Tyl Regor - MoM voice test
Aug. 13th, 2019 03:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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spiderparlourOw. Owowow ow ow. Light. Light outside his eyelids was making a very spirited attempt to get in. No. Go away. He had a hangover. He had the worst hangover. The kind where you couldn't remember the party, but you had the vague suspicion that it hadn't been fun.
A shadow passed between him and the light, and dared to open his eyes just a little. He saw a fuzzy blob.
Well, that was helpful. It mumbled at him, and he gave it a suspicious squint.
"Ooeryoo," he demanded, and then frowned in annoyance. That hadn't come out right. Had it? Hadn't. Was he still drunk? High on something he'd made in the lab?
"Jusgenyoo chektofer," the blurr said, and that sounded wrong too. Ears weren't 'earing right, along with everything else.
Sedated. He was definitely sedated. More than usual. Couldn't blame them, not after the last time he'd needed emergency care.
No, wait, he could blame them, because he was in charge, and he didn't want to be sedated right now.
"mdun," he said, trying to pick himself up, but that failed with a wave of dizziness as soon as he tried to lift his head. Whoof. Wasn't gonna stop him arguing the point, though. "Gemeeup, god wurg tdo." Also--wait, emergency care? Why'd he think that?
"Yoor doongud," the slowly resolving blob said, in an unfamiliar voice. "Yuulbee baggon yor feep in notyme."
Wait. That voice was unfamiliar. Female, too smooth. Blob didn't look right either, had the proper number of parts but they weren't right. There was lots of hair, more than he'd ever allow on a med tech. And no full mask. And he didn't see the proper blue-n'-bloodstained working clothes either, that was teal. Teal! Who would ever wear teal!
He was just about to launch into a rant when a thought gave his brain a nudge. The eyes. They eyes were wrong. Definitely not on the yellow-orange-red spectrum he should be seeing. Whoever this was, they were not grineer. They had creepy blue eyes and--what were those stripes over them. He'd seen those before. Right? Right.
Corpus did tattoos there. Didn't they. Drew your attention to how ghastly they looked. That was it.
"Ai no, itz ver dizzoryentin," the horrible Corpus interloper said, leaning over to reach for something. Something felt wrong about that too. "Buttchor wakeng ub fass, an sommun will com into see yu soon."
Oh no. Nonono no no he figured out what'd felt wrong. He'd felt air move on his face when they'd reached by him. He shouldn't feel anything there. That was wrong. Really wrong. That meant his mask was off. And he'd been breathing through his nose, which meant they'd taken out the tubes that fed him air. He didn't need those to breathe outside the mask, but if his mask was gone, he was covered in germs. And if the tubes were gone, then they'd gone reaching inside of him, who knew what they'd done in there, and they'd probably taken his limbs too--
Wait. No. Yes? No. When he looked down (Whoof, more spinning head), he saw hands. They were in the right spot to be his. But they weren't. They were flesh hands. He didn't have those! He used to, back in the cloning lab, back when he was one of the bodies hanging in tubes rather than the one making them grow. But his had been cut off, just like everyone else, when the peripheral neuropathy set in.
And now there were hands here, curling into claws as he stared at them in confusion and mounting anger. The skin wasn't even grineer! "Waddav yo dun t my hams?" he demanded, trying to sit up again, cobwebs in his brain dissolving in the acid of rage. "Hoos hansre thees? Wire they om my arms? Where am I?" He was getting louder, voice clearer, maybe, maybe coordinated enough to flail one of those horrible meat hands towards the probably-Corpus and catch the front of their shirt, dragging them closer to him.
Yes. Definitely coordinated enough for that. Hello, ugly. You're gonna have a bad day.
"Think you can just steal my work and get away with it?" They were trying to cut in with some protest or another, but he wasn't gonna let them take anything else, not even words!
"Not gonna happen." He'd shifted from his reclined position as he grabbed the almost-definitely-Corpus, and had another, horrible realization. "How dare you take my legs! Do you know how hard I worked on those?"
A couple of other someones were coming into the room. Well, bring them on! He was still mostly sedated and blurry-eyed and noodle-armed and maskless and there was so much meat, but he'd take them anyway! "Maybe I like yours better. Won't know 'til I try! Come 'ere and and give me your legs!"
Two pairs of big flesh hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down, pinning him to the medical chair. That did not go as he'd planned. To be fair to him, though, he hadn't had a plan.
Something bit into his neck, and he swore extravagantly in Grineer. "How dare you, slimy eels! Trying t' steel my worg, my toob men, may shaeplee pards!"
The room was going blury again. "Can haffem! Therr mime. Mime."
And then he was out.
Prompt 1: Out on the street
Ow. Light. Again. And this time it was the sun.
Alright. Take stock of what he vaguely remembered. "Woke up. Got sedated. Woke up again, some little stern-faced twit lecturing me 'bout Earth, of all things." He was feeling better now, though, if he was talking to himself.
