Drip
The soft sound was soothingly, however as his brain slowly acknowledged the heavy feeling of his body all Scott could do was let out a moan. The cold metal grate was pressing into his face and his first instinct was to push away from it. He moved his arms to push himself up, his right elbow hitting metal and jarring him slightly. Scott's hand was soon where he wanted it and he pushed up, aiming to end up on his hands and knees. Instead, sharp searing pain shot from his shoulder, causing him to cry out. He didn't get anywhere with the lift. Scott breathed through the pain until it had settled enough for him to think straight.
Drip
As his breathing because less laboured and his heart was no longer pounding, the stillness enveloped him. There was a dull ringing in his ears and Scott slowly struggled to put the pieces together. There had been the roar of Thunderbird 2 flying overhead to join him. The calls of the people he'd come to save. Those screams had been replaced with words of gratitude as he ushered them out. Then he'd gone in again, the light buzzing of Mini-MAX flying after him with Brains' hologram floating above the little robot. Scott couldn't remember the instructions Brains had been relaying to him, but they had been important. Maybe he couldn't remember because he'd hit his head, or maybe he had just expected Brains to repeat them when they were at their destination. Not that it mattered now.
Drip
He'd gotten used to the chill of the metal. His cheek pressed into the holes of the grating. Virgil was going to kill him when he found out Scott had removed his helmet. The explosion had made it unusable anyway. He remembered the feeling off relief that he'd had upon seeing the damage; grateful he'd been wearing it. He needed to thank Brains that he wasn't dead already. Thank Brains, survive Virgil. Both added to his to do list. What else should he do? Contact John. Scott moved his right hand carefully and was thankful there was no pain. He reached around, sliding his hand under his neck to try and reach his baldric. He just needed to press the iR symbol. But he also needed to not be lying on it. Reaching along the tough fabric caused his body to rock and excruciating pain made tears come to his eyes. Scott tried to bite through it. He tried to reach but it was all too much. He felt himself slowly slipping. He continued to push forward.
Drip
The engine room had drowned out Brains instructions. The grinding of metal, the hiss of steam from old machinery that should have been decommissioned years ago. It should be in a museum. He had barely heard the pounding of his feet as he'd run to the console, following Mini-MAX who started to push buttons. Why was he even there if MAX could do it all? Scott had chased after the robot, who led him further into the engine room. He knew they had to stop the machine or risk the whole area being damaged by a catastrophic explosion. Scott knew first-hand how hard evacuating an area from an unseen threat could be. MAX flew around a handle and Brains, the genius he was, projected simple instructions for him. Scott had tried. He'd worked as fast as he could, the clunking and grinding getting worse. Only it hadn't been enough, and the word 'RUN' hovered above MAX. He didn't need telling twice.
Drip
Scott couldn't speak, his jaw clamped shut against the pain. Thankfully, he didn't have to. The sweet chime of his brother's voice, no matter the panicked undertone, was music to his ears.
"Scott!? Scott!? I've got your location. Stay put. Virgil is on his way."
The pain intensified as he brought his hand out from beneath him. Tears escaped and ran down his face. There was a dull splat as one hit the metal, though Scott barely registered it. The pain had taken over everything neuron in his brain. He stilled and waited once again for the pain to subside, to become manageable. At least his brother was coming. John knew where he was, and for once Scott would have to wait for rescue. Though he was sure when Virgil found him, he'd prefer a stubborn, walking, wounded brother. Scott knew it was bad, even without looking. The eerie emergency lighting did nothing to ease the feeling.
Drip
He had run too late. Scott had almost reached the door when the machine had overloaded. The explosion caused by the built-up pressure, shredded the rusty old metal, and sent it flying. One piece flew directly at him. It had thrown Scott into the wall, his helmet taking a significant amount of the blow. It was not salvageable. Scott had discarded it and continued to get away. As he ran along the corridor in search of an exit, the high-pitched ringing in his ear was a constant reminder of why he had to be quick. The build-up of pressure wasn't localised. In the dimly lit corridors, the blue light of Mini-MAX was Scott's guide. The buckling of a pipe as he ran spurred him on, his focus on the light and the pounding of his feet on the metal walkways. The maze felt never-ending and his legs and lungs were starting to burn. But he couldn't stop. Mini-MAX led him across a tank of water, which led to another. The door ahead was so close, but Scott never made it. Metal gave in above him with a mighty groan, as his body hit the gangway and great splashes below joined the symphony of destruction. He hadn't been fast enough.
Drip
Twisting his head, Scott placed his other cheek to the metal, his eyes took in the horror that was his right arm. There was enough light to make out the source of his pain. Jagged angled metal was pinning the top of his arm to the broken metal walkway. Other ragged edges had skewered his lower arm and forced it into an angle that shouldn't be possible for human bones. It was broken. An injury like that should hurt. It should hurt more than it currently was, Scott knew that much. Some would call it a blessing, but he knew enough about medicine to know it meant something worse. Damaged nerves. Blood, not red in this light but a colour much darker, coated the jagged metal spines. They glistened with his blood. It was slowly pooling at the ends, silently building up, until it fell to the water below.
Drip
His heart was heavy with the realisation. He would be lucky if they could save it, let alone for it to be functional. He was going to lose his arm. He would have to step down as an International Rescue operative. He might still be able to fly Thunderbird One, just not on a rescue. He'd have to sit and watch his brother's risk their lives unable to help them. He'd would have to watch from the side-lines. He'd have to hope they'd come home in one piece. Hope they won't pay the same price he had, or worse. A tear slid down his face.
Drop