A little regeneration for all the nicks on his hands, his feet. The damage to the synthetic flesh of his leg (from putting it through a god damn oven) is fixed up to the best of the nurse's ability with an address of a good touch-up mechanic to make it look brand new fresh on the body.
His stomach rolls. It's starting to appear that there's less and less of himself to his own body and his own mind. There's a weight that only gets heavier, a burden to everything that's happened, everything seen and done. How fucked up is it that he'd rather go back to a galactic war than be here, and be himself, right now?
Is this how it's going to be for the rest of his time here? The rest of his life? Isn't it more likely that it's going to get worse?
He's very tempted to go rooting around in all the drawers to find some needles or a scalpel or by some miracle a chem cube he can overclock--he doesn't move from where he's seated on the bed, but the temptation is there. He's stuck inside himself.
Day 222 - afternoon - action
His stomach rolls. It's starting to appear that there's less and less of himself to his own body and his own mind. There's a weight that only gets heavier, a burden to everything that's happened, everything seen and done. How fucked up is it that he'd rather go back to a galactic war than be here, and be himself, right now?
Is this how it's going to be for the rest of his time here? The rest of his life? Isn't it more likely that it's going to get worse?
He's very tempted to go rooting around in all the drawers to find some needles or a scalpel or by some miracle a chem cube he can overclock--he doesn't move from where he's seated on the bed, but the temptation is there. He's stuck inside himself.