My muse has been attacked and left for dead. Your muse finds them in time. Send “X_X” for my muse’s reaction to their rescue.
Things had been getting out of control on the Grid lately. The Resistance was becoming more powerful. CLU’s forces, who used to have way too much free time and often used it to derezz civilian programs, were struggling to keep up. Now more than ever, the Occupation was rationing energy and keeping it strictly controlled. Which meant that some programs were out looking for anything they could find or steal to trade for more energy.
Kryptor had made an easy target. He was of slender build, not a fighter, and he was of neutral allegiance - not many friends on either side who would fight for him. All too convenient for some rogue program who wanted to steal his light-cycle baton.
He moved to drag himself out of the street, somewhere he’d be less noticeable and wouldn’t draw unwanted attention from the next group of hostile programs to come along, but he didn’t get further than a few inches. He had a deep cut across his chest, just barely short of derezzing him, and another that went into his left shoulder joint and rendered his arm completely unresponsive, along with several minor cuts and scrapes. Most of his upper body was wet with energy that had leaked from the wounds. His breath came out in short, painful gasps.
He became aware of approaching footsteps, and pushed himself into a slightly upright position, trying to get a look at who was coming. A figure came down the street, towards him. He couldn’t make out the details, but whoever it was, they were too small - both in height and build - to be an Occupation soldier. As she got closer, Kryptor realized that the way she moved was actually quite familiar to him. Oh… What was she doing here? He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. He was glad to see her, but at the same time…
“Nico…” he groaned. “It’s not safe for you to be here.”
