You should've run. Sun had spent some time thinking about that, while she'd been sitting here in this room - enough time that she'd already come to the conclusion, and so Isre's statement was just met with an apologetic half-shrug. "There wasn't anywhere to run to. But... hey. Thanks for thinking about me, you know? That means a lot." Sun stepped in to give Isre a hug - one-armed, easy to get out of. She didn't think that the musician would like anything that felt like being trapped again.
The others in the room were putting in their opinions, too, some of them seeming more opinionated than others. The Luther guy reminded her of an insufferable patient relative - the sort who wanted to scream at the doctors about not doing enough or not doing what he thought they should be doing, whether or not it was at all medically relevant - and keeping them from doing their actual jobs because they were too busy dealing with him to deal with the patients. Sun had meant plenty of people like that. She hoped she was wrong about this one. She ignored his question, as it deserved.
"I'm Sun," she introduced herself, after Holly. "Right now I think we just need to focus on taking care of each other and figuring out what's going on. A lot of what people can do is more dependent on the situation than the people. Let's figure it out as we go. Anyone know why we're here? Or who they are? How is everyone feeling?"
Kaz held out a shaky hand and watched as the cowboy lit his cigarette with a flame emitting from his finger - how fuckin' nova. "Fancy light you got there. Thanks, bud." He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, the familiar taste of poison came back to him. His throat burned and his stomach turned, he'd forgotten about that - or maybe he was just soft now. It hardly mattered after he exhaled, the shake and nausea left with the smoke and drifted off into the air scrubbers.
Six and Grim. Did all mercenaries have cool nicknames like that these days? Kaz felt a little left-out, if he was being honest. Joking aside, they both seemed more than capable of handling themselves - likely the reason they'd been left behind. A cold feeling hit Kaz next, turning him to face towards the hallway.
How many of their number had been taken? He stepped out and looked into the dorms - empty. How about the mess hall? Trashed. "Fuck... fuck fuck fuck!" Kaz dropped his forehead into his hand, his head ached like hell. They'd just taken a big fucking L, but at least they managed to knock a few of the pirates down too - did that make him feel better?
No, it didn't. The only thing he wanted now was to find where they'd taken everyone else. "I - we gotta do something." Kaz stepped back into the cargo bay with the other mercenaries. "Can't let them just disappear - right?"
~ ~ ~
The bay doors of the Silent Fang opened as the Starskipper 604 drifted beneath, welcoming the tiny shuttle into its arms - quite literally, as four heavy service arms extended out and latched onto the ship. The ship shifted with a heavy clunk as they were pulled into the repair bay, the doors closing behind slow and certain. Pressure began to cycle, and in a few moments they'd be able to step away from the wounded vessel.
Space was, for better or for worse, a quiet place. For some, the silence was poetically deafening-- it let your heartbeat hammer in your ears, every staggered breath and nervous swallow crashing against the mind like waves upon a jetty. It was like being underwater, almost, which might've been why Voraan had become so accustomed to the feeling. People often hated spacewalks-- the orientation made 'em through up, or the blood rushing in their ears gave them a headache, or they hated the fact that they were a few inches of material and an o-ring seal away from being a corpse with collapsed lungs and frostbitten flesh. The marauder, for all his flaws, did not find discomfort in the cold expanse; instead, there was almost a welcoming emptiness that beckoned him beyond the airlock. Less things to worry about, out here. Sure, there was air, and temperature, and a tether-- but everything else? It faded away.
Space came with its fair share of beauty, too, not that Voraan ever paid much attention to that sort of shit. He'd been called a mutilated and ugly piece of shit for so long that the concept was all but foreign to him-- and that was just fine. He didn't need pity, and he certainly didn't need beauty. Still, though, there were small moments where he could appreciate the little things, like the glint of the sun beyond the penumbra of the military ship that almost framed it in a dull halo. Slowly, as the Starskipper drifted beyond the shadow of the larger vessel, the light of that faraway star bathed his suit in a choked luster-- pale and afraid. Voraan steeled his grip and pulled himself against the bridge with a grunt, the dull taste of copper on his tongue as he regained the briefest vestige of safety.
Fuck.
