Piiing. Piiing. Piiing goes the car's alarm, blaring for one solid second. It's followed by another second of silence until piiing. It's what the car screams whenever something has gone terribly, terribly wrong. Pilat can't think of a worse noise he knows.
The car is a total write-off. Pilat can tell with his eyes closed...hell, he moves his foot to the side slightly and feels the car floor bulge up where it definitely did not before. In a fit of manic terror, Pilat flails and kicks in his seat, until he relaxes somewhat. He didn't break anything and he can move.
Pilat exhales a deep sigh from behind his fingers. He's scared to look at the car next. They've had this car long enough for him to get emotionally attached to it.
He just barely spreads the fingers over his eyes apart. Through the fractaled dash window, Pilat sees the car has snagged its front-right tire in a pothole. The car has now swung against the opening to the tunnel they were about to drive into. Pilat shakily pulls the keys from the ignition. He now understands why that orange cone in the middle of the road back there felt so out of place...stupid punk kids must've been playing on the overpass again. The boss is going to definitely be putting a "good word" out on them.
Pilat freezes. The boss has not said anything since they hit the pothole. He gasps in horror, feeling selfish for taking so long to realize. As he whirls around to the passenger's seat, his eyes expect to see all the worst things imaginable. Violent horror comes to him in a form he didn't anticipate.
Pilat winces, pauses, and then cranes his head towards the gore. But it's not human gore. The boss's arm - his right one, the one that was closest to the tunnel wall - is now detached. The boss's dislocated arm has fallen past his seat and onto his legs before him, while he lays against the crushed remains of the passenger side door.
It's a tangled cluster of cables and metallic joints, the sort Pilat has seen on damaged robots. It's not a prosthetic; bionic limbs weren't as rigid and heavy-looking as this arm. This was something that would come off from an overall rigging system.
His eyes carry along Skunk's shoulder to his face. The boss is biting his lip in the throes of severe pain. His eyes stare back furiously, a look Pilat recognizes as, Why aren't you helping me out here?!
Pilat struggles to even breathe, "Wh-what the hell...?"
"L-Long story," Skunk grunts, biting his lip. The alarms and flares going off in his head indicate pain, great pain. "D-Di-d-do me a kindness a-and get my arm, eh?"
Pilat gapes back at him as if he's gazing into a funhouse mirror. Skunk snorts in disgust and turns away, his intact hand searching for the other one. He's already embarassed; he doesn't need to be patronized further.
"Boss, hold on," Pilat yelps. He grabs for Skunk's arm, wincing upon contact, but he keeps moving closer to the boss's shoulder. Skunk turns his head away to allow Pilat room, but a little pop of electricity flares from his broken shoulder.
Skunk stops moving, but looks away. He understands why Pilat doesn't want him to move...if he were a human, he'd probably be spurting blood all over the place. At least blood isn't combustible.
It's a strange moment as Pilat shakily reattaches Skunk's arm, reconnecting the mechanical structure as best as he can. Skunk muses over the moment; it's is one of those little things that just happens in life that you can never, ever turn away from. Pilat only knows a fraction of what's going on here, but he continues dutifully reattaching Skunk's arm. Skunk thinks to remind himself to slip Pilat a cash bonus after this.
After a long moment, Pilat moves away; he holds his hands out cautiously until he is sure the arm is steady. He falls back into his seat. After a moment, Pilat continues, "I-I turned off the power circulation through that arm, but it's back on the joint."
Skunk glances at his exposed shoulder. His outer exterior took the brunt of the impact, and shards of torn silicone and ABS plastic jut out from the fabric from his suit and jacket. The mechanical skeleton remains intact with finger-tightened fasteners keeping Skunk's arm in his shoulder.
"T-Thanks," Skunk mumbles breathlessly. Not that he actually breathed, anyway.
The night sky is a deep grey, lifeless and still, with the faintest moonlight oozing out from behind clouds. The streetlights out here are few and far between. Skunk and Pilat stand against the sidewalk leading up to the tunnel, a good distance from the wrecked aerocar. Ox is on the way in the truck to pick them up. Nobody has been up this dingy little road in the meantime, fortunately. It's 2:37 AM on the edge of town, but you never know what to expect in Metro City.
Skunk has used some electrical tape from the car to make an impromptu sling. His right arm hangs limp against his chest, held in place by white vinyl tape. Skunk gently pushes down on a peeling corner of the tape, and asks, "Does it look convincing enough?"
"Yeah, I think so," Pilat replies.
The henchman has been uniform and straightforward this whole time. Maybe it's just shock from the crash, or maybe Pilat is genuinely being considerate. Either way, Skunk appreciates the formality.
"I'll tell the guys I pulled a muscle, and that I'll be taking it easy for a few days..." Skunk looks up to the night sky, sighing. "...I know someone who can fix this."
"Good," Pilat replies. "But, uh..."
Skunk stares down through slitted, tired eyes. "Yeah?"
"Why'd you have to pretend to be a robot for so long?"
An awkward pause drifts over the two. Pilat bursts into motion as he holds up his hands, shaking them in frantic "no" gestures. Skunk stops staring down at Pilat so fiercely. Pilat's been cutting Skunk some slack, and Skunk figures he'd might as well return the favour.
Pilat nervously continues, "I-I mean like, you're a big time boss, you can get away with it! Like...why not come out about it?"
"Tch..." Skunk rolls his eyes. "You think any of the guys would take orders from a robot?"