One man sat alone in a quiet hospital room in a bed. His white hair mixed well with the pristine sheets and pillow, as if he had fused into the bed in question. His bored gaze watched the ceiling. His tired arms tried to move, yet had little to do.
Askera Question had been admitted to this hospital room a day ago. Even now, he watched the evening sun make way to dusk as the counter for his second day approached. He had been brought here after an experiment had gone wrong, causing the simultaneous rupture of several of his arteries. According to others, the scene had been gruesome. To him, it had been quick-a burst of pain and shock so great that he had fallen unconscious on the spot.
Now he was alone, with little to do. He hardly expected visitors to come, not when everyone he'd met had been an acquaintance or a paid assistant. Nobody had visited him in his usual life, not when he had fainted at work under the pressure of stress and long hours.
Askera considered logging out. He seemed to have recovered in the time that he had last logged out-was it that his body remained in the world to recover, or was it that the data was simply updated on his return? He had been told that this room was made for Starcalled guests, and so could only assume they knew of the disappearances known as logging out-surely he wouldn't log in to find himself occupying the bed with someone else with fatal illness.
Still, he could not bring himself to leave. Wasn't this place supposed to be his escape from the world? Why was it that even here, he could do nothing that he wanted? He was at the whims of strong-arming scientists who all but put research he hadn't wished to pursue on his lap. It was useful to be sure, yet he wanted to learn the basics first, at least...
Why was it that the game played him, rather than the other way around?
His hands unsteadily rose to make use of the HUD, bones still partially strained from the force of vein rupture. He took out a few pieces of 'crafting material' that could be used by Magitech savants, particularly metal bits and scraps, and began to work on it like one would a puzzle in bed. If anyone came in to see the man toying with junk even in critical condition like this, they would see one of two men-a crazed researcher obsessed with science, or that which he really felt like-a tired husk so used to overwork that his hands couldn't find peace in anything else. It hurt so much, but he felt guilty being unproductive. He just had to make something else of his time. It's not as if anyone else would fill that gap...
Askera Question had been admitted to this hospital room a day ago. Even now, he watched the evening sun make way to dusk as the counter for his second day approached. He had been brought here after an experiment had gone wrong, causing the simultaneous rupture of several of his arteries. According to others, the scene had been gruesome. To him, it had been quick-a burst of pain and shock so great that he had fallen unconscious on the spot.
Now he was alone, with little to do. He hardly expected visitors to come, not when everyone he'd met had been an acquaintance or a paid assistant. Nobody had visited him in his usual life, not when he had fainted at work under the pressure of stress and long hours.
Askera considered logging out. He seemed to have recovered in the time that he had last logged out-was it that his body remained in the world to recover, or was it that the data was simply updated on his return? He had been told that this room was made for Starcalled guests, and so could only assume they knew of the disappearances known as logging out-surely he wouldn't log in to find himself occupying the bed with someone else with fatal illness.
Still, he could not bring himself to leave. Wasn't this place supposed to be his escape from the world? Why was it that even here, he could do nothing that he wanted? He was at the whims of strong-arming scientists who all but put research he hadn't wished to pursue on his lap. It was useful to be sure, yet he wanted to learn the basics first, at least...
Why was it that the game played him, rather than the other way around?
His hands unsteadily rose to make use of the HUD, bones still partially strained from the force of vein rupture. He took out a few pieces of 'crafting material' that could be used by Magitech savants, particularly metal bits and scraps, and began to work on it like one would a puzzle in bed. If anyone came in to see the man toying with junk even in critical condition like this, they would see one of two men-a crazed researcher obsessed with science, or that which he really felt like-a tired husk so used to overwork that his hands couldn't find peace in anything else. It hurt so much, but he felt guilty being unproductive. He just had to make something else of his time. It's not as if anyone else would fill that gap...
Last edited: