Loglet: Remy
Oct. 11th, 2005 08:08 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsRemy finds a moment of lucidity, and tries to finish one last duty before he dies.
There was light. Pain happened.
Remy spasmed awake in the sunset lit warehouse. The rents torn into the roof reflected the red light over him, enough to jolt him out of the wash of agony he was in. Only one eye seemed to be working, and it was fogged by pain. The red turned the blood around him black, slick like oil. More dribbled from his nose and mouth.
He knew he was dying.
After his life of killing, he had something of an artist's eye for physical destruction. Remy couldn't feel anything below his waist. The weight of the rebar trapped him to the concrete, cutting off his legs from him. The drugs in his system were giving him the moment of lucidity; a cocktail of stimulants, adrenalin, blood clotters and a dozen other things he didn't know but Moira had put exclaimation points beside during his tests. They weren't going to save him, but they could give him enough time.
His right hand was useless, cletched in a tight fist and festooned with metal. His left had three fingers going entirely the wrong way, but his thumb and forefinger seemed intact. Slowly and painfully, Remy used those two fingers to start to inch his hand along the concrete.
His trenchcoat was puddled nearby, ripped to pieces but not destroyed. His fingers slowly closed the gap, as LeBeau struggled to remain conscious. If he could get a message to the mansion, they'd have a chance at finding them. Breaking whatever hold Magneto had over Lorna. The fingers touched the coat.
It was too soon to die. Not yet. Not on the dirty floor without passing on what he knew. He dragged the coat a little closer, body on fire now with pain as it overwhelmed the drugs in his system. Lorna and Forge were counting on him to tell the others. Amanda had to know that he didn't just leave her. Both of those things couldn't happen unless he got to that jacket.
It moved a little closer, and Remy's fingers found the pocket. Slowly and painfully he dragged out the communicator. It looked like a normal cellphone, but fortunately was a lot stronger than your average Nokia. Dents aside, it should work.
Agony turned the moments opening the phone into hours, white hot pain lashing up and down his spine. It clicked open, away from him. He jammed his thumb on the power button, rewarded with a green blink. Now, all he had to do was dial, whisper into the screen, and he could die happily.
But even the best butchery the government could concieve couldn't keep a body going through this damage. Remy's vision swirled, and his fingers stilled on the number pad as the abyss pulled him back under again.
There was light. Pain happened.
Remy spasmed awake in the sunset lit warehouse. The rents torn into the roof reflected the red light over him, enough to jolt him out of the wash of agony he was in. Only one eye seemed to be working, and it was fogged by pain. The red turned the blood around him black, slick like oil. More dribbled from his nose and mouth.
He knew he was dying.
After his life of killing, he had something of an artist's eye for physical destruction. Remy couldn't feel anything below his waist. The weight of the rebar trapped him to the concrete, cutting off his legs from him. The drugs in his system were giving him the moment of lucidity; a cocktail of stimulants, adrenalin, blood clotters and a dozen other things he didn't know but Moira had put exclaimation points beside during his tests. They weren't going to save him, but they could give him enough time.
His right hand was useless, cletched in a tight fist and festooned with metal. His left had three fingers going entirely the wrong way, but his thumb and forefinger seemed intact. Slowly and painfully, Remy used those two fingers to start to inch his hand along the concrete.
His trenchcoat was puddled nearby, ripped to pieces but not destroyed. His fingers slowly closed the gap, as LeBeau struggled to remain conscious. If he could get a message to the mansion, they'd have a chance at finding them. Breaking whatever hold Magneto had over Lorna. The fingers touched the coat.
It was too soon to die. Not yet. Not on the dirty floor without passing on what he knew. He dragged the coat a little closer, body on fire now with pain as it overwhelmed the drugs in his system. Lorna and Forge were counting on him to tell the others. Amanda had to know that he didn't just leave her. Both of those things couldn't happen unless he got to that jacket.
It moved a little closer, and Remy's fingers found the pocket. Slowly and painfully he dragged out the communicator. It looked like a normal cellphone, but fortunately was a lot stronger than your average Nokia. Dents aside, it should work.
Agony turned the moments opening the phone into hours, white hot pain lashing up and down his spine. It clicked open, away from him. He jammed his thumb on the power button, rewarded with a green blink. Now, all he had to do was dial, whisper into the screen, and he could die happily.
But even the best butchery the government could concieve couldn't keep a body going through this damage. Remy's vision swirled, and his fingers stilled on the number pad as the abyss pulled him back under again.
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