RMH
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Love Begins
Peter Solarz
d e v o n
No title available
#extradirty
JVL
we're not kids anymore.
No title available
izzy's playlists!
Origami Around
todays bird
Sweet Seals For You, Always
AnasAbdin
blake kathryn
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Not today Justin
Cosimo Galluzzi
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Mexico
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from Greece
seen from Indonesia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Australia
seen from United States
@isleyrp
.
Hello! This is my more traditional style rp blog for @drisleythorn, in case our characters meet up, and for rp events. Noncannon things will be tagged #noncannon, cannon will be tagged #cannon, and all that
The timeline here is more loose, so things aren’t strictly happening along side what’s going on with my other blog
Send ⌛to interact with a past version of my muse.
Specify for multi muse blogs.
Please reblog this if it’s okay for me to just pop into your ask box to RP with you, even if you haven’t reblogged a meme, because I just want to RP with you
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
Knight stared, for a moment. Gritting its gears, it nodded. It.. allowing him to help would be better than Ethel's treatment after this:
"Okay." It said, numbly. Slowly, it tried to sit up again, giving Isley more room. It hadn't heard much of his phone call— it should've been listening, it thinks. Should have been. But it hadn't.
Knight was sure even tape would help with the injury, but it couldn't say much.
Its helmet turned a dim red. Self-preservation mode, enabled.
The kid’s helmet flashed something, and Isley suddenly wondered if he was hiding a head wound under there. If he was, it wasn’t bleeding enough to be visible, so Isley focused back on his abdomen.
Isley crouched closer and took a better look at the wound using his phone’s flashlight. He couldn’t tell much, there was a lot of blood and the kid’s armor was in the way. He must be in some kind of trouble, if he needed armor like that. Isley wasn’t a stranger to trouble, though.
In any case, the wound would need compression, and should probably be wrapped with something. He didn’t exactly carry gauze with him, so he stripped off his hoodie and took out his pocket knife and cut off several strips of fabric. His work shirt was inconspicuous, so he wasn’t worried about the kid recognizing it.
He’d need to get under the kid’s armor to apply his makeshift bandages, but he couldn’t quite tell what metal was armor and what was just apart of his body. “Can you help me get some of this armor off? I need the see your stomach.”
The phone light was bright, but made no difference to Knight's automatic night vision. Knight tried to watch him cautiously, craning forward with a hand, trying to help.
"Okay." It said, automatically. Knight scanned the plates, already well aware of what parts of the panelling were more so for armour than the more delicate inner workings— built around the few organs to keep his system running.
Quickly, it clamped a metal hand around one of the larger panels, one with the painted Arkham insignia, and tore it off with a click. The exterior panels could always be changed or removed, it reminds itself.
Underneath the panel was thinner metal, now revealing a large fracture in the lower panelling, leaking bright blood— not pure blood, clearly mixed with other things, and pink organ tissue, shining under the phone lighting and slick on the metal. Clearly, instead of skin or muscle, the metal was the only thing keeping its organs in place.
Isley thought he recognized the symbol on the kid’s armor, but left the thought when it was tossed away with a thud. He… wasn’t sure how much flesh the kid had. Enough to bleed.
Isley wrapped the strips of fabric tight around his midsection, over cracked thin metal. He tried not to wonder why a child, maybe a young adult, would have his skin replaced with combat armor on top. He’d lived in Gotham most of his life, he knew better than to ask questions. Especially to a bleeding child.
“I’m going to apply pressure, now. This might hurt, but it’ll keep your blood in.” He pressed his hands firmly onto the wound. “My boss should be here soon.”
Knight watched him dully, as he folded the fabric tight around his torso, trying not to recoil or wince at the pain.
It was hard, but it was used to it. Knight nodded.
"Alright." It wondered who Isley's boss was. It didn't recognize the uniform in the dark, but its systems could just be inconsistent from the injury.
It clenched its hands tight at the force, trying to focus on the stress of its joints other than the pain. Horrifying pain.
A familiar van pulled in front of the alley. All of the windows were blacked out, and in the dim lighting the van looked gray. “That’s our ride.”
There wasn’t any blood leaking through the top layer of Isley’s bandaging, so he took that as a good sign. Time to find out if the kid could walk.
“We’re going to have to get up now, alright?”
It was strange how Isley was treating Knight. It didn't quite understand why he bothered using consideration, or anything.
"Yes." It agreed, bracing through the dulled pain, and Knight stood up. Should he ask where they are going? Knight knows not to.
Isley walked the kid to the van, half supporting him half putting pressure on his wound. The side door of the van opened on its own, from a button pressed inside. There weren’t technically any seats back here, but there wouldn’t be room for them both in the front.
It was usually storage, and there were still scattered spots of dirt and other debris, but it would have to do. Isley helped the kid get settled, and then addressed his boss. His boss whose schedule he was messing up, during their busy season.
There was a divider between the front and back, but if he projected she could still hear him. “Thanks for coming to pick us up. I know you’re busy.”
A crisp and authoritative voice called back. “Of course. You decided this held importance.”
Isley cringed slightly.
Knight walked with Isley, quietly. It was strange how he even bothered to help support him, no less, Knight didn't need to be supported. It could work through the pain.
It sat down quickly in the back, trying not to be intrusive, and still sluggishly harebrained from the bloodloss.
The bandages on his stomach seemed to be doing their job, but the way the kid swayed just slightly during turns made Isley wonder if he was more injured than he let on. Not to mention the odd way he seemed to hold himself, flexing muscles that had to be torn and sore. He was clearly willing to push himself, hell he probably could’ve knocked Isley on his ass when he first saw him. So why didn’t he. And why did he get into a car with a complete stranger while injured so willingly.
Isley tried and failed to ask himself what kind of trouble this kid must be in. “The clinic’s a protected space, so whoever’s trying to kill you can’t get you in there.” It was a simple assurance, and the kid might not even believe him.
Isley could, at least, do this, “Is there anywhere else you’re injured? I’ll do what I can now, and then let the doctor know when we get there.”
Knight figured that going with this man— whoever he was, was better than going back to Ethel. Far better.
Either way, when Ethel or Deathstroke found out... It would be in trouble.
If it had to, it could easily get out. Being held in captivity was never something it had liked, all those years ago. But it'd adapted. Like it always had, even when acknowledging what it was now was something it couldn't do.
"They won't be coming for me." Knight says.
He probably wasn’t injured anywhere else urgent, then? He spoke with a strange certainty, and Isley could only hope he was right.
They hadn’t been far from the clinic to begin with, but it still felt oddly soon when the van rolled to a stop and the side door sprang itself open, courtesy of his boss. “Thanks,” he called back.
“Of course.”
Isley turned back to the kid. “Let’s get you inside.” No matter how confident the kid was, they weren’t technically protected until they got indoors.
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
Knight stared, for a moment. Gritting its gears, it nodded. It.. allowing him to help would be better than Ethel's treatment after this:
"Okay." It said, numbly. Slowly, it tried to sit up again, giving Isley more room. It hadn't heard much of his phone call— it should've been listening, it thinks. Should have been. But it hadn't.
Knight was sure even tape would help with the injury, but it couldn't say much.
Its helmet turned a dim red. Self-preservation mode, enabled.
The kid’s helmet flashed something, and Isley suddenly wondered if he was hiding a head wound under there. If he was, it wasn’t bleeding enough to be visible, so Isley focused back on his abdomen.
Isley crouched closer and took a better look at the wound using his phone’s flashlight. He couldn’t tell much, there was a lot of blood and the kid’s armor was in the way. He must be in some kind of trouble, if he needed armor like that. Isley wasn’t a stranger to trouble, though.
In any case, the wound would need compression, and should probably be wrapped with something. He didn’t exactly carry gauze with him, so he stripped off his hoodie and took out his pocket knife and cut off several strips of fabric. His work shirt was inconspicuous, so he wasn’t worried about the kid recognizing it.
He’d need to get under the kid’s armor to apply his makeshift bandages, but he couldn’t quite tell what metal was armor and what was just apart of his body. “Can you help me get some of this armor off? I need the see your stomach.”
