Short lil chap today.

Armour: None

Weapon: None

Acc(1/12): Band of Regeneration

Health: (10/500) (bloodless)

She was a monstrosity.

She knew it the moment she opened her eyes... no, her eye.

Her one enormous eye.

Where did the other go? What had they done with it? She had remembered crying when the needle pierced her neck and all sensation quickly began draining away. She'd cried for her mother. She'd cried for her brothers. She'd cried for herself... because although she didn't know exactly what would happen to her, she knew it would be bad. For there were whispering in the holding cells. The quiet wailing of hundreds of men and women, laying half-sedated in their pods mumbling and weeping, awaiting their turn. Turn for what? If she knew how to read, maybe she'd know. But something told her perhaps she'd best remain in ignorance.

(Yes, heartbeat achieved! The condition is stabilized - and using far less of N-83 than initially estimated!)

(Zoologist, your sample is amazing! It's like liquid life!)

And even now, she remained ignorant. She was a monster, but of what ilk? She... everything felt strange. Her limbs were long and gangly. Her skull was malformed. She could feel the sharp bits of wire beneath her skin that patchworked the parts of her wide jaw together. Shaggy fur covered her enormous from from head to toe. Teeth protruded from slobbering gums and poked her upper palate if she sought to close her mouth. A maw of jagged teeth. Muscles she didn't have before. A weight upon her head, like she was balancing a tree branch across her skull... what... what did they turn her into?! What-

(Ah, it's awake. Disconnect the drip feed.)

(Roger. Should we freeze the rest of the blood?)

(Put it into time statis. I don't want to risk it degrading.)

She could hear their voices foggily through the glass. A small crowd of white coats were gathered around her tank, all slightly green through the fluid's lurid tint. Had they always been so small? so fragile? Her limbs were foreign to her, but this aberrant blood was instructed her on how to use them. It seeped into her brain, and filled it with rage and adrenaline. It boiled in her veins, and her vision clouded in red mist. She... she had never hurt a person before. She never wanted to. For all her short life, she had been nothing but a beggar child that ran amongst her little gang - playing in the streets, stealing fruit from vendors... but now... now she wanted...

She wanted to tear them open.

To see their organs splattered against the walls.

To crush them underfoot.

To lay waste and destroy...

*Clank...Rattle*

And just like that, the burning blood drove her into a frenzy. She stretched her mouth wide, and roared. She tore at her bonds. She pounded against the glass, leaving long gouges along the inside of her tank. The White-coats looked startled. They began to scatter away, taking their clipboards and needles and scrambling away into dark offices like rats. Indeed, like rats. Rats that would soon meet their wonderfully gruesome end between her teeth!

The glass splintered beneath her fists, and fluid gushed out from all around her - flooding out from atop and pushing her out and through the hole she had cracked open. The glass tore at her limbs, leaving long bloody gashes, but she didn't feel in injuries. She was gone. Drowned in the depths of that blood. Her veins burned with adrenaline and excitement. Her mind was possessed with a foreign rage. She clambered to her feet and roared, swinging her head side to side in search of prey to devour.

...

But wait...

That smell.

The smell of power. Strength that could be hers. She could feel its delectable scent filling her with a foolhardly ambition. Causing her eyes to bug out of her head. Causing her muscles to tense with anticipation. She bared her gums in a wide, wide grin. She panted and slobbered. She began to walk.

Then, she began to run.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the soldier again.

That same cybernetic soldier with the square jaw and the bright blue light embedded his helmet. It was a mesmerizing light, with flickering details he couldn't quite make out running behind the brightness. The Terrarian couldn't help but to simply stare into it for a while before pulling his attention away to the man to whom the light belonged. Last time he'd woken, The Soldier had greeted him with an overtly friendly expression. Today, his mouth was pressed in a thin, downturned line. There were more lines across his forehead; it was very obvious he was distressed. Perhaps worried. Did he need some sort of assurance?

Well...

Well if he did, The Terrarian wasn't going to be the one to give it. Not only was he groggy, half awake and unqualified, he was also exhausted. More exhausted than he'd ever been. His breathing was labored, every breath drawn with a gasp. His fingers were cold and stiff, and - to his confusion, he didn't recognize The Cyborg was grasping him by both shoulders until he managed to turn his head and see those metallic gloves pressing into his skin. It was as if his flesh were half dead, unable to recognize sensation.

He blinked and stirred. The Soldier's worried expression broke in relief. He offered a strained smile.

"Oh!...Welcome to the land of the living, Terrarian. How ya' feeling?"

"..."

He didn't respond.

He was tired. His limbs were like lead. He couldn't feel the sheets against his skin. Everything below his waist was just an icy ache and he was filled with an overwhelming desire to find a lava pool and climb into it. The Cyborg's cold metallic hands caused his skin to ripple and he tried to cringe away - but his muscles were slow to obey. Was it because of the several heavy blankets that were thrown over his lap? When did those get here? He opened his mouth to query, but he only managed a strangled croak. The Cyborg smiled sunnily at him. His voice was gentle.

"Not great, I take it. At least you're alive and kicking. Come. Let's get something hot to drink. Your lips are blue."

"..."