What was the point, he wondered? Running, like this, if not to die from some act of God that had nothing to do with him. He supposed that was just the way these things went-- anything that killed him now would just be divine providence finally making up for lost time, anyways. Taking shrapnel to his chest and head was a fine reminder that he should've died in that firefight with the Peacekeepers to begin with-- escaping with a few scars was practically a miracle. Made him wonder if he deserved to live, but he choked out the thought before it could take hold. Nobody deserved anything, out here.
Voraan had it coming, though, and it was only a matter of time before it showed up.
"Hmmhnh."
Not today, though. The Starskipper was rescued, and he felt his body moved with the ship, even with his darkened vision. A little rasp broke free from his throat and came out with a metallic whine-- a laugh, indignant and surprised. Was it just luck, at this point? Between his encounter with Grim and being jettisoned from two ships, yeah.
It probably was.
Voraan dropped from the bridge as the atmosphere repopulated itself, air thrown into his lungs from the automated filter at the front of his helmet. The skull flickered on his visor, battered but half-alive. With the display broken, the faintest silhouette of the marauder's face-- a moiety, completed by the skull at the midway-- broke through the transluscent material of the helmet. Shrapnel stuck into the glass and metal like spines of a porcupine-- hell, it probably was in him, but he could worry about that later. For now, he was content to land upon the loading bay with a heavy thud of his knees. A moment later, he stood, but it wasn't without a bit of a struggle.
"Fuck... this fuckin' system." He murmured, voice hoarse. Had he screamed, when he'd been thrown out into space? He didn't remember. "Fuckin' take Andromeda over this shit."
Johnathan's--Luther's--eyes drew themselves upon the Silwin first. Her words hit a certain chord with him. Not giving up. Wanting Sunny to run. And as she held her knees close to her chest, a small pang of guilt eroded into his skull far more than the ache. He had been so close to the mess hall and cargo bay. If he had not been intercepted, maybe the others would not be here, and he alone would have been taken.
No use regretting the past. What was done was simply done.
A sharp tone and even sharper words cut through the air as Luther turned his head towards Holly, the woman who had remained far more nonchalant until now. A tenseness settled in his shoulders as he braced against her words. His eyes narrowed for a moment, not in any discomfort or irritation at her words, but wondering where she thought her words would do for him or for herself. Get out her aggression at being captured? Suddenly make him go quiet and ashamed? He had not offered anything to contest or force them to do anything.
Besides, those nicknames were unamusing and not creative at all.
Why was she-? The moment hit him almost as hard as that giant of a cyborg had. First question to come out of his mouth was that. Looks like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed--or cell, in this case--along with the rest. But, in his case, he had been far too direct, too focused on the task. Far too removed. And, in the process, lost key details regarding the state of the people and the room. Just like he lost Voraan's patience, lost track of Grim, lost the fight, and now losing any goodwill with his fellow prisoners. Just one loss after another. A hand rubbed the side of his head in frustration. He felt something more congealed and flaky under his fingers.
He pulled his hand away to find flakes of blood and congealed bits of the red liquid sticking to his hand. He rubbed his fingers to get some off.
You're a man. Not a machine. Focus.
Time to step up and make up for a few of his mistakes.
"I'm looking forward to it," Luther offered a respectful nod to her bold claim before looking away as a tired sigh escaped his lips. He was too tired, and, frankly, arguing or offering anything close to a sardonic remark in return would not help anyone. Best to just walk away and work better with the others, which mean he needed to watch what he said and how he went about this much closer, especially with just how blunt he had been earlier. It was much easier to talk with the implants still active. At least he could follow along a set of words or get a better read on people, no matter how impaired he felt.
Enough. He would have to make do with what he had.
"And I have some functionality left, unlike your communicator. I just need a hard reset," Luther flexed his mechanical fingers, one after the other.
Not like they made him a hunk of metal and flesh laying on the bed. Standard factory settings meant he was still capable, just in a lesser capacity, as they could never take his training away nor the effects of a metal fist hurtling towards a person's body. As for a hard reset, only a few ideas came to mind to try and "fix" himself. The ideas, few and far in-between as they were, were put to the back of his mind as his head turned and tilted towards Sun's direction. Take care of each other and figure this out. Sun definitely had the right idea after his blunt remark earlier.
Those were two things he could do starting right now.