The phone light was bright, but made no difference to Knight's automatic night vision. Knight tried to watch him cautiously, craning forward with a hand, trying to help.
"Okay." It said, automatically. Knight scanned the plates, already well aware of what parts of the panelling were more so for armour than the more delicate inner workings— built around the few organs to keep his system running.
Quickly, it clamped a metal hand around one of the larger panels, one with the painted Arkham insignia, and tore it off with a click. The exterior panels could always be changed or removed, it reminds itself.
Underneath the panel was thinner metal, now revealing a large fracture in the lower panelling, leaking bright blood— not pure blood, clearly mixed with other things, and pink organ tissue, shining under the phone lighting and slick on the metal. Clearly, instead of skin or muscle, the metal was the only thing keeping its organs in place.
Isley thought he recognized the symbol on the kid’s armor, but left the thought when it was tossed away with a thud. He… wasn’t sure how much flesh the kid had. Enough to bleed.
Isley wrapped the strips of fabric tight around his midsection, over cracked thin metal. He tried not to wonder why a child, maybe a young adult, would have his skin replaced with combat armor on top. He’d lived in Gotham most of his life, he knew better than to ask questions. Especially to a bleeding child.
“I’m going to apply pressure, now. This might hurt, but it’ll keep your blood in.” He pressed his hands firmly onto the wound. “My boss should be here soon.”
Knight watched him dully, as he folded the fabric tight around his torso, trying not to recoil or wince at the pain.
It was hard, but it was used to it. Knight nodded.
"Alright." It wondered who Isley's boss was. It didn't recognize the uniform in the dark, but its systems could just be inconsistent from the injury.
It clenched its hands tight at the force, trying to focus on the stress of its joints other than the pain. Horrifying pain.
A familiar van pulled in front of the alley. All of the windows were blacked out, and in the dim lighting the van looked gray. “That’s our ride.”
There wasn’t any blood leaking through the top layer of Isley’s bandaging, so he took that as a good sign. Time to find out if the kid could walk.
“We’re going to have to get up now, alright?”
It was strange how Isley was treating Knight. It didn't quite understand why he bothered using consideration, or anything.
"Yes." It agreed, bracing through the dulled pain, and Knight stood up. Should he ask where they are going? Knight knows not to.
Isley walked the kid to the van, half supporting him half putting pressure on his wound. The side door of the van opened on its own, from a button pressed inside. There weren’t technically any seats back here, but there wouldn’t be room for them both in the front.
It was usually storage, and there were still scattered spots of dirt and other debris, but it would have to do. Isley helped the kid get settled, and then addressed his boss. His boss whose schedule he was messing up, during their busy season.
There was a divider between the front and back, but if he projected she could still hear him. “Thanks for coming to pick us up. I know you’re busy.”
A crisp and authoritative voice called back. “Of course. You decided this held importance.”
Isley cringed slightly.
Knight walked with Isley, quietly. It was strange how he even bothered to help support him, no less, Knight didn't need to be supported. It could work through the pain.
It sat down quickly in the back, trying not to be intrusive, and still sluggishly harebrained from the bloodloss.
The bandages on his stomach seemed to be doing their job, but the way the kid swayed just slightly during turns made Isley wonder if he was more injured than he let on. Not to mention the odd way he seemed to hold himself, flexing muscles that had to be torn and sore. He was clearly willing to push himself, hell he probably could’ve knocked Isley on his ass when he first saw him. So why didn’t he. And why did he get into a car with a complete stranger while injured so willingly.
Isley tried and failed to ask himself what kind of trouble this kid must be in. “The clinic’s a protected space, so whoever’s trying to kill you can’t get you in there.” It was a simple assurance, and the kid might not even believe him.
Isley could, at least, do this, “Is there anywhere else you’re injured? I’ll do what I can now, and then let the doctor know when we get there.”
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
Knight stared, for a moment. Gritting its gears, it nodded. It.. allowing him to help would be better than Ethel's treatment after this:
"Okay." It said, numbly. Slowly, it tried to sit up again, giving Isley more room. It hadn't heard much of his phone call— it should've been listening, it thinks. Should have been. But it hadn't.
Knight was sure even tape would help with the injury, but it couldn't say much.
