#askarandomcitizen

It takes longer than planned for the machine to answer. There is no immediate revelation, nothing that could cause his downfall in a single breath. Fear is still a relatively new flash in his mind, not something that ate away at him in the backdrop.

“...I’m... not sure I’d know it until I heard it.“ 

It had been months since the last time anything big had happened in the City. The Sniper patrols had increased since the last Lyons Riot, and it seemed that the rebels had gone to ground. There was still the odd altercation, the random screen breaking or parts going missing.

But it was nothing out of the ordinary. The powers that be chalked it up to the usual rebel movement which they had accounted for. Frustrating as it was, it was the reality of their situation.

Hands ran across the countless dials and knobs on a console. The air stunk of ozone, with two Snipers laying smoking on the floor. Twenty stories above the city, two troublemakers looked at each other and nodded. One slipped on a pair of headphones and grinned, his cocky attitude infecting the airwaves. Heath flashed a thumbs up at his cohort before he leaned in towards the microphone on the console.

"Gooooooood evening Vietnam!" Heath shouted into the microphone, his voice heavily altered by a modulator. "As you can tell we are broadcasting from everywhere. Yes, everywhere! From Wily's personal toilet to the Loyalist's most secure bunker, we are loud and we are here to stay!"

"The screens are off, the Masters' eyes are closed. We're here to show you that they aren't invincible. They don't have control. The wheels of this city are spinning out of control and we're here to hold them still. You already know they don't keep you safe. You know they steal your hope.

Heath has a problem, as most rebels seem to do, of actually sleeping. Sure there’s falling asleep due to exhaustion but no one case really say that’s good sleep. Ever since he was 15, he started running and he hasn’t stopped since.

His dreams, when he tries to sleep, are filled with people he used to know. His parents, his friends, Isaac, Kat. Break. The Doc. 

All people he had loved. All people he had lost. 

Rage and anger keeps him up at night. He throws himself into his work, his face a mask of calm from years of practice. 

So he works deep into the night, his hands piecing together stolen machinery as he creates weapons and tools to fight his enemy and he ignores how much that reminds him of a certain someone. He ignores the old look the Doc used to give him, that joy and fearful look as he reminded even the Doc of his old best friend.

Of the man who took over the city.

Heath’s mind overflows with plans, with what he has to do next. How he needs to show the City that Wily can bleed, that everything isn’t as set in stone as they seem to think. 

That they can break free. That they can break this machine.

He works long into the night, his thoughts occupied not with what he is building currently but what he’s building towards. He has no idea what will happen after they take Wily down. That’s a thought he isn’t even really qualified for. It’s not something he wants to think about because he knows how dangerous that might be. 

How my muse stands

Vox doesn’t really have a relaxed or casual posture. 

Straight back, eyes forward, hands either at his sides or behind his back. He usually comes off as somewhat rigid this way, especially with his lack of gesturing, fidgeting, or visible expressions in the average interaction. Formality is a must however, and the only time this posing may change is if he senses a threat, or the situation necessitates intimidation tactics.

Movement and Posture Headcanons! (Accepting!)

➔ How my muse walks

Wily had sent out a message, for Heath to die or Wily would destroy the City. That it was only Heath’s blood that would stop him. So Heath ran to the Tower. He climbed to the top of the world to stop this mad man.

Break, murdered a second time. Heath was blinded. He stabbed Wily all the while the man laughed, blood gurgling from his mouth, staining Heath’s visor. Heath threw off the helmet and stared definitely at Wily.

Wily grinned, blood dripping down his face. “I lied,” he laughed, as the bombs went off.

Heath awoke with a jolt. His body was stiff from sleeping on the ground again. He really needed to stop doing that. The Doc would shake his head and tell him to take better care of himself if he saw him on the floor again. 

Heath chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet, the blanket falling off of him. He sat back down on the couch he had fallen off of and sighed. Another nightmare. How many were he going to keep having? Sure, the run in with Needle Man was tense but he had gotten out of there, somehow. A few broken ribs but a Master down! No one had done that in years!

He leaned back on the couch and grinned. A few nightmares were worth it right?

Footsteps coming closer, Heath sat up. “Oh hey Doc! You’re awake! I’m actually feeling better, think we might actually be able to see how the repairs are coming!”

A chuckle replied. “Oh, so my little Get Well Soon gift is late? Such a shame. I put so much effort into it...”

Wily’s voice made Heath’s eyes go wide. “No...”

The Doc’s body was thrown into the room. “Tom wanted to help, but you know how he is. Such a control freak. I asked him nicely but he. Kept. On. Pushing.” Snipers marched into the room as Wily stepped over the Doc’s body. Heath stared in disbelief as the buster fired.

Bang

Heath awoke in the safe house this time, sweat smearing his make up, his arm up trying to power his own buster. Nothing.

He looked down in a panic at his empty hand, scrambling for a weapon, anything. Nothing. Why was there nothing how was there nothing why was this room so empty what was-

He took a breath. Then another. Eyes flickered over his broken gear in the corner of the room. The picture frame on the floor. The cot. 

Okay. he fell asleep after the explosion. Made it back to the safe house, and... and...

His eyes fell back to the cot. “Repaired Terri’s arm...” Did that. Actually happen? He looked at the empty cot closer, a few green threads stuck to it. 

“Did that idiot really....” he muttered. Stripping off his black undershirt, he went into the back for another. She didn’t know his City. Hell, he barely knew it in it’s current state. 

Battle Intro: Time to show you how much better I’ve become!

Victory: Yeah! I knew all that training would finally pay off!

Defeat: Damn… Still faster than me huh twinkle toes…

Requesting Assistance: Terri! Tag time!

Assisting Your Muse: Stand back, I’ve got this!

Taunt: Guess I’m not the only one blowing up right now, huh?