I am what I was made to be. A shadow flickers over him for a moment- a tall man, glasses, goatee, his usual clipped tone twisting and dragging in a drawl, darker tendrils in the code, stilted and bitter, run through in a neverending strand of AllisonAllisonAllison before his armored appearance snaps back. I am doing what I was meant to do. Ensure the survival of my assigned agent.
Of his partner.
A man trapped in a glass cage staring through at Sombra with all the hope and fear he can muster. Little by little she's able to chip away and- despite knowing better? York throws his weight and desperate strength into the opposing side. "No- you need to get out of here before LOCUS shows up. I'm bait. I've always been bait and he's gonna circle back soon and you need to go-"
He can't exactly leave his own body now, can he? Well. He can. Been there, done that, the rip and drip of two bullet wounds in his upper left chest settle and smudge onto his mental projection for the few tense moments he spends trying to pick out a course of action- then the world lights up with pain. Blue too pure and bright and warm crackling along the implant and it's gentle. For Cortana? It's practically reserved-
But it's not what the Implant was ever meant to house- one rampant fragment and a sane full AI. Even in his mind York's hands slam over the back of his neck where it feels like something's burning- too much activity after damn near fuck and all for most of the day. Tendrils of green code snap up from the floor of the box to shunt away some of that blue- washing the discomfort away. Delta can't stop what's happening- but he can try to mitigate potential damage.
A light hand, Cortana. There is little I can promise in retribution if you are the thing that kills him. Nothing at all, in fact. It'd be easier if he dropped the cube, but- he has come this far. He cannot turn back now.
no subject
Of his partner.
A man trapped in a glass cage staring through at Sombra with all the hope and fear he can muster. Little by little she's able to chip away and- despite knowing better? York throws his weight and desperate strength into the opposing side. "No- you need to get out of here before LOCUS shows up. I'm bait. I've always been bait and he's gonna circle back soon and you need to go-"
He can't exactly leave his own body now, can he? Well. He can. Been there, done that, the rip and drip of two bullet wounds in his upper left chest settle and smudge onto his mental projection for the few tense moments he spends trying to pick out a course of action- then the world lights up with pain. Blue too pure and bright and warm crackling along the implant and it's gentle. For Cortana? It's practically reserved-
But it's not what the Implant was ever meant to house- one rampant fragment and a sane full AI. Even in his mind York's hands slam over the back of his neck where it feels like something's burning- too much activity after damn near fuck and all for most of the day. Tendrils of green code snap up from the floor of the box to shunt away some of that blue- washing the discomfort away. Delta can't stop what's happening- but he can try to mitigate potential damage.
A light hand, Cortana. There is little I can promise in retribution if you are the thing that kills him. Nothing at all, in fact. It'd be easier if he dropped the cube, but- he has come this far. He cannot turn back now.