Skrah groaned aloud in protest when he felt a cold, tiny wet nose prodding his cheek, turning his head away with a grumble and screwing his eyes more tightly shut. A moment later, a soft fuzzy paw began patting at his cheek, then his nose, then his eye, and-
âNutters, get off,â he grunted, reaching up to push the cat away from his face and ignoring her mewl of protest. âGo bother someone elseâŚâ
For about thirty seconds, he was pretty sure heâd won, until he heard a loud âmrrrrâ of protest, followed a moment later by a furry head bumping insistently against his cheek. âAxl, wake up and feed your godforsaken cat,â he said, shoving the furball away again and checking his internal system clock. âBesides, itâs seven and you take forever to get ready, youâve got reports to go over in two hours.â
When he still received no response, Skrah sat up, ignoring the cat bundling herself onto his lap and frowning in concern at the unmoving mass of blankets across the room. Axl could be a heavy sleeper, but⌠âAx? You alright?â
He got to his feet with a soft grunt, worry beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach. Honestly, heâd felt bad for the aged gunner for the past few months, ever since his core had begun to give out. It was inevitable for how old he was, really, but after his core levels had begun to randomly spike and drop to dangerous levels, even Axl couldnât deny that he needed to settle down and take a break from fieldwork for a while.
Even still, despite steadily improving relations between humans and Reploids, gathering the necessary materials to construct a brand-new core that would be compatible with a new-generation prototypeâs body felt like a foolâs errand. âIâll be fine,â Axl had insisted while Xan, their on-site medic, had worked on hooking him up to an external core regulator until they could get the parts that they needed for a more permanent solution. âJust pretend itâs the newest fashion statement. Câmon, Iâve been through worse and survived, right?â
âA-Axl, wake up,â Skrah repeated, placing a hand on the lump of blankets his roommate was hidden under and giving him a light shake. âYouâre freaking me out, donâtâŚâ
His voice trailed off, his mouth hanging open in utter silence as he realized that his background signal scans werenât picking up any signal from the motionless gunner.
âAâŚAxâŚâ Skrah considered himself to be a fairly strong person, stonefaced and good at hiding his emotions most of the time. But in that moment, the wave of grief that hit him was so cold, so raw that his voice cracked before he could even think to steady himself. âYouâŚyou said youâdâŚyouâd be fine, youâŚâ
A soft, pained sound slipped past his lips, and he laid his head down near Axlâs shoulder, feeling as though someone had reached into his chest and ripped a distinctly gunner-shaped piece out of his core with their bare hands. And he somehow doubted that anyone would be able to put that piece back any time soon.
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