[It's a joke, a narrow raw edge of humor as his sensory unit quietly recalibrates around the new visual feedback. While Markus opens the seam at his shoulder - and he can feel that, pe thinks he can, though it might just be hos processing filling in the logic and translating the sensation feedback scattered around his sensors and routing that information more sensibly based off the visual data -, Simon takes in the dim, dusty room. His head doesn't move, but his eyes do: sliding quietly back and forth to study the piles of crates, the narrow streak of moonlight on the far wall, a spidering up a wall and across the ceiling. The structural integrity of the building is unusually compromised given its age and wear.
Part of 'they're losing', he thinks. Part of why the FBI is leaving. Had whatever caused it been a change to the plan as well?
Simom blinks slowly. He can feel the slug in his palm now, which means Markus has reconnected some of the damaged wiring leading from his spinal column. He turns his wrist. He rotates his fist. He opens his fingers and lets the bullet fall into his lap instead of putting it in his pocket like he'd meant to. Wrong order of operations, he thinks. Close enough.]
no subject
[It's a joke, a narrow raw edge of humor as his sensory unit quietly recalibrates around the new visual feedback. While Markus opens the seam at his shoulder - and he can feel that, pe thinks he can, though it might just be hos processing filling in the logic and translating the sensation feedback scattered around his sensors and routing that information more sensibly based off the visual data -, Simon takes in the dim, dusty room. His head doesn't move, but his eyes do: sliding quietly back and forth to study the piles of crates, the narrow streak of moonlight on the far wall, a spidering up a wall and across the ceiling. The structural integrity of the building is unusually compromised given its age and wear.
Part of 'they're losing', he thinks. Part of why the FBI is leaving. Had whatever caused it been a change to the plan as well?
Simom blinks slowly. He can feel the slug in his palm now, which means Markus has reconnected some of the damaged wiring leading from his spinal column. He turns his wrist. He rotates his fist. He opens his fingers and lets the bullet fall into his lap instead of putting it in his pocket like he'd meant to. Wrong order of operations, he thinks. Close enough.]
Where's everyone else?