"I didn't exactly have a chance to chat with my captor, but they can certainly afford muscle. Experienced and cybernetic muscle," Luther spoke as he stared into the wall for a moment, almost boring holes into it with his gaze, before returning attention back to the group, "Most likely they'll either trade us off as slaves or worse. They might plan to slice out our cybernetics and organs, but I think they'd keep us under rather than throw us in a cell."
A simple explanation for the situation they were in and as good a guess as any. There were few other alternatives as to the reasoning behind their situation. Like if any of them had a bounty of their heads.
"Unless any of you have any details I'm missing?"
His eyes glanced over to the Silwin. The worst off of the bunch from what he could tell, both physically and . . . on the inside.
"Speaking of asses getting kicked, how's the leg? Same guy who got you mess up your leg?" a quick point of a cybernetic finger towards her injured leg followed the statement, "If you need help getting back to your bed, I'll probably have an easier time getting you there than Sun, considering my augs still somewhat work."
A furrowed brow followed as a small detail came to the forefront of his mind.
"Holly mentioned two were injured. You're definitely one."
His eyes briefly fell upon Sun before flickering over Holly.
"Who's the second? One of you two? I don't see any obvious wounds. One of you broke something? I don't see a cast or blood."
Where were their wounds? Or was it perhaps something that was causing Holly's headache? A concussion?
Last Edit: Apr 15, 2023 3:39:09 GMT by Paperbag Fill
Luther sighed at Laurel’s statement after a quick acceptance, one she didn’t think was as genuine as it might have seemed on its head. Most men did not take well to the idea of being saved by a woman, even if they paid her to do it. A slight smile curled at the corners of her mouth at his response. The grin grew wider at his mention of a “hard reset.” How antiquated.
She rolled to her side, propping herself on an elbow as he spoke, detailing the grimy possibilities of the reason for their capture, pointing out the obvious injury on the Silwin’s leg, and finally asking who else was injured. At first she thought he was joking, but after a moment passed and he did not burst into laughter she realized the bloodied man had no clue about how he looked.
”Speaking of asses getting kicked?” she said, tossing his words back at him pointedly. ”When I heard the pounding I had thought maybe a pirate was getting busy with a hammer.” Laurel slid her legs over the edge of the cot and set her feet down, clasping her hands over her knees. ”Judging by your bloody head and the way you’re talking, I’m guessing you were the hammer?” A blow like that would certainly discombobulate anyone. Was he so out of it that he couldn’t see who the second injury belonged to?
”The one thing we know for a certainty is that we are captives on a pirate ship. Whatever they plan for us isn’t likely to be pleasant. The way I see it we have two options.” Laurel pointed to the ceiling. ”Option one: We work together to find a way to break out of this cell, fight our way off of this ship and back to the 604. No offense but I doubt you two would be much use in that scenario.” Laurel nodded to the injured Silwin and the colonial woman.
”Option two: We wait for the right moment, maybe during transport, and make a break for it as a unit. If your augments are designed for combat then I think the two of us could conceivably protect our civilian friends.” She held her second finger up for a moment, gaze shifting away from the other prisoners for a beat before returning.
”Option C: We wait for someone to rescue us. There were at least a couple of the other passengers who seemed like they could mount an effort. Whether or not they would care to do so is anyone’s guess.” Laurel lowered hand, looking around at the other three faces for their preference, or perhaps a better plan than her three basic ones.
As the service arms grabbed hold of the ship, and as control was taken from Sevvi over the Starskipper, she let out a long, tired sigh. The day hadn't at all gone the way she had wanted or expected. This was supposed to have been an easy job, a quick injection of cash to send home before the next big thing, but now half her payday was tied up and locked away in a pirate vessel. She was behind schedule, down a thruster, and tired. The Dokka disconnected the PAS from the neural port at the base of her skull, letting the mechanical arms go limp, leaving them behind in the cockpit as she stood, shakily, and made her way back to the mess hall.
The hallway down the center of the 604 smelled like burning and blood. She took note of the dents in the hull near the door to the cockpit, and her face drew into a tight, pained expression. Somewhere down towards the cargo bay, she could see some mysteriously body shaped lumps on the ground, and even though she knew they were the pirates, it still struck her wrong. A little closer than that, however, was a small gathering of the few of her passengers who hadn't been taken. Sevvi took a deep breath in, stepped forwards, and spoke.
