"Babe, I got thisth."
"Guesth who’sth back~”
Somewhere, deep in the rotted shell, something sparks. Code flickers to life, broken and jumbled. It’s so badly damaged and decayed that the remaining systems continuously crash and reboot. There is very little to work with; a bit of cybug code and frighteningly little Turbo left. Just looks to be a mangled joke of a skin. The unlucky fuck is basically going to have to be built from scratch.
The cybrid had been down there for a good while; his crumbling corpse covered in a thin layer of dust. His abdomen was almost completely caved in, the pixels blackened with rot and a still lingering virus. From the looks of it, there wasn’t a whole lot left to him, but….maybe there was something redeemable there.
((who wants to fix this crumbling corpse now???))
The cybrid grows weaker as the virus rifled through his code, his body and mind glitching violently. He lays his head down, unable to remember why he was hurting, why he was afraid. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t recall enough to care. As his body begins to cave in under the loss of data, the last thing he can remember is how much he hopes ‘they’ will be alright. He really wishes he could remember who ‘they’ are.