But now he was somewhere. "Warm. Still don't have a mask on, definitely covered in germs now. Probably gonna get sick. Ugh." Whowever'd taken him apart had known how to work on grineer bodies, why'd they know so little about the grineer immune system? Jerks.
"Sky--there's a sky, important to note that--sky is blue. Breathable. Only a few places where this could be." In the grander scheme of things, at least. "Mars would be too much to hope for. The gravity didn't feel right either. Venus? No. Not cold enough, not enough black rocks and robot fish."
Was this Earth? Really? Where were all the trees? Wait--why were there buildings? And humans! why were they so tall?
Oh. Right. Thieves had stolen his legs, that was why.
Nothing felt right, actually. He stopped walking--where'd he been going?--and yanked up one of the cloth sleeves hiding his horrid new arms. He should be able to find the graft point, maybe it was just plugged into his somatics somehow, some sort of fake flesh arms--
No. There was no dividing line of a fresh graft, no skin from his own stumps to be seen on either arm. The alien skin went all the way up as far as he could see it, all his ports and plugs smoothed away to nothing. Couldn't even feel their attachment points against the muscle when he squeezed. "What kind of sick mind would do this? Alad? If this is Alad's work--gonna tear the little twitchies off that jellyfish, he's floated free for too long."
His tone was careening from distracted to curious to snarling rage, sending humans into wide arcs around him to avoid him. He tugged his sleeve back down with a sigh of frustration--then he saw a glow on his wrist. "What?"
Up went the sleeve again. There was a glowing tattoo on his wrist. That wasn't Corpus script, though. And it said one word, in big, bold letters: REGISTERED.
"Really." He sneered down at it contemptuously. "So. Part of some flesh-loving freak's collection, then. Got any more of these hiding on me?"
Couldn't see his shoulders very well, the straps of his backpack--wait, he was wearing a backpack?--got in the way. Legs were still too awful a proposition to think about. Instead he lifted up his shirt.
He should've known something was wrong already. His hips were an utter disaster, too thin and lacking the bombshell curves he'd engineered for himself. But his waist, too! They'd completely redone everything, made him blocky as the lowest trooper in a ditch somewhere, all wrapped up in that same skin.
This is intolerable!
"You!" He rounds on the closest person. If they're in grabbing range, they're absolutely grabbed. Hello. A rather muscular hairless man with nerd-pale skin is now demanding your attention.
"What planet is this? Why am I here? Why have I been stuck in this ruinously unfashionable body? Tell me. Quickly."
A shadow passed between him and the light, and dared to open his eyes just a little. He saw a fuzzy blob.
Well, that was helpful. It mumbled at him, and he gave it a suspicious squint.
"Ooeryoo," he demanded, and then frowned in annoyance. That hadn't come out right. Had it? Hadn't. Was he still drunk? High on something he'd made in the lab?
"Jusgenyoo chektofer," the blurr said, and that sounded wrong too. Ears weren't 'earing right, along with everything else.
Sedated. He was definitely sedated. More than usual. Couldn't blame them, not after the last time he'd needed emergency care.
No, wait, he could blame them, because he was in charge, and he didn't want to be sedated right now.
"mdun," he said, trying to pick himself up, but that failed with a wave of dizziness as soon as he tried to lift his head. Whoof. Wasn't gonna stop him arguing the point, though. "Gemeeup, god wurg tdo." Also--wait, emergency care? Why'd he think that?
"Yoor doongud," the slowly resolving blob said, in an unfamiliar voice. "Yuulbee baggon yor feep in notyme."
Wait. That voice was unfamiliar. Female, too smooth. Blob didn't look right either, had the proper number of parts but they weren't right. There was lots of hair, more than he'd ever allow on a med tech. And no full mask. And he didn't see the proper blue-n'-bloodstained working clothes either, that was teal. Teal! Who would ever wear teal!
He was just about to launch into a rant when a thought gave his brain a nudge. The eyes. They eyes were wrong. Definitely not on the yellow-orange-red spectrum he should be seeing. Whoever this was, they were not grineer. They had creepy blue eyes and--what were those stripes over them. He'd seen those before. Right? Right.
Corpus did tattoos there. Didn't they. Drew your attention to how ghastly they looked. That was it.
"Ai no, itz ver dizzoryentin," the horrible Corpus interloper said, leaning over to reach for something. Something felt wrong about that too. "Buttchor wakeng ub fass, an sommun will com into see yu soon."
