CAN'T HOLD ME DOWN.

IT’S NEAR IMPOSSIBLE to see anything outside the few feet surrounding them, as if the dark itself is closing in on them.   it’s faintly claustrophobic, enough so that she’s willing to make stupid mistakes if it means getting the hell out of there in one piece.   the timing on her next jump is only seconds off — the crystal fades out from under her just as she throws herself towards the next platform.   she lands chest first against the ledge with enough force to nearly knock the wind out of her and she just barely catches herself with her elbows, feet swinging in the void below.   maybe she could just let go.

“ah — uh, nah! i have more where that come, you hold onto that one, keep it! gift from me, i guess.” rhys’ legs kick out behind him as he speaks, shuffling along through the vent, making sure to look around. using his eye to scan for the next room underneath him, there’s a pause. “hey, so um… turns out? there’s people in there! just… just thought you should be aware.” he’s hissing into his built in device, making sure he’s quiet enough that only the sentient robot could hear him. “you got any other ideas? i don’t… i don’t think i can take this one. my metal hand is uh… hah… not as durable as the good ol’ hyperion one i had back when.”

“Delightful.” They comment flatly, staring down at the Viper Drive before pocketing it once more. Their gaze swivels from the hallway behind them and back up to the vent as Rhys updates them. They suppose this was to be predicted.

closes a door in their path. sees how long it takes them to open it.

there has to be something on paper to accurately describe mordin solus.  a distinct flaw within scientific definition & spatial classification that he has not yet been described or likened to before. this machine, he doesn’t feel ill at ease with.  but not comfortable either.  they appear calm, but an instrument of WAR nevertheless.  boy does he like to chat it up, though: friend or foe alike.  the doctor is aware of the implications of there being stakes involved in drawn-out conversation. ironically enough, that never seems to apply to him ( the more he speaks, the less of him one can grasps ; a jumbled mess of regurgitated jargon makes him slippery & elusive )  he’s unassuming.  so he’s either a genius or a madman.

❛ ——ah, at an impasse! ❜  mordin sighs, not out of frustration, but in the same way one solves a mathematical problem. an index finger of the three he’s blessed with, raises at the curl of forearm.  

long, spindly, & skeletal figure stands over six feet, considering the concave of chest giving a permanent hunch in posture  ( the salarians came up with a solution to that & designed a pauldron-to-chestplate ratio to compensate for such a disadvantage ) that makes him look like he walks on stilts in his sudden choice for movement.

❛ willing to divulge as much as you are.  must understand, intentions are not ill-directed. ❜ 

“You seek a quid-pro-quo, then.” An expected response. This galaxy operates on a system of give-and-take, and Fl4k muses that even a doctor is not exempt from this form of chaordism. They peer down at him; a lumbering figure clocking in at just over seven feet; hooded and draped in shadows. One hand raises, before curling back to drag their hood down. The mechanical plates of their face shift in the dull light. 

“Your hypotheses are not far off, Salarian. My creator intended me to assume the guise of these Geth you speak of.” The hood fits back over, obscuring their features once more. “My intent differed. So I am here.” 

Rhys is starting to feel less like a VIP being protected by an elite agent and more like a sack of potatoes being hurled around by a lunatic. Ironically, the distinction between those two concepts in his world lately is more or less po-tay-to po-tah-to.

“I’m trying–just don’t normally visit this part of the–oof..” He squishes down the nausea in his stomach, even if he’s sure Fl4k has been vomited on by much grosser things than him. One hundred percent sure, even. But when they tell him they’ve struck a dead end, he plants his hands on their shoulders and twists himself around to get a look.

“No, no… that’s not right. There should be a maintenance closet here. There’s a hatch inside that’ll take us to the upper–” His head tilts. He becomes presently aware that Fl4k probably doesn’t need to carry him any more now that they’ve come to a halt, and also that he hasn’t moved. From his perch on the robot’s shoulder, he stops contemplating it and fires up his ECHO eye to scan the wall. “Uh, whyyy won’t I like your second option? Kinda making me nervous there, buddy.”

Fl4k’s hands curl firm against Rhys’ arms, lifting him overhead and physically turning him to see. A brief second, and the lumbering hunter sets him down before searching manually; fingers tracing along the contoured panels of the wall in search of a hidden door. 

“Given your elevated glutamate levels paired with adrenaline output, I have concerns that you are near breaking point.” They rap against one of the panels -- if Fl4k were capable of frowning, they would be now. 

Hannah blinked as the huge shape made their way over, this must be the skags owner. It was only when they looked at her she noticed their single glowing eye. Hannah had never spoken to a robot before. “Oh no, that’s okay mister I could have said no and he really liked it.”

The little girl noticed Mr. Chew’s eyes and connected the dots, a small smile reaching her face, “Did you help him? He’s really well trained.” She asked, “Would… it be okay if I pet him?”

Their optic narrows just briefly, but Fl4k offers no comment in response. Instead, their focus shifts to their beast; Mr. Chew, all the while seems content snuffling against the ground in search for more. It’s only at the question that the machine turns back to the young one.

“I’VE GOT YOU!”   she doesn’t know who this stranger is or how they’ve wound up in the same hectic escape from the ascendant realm she has, but it doesn’t matter in that exact moment.   what matters is the grip she’s got on their arm, heels digging hard into the crumbling crystal, using every ounce of strength she’s got to keep them from slipping the rest of the way over the ledge that’s just dropped out from under them.   the whole space is falling apart piece by piece and they need to go but she’s not about to let whoever this is waste precious time with a bad rez.   “come on!   get up, we’ve gotta go!”

Statistically speaking, even machines are bound to make mistakes. This, however, is one that will likely result in a feedback loop for some time thereafter, Fl4k muses; well and ready to accept the brief embrace as Death welcomes them back into her fold. Instead, a hand curls around their arm, and the simultaneous jerk and lock against the joint could very well cause a dislocation in an organic. For Fl4k, however, it grants them just enough momentum to swing one of their legs up onto the surface of the rock, working to pull themselves up with the assistance of this stranger.