face being in pain. I ought to get my mental health checked out, I reall should. Though it wasn't an overpowering guilt, more of a sideshow. Something to notice and push to the side. It wasn't a matter or right or wrong or guilt or satisfaction; I would have to do this no matter what.

And with that, I started to work on the other arm until it was tied up like the other.

Mr.Face:

He noticed it then. The... difference, the stupid incompetence of my own physiology. "Anatomy is much like a lazy game designer. It has included a list of bugs that it pawns off as features. I don't much approve." I replied to his comment, before he started working on the other arm.

Internet, this was terrible. Required, yes. Indubitably. However... not at all pleasant to live through. At all. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Once he had let go of me finally, I kind of...actually I didn't know what I wanted to do, but I was quite exhausted. Exhaustion wasn't really something I could feasibly let happen, however, considering that...I don't know, I had a city state to run...? But, really. Everything ached miserably, and I wanted nothing more than to take a prolonged nap.

This whole... mortality thing was more and more infuriating as I went, I was realising. Horrible. Sleep when I should have been sorting out whether to put the place into a state of emergency or not? Completely insane. I hated it.

"...Well. Logically....I'd proceed now with the whole... being in charge of the place plan." I stated flatly. "...However... Human biology is ceaselessly limiting with regards to endurance. If I weren't concerned that the whole place would fall into disrepair and everything would get overturned and I'd basically be facing a coup, I'd leave you in charge for a half hour or so so I could take a nap." I explained, still sounding ridiculously unlike myself. I think it had something to do with my breathing and the lack of air in me at the moment, paired with the pain and my current tongue punctures. ...Being human was stupid.

Cricket

I backed a good couple feet away again once it was all done and over with, as it really should be. If you're ever only a couple inches away from Mr. Face, it usually means he's not at all happy with you and someone may die. In my experience, in the least. It felt better having that space back.

"In charge," I repeated, raising an eyebrow at the sound of it. In charge of what? The room, the OS, the building? I wasn't ever in charge of anything. I wasn't really sure of what to think of the fleeting possibility that I might have been in charge of something if this were some milder situation, either.

But he'd said if, so I wouldn't even have to worry about it. "What now, then?"

Mr.Face:

What now. The recurring question in this situation, it seemed. What indeed. "I'm tired." I stated. It occurred to me that I was throwing formality to the wind here a bit by being so blunt, but... I was tired. I was in pain. I didn't feel like dealing with that whole... entanglement of social protocols. I mean, I hadn't even formally answered the question. Just... stated my current status.

"In short...I have a huge list of things that need done, in lieu of the current tragedy; but at this point in time, I couldn't care less about everything... because...well, some sixty thousand people can wait. I think." I answered more concisely. More words took more oxygen however, which was something that wasn't really in surplus for me at the moment.

Cricket

I didn't quite know what to think of that, either. That might not be a good thing, to fall asleep right now of all moments. On the other hand he seemed pretty mentally out of it. Physically out of it. Whatever out-of-it tied the two together. Perhaps both. But then there was the 'in charge' thing he'd mentioned. ...I didn't know what that meant. "So in short you're going t' put th' bomb issue aside and fall asleep?"

Mr. Face:

In short, yes. That was exactly what I was planning on doing. Responsible: no. But, really... What was the probability that everything would come crumbling down in an hour or two?

" Basically. Yes. Why? Is that too... Morally questionable for you?" I asked. "Take a .22 out of the weapons closet if that idea worries you. As for the city... They can wait, can't they? And I'm hardly in any shape to get anything done." I explained. I was in pain. I was tired. Sure the city might be burning, but... Wasn't it always?

Cricket

"...Well, aye, but..." Oh, if your morals are at stake here... just shoot someone and don't worry about it. Aye, that would work. But then, he had a point about not being in much shape. I had a feeling that if he did try to get something done when he didn't care like this, things might not get much better.

I decided not to argue about his 'morally questionable' question and solution. "...no more than an hour or so?"

Mr.Face:

More than an hour... What was I, terminal? Who needed to nap for more than an hour? That should be plenty, I thought. "Of course. OS, wake me in an hour." I demanded, though it still lacked its usual tone.

I couldn't decide whether to just stay in the chair or go lie down, as there were pros and cons to each. Sitting here hurt my ribs, but lying down would take more work, and probably more assistance. I figured that I could theoretically use the walls as a way to get off the ground in a way similar to how I'd been assisted by Cricket earlier.