Oh no. Nonono no no he figured out what'd felt wrong. He'd felt air move on his face when they'd reached by him. He shouldn't feel anything there. That was wrong. Really wrong. That meant his mask was off. And he'd been breathing through his nose, which meant they'd taken out the tubes that fed him air. He didn't need those to breathe outside the mask, but if his mask was gone, he was covered in germs. And if the tubes were gone, then they'd gone reaching inside of him, who knew what they'd done in there, and they'd probably taken his limbs too--
Wait. No. Yes? No. When he looked down (Whoof, more spinning head), he saw hands. They were in the right spot to be his. But they weren't. They were flesh hands. He didn't have those! He used to, back in the cloning lab, back when he was one of the bodies hanging in tubes rather than the one making them grow. But his had been cut off, just like everyone else, when the peripheral neuropathy set in.
And now there were hands here, curling into claws as he stared at them in confusion and mounting anger. The skin wasn't even grineer! "Waddav yo dun t my hams?" he demanded, trying to sit up again, cobwebs in his brain dissolving in the acid of rage. "Hoos hansre thees? Wire they om my arms? Where am I?" He was getting louder, voice clearer, maybe, maybe coordinated enough to flail one of those horrible meat hands towards the probably-Corpus and catch the front of their shirt, dragging them closer to him.
Yes. Definitely coordinated enough for that. Hello, ugly. You're gonna have a bad day.
"Think you can just steal my work and get away with it?" They were trying to cut in with some protest or another, but he wasn't gonna let them take anything else, not even words!
"Not gonna happen." He'd shifted from his reclined position as he grabbed the almost-definitely-Corpus, and had another, horrible realization. "How dare you take my legs! Do you know how hard I worked on those?"
A couple of other someones were coming into the room. Well, bring them on! He was still mostly sedated and blurry-eyed and noodle-armed and maskless and there was so much meat, but he'd take them anyway! "Maybe I like yours better. Won't know 'til I try! Come 'ere and and give me your legs!"
Two pairs of big flesh hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back down, pinning him to the medical chair. That did not go as he'd planned. To be fair to him, though, he hadn't had a plan.
Something bit into his neck, and he swore extravagantly in Grineer. "How dare you, slimy eels! Trying t' steel my worg, my toob men, may shaeplee pards!"
The room was going blury again. "Can haffem! Therr mime. Mime."
And then he was out.
Prompt 1: Out on the street
Ow. Light. Again. And this time it was the sun.
Alright. Take stock of what he vaguely remembered. "Woke up. Got sedated. Woke up again, some little stern-faced twit lecturing me 'bout Earth, of all things." He was feeling better now, though, if he was talking to himself.
But now he was somewhere. "Warm. Still don't have a mask on, definitely covered in germs now. Probably gonna get sick. Ugh." Whowever'd taken him apart had known how to work on grineer bodies, why'd they know so little about the grineer immune system? Jerks.
"Sky--there's a sky, important to note that--sky is blue. Breathable. Only a few places where this could be." In the grander scheme of things, at least. "Mars would be too much to hope for. The gravity didn't feel right either. Venus? No. Not cold enough, not enough black rocks and robot fish."
Was this Earth? Really? Where were all the trees? Wait--why were there buildings? And humans! why were they so tall?
Oh. Right. Thieves had stolen his legs, that was why.
Nothing felt right, actually. He stopped walking--where'd he been going?--and yanked up one of the cloth sleeves hiding his horrid new arms. He should be able to find the graft point, maybe it was just plugged into his somatics somehow, some sort of fake flesh arms--
No. There was no dividing line of a fresh graft, no skin from his own stumps to be seen on either arm. The alien skin went all the way up as far as he could see it, all his ports and plugs smoothed away to nothing. Couldn't even feel their attachment points against the muscle when he squeezed. "What kind of sick mind would do this? Alad? If this is Alad's work--gonna tear the little twitchies off that jellyfish, he's floated free for too long."
His tone was careening from distracted to curious to snarling rage, sending humans into wide arcs around him to avoid him. He tugged his sleeve back down with a sigh of frustration--then he saw a glow on his wrist. "What?"
Up went the sleeve again. There was a glowing tattoo on his wrist. That wasn't Corpus script, though. And it said one word, in big, bold letters: REGISTERED.
"Really." He sneered down at it contemptuously. "So. Part of some flesh-loving freak's collection, then. Got any more of these hiding on me?"
Couldn't see his shoulders very well, the straps of his backpack--wait, he was wearing a backpack?--got in the way. Legs were still too awful a proposition to think about. Instead he lifted up his shirt.
He should've known something was wrong already. His hips were an utter disaster, too thin and lacking the bombshell curves he'd engineered for himself. But his waist, too! They'd completely redone everything, made him blocky as the lowest trooper in a ditch somewhere, all wrapped up in that same skin.
This is intolerable!
"You!" He rounds on the closest person. If they're in grabbing range, they're absolutely grabbed. Hello. A rather muscular hairless man with nerd-pale skin is now demanding your attention.
"What planet is this? Why am I here? Why have I been stuck in this ruinously unfashionable body? Tell me. Quickly."