"Hey, y'all. We're docked with a Lykian military ship, called the, uhh... Ah hell, right, the Silent Fang. They're gonna patch us up, n' help us chase down the pirates. If y'all want off, I get it. It's been a bit much action for me, too, but I have an obligation to get those folks back. Just wanted to fill y'all in on the situation, make sure there weren't any more surprises headin' your way." She stood there awkwardly for a moment, before leaning her shoulder on the hallway wall, her heart only just down beginning to slow. What a fuckin' day.
It wasn't - unwanted, but it was a little surprising, especially in the moment. Isre stiffened at the touch, then relaxed a bit, returning the hug with maybe a little bit too tight of a squeeze. She drew a deep breath, bouncing her head against the glass as she leaned back into it. Okay. She was okay. For now.
"Hey, it's - it's fine. I get it. I'm just - upset, I guess. Fucking frustrated," she muttered in reply. "Needed to hit something."
Wanted to hit the people who put her in here, but that wasn't exactly possible.
Smiles introduced herself. Not Smiles - Sun. Honestly, she was pretty close on the nickname. It fit the sunny disposition pretty fucking well. Colorbomb introduced herself as well - Holly, something Isre never would've guessed - and so did the stern-faced guy in the corner, Luther. Course he had a boring Colonial name. Guy looked like he worked in an office or something, by his face.
Speaking of -
"My leg fucking hurts," Isre replied to his question, leveling a blank stare in his direction. "Mr. Cowboy fucking hit me trying to get Luk - trying to get the wolf fucker."
She glanced down at it. It wasn't bleeding anymore, which was good, but it still ached like shit whenever she put weight on it, which was bad. She seriously hoped there wasn't anything permanent, there.
Better the leg than the arm.
But better neither than either, yeah?
At his offer of help, she stiffened again.
"Don't need your fucking sympathy," she said sharply. "I can take care of myself."
Realizing her arm was still around Sun, she quickly pulled it back, shifting away from the girl. As Luther continued talking - this time asking who the second injured was - she tilted her head, slightly, incredulous.
"Dude, really? You can't tell who else is hurt? Your face literally look like chopped meat."
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
Tovah fiddled with the pin of her fire extinguisher as the shuttle slowly came up into the repair bay. As it did, something strange caught her eye. An umbilical? A whole-ass airlock bridge was hanging off the side where there sure as hell wasn't an airlock.
To make matters weirder, there was a guy in EVA gear dangling off it too. He dropped to the floor as soon as the doors closed and the atmo settled. Tovah dropped the extinguisher and ran over to his side, kneeling down next to him.
"Holy shit! You alright dude?" Her voice came through tinny and digitized from her helmet. "Yo, Tali! Get somebodies from medical down here, we might need a patch-job." Behind her walked a tall Lykaian in a officer's coat - black with red accents and piping. His armored shoulders and knees caught light as he strode towards the stern of the Starskipper.
~ ~ ~
The pilot came down and briefed them all on the situation. It was good to know someone else shared his sentiment, they needed to go after their captured friends - they weren't even that yet were they? Regardless, it was the right thing to do and he was already this deep.
Lykaian military?
Kaz wouldn't say no to a rescue - but he still wondered why the hell they were so far out of their own territory. They sure as hell didn't come all this way just to save a clipped shuttle. A question for the captain maybe, if the time was right.
"I'm with you, Sev'. Point the way." Kaz replied, hoping the others would share his conviction.
A few moments later the blast shutters of the ship began to spark with welding light. A makeshift door began to take shape with the torches, then fell through into the repair bay.
"You can step through now, just mind the hot edges." Hale Amarok's familiar voice echoed from outside the ship. "We've got um... your friend here." He added after a moment.
Despite it all, a quick shower in lukewarm water and a fresh change of clothes left Sienna feeling far more alive. She did what she could with the room while the White Fang pulled them into their hanger, but it wasn’t like she really knew who’s suitcase belonged to which bunk, but things would be lined up if — once — they got the kidnapped passengers back. She had her own things paced back up at least which was something, she guessed. Maybe it was nice to just be doing something even if that something was stacking suitcases on a bed.
That done, Sienna stepped back out into the hall, and made her way down to the cargo hold. The closer she got, the worse the smells. Some acrid that she didn’t know, and others she felt she knew too well. Blood was one of those, heavy and terrible, so dense and choking that she couldn’t understand those who dealt in blood by choice.
She arrived as Miss Sevvi finished explaining the situation to the gathered group, her gaze drawn to the flickering light of welding torches cutting their way through the skin of the ship.
“So, do we have a plan?” Sienna asked, looking back at the group as the wall fell away with a heavy ’thump’.
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
The Silwin had been caught in the crossfire. And her leg looked at least patched up if not fully healed, if it still hurt a lot--by her own words. A wolf-like alien had taken her hostage. Luther stored the info away for a moment, putting it alongside a spot next to the memory of the cyborg giant. He could ask more questions later. Or when she was in a less bitter mood, if his attempt to help was anything to go by.
His eyes widened a little, eyebrows raised, as the pair tag-teamed on how his face looked to be fresh from the butcher's shop. Or someone's personal hammer, as Holly so eloquently put it. She had heard that before getting captured?
"That bad?"
At the pair's remarks about his . . . appearance, Luther drew a hand across his upper forehead, wiping away and finding even more of the dirty scarlet residue upon his hands. Grabbing the material of his shirt, his touch became a little lighter upon his face as the skin, cartilage, and muscles still felt slightly tender to the touch as he worked to get as much of the red stains off himself. He had healed but perhaps only as so far as whoever sliced into his systems allowed. No real way to tell other than hurting himself.
Dried and congealed blood sat upon his fingers like old paint. Too blind to his own state. He had completely forgotten how he might look like after it all. Too busy scouting everyone out. He kept rubbing his hands against his face, hoping to clean himself up as Holly spoke.
"Mm," a small hum in the back of his throat escaped through closed lips as Holly finished going through their options of escape.
"I think you said it best yourself earlier. We should be patient," Luther pointed to the Silwin's leg, making sure to aim his finger low so as to not point directly at her, "Her leg still hurts, and we can't exactly see how much they fixed unless we try to remove the bandage wrap. Either way, we're not getting anywhere fast unless we leave her behind or split up."
His eyes flickered between the pair, "But I'm not a fan of the former option. So I think we should wait a bit and see what may present itself as a good opportunity. Maybe the leg will be a little better later."
His eyes narrowed for a moment as he looked around the room, the walls and ceiling. No guards outside to watch them as far as he can tell through the glass. Cameras? Should a group such as them be talking out loud? With the luck he had so far, even if they all did whisper, the microphones would be sensitive enough to pick up on their words.
"I'm not sure if we should be talking this loud for everyone to hear, but I don't think it would make much difference either."
Last Edit: Apr 20, 2023 3:22:31 GMT by Paperbag Fill
Six couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as his fellow hat-bearer introduced himself. He waited until the other mercenary had lit his cigarette before standing, again, taking stock of the figure standing before him. It wasn’t every day that you met a legend. Granted, it wasn’t every day you got thrown around like a sack of potatoes by a hulking behemoth of a pirate. So it was just a day of firsts.
The white-haired merc had a bit of a meltdown, seemed he felt a bit responsible for the loss of the other passengers. Six merely watched, the only thing that left his mouth was the smoke from his cigarette. The ship lurched as something latched onto it, and Six instantly reached for his gun, waiting for another attack. Fortunately the pilot swung down by to clear everything up. She looked a bit smaller without those arms, and Six didn’t know they could come off, but he appreciated her.
“We ain’t leaving them behind, don’t worry.” Six tipped his hat in her direction. “If nothin’ else, I wanna apologize to that Silwin girl for missing my shot. Not usually that sloppy.”
And fuck everyone that stood in his way. He had to remember that. He was still here, and there was still work to be done. People were talking to him, now, and the words almost seemed to reach him through a filter, distant and removed. Voraan leaned against the ship's hull, back pressing up against the now-sagging umbilical hall that'd been drilled into the Starskipper as he forced himself to listen to what the fuck they were telling him. Bunch of flea-bags-- Lykaians. How far out were they, getting picked up by fuckin' Lykaians?
Fuck. They were going to Sargasso. Right. You're still on the run. Here he was, getting picked up by a military vessel with a full fucking insignia on his armor.
