06-15-2017, 03:28 PM
He hadn’t expected to keep running out of fuel for his thrusters THIS quickly. Or, at the very least, he hadn’t expected to use up so much just to traverse the dark blue waters of the island. He cursed to himself as the numbers on the hologram projection plummeted straight down. 70. 50. 30.
Clarke puttered forward, fighting through the waves with every bit of oxygen fuel he had. He braced himself for the agony he was about to experience. 15. 5. 0.
His suit decompressed, steam shooting out of the orifices of his RIG. Seawater rushed through the now open holes, clogging up the oxygen tank, seeping into his suit, and instantly filling up his helmet. His eyes and nose stinging to hell and back, he smashed a button on his suit. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming as his boots magnetized to the floor. He swore that his leg was practically on the verge of collapsing in on itself; each pitstop for refueling was a dice toss to see how much more his leg could take before it had to give, and if it gave, there was absolutely zero chance of him standing a chance at the competition. Hell, if he had known that THIS was how the contest would go for him at the start, he would never have even bothered to sign up.
He opened up his shoulder thrusters and activated them. Water slowly spurted out of his suit; he opened his mouth to breathe. Nice, fresh air filled his lungs as a female voice sounded off inside his helmet.
“Oxygen restored.”
He stared off into the distance. Aside from several purple and black pieces of rock belonging to a few underwater caves jutting out from the waterline and a few mini-islands made of grass and sand, there was practically no real surface to grab onto or at the very least rest on.
Except, of course, for the small wooden platform about what looked like a mile or so away from him. On that platform was a massive stone building that looked a hell of a lot like a bunker. That bunker was the safe-house, which meant it HAD to have some medical supplies of some description that could treat his leg.
All he had to was swim.
He hyperventilated, psyching himself up for one more swim. His RIG was heavy and his thrusters weren’t fast in the slightest, but he cruised through the currents correctly, then he’d be able to get to the bunker just in time to avoid drowning. He just had to unlock his boots, hop forward, and swim. The pain would only be temporary.
He waited for the waves to steady.
He pressed a button on his torso.
His boots unlocked.
He jumped forward.
He anticipated pain. He was prepared for it.
But he did not want to hear the loud, crackling POP of his knee.
His leg exploded, electrifying spasms overwhelming his leg and swarming up the rest of his body. He couldn’t help himself. As he shrieked to the heavens above, he rolled onto his back and tried his absolute hardest to repair his tenderized leg, letting the waters take him to wherever they wanted him to go.
Clarke puttered forward, fighting through the waves with every bit of oxygen fuel he had. He braced himself for the agony he was about to experience. 15. 5. 0.
His suit decompressed, steam shooting out of the orifices of his RIG. Seawater rushed through the now open holes, clogging up the oxygen tank, seeping into his suit, and instantly filling up his helmet. His eyes and nose stinging to hell and back, he smashed a button on his suit. He had to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming as his boots magnetized to the floor. He swore that his leg was practically on the verge of collapsing in on itself; each pitstop for refueling was a dice toss to see how much more his leg could take before it had to give, and if it gave, there was absolutely zero chance of him standing a chance at the competition. Hell, if he had known that THIS was how the contest would go for him at the start, he would never have even bothered to sign up.
He opened up his shoulder thrusters and activated them. Water slowly spurted out of his suit; he opened his mouth to breathe. Nice, fresh air filled his lungs as a female voice sounded off inside his helmet.
“Oxygen restored.”
He stared off into the distance. Aside from several purple and black pieces of rock belonging to a few underwater caves jutting out from the waterline and a few mini-islands made of grass and sand, there was practically no real surface to grab onto or at the very least rest on.
Except, of course, for the small wooden platform about what looked like a mile or so away from him. On that platform was a massive stone building that looked a hell of a lot like a bunker. That bunker was the safe-house, which meant it HAD to have some medical supplies of some description that could treat his leg.
All he had to was swim.
He hyperventilated, psyching himself up for one more swim. His RIG was heavy and his thrusters weren’t fast in the slightest, but he cruised through the currents correctly, then he’d be able to get to the bunker just in time to avoid drowning. He just had to unlock his boots, hop forward, and swim. The pain would only be temporary.
He waited for the waves to steady.
He pressed a button on his torso.
His boots unlocked.
He jumped forward.
He anticipated pain. He was prepared for it.
But he did not want to hear the loud, crackling POP of his knee.
His leg exploded, electrifying spasms overwhelming his leg and swarming up the rest of his body. He couldn’t help himself. As he shrieked to the heavens above, he rolled onto his back and tried his absolute hardest to repair his tenderized leg, letting the waters take him to wherever they wanted him to go.
Quote:Still in D15, and heading right to Gamzee and Future Warrior! No kill me plz.
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New to OV? Need a question answered? Want a C&C of your work? Send a PM to me!
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