Soooo, this is my first venture into actually posting something in this category. Haha, I'll admit I'm a little nervous about it. Most of this stuff is over a year old, though I hope to get the urge to do more soon, and I thought...well, I have this stuff laying around, why not share it? Admittedly, the stuff in here is crappy and potentially OOC..but hey, that's what CC is for, right? Pretty much everything will feature Savy Sl-2 and/or Nos-4-a2 in some way. I just love both of them so much. ;-; and Ty, although I'm even less confident in my ability to write with him. ANYWAY, I'll try to wrap this annoying a/n up. I don't own anything, as you all very well know.
This first oneshot is set pretty much directly after the Slayer. I realize they probably would not have left his body down there, but.. I'm going to forgo logic and assume they did anyway, and there's nothing you can do about it! Mwuah! (I do however apologize for the weird way in which I wrote this, including how many times you have to see the word 'He'.)
Time to power down Nos-4-a2; permanently!
He remembered...feeding. He remembered Buzz Lightyear. He remembered Xr, beside him now. And he remembered an annoying little girl.
A girl that was standing over the ship, staring down at him.
A girl that was driving something into his randometer.
A girl that broke through straight into his power grid.
He became aware of an intense pain ripping through his chest. He could feel a blunt object smashing through the first layer of alloy, bursting through his randometer; feel an immense surge of power flee his grid amidst the severe pangs. A million warning signs went off at once, messages blaring obnoxiously through his mind- making the pain all the more worse.
He could hear the cries of pain escape him, his intense feral shriek echoing throughout the sewers and fading to silence almost instantaneously as his strength left him. His optics sprung widely open, burning redder than they ever had before. The girl was driving the stake deeper with every passing second, the grim expression on her face evidence she would not stop. His pain lended itself to a feral sort of rage- instinct taking over yet again.
The girl was the cause of his pain.
The girl would kill him if he did not stop her first.
The girl had to be destroyed.
He hissed and lunged at her image, clawed fingers poised to rip into her throat to make his pain stop. She would bleed, blood bothered him, but he had no intention of biting her. Still, blood would stain his alloy and he would have to spend a good amount of time cleaning it, a troublesome thing. But it didn't matter. He didn't care. Feral instinct ruled him now; his only concern was stopping the pain, by removing the source.
He lunged with surprising strength, given how little he had left. His entire frame moved, his wings even popping themselves out of his back. He would soar out of the coffin, claws sunk into her delicate little neck and he would snap it, or crush her against the walls. Yes, that would stop her, that would kill her, that would stop the pain.
That was what instinct told him, anyway. But it was wrong.
Instead of colliding with the girl, he fell to the floor pitifully. His wings had refused to open, not enough power for them to prove useful. His claws gripped at the dirty concrete, digging harshly into it as his wound cried out with excruciating vigor. That was a huge mistake, he respected it now.
Another hiss escaped him; his mind still inclined toward acts of a feral nature as his systems struggled to fully reboot. His logic was restoring itself bit by bit, though he regretted that fact, as his mind found it appropriate to chide him for such a foolish action before bothering to test how deep the wounds ran. As the pain diluted briefly he pulled himself up as best he could, taking in his surroundings. His larger optic, encased within a golden monocle, ran a diagnostic scan of the area- and came to a single conclusion:
He was alone.
Little one and Buzz Lightyear were gone. So was the girl.
Pity.
He very much wanted to get his hands on her, to teach her a lesson. Especially when the diagnostics on the level of his wounds came back.
He had died. Not for a moment before coming back online, he had truly and honestly gone offline. She had killed him.
How he had returned, was thanks to Zurg. An emergency power grid had been installed elsewhere within his body- one that was far weaker than than normal. It got the job done though, geared to activate only if he had been terminated. A last ditch effort, to give him enough power for one final attack..presumably against Lightyear.
That it was on now told him enough. It was his only source of power. The girl had drained his others completely dry.
His optics whirred as his gaze drifted to his chest, observing the wound for himself. It was bad alright. The energy stake still stuck in his chest, while a blue liquid trickled out of the damaged wires and onto the floor.
He snarled at the thought of her. That little wretch! That she, a mere child should have killed him...it was unacceptable! He was one of the most respected villains in the universe...And to think he had met any end by a gutter rat, a nobody. It was sickening!
His claws scraped the ground again, wishing that she had been there. Snapping that tiny neck of hers would have reaped him immense satisfaction.
But revenge could come later. For now, he would have to satisfy himself with simply surviving. The emergency energy would not last him long, nor was it supposed to. He had only enough power to make one final strike. Or, to feed on something weak.
He would feed. It would give him enough energy to feed again, and little by little he could restore his own power grid. Providing he removed the nuisance first.
Another hiss. This would hurt, and he damn well knew it.
Gingerly, he clutched the stake- first with one hand, then the other. He considered it for a moment, before he pulled it out with one swift lurch.
He screamed again, the pain absolutely unbearable. More fluid leaked from the wound, and only fluid. There was no energy in that area, nothing to produce sparks. He clutched the area, the gaping wound screaming out. The removal of the object made things even worse, the energy would run out faster. But to leave it in would be a mistake just as great.
His optics burned again, scanners running to find prey. He needed to feed. Anger still burned for the girl, he wanted revenge, he would have it some day...But he would wait. Feeding was more important now, he needed it. If he did not feed, he would die. Then she would win, again.
He could not allow that.
He growled, hunger ripping him apart nearly as much as the pain. He was insatiable, he knew constant hunger...but this was different. He was more desperate this time, the hunger was greater than he had ever known. How quickly he fed made the difference between life and death. He cast logic and rationale aside as the diagnostics came back, finding prey within the vicinity and surveyed the surroundings, noting he would have to climb. His wings were useless at this point, until he obtained more energy. A trying, painful task this hunt would be...But he would do whatever it took. He would survive. He had to.
Defeat was unacceptable.