Her body obeys its partial creator— it ceases its grotesque deterioration, its ugly jolts and spews of lost blood. It calms, and with it comes the rise of 2B's deflated chest. Woe has played God. She has created, and what 2B sees with the inclined frame of her arm and reaching delicately splayed fingers:
She was alive, repaired with foreign parts— but as her nanocells overlap technology and biology with probing curiosity (is this a virus? an intruder? is this causing harm?), they accept the new and forget the old. They flow through her blood and embrace the chambers of a new heart that pumps . . . Differently. She can hear it beat like a Doppler's pulse. The organic bumps caused by particular electric signals felt like skips. Oxygen allows her brain (a complex hub of too many parts) to work. She hears, from muffled to the clear pelt of rain. The color returns to her eyes. The world was vibrant, and no longer dying.
And she could not be happier. It wasn't like being programmed into a new chassis in Bunker, this was like seeing the world for the first time. Wanting to be returned, and being returned. Her fingertips meet the curvatures of Woe's cheek like feathertips, and when she feels it, the warm, smooth sensation, she speaks. The android smiles— albeit missing her ripe red lips, the repair to missing tissue should come with time. They already work with newfound vigor, powered by sealed Paleblood to bring color back to the surface, wefting minor vacancies the way an organic body would repair its own wounds. It could not have done what Mercy has.
"Woe," all but a whisper from her crackling voice smoothing with each breath. It was thanks, grace— It was hopeful admiration.
no subject
She was alive, repaired with foreign parts— but as her nanocells overlap technology and biology with probing curiosity (is this a virus? an intruder? is this causing harm?), they accept the new and forget the old. They flow through her blood and embrace the chambers of a new heart that pumps . . . Differently. She can hear it beat like a Doppler's pulse. The organic bumps caused by particular electric signals felt like skips. Oxygen allows her brain (a complex hub of too many parts) to work. She hears, from muffled to the clear pelt of rain. The color returns to her eyes. The world was vibrant, and no longer dying.
And she could not be happier. It wasn't like being programmed into a new chassis in Bunker, this was like seeing the world for the first time. Wanting to be returned, and being returned. Her fingertips meet the curvatures of Woe's cheek like feathertips, and when she feels it, the warm, smooth sensation, she speaks. The android smiles— albeit missing her ripe red lips, the repair to missing tissue should come with time. They already work with newfound vigor, powered by sealed Paleblood to bring color back to the surface, wefting minor vacancies the way an organic body would repair its own wounds. It could not have done what Mercy has.
"Woe," all but a whisper from her crackling voice smoothing with each breath. It was thanks, grace— It was hopeful admiration.