[ it happens faster than an enraged, short-circuiting, dizzyingly dissociated mind can comprehend. another memory reaches the surface: how a few days ago, he was delightedly marveling at how south could somehow pick him up when they hugged. today, justice grabs him by the leg and pitches him across the runway.
boothill doesn't know what he hits. he collides with something hard, first with the back of his metal skull and then with the rest of his body. colors erupt from him, again in larger fractals, blindly opaque. it feels like his entire body has blown outward.
the impact is almost explosive, but it doesn't erupt the plane in its entirety. instead it's bent from the impact, the hull broken open on its side. boothill, or what's left of his almost decimated body, slides to the ground: limbs fallen apart, torso busted open with bits of iron and metal blown to pieces, wires hanging out of him with the ends in sparking strings. liquid pours out of him in different colors.
the colors that flash through the air are fading. propped up against a sheet of broken metal, his head still attached to his body yet bleeding profusely, he looks at anders if he approaches, wherever he is. from beneath his broken metal shell, there is a pulsing—the beating of a human heart, desperately clinging to life.
the red behind boothill's single eye has faded. his looks down briefly towards his own chest. his voice breaks as he speaks, full of eerie static: ]
no subject
boothill doesn't know what he hits. he collides with something hard, first with the back of his metal skull and then with the rest of his body. colors erupt from him, again in larger fractals, blindly opaque. it feels like his entire body has blown outward.
the impact is almost explosive, but it doesn't erupt the plane in its entirety. instead it's bent from the impact, the hull broken open on its side. boothill, or what's left of his almost decimated body, slides to the ground: limbs fallen apart, torso busted open with bits of iron and metal blown to pieces, wires hanging out of him with the ends in sparking strings. liquid pours out of him in different colors.
the colors that flash through the air are fading. propped up against a sheet of broken metal, his head still attached to his body yet bleeding profusely, he looks at anders if he approaches, wherever he is. from beneath his broken metal shell, there is a pulsing—the beating of a human heart, desperately clinging to life.
the red behind boothill's single eye has faded. his looks down briefly towards his own chest. his voice breaks as he speaks, full of eerie static: ]
Get it over with, Magic Man. You know what to do.