"I'm-- fuckin' fine, for now. Just get me... stimulants. Amphetamines, synthcoke, epinpherine, fuckin' anything. I'm... about to fuckin' pass out." He managed to choke out, reaching up to his helmet and inputting the haptic control for withdrawing his armor. Bit by bit, the plating along his arms and chest began to recede-- plucking out the impaled metal from his gut and ribs in the process, the shrapnel clattering onto the ground as the folded armor quickly snapped the debris out of its carved holes. Unfortunately, that meant the fuck-off piece of airlock that had been wedged in his face came out, too, dragging along his cheek with an impressive amount of mechanical disregard from the autonomous process of the U-77. Voraan let out a grunt and shook his head as it was finally freed from the constricting fortress, letting out a gasp of relief as the pain subsided. The close shave, as some of his old mates liked to call it. A neat little byproduct of the U-77's mechanized don and doff protocols not giving a fuck if something was caught in the apparatus. God bless the AGPA.
Kaz was relieved to hear that the others were just as determined to get back the hostages as he was. It might've been a detour from Sargasso, but he had his pride to take care of damn it. Plus, it wasn't like he had a job or anything waiting on him anyway.
As the wall fell through, Kaz stepped out and down onto the deck. It was cold, but warm air was being piped in as the final steps of pressurization went through. It had been sometime since he'd been on a Lykaian vessel, and his first not in chains - but there was always time to turn that around.
~ ~ ~
"You goin' after those fuckin' pirates?"
Hale turned. It seemed most of the survivors had the same idea and intent - get back their friends and kill the bastards responsible. It sure was a lot more interesting than spying and floating around invisible for weeks on end. Besides, if things went really bad he could just wipe their memories.
"That's the plan. We've got a bead on their subspace wake. Once we've got everything battened down we're going into pursuit." The Lykaian officer looked towards the one who'd come in holding onto an airlock bridge. "I won't ask how you ended up coming aboard like that. All I'll say is nice work." He added.
"If you'd like to come with me, we've got quarters prepared for you while we repair your ship."
~ ~ ~
From out of the dormitories stepped Isre, a fair bit more roughed up than before and limping along now due to a still bleeding leg wound. "Sloppy? You nearly blew my leg off! You'd better fucking apologize, cow-dick." She limped towards the cowboy and pushed past him.
~ ~ ~
From down the hall, the familiar heavy footfalls and hissing hydraulics announced the approach of the pirate's cybernetic lieutenant - Sygan. The right side of his head was covered in electrical tape and hardened bio-foam. When he came around the corner, his eye locked on the cyborg responsible for his damage first. He smiled at the state of his face, and planted a heavy hand against the glass.
From behind him limped Lukan, holding a baton in one hand while his other still held his side.
"Enjoying the accommodations? Needing room service?" The cyborg grinned.
. . . I could never hold enough of you in my hands . . .
Isre tensed as the pirates approached. No - tensed didn't give it credit.
She glowered.
Her eyes had contempt for the cyborg, but there was a little something else there, coming through even on her usually muted face. Betrayal? Hurt? Definitely venomous, venom that leaked into her words as she spoke, but to Lukan, but to the other man instead - meeting his eyes.
"Some fucking pirates you are. Nearly fucked up kidnapping a bunch of civilians. I mean, you look worse than meatball over there."
She smirked slightly.
"I'd threaten to kick you in the balls if you came in here, but I doubt you've got any."
Yesterday, upon the stair, I met a man who wasn't there! He wasn't there again today, Oh how I wish he'd go away!
Movement. Footsteps. Heavy. Only one person he heard carry that much weight with every step, and very much in the literal sense of the word. The corner of his eyes found the Silwin tensing. Someone was coming. Luther immediately went quiet before turning his head slightly away from the group and towards the glass.
What he saw only made his former headache return with a steady throb. Well, if Isre wanted to have her fun at the expense of these guys, why not join in on the fun? Not like their situation could get any worse, unless that baton was put to use. He did not forget about that, letting his eyes quickly flicker to the weapon and back to the cybrog.
"He's only got eight things organic left in him. Seven now," Luther's voice kept a level monotone, "Small bits and pieces."
Luther looked down at his own right hand, expanding the fingers and examining his fist, before his fist closed. Returning his almost mockingly bored attention to the cyborg, Luther simply tilted his head slightly to get a better look at the electrical tape and bio-foam.