#whirlma

pharma warm up + some whirlma hee hee

Every time I draw them again, they turn towards each other more and more.

i feel delusional what is even happening

The morning was terrible. His back ached from the awkward sleeping position, his brain felt funny, buzzing and heavy, the dryness in his mouth was complemented by the taste of not the freshest slop. A bright light was shining in his eyes, an empty bottle was rustling somewhere under his feet.

Pharma groaned quietly, leaning over the side of the open cabin and feeling how bile and the remains of yesterday's dinner were rising in his throat. In vain he decided that it would be a good idea for him to drink a liter of far from the weakest alcohol in a day. As his consciousness lazily noted, he was almost close to a lethal dose - and my God, he regretted that he did not take a larger bottle, maybe if he died, it would be easier.

This was undoubtedly his worst day off in the last couple of months. Perhaps even a decade.

He cleared his throat and wiped it with the sleeve of his surgical gown - what's wrong? - tears welling up in his eyes, the doctor leaned back on the armrest of his chair.

So strange and funny, why is he in a helicopter? This isn't even a medical service vehicle, this is...

- Organics are funny.

A slightly creaky and metallic-sounding voice mixed with mirth sounded out of nowhere. Well, that's what it seemed. An incomprehensible accent slightly scratched his ears, but who cares about accents these days?

Pharma raised his head.

The yellow eyepiece in the black mouth of the turquoise box on his thick neck squinted mockingly (??? What the hell ???) at the scream of the man who almost fell overboard. A claw the size of Pharma himself grabbed the man by the collar with micrometer precision and held him in a half-hovering (Oh my God, the ground is at least ten meters away) state, holding the organic again, clearing his stomach and coughing heart-rendingly.

- ...And loud. Ugh, how did you fit that in, that's disgusting. Can't your fuel tanks process alcohol?

Fragments of last night came back to me with difficulty. Yellow optics mistaken for Shockwave and a stream of complaints and reports with a disgusting smell. But wait, the Shockwave-or-no mech wasn't supposed to... Be able to talk?

Oh, shit.

It's AN alien.

Like the thing that brought Jazz back to base after he went missing.

Like the other red-and-white, talkative thing they were studying in Delta.

This thing looked even weirder than the first mech blueprints - WAY FUCKING STRANGER.

– What are you gaping at? Yeah, I'm awesome, I won't argue. - It's laughing. Damn it, it's laughing and Pharma is sure that the sound will make his head explode. - Although last time you didn't even deign to say hello. You just whined and screamed endlessly about how shitty your boss is and how sick you are of the eternal deaths at your hands. It sounds crazy, I like it.

The claws grabbed the man more comfortably, holding him by the torso. At that moment, Pharma undoubtedly regretted that he decided to drink himself into unconsciousness. The blue sky definitely wanted to kill him - and he even knows how it should be. His hands treacherously stopped obeying and it was very easy to imagine that these sharp claws would slam shut, dividing him into two equal halves.

- I had to run and shoot, so that you wouldn't be returned to the "terrible job" for the "psychopath with delusional ideas and delusions of grandeur" ha-ha-ha. — The alien narrowed his eyes and stretched his neck. Whoever designed this creature was a genius - metal shouldn't be able to express emotions THAT way! Especially with limited facial functions! — The name is Whirl. And you?

Pharma is no longer sure - should he be surprised that this thing has a name?

Mecha au by @keferon

i forgot

+ Evil heron

- Well? Your name. - The claw passed so close to the doctor’s face that Pharma could swear that his crumpled and battered reflection was visible in it.

- I uh... Pharma..? - If he had a nickel for every time he saw an alien this close, he would have two nickels. It's not much, but he's almost surprised it happened twice. And they had never asked him his name before... Well, aliens.

- Alright, “Uh Pharma”... - The surgeon did not recognize what the helicopter wanted to say, since a bullet whistled very close to his captor’s helmet.

- Oops, break's over, time to move on, bwehehehehe. - The man was pushed back under the yellow glass and - oh my God - Pharma just realized who the alien was going to fight against.

Whirl was definitely something that was made to kill.

Graceful and... Deadly.

The glass slammed shut and took several shots - without even cracking! - and the surprisingly stable claws flashed dangerously.

Somewhere under the medic’s feet, mechanisms began to sound and the cabin shook.

- STOP! - Pharma was surprised that he had not yet vomited, randomly tumbling in the cockpit and scratching the chair. - STOP-STOP-STOP, DON'T YOU DARE! These are pilots! This is a Mecha project! These are not enemies! You can't!!!

- And what? - This... This... Thing. It was moving too fast. Too unpredictable, too... natural, in a way that pilots did not move, as no one moved, perhaps with the exception of piloting aces like Jazz. Although Pharma would have been happier if the alien, Whirl, had turned out to be less good and the frantic shaking, cacophony of sounds and flashes in front of the doctor’s face had stopped. - They shoot, I shoot, it's a fair deal.

The shots struck the transparent surface again. What Whirl was good at was fighting shots.

- You're crazy! - What did he need to be happy? Shootout? With your own?? No, no, and no again, Pharma would give anything right now just to be on solid ground and for the headache to stop and for his stomach to stop performing aerobatic maneuvers. The sour taste of bile ran through my throat again.

(If only I didn’t throw up right in the cockpit).

This is all a nightmare, terrible, alcohol-induced dream. And he will definitely wake up with his face in the reports or in the first-aid post, and he will lash out at Ambulon, who is minding his own business, for sure... And no aliens who shoot at pilots, no frantic pirouettes, no...

- OH YES, DOCTOR, SAY IT AGAIN! - Loud, metallic laughter and the screech of machine guns, laughter and shots, this...

God.

Fuck.

How many times did Pharma want to apply for a damn transfer to a morgue somewhere, apparently he would appear there as a patient. If there is at least something left of it that can be put in a storage room.

- YOU ARE PSYCHO-PSYCHO-PSYCHO!!! LET ME OUT IMMEDIATELY!

If it was just a furious fur, Pharma would have punched it in the stuffing.

Although, here she is, right in front of him.

Pale fingers grabbed the armrests and Pharma kicked with all his might, and then howled in pain.The instrument panel, clearly copied from some earthly technology, turned out to be stronger and did not even move. Attempts to turn the steering wheel were also unsuccessful.

- Hey, don't bother me. I'm almost collected four-of-a-kind!

Pharma should pray that he stays alive.

God, please...