[ Well. Ain’t this a trip. Gabe sits his ass up slow and deliberate, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed and cycling his tech up. Outwardly, not much shows on his face. He keeps his head angled down, but he’s listening intently. Running every fucking scan he can think to as his brain processes what the fuck just happened.
So. This is different.
He scrubs at his face with a groan, trying to stave off the headache and make himself look slow and disoriented in the same breath. There’s someone on the bed across from him—a stranger. ]
Well, this is a new one for me.
Part II: Armory
[ Now that he’s got his bearings—more or less—Gabe attends to more practical matters. Namely, getting his hands on a gun that synchs up with the tech drilled into his skull.
Unfortunately, that’s easier said that done.
He prods at the screen, cycling his tech through various settings, but nothing synchs up. ]
How the fuck is this thing supposed to work?
Part III: Mission—An Open Door
[ This shit is real enough to touch. It registers on every setting Gabe can think to run on his tech, it feels solid when he reaches out to touch with his hand—like real wood, real walls. And a whole universe full of doors. All different kinds, all different shapes.
He tilts his head, listening intently. There’s a job to be done here, isn’t it? And then it comes to him: Tell Someone what you are most ashamed of.
The fuck is that nonsense?
Gabe sucks on his teeth, hands on his hips. ]
This is a goddamn head scratcher, huh?
Wildcard
[ Hit me up at mirrorfaded if you’re in the mood for something else. ]
Gabe Rodriguez | Original
[ Well. Ain’t this a trip. Gabe sits his ass up slow and deliberate, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed and cycling his tech up. Outwardly, not much shows on his face. He keeps his head angled down, but he’s listening intently. Running every fucking scan he can think to as his brain processes what the fuck just happened.
So. This is different.
He scrubs at his face with a groan, trying to stave off the headache and make himself look slow and disoriented in the same breath. There’s someone on the bed across from him—a stranger. ]
Well, this is a new one for me.
Part II: Armory
[ Now that he’s got his bearings—more or less—Gabe attends to more practical matters. Namely, getting his hands on a gun that synchs up with the tech drilled into his skull.
Unfortunately, that’s easier said that done.
He prods at the screen, cycling his tech through various settings, but nothing synchs up. ]
How the fuck is this thing supposed to work?
Part III: Mission—An Open Door
[ This shit is real enough to touch. It registers on every setting Gabe can think to run on his tech, it feels solid when he reaches out to touch with his hand—like real wood, real walls. And a whole universe full of doors. All different kinds, all different shapes.
He tilts his head, listening intently. There’s a job to be done here, isn’t it? And then it comes to him: Tell Someone what you are most ashamed of.
The fuck is that nonsense?
Gabe sucks on his teeth, hands on his hips. ]
This is a goddamn head scratcher, huh?
Wildcard
[ Hit me up at