Post by murasaki on May 12, 2017 3:46:42 GMT
As my systems rebooted one by one, I became aware of a number of things. Firstly, the area around me had begun to cool, and not just from my internal cooling systems; pooled fluids had begun invading the cracks around my armor and limbs, causing several errors and warnings to pop up. Secondly, there was a great deal more noise than before. The damned zinogre was still on top of me, but its position had moved somewhat.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally regained control of my limbs, and proceeded to shove the (now surely) dead beast off of me. A task that took some time and several attempts, given that even the juvenile weighted at least a solid ton-and-a-half. Light caused my recently-revived optics to scramble momentarily before they adjusted. As I found my balance once more, extracting my bloodied weapon limb from the monster's chest, my sensors took in the unpleasant scene before me.
The crowd near the stage front had scattered, and between the shattered glass and forcibly-freed beast, there was difficulty in discerning why. Stagehands rushed to try and clean up the scene, although the prison cube was hopelessly shattered -- though thankfully it still stood of its own accord. The announcer, previously so sure-fire and loose-tongued, had, oddly enough, exited the stage in a hurry. Worst of all, in the creature's struggle it had stepped on and smashed one of my legs, leaving me at a limp.
Something sparked inside me, perhaps something akin to an emotion; anger, disgust, and most of all, annoyance. Even with a mangled leg, I dragged myself to the zinogre's head, staring into the dying light of its eyes for a few moments. Certainly, someone more introspective than I would have found some words to describe those moments, but right there, I simply was just glad to see it had finally been defeated.
Then I ignited my plasma blade -- damaged as it was -- and cut the bugger's head off, just to be sure, ignoring the incurred damage from the electrical shocks. That part certainly hadn't been scripted, not that I particularly cared at the moment. After that, I could only find the energy to sit (mostly) without falling flat on my back as several of the larger handlers rushed to pull me backstage for repairs.
It took several minutes before the scene was under control. Sadly, due to its weight and the electricity still sparking from its corpse, the slain zinogre could not be moved immediately, leaving a grotesque display on stage for all to see.
The announcer returned to the forefront, having recovering his wits after such a drastic turn of events, and assured the waiting crowd that the situation was under control and that any further demonstrations were to be rescheduled (or cancelled, most likely). Miraculously, no one had been severely harmed after the zinogre failed escape attempt, although several guests had been showered with glass. Even so, there were definitely going to be several formal complaints about the security of such events the following day, but for now most of those attending were too shocked to make much of a fuss.
Reasonably, a fair number of guests began filing out of the building as soon as they were able to, having had their share of thrills and dangers for one night.
After what felt like an eternity, I finally regained control of my limbs, and proceeded to shove the (now surely) dead beast off of me. A task that took some time and several attempts, given that even the juvenile weighted at least a solid ton-and-a-half. Light caused my recently-revived optics to scramble momentarily before they adjusted. As I found my balance once more, extracting my bloodied weapon limb from the monster's chest, my sensors took in the unpleasant scene before me.
The crowd near the stage front had scattered, and between the shattered glass and forcibly-freed beast, there was difficulty in discerning why. Stagehands rushed to try and clean up the scene, although the prison cube was hopelessly shattered -- though thankfully it still stood of its own accord. The announcer, previously so sure-fire and loose-tongued, had, oddly enough, exited the stage in a hurry. Worst of all, in the creature's struggle it had stepped on and smashed one of my legs, leaving me at a limp.
Something sparked inside me, perhaps something akin to an emotion; anger, disgust, and most of all, annoyance. Even with a mangled leg, I dragged myself to the zinogre's head, staring into the dying light of its eyes for a few moments. Certainly, someone more introspective than I would have found some words to describe those moments, but right there, I simply was just glad to see it had finally been defeated.
Then I ignited my plasma blade -- damaged as it was -- and cut the bugger's head off, just to be sure, ignoring the incurred damage from the electrical shocks. That part certainly hadn't been scripted, not that I particularly cared at the moment. After that, I could only find the energy to sit (mostly) without falling flat on my back as several of the larger handlers rushed to pull me backstage for repairs.
It took several minutes before the scene was under control. Sadly, due to its weight and the electricity still sparking from its corpse, the slain zinogre could not be moved immediately, leaving a grotesque display on stage for all to see.
The announcer returned to the forefront, having recovering his wits after such a drastic turn of events, and assured the waiting crowd that the situation was under control and that any further demonstrations were to be rescheduled (or cancelled, most likely). Miraculously, no one had been severely harmed after the zinogre failed escape attempt, although several guests had been showered with glass. Even so, there were definitely going to be several formal complaints about the security of such events the following day, but for now most of those attending were too shocked to make much of a fuss.
Reasonably, a fair number of guests began filing out of the building as soon as they were able to, having had their share of thrills and dangers for one night.