I leveraged myself clumsily out of the chair, arms all... Awkward and stiff and whatnot, and then slid down the side of a nearby wall, lied down, and promptly passed out.

Cricket

My guess is that he passed out as soon as he magaged to lie down, but I couldn't exactly tell except for the fact that he didn't move an inch for a long while and for the fact that things were strangely quiet. I wondered if him napping meant that I had to be silent as well, or if I could . . . well, I couldn't whistle. Try to talk to the OS? Perhaps. Though then I would feel crazy for having a casual conversation with a machine.

I only considered that something might go wrong while he was asleep for a small moment, and then I pushed the thought aside. And then it kept bubbling back up again. After a while that seemed like forever I found myself with some gun from the closet by my side, sitting against a wall and fidgeting with my small knife. I probably wouldn't use the gun ever. But if something actually did happen, which it wouldn't, a bluff wouldn't hurt.

Some thumping noise prodded at the silence, and I looked toward the door, more out of curiousity than worry, mind you. It didn't sound dangerous. There were unexlainable noises in Luna all the time, and they were most often the harmlessly unexplainable type. Though, perhaps it might be different in Auda--

Rapid gunfire exploded through the silence as it tried to explode through the door. I was on my feet in an instant with my own borrowed gun pointed, pulse suddenly racing. "Mr. Face!"

Mr.Face:

...That was not the OS. My sleep was not interrupted by the OS as I had anticipated it would be. It was instead interrupted by Cricket. "...What." I asked irritably, though really I didn't have any more time to inquire as to anything, because someone was breaking into the office.

Impossible. I almost laughed. It wasn't possible to break into the office.

"Sir, there has been a security breach and the entire building has been in emergency lock down for in excess of fifteen min---"I assume that she continued on with her speal about emergency lock down but I wasn't inclined to pay much attention because of the fact that there seemed to be an intruder in the office. Someone was breaking in by way of machine gun fire, and I hadn't even righted myself yet.

I righted myself, trying to move as quickly as possible. "...Cricket, Considering the fact that I am currently ill disposed to actually do any firing of any weapons... you may need to play the part of armed mercenary. Just... to warn you." I informed him, as I went about doing this.

"MR. FACE, YOUR DAYS RUNNING THIS CORPORATE MADHOUSE ARE OVER! I'M COMING IN THERE RIGHT NOW TO BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT PERSONALLY!" An angry female voice yelled at me from the growing hole in the door.

...Well. This...probably should not have been put on hold for a nap.

Cricket

Waitpardon.

Oh bother. Oh . . . shit. I was the only person in the room with arms at the moment, but soon there would be some other lass charging in with both arms and a machine gun-- wait a moment. I think I knew her. And I didn't like her much more than I did Mr. Face, the difference being that Mr. Face was now supposedly . . . a frienemacquantance.

"IF YOU COME IN 'ERE I'LL PEPPER YOU WITH SO MANY BULLETS YOU'LL LOOK LIKE AN 'UMAN SWISS CHEESE!" I decided. Or bluffed. Either way, my hands were gripping the gun so hard they may as well have been strangling it, and I tried to look more threatening than panicked. I had my eyes covered; that probably helped. Until I actual had to accurately aim at something, in the least.

Mr.Face:

I actually don't know what swiss cheese is, but I figured that the analogy probably worked in some way. I had finished sitting up and was halfway to standing. At this point I was also trying to figure out an exit strategy for the lot of us.

"YOU DON'T NEED TO DIE, YOU POOR OPPRESSED COG IN THE MACHINE OF HUMAN MISERY! JUST PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON AND WE WILL NOT HURT YOU. IT'S MR.FACE WE'RE AFTER. THE COWARD." She continued ranting. I heard a boot land on my desk. ...Expletives.

"Cricket- the exit strategy is thus: Run. Run out of the front of the building... and OS, Run protocol thirty nine. We'll be back in seven days after the smoke has cleared." I commanded.

"Yes sir. You have ten minutes to evacuate before lock down is completed." She informed me.

The problem was now this: We had the desk barricading our way and the terrorist halfway into the room. How to get out...? That... that was a very good question.

"Thoughts on this, Mr.Spontaneity?" I asked, really uncertain as to how to get out of this one alive. I mean, it was going to happen, clearly. But... the details were a bit fuzzy in my current pained state.