#mechgame

             The wooden batarang felt awkward in Terry’s hand as he poised to throw it, as did the degraded visual assistance he was peering through. Usually, the suit itself would be helping him to make the throw, to hit the target juuuust right. And usually, the batarangs in his possession were slim and light and razor-sharp, made of a special metal alloy. Now, though, in this moment, he could rely on nothing but his own skills, stripped of most of the Batsuit’s abilities and all of his gadgets save for these wooden toys. But, logically, Terry had been throwing batarangs for years. Sure, this wasn’t what he was used to, but surely he could still hit with some degree of accuracy. Or so was the thought as he flicked his wrist and hurled the wooden object... only to watch it curve wildly off-course. He winced as it hit something metal with a resounding clang! and bounced back, dropping to the ground almost sadly.

       HE HAD HEARD THE STORY BEFORE,  many times: guy gets hooked on game, guy starts to play said game into the night, guy gets completely consumed. Gaming addiction was commonplace where he came from. Oikawa had never been much of a gamer, usually relying on a handful of phone games to pass the time on the train or at the doctor’s. 

         And it looked like this same addiction was the one that grasped the girl before him. The ferocity glazed upon her eyes, her gritted teeth, bared -- she was getting way into it. Was she trying to beat some new high score? How silly...

With pokemon out and about just about everywhere, Yuuko and Hackmon wondered if it was only a matter of time before other monsters started to appear. There were already other strange sentiment beings she’d seen and interacted with, but she was imagining something like Hackmon---like digimon, or these pokemon---another monster creature popping around and causing trouble or immersing into the city just as well. 

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long of a time, she’d still heard of power outages in another district due to them. It’s a miracle that they haven’t affected the train lines---or had they and she simply hadn’t taken notice? It would be interesting it it had, but she doubted the scientists would do much about it. If this was truly a social experiment, it would be another layer of testing, another layer for their experiments, to toy with them and see their reactions to this new situation.

The hacker shook away the thoughts, feeling something cool touch her hand.

Oh! 

Her ice cream! 

She didn’t reach for a tissue (since she didn’t think anyone was looking) and just started licking it off her fingers before swapping it to her other hand to get better access. It would be sanitary to wipe it on her dress, so she sighed inwardly before trying to clean up the rest of the cone --- with her tongue.

Hackmon, per usual, was watching from her shoulder with his ever judging look.

      the coffee seems much too hot; it’s not quite pouring fire down his throat, but it’s something similar. taking as much care as he can not to spill, he tosses the cup onto the table he’s sitting at and attempts to fan his tongue to quell the heat. in the midst of it all, his arm swings wildly about, and his efforts from earlier are in vain.

      all gladion can do is watch as the cup flies into the torso of a nearby patron, and he can’t help but wince. heat aside, the stain that the coffee would leave may well have ruined that shirt. doubtless that the replacement would need to come out of his pocket; at the very least, he would expect some recompense for this.

“ my coffee... ”