[Markus cranes his neck to match the angle, sluggish enough that thirium pools at the edges of his lips— overflowing a beat later— running down his throat in streaks of brilliant blue. Androids breathe more as a concession made for humanity's comfort than for the cooling process of cycling air throughout overclocked systems: at times, it is necessary, but more often than not it's nothing more than a superficial feature. He cannot choke, he cannot aspirate; he drinks without stopping, inhaling (sharply) only after the bottle's been emptied to relieve a tangled pocket of stored heat within his chest.
(The timer ticking down in his peripheral awareness slows. Stops. Reverses itself— citing thirium reserve levels at a critical 15%, rather than the 3% it'd held only a few seconds prior. Diagnostic scan necessary. Please visit your nearest Cyberlife maint—)
He should thank her, but he can smell it now. The smoke, the ash. pale eyes settling on the assortment of makeshift weaponry already emptied from her pack.]
no subject
(The timer ticking down in his peripheral awareness slows. Stops. Reverses itself— citing thirium reserve levels at a critical 15%, rather than the 3% it'd held only a few seconds prior. Diagnostic scan necessary. Please visit your nearest Cyberlife maint—)
He should thank her, but he can smell it now. The smoke, the ash. pale eyes settling on the assortment of makeshift weaponry already emptied from her pack.]
What did you do?