What was The Cyborg saying? He heard the words; he did not understand. The Terrarian had never prided himself in his intellectual ability - but he was usually at least able to focus. But now, his mind was wandering deliriously from one disjointed thought to the next, and before long, he found himself again staring blankly into the bright cyan light. There was an itching in the back of his mind. A feeling that The Cyborg was concerned for him, and so he should say something in return. That it was 'bad' to just ignore others. That he should repay goodwill with goodwill, or at least fake some modicum of it. But, when he thought carefully about it... why should he? Where did this sense of 'right' and 'wrong' come from? For he certainly wasn't born with it, and if he wasn't born with it - it must have been ingrained into him by The Guide.

"Hey, don't space out on me like that!"

"..."

And if this was from the Guide, then The Terrarian wanted nothing to do with it. He wasn't going to be friendly. He wasn't going to care. Fueled by a sense of defiance, he raised his chin and curled his lip - baring his teeth as was his custom. He made himself out to be as unfriendly and frightening as he could manage, all whilst laying bundled up in bed, nauseous, exhausted and confused. Naturally, he did not receive the reaction he wanted. The Cyborg didn't find him intimidating in the least. The fake smile gave way to a very real chuckle. There was the sound of a stool's legs scraping against the polished concrete floor as The Cyborg sat near the head of his bed.

"The scientists said you've been asleep since the last time I visited you. Drugs aren't good for you, you know."

"..."

Strained smiles, a sense of urgency. The Cyborg was gritting his teeth whilst trying not to show it, yet the lilt in his voice and the tone of his speech were lighthearted and carefree. The Terrarian, of course, was unable to identify the dissonance in The Cyborg's behavior in such succinct terms, but even he could tell something was off. He narrowed his eyes and was about to say something when-

"Anyways, time to get up. Those bastards drained what they wanted out of you, so let's go before they decide they want to slice you up and look at your bits under a microscope. There's some commotion in the lab, so lets take advantage of it."

The Cyborg's metallic gloves were unpleasantly cold against his bare wrists, and even more unpleasant was the gut wrenching sense of nausea that tore through him as he was quite forcibly made to sit upright. Blood rushed from his head. His vision went black. The movement caused him to become so dizzy, he could scarcely tell up from down. The Terrarian had never vomited before. He never ate anything, so he had nothing to expel. But still, his woefully underused stomach did flips in his belly and caused him to hunch over and retch up nothing. The Cyborg patted him on the back as if none of this was his fault. He continued cheerfully with that strained expression on his face. He kept glancing at the camera pointed at them from the corner of the room.

"You must be starving, eh? The CC Central's barracks has a great canteen. It's meatloaf day, and its almost noon. Get up, let's go or we'll miss it."

"What?... What are yo- urg!"

The Cyborg gave him no time to react or respond. With an adroitness more natural to machinery than to man, The Terrarian found himself maneuvered, then dragged stumbling to his feet. This time, he really did begin choking - and would have toppled over had The Cyborg not caught him around the waist, the smiling façade finally dropping from his face. There was the faint sensation of several needles being plucked from the back of his neck; they clattered to the floor - slowly leaking crimson on white tiles.

"Ah- damn, they really almost drained you dry. Good thing I nabbed a ring of Regeneration for you... you might have not woken up otherwise. It's on your left hand. Don't let it fall off."

He blinked. True to form, there was a heart-shaped ruby ring about his fourth finger. Yet, despite he was a chronic hoarder, and despite he loved to collect all manner of accessories, not even a tribute like this could assuage his mood.

Because The Terrarian was finding himself beginning to get quite angry. Just a moment ago, he had been peacefully drifting in a sea of forgetfulness. Now he was folded over The Cyborg's arm, cold, sick and in an absolutely foul mood. Historically, The Terrarian had was neither patient nor good natured. He did, however, recognize how unproductive he'd be if he were to simply attack anyone that slightly bothered him. He had set certain thresholds for himself before resorting to violence, and The Cyborg had pushed through all of them in a matter of thirty seconds.

"Well, it's time to go, unless you want to end up a dried up husk. I think our first order of business is to get you something to wear. I'm sure we can find some scrubs on our way out-"

So The Terrarian bared his teeth, summoned a blade and stabbed his harasser in the thigh-plate.

*thock*

"Hm?"

Now, The Terrarian never had issues tearing through armour with weapon - big or small. Oftentimes, with humanoid enemies, he made no distinction between where on an enemy he struck. They almost certainly folded and collapsed with the force with with he hit them. Yet this today - to his great dismay - he found himself staring dumbly as his blade, which had failed not only to separate the The Cyborg's leg from the rest of his body, but hadn't even pierced his tough outer armour! Had his strength fled him completely? Or was The Cyborg just ridiculously powerful?

"A little fighter, eh? That's good... No matter. Time is short. Let's go."

The Mechanical Soldier hardly seemed offended at his sneak attack. He merely laughed heartily before wresting the blade from his grasp and tossing it away. He looked as if he were about to encourage him to walk on his own, but when an alarm began to blare overhead The Cyborg's face became the very picture of panic. With no further decorum, he tossed a blanket over The Terrarian, tossed The Terrarian over his shoulder, and began to run.

Cyborg really just put a ring on him

Two entities have possessed MK's blood in the past.

1) The Travelling Merchant's corpse

2) MK's many severed limbs

Now, Deerclops.

Why is MK so weak suddenly after losing massive amounts of blood? In the past, even when he bled everywhere, he didn't display any significant outward effect. There were many battles where he bled a shitton, and still could continue to fight like normal so long as he didn't get an arm chopped off or something - but this is different. Why? :)