Its helmet turned a dim red. Self-preservation mode, enabled.
The kid’s helmet flashed something, and Isley suddenly wondered if he was hiding a head wound under there. If he was, it wasn’t bleeding enough to be visible, so Isley focused back on his abdomen.
Isley crouched closer and took a better look at the wound using his phone’s flashlight. He couldn’t tell much, there was a lot of blood and the kid’s armor was in the way. He must be in some kind of trouble, if he needed armor like that. Isley wasn’t a stranger to trouble, though.
In any case, the wound would need compression, and should probably be wrapped with something. He didn’t exactly carry gauze with him, so he stripped off his hoodie and took out his pocket knife and cut off several strips of fabric. His work shirt was inconspicuous, so he wasn’t worried about the kid recognizing it.
He’d need to get under the kid’s armor to apply his makeshift bandages, but he couldn’t quite tell what metal was armor and what was just apart of his body. “Can you help me get some of this armor off? I need the see your stomach.”
The phone light was bright, but made no difference to Knight's automatic night vision. Knight tried to watch him cautiously, craning forward with a hand, trying to help.
"Okay." It said, automatically. Knight scanned the plates, already well aware of what parts of the panelling were more so for armour than the more delicate inner workings— built around the few organs to keep his system running.
Quickly, it clamped a metal hand around one of the larger panels, one with the painted Arkham insignia, and tore it off with a click. The exterior panels could always be changed or removed, it reminds itself.
Underneath the panel was thinner metal, now revealing a large fracture in the lower panelling, leaking bright blood— not pure blood, clearly mixed with other things, and pink organ tissue, shining under the phone lighting and slick on the metal. Clearly, instead of skin or muscle, the metal was the only thing keeping its organs in place.
Isley thought he recognized the symbol on the kid’s armor, but left the thought when it was tossed away with a thud. He… wasn’t sure how much flesh the kid had. Enough to bleed.
Isley wrapped the strips of fabric tight around his midsection, over cracked thin metal. He tried not to wonder why a child, maybe a young adult, would have his skin replaced with combat armor on top. He’d lived in Gotham most of his life, he knew better than to ask questions. Especially to a bleeding child.
“I’m going to apply pressure, now. This might hurt, but it’ll keep your blood in.” He pressed his hands firmly onto the wound. “My boss should be here soon.”
Knight watched him dully, as he folded the fabric tight around his torso, trying not to recoil or wince at the pain.
It was hard, but it was used to it. Knight nodded.
"Alright." It wondered who Isley's boss was. It didn't recognize the uniform in the dark, but its systems could just be inconsistent from the injury.
It clenched its hands tight at the force, trying to focus on the stress of its joints other than the pain. Horrifying pain.
A familiar van pulled in front of the alley. All of the windows were blacked out, and in the dim lighting the van looked gray. “That’s our ride.”
There wasn’t any blood leaking through the top layer of Isley’s bandaging, so he took that as a good sign. Time to find out if the kid could walk.
“We’re going to have to get up now, alright?”
It was strange how Isley was treating Knight. It didn't quite understand why he bothered using consideration, or anything.
"Yes." It agreed, bracing through the dulled pain, and Knight stood up. Should he ask where they are going? Knight knows not to.
Isley walked the kid to the van, half supporting him half putting pressure on his wound. The side door of the van opened on its own, from a button pressed inside. There weren’t technically any seats back here, but there wouldn’t be room for them both in the front.
It was usually storage, and there were still scattered spots of dirt and other debris, but it would have to do. Isley helped the kid get settled, and then addressed his boss. His boss whose schedule he was messing up, during their busy season.
There was a divider between the front and back, but if he projected she could still hear him. “Thanks for coming to pick us up. I know you’re busy.”
A crisp and authoritative voice called back. “Of course. You decided this held importance.”
Isley cringed slightly.
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
Knight stared, for a moment. Gritting its gears, it nodded. It.. allowing him to help would be better than Ethel's treatment after this:
"Okay." It said, numbly. Slowly, it tried to sit up again, giving Isley more room. It hadn't heard much of his phone call— it should've been listening, it thinks. Should have been. But it hadn't.
Knight was sure even tape would help with the injury, but it couldn't say much.
Its helmet turned a dim red. Self-preservation mode, enabled.
The kid’s helmet flashed something, and Isley suddenly wondered if he was hiding a head wound under there. If he was, it wasn’t bleeding enough to be visible, so Isley focused back on his abdomen.
Isley crouched closer and took a better look at the wound using his phone’s flashlight. He couldn’t tell much, there was a lot of blood and the kid’s armor was in the way. He must be in some kind of trouble, if he needed armor like that. Isley wasn’t a stranger to trouble, though.
In any case, the wound would need compression, and should probably be wrapped with something. He didn’t exactly carry gauze with him, so he stripped off his hoodie and took out his pocket knife and cut off several strips of fabric. His work shirt was inconspicuous, so he wasn’t worried about the kid recognizing it.
He’d need to get under the kid’s armor to apply his makeshift bandages, but he couldn’t quite tell what metal was armor and what was just apart of his body. “Can you help me get some of this armor off? I need the see your stomach.”
The phone light was bright, but made no difference to Knight's automatic night vision. Knight tried to watch him cautiously, craning forward with a hand, trying to help.
"Okay." It said, automatically. Knight scanned the plates, already well aware of what parts of the panelling were more so for armour than the more delicate inner workings— built around the few organs to keep his system running.
Quickly, it clamped a metal hand around one of the larger panels, one with the painted Arkham insignia, and tore it off with a click. The exterior panels could always be changed or removed, it reminds itself.
Underneath the panel was thinner metal, now revealing a large fracture in the lower panelling, leaking bright blood— not pure blood, clearly mixed with other things, and pink organ tissue, shining under the phone lighting and slick on the metal. Clearly, instead of skin or muscle, the metal was the only thing keeping its organs in place.
Isley thought he recognized the symbol on the kid’s armor, but left the thought when it was tossed away with a thud. He… wasn’t sure how much flesh the kid had. Enough to bleed.
Isley wrapped the strips of fabric tight around his midsection, over cracked thin metal. He tried not to wonder why a child, maybe a young adult, would have his skin replaced with combat armor on top. He’d lived in Gotham most of his life, he knew better than to ask questions. Especially to a bleeding child.
“I’m going to apply pressure, now. This might hurt, but it’ll keep your blood in.” He pressed his hands firmly onto the wound. “My boss should be here soon.”
Knight watched him dully, as he folded the fabric tight around his torso, trying not to recoil or wince at the pain.
It was hard, but it was used to it. Knight nodded.
"Alright." It wondered who Isley's boss was. It didn't recognize the uniform in the dark, but its systems could just be inconsistent from the injury.
It clenched its hands tight at the force, trying to focus on the stress of its joints other than the pain. Horrifying pain.
A familiar van pulled in front of the alley. All of the windows were blacked out, and in the dim lighting the van looked gray. “That’s our ride.”
There wasn’t any blood leaking through the top layer of Isley’s bandaging, so he took that as a good sign. Time to find out if the kid could walk.
“We’re going to have to get up now, alright?”
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
Knight stared, for a moment. Gritting its gears, it nodded. It.. allowing him to help would be better than Ethel's treatment after this:
"Okay." It said, numbly. Slowly, it tried to sit up again, giving Isley more room. It hadn't heard much of his phone call— it should've been listening, it thinks. Should have been. But it hadn't.
Knight was sure even tape would help with the injury, but it couldn't say much.
Its helmet turned a dim red. Self-preservation mode, enabled.
The kid’s helmet flashed something, and Isley suddenly wondered if he was hiding a head wound under there. If he was, it wasn’t bleeding enough to be visible, so Isley focused back on his abdomen.
Isley crouched closer and took a better look at the wound using his phone’s flashlight. He couldn’t tell much, there was a lot of blood and the kid’s armor was in the way. He must be in some kind of trouble, if he needed armor like that. Isley wasn’t a stranger to trouble, though.
In any case, the wound would need compression, and should probably be wrapped with something. He didn’t exactly carry gauze with him, so he stripped off his hoodie and took out his pocket knife and cut off several strips of fabric. His work shirt was inconspicuous, so he wasn’t worried about the kid recognizing it.
He’d need to get under the kid’s armor to apply his makeshift bandages, but he couldn’t quite tell what metal was armor and what was just apart of his body. “Can you help me get some of this armor off? I need the see your stomach.”
The phone light was bright, but made no difference to Knight's automatic night vision. Knight tried to watch him cautiously, craning forward with a hand, trying to help.
"Okay." It said, automatically. Knight scanned the plates, already well aware of what parts of the panelling were more so for armour than the more delicate inner workings— built around the few organs to keep his system running.
Quickly, it clamped a metal hand around one of the larger panels, one with the painted Arkham insignia, and tore it off with a click. The exterior panels could always be changed or removed, it reminds itself.
Underneath the panel was thinner metal, now revealing a large fracture in the lower panelling, leaking bright blood— not pure blood, clearly mixed with other things, and pink organ tissue, shining under the phone lighting and slick on the metal. Clearly, instead of skin or muscle, the metal was the only thing keeping its organs in place.
Isley thought he recognized the symbol on the kid’s armor, but left the thought when it was tossed away with a thud. He… wasn’t sure how much flesh the kid had. Enough to bleed.
Isley wrapped the strips of fabric tight around his midsection, over cracked thin metal. He tried not to wonder why a child, maybe a young adult, would have his skin replaced with combat armor on top. He’d lived in Gotham most of his life, he knew better than to ask questions. Especially to a bleeding child.
“I’m going to apply pressure, now. This might hurt, but it’ll keep your blood in.” He pressed his hands firmly onto the wound. “My boss should be here soon.”
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
Knight stared, for a moment. Gritting its gears, it nodded. It.. allowing him to help would be better than Ethel's treatment after this:
"Okay." It said, numbly. Slowly, it tried to sit up again, giving Isley more room. It hadn't heard much of his phone call— it should've been listening, it thinks. Should have been. But it hadn't.
Knight was sure even tape would help with the injury, but it couldn't say much.
Its helmet turned a dim red. Self-preservation mode, enabled.
The kid’s helmet flashed something, and Isley suddenly wondered if he was hiding a head wound under there. If he was, it wasn’t bleeding enough to be visible, so Isley focused back on his abdomen.
Isley crouched closer and took a better look at the wound using his phone’s flashlight. He couldn’t tell much, there was a lot of blood and the kid’s armor was in the way. He must be in some kind of trouble, if he needed armor like that. Isley wasn’t a stranger to trouble, though.
In any case, the wound would need compression, and should probably be wrapped with something. He didn’t exactly carry gauze with him, so he stripped off his hoodie and took out his pocket knife and cut off several strips of fabric. His work shirt was inconspicuous, so he wasn’t worried about the kid recognizing it.
He’d need to get under the kid’s armor to apply his makeshift bandages, but he couldn’t quite tell what metal was armor and what was just apart of his body. “Can you help me get some of this armor off? I need the see your stomach.”
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
Knight watched him text, slogging. It shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting a stranger help it, shouldn't.. shouldn't..
System compromised still rang in its ears. Surely Ethel.. the company.. or Deathstroke would be after it soon.
It froze at the thought of the biotech company. It didn't.. nevermind.
"Stomach." Knight said, quickly. Internal systems told it that its liver was probably damaged, too. Wonderful.
Stomach. That was internal damage. Based on the blood pooling around the kid, a lot of internal damage. Isley wasn’t sure he could walk to the clinic. He took a steadying breath.
“I’m going to call my boss. She’ll take us to free clinic, alright? The doctor there doesn’t ask questions.”
Before the kid could answer he was already dialing his boss. A slight explanation, a few mhms and yeses later, he slid his phone back in his pocket. He forgot to ask her to take an inconspicuous vehicle. She’d probably do it anyway.
Isley paused a moment. The first aid supplies he carried in his work bag were minimal, but he should still be doing something, right? “I should also probably help you stop the bleeding. I’ll have to get closer for that. Will you let me help you?”
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
Knight looks up, staring slowly at the tall figure. It analyzes it for a moment, processing sluggishly, still trying to cover up the break in its metal.
"Hello." It says, turning its head to the side, peering at Isley. Its voice is mechanic, dull. Expressionless— probably from the injury, it recognizes. Normally its voice box can have more emotion than that.
It scrabbles for a moment, trying to pull itself into a sitting position, LED blinkering. The person doesn't look like too much of a threat, it thinks, weakly.
The kid could barely sit. Yikes. Quickly, Isley texted his boss. He was going to be late.
Isley wasn’t sure the doctor at the free no-questions-asked clinic knew how to deal with people with robot parts, but this was Gotham, so probably? At least he hoped.
It had taken the kid a few moments to respond to him earlier, but at least he could communicate. Isley crouched in front of him, still giving the kid a few feet of space.
“Are you able to stand?” He could barely sit up, that was probably a stupid question. “Where are you most injured?”
RP Starter! (As always, anyone can interact!)
No. No, No—System compromised. System compromised— the words rang through his skull, running through the jolting hardware. Knight had a hand clamped to the break in the steel panels, but it was leaking. Thick, red blood mixed with intravenous fluids was running down the metal, draining onto the ground below his–its feet.
It had failed the mission. Had— the target had been informed about it. How? it tries to think, brain whirring. But it can't think, not really, not losing this much blood as it pushes a hand out to lean into some back alley's wall.
Why was he going through this again? Why—? Knight presses its hand harder on the break, external fibreglass popping at the force.
Maybe it should try to power off. Release a sedative into its thinning bloodstream. But the thought pulls up anxiety— fear of that paralyzing feeling of entrapment, again. But it can't fear, or shouldn't. Its goal should be staying alive, staying valuable.
But maybe this is better, 816 thinks, metal creaking as it slumps to the ground.
He was on his way to work. It was a little past eleven, but he wasn’t needed until about 11:30 tonight. Isley’s hands were in the pockets of his dull green hoodie.
He shifted his shoulders on reflex, the strap of his work bag digging into them, and it moved his head enough that something glinting in the light caught his eye.
Someone. A mess of robotics and he assumed flesh. He wasn’t a doctor, though. Isley hesitated. He needed to go to work, and he didn’t know this kid.
But kid was the apt descriptor here, wasn’t it? He’d check out the kid, call 911, and then get back to work… if the kid was the type that could safely be helped by those authorities.
Isley sighed and walked over to assess the situation, slowing down when he got closer. He was pretty tall, and he didn’t want to intimidate the kid.
“You alright there?”
There's a lot of us out there!
Saw a couple absolute saints do this for the Ghost RP fandom, an honestly, tis genius, every RP community should have one these
This blog is a organised collection of RP blogs within the DC fandom. I'll try keep it up to date as best I can, but as of rn, I'm the only one runnin this show
If you know of any blogs not added, please send in an ask or a DM an I'll get right on addin 'em where they should be!
Harassment, bullying, or intentional boundary crossing will not be tolerated here. Any problems should be handled privately, and while we understand the urge to call people out publically, callout posts or indirects should not be posted in RP tags. It's a lot easier to inform people without risk of widespread misinterpretation in DMs, asks, or comments on a post.
Canon Characters
Crossovers
OCs
All Ages; Blogs that are either minor-run or don't allow NSFW content
NSFW Allowed; Blogs that allow minors under the condition that they don't engage with NSFW posts
MDNI; Blogs with an above 18 rating or labelled as MDNI
If you don't like someone's representation of a character, simply do not engage with them. Block and move on with your life - everyone interprets characters differently and, while mischaracterisation may irritate you, RP is something people do for fun. Please don't ruin that.
Dividers by saradika-graphics
I'm starting a tag game cause I said so In character casually trauma dump then tag some folks
The morning after I was crucified I got forcibly moved to gotham
@hermesofeyes @temp-war-profiteer
The days before my 13 birthday I was forced into surgery and had eyes put all around my body.
@j0kers-gamb1t @jam-todd @kirkbrides-faves @working-at-arkham
I was mostly murdered and disfigured in my old place of work after quitting. Then spent days in the hospital in withdrawals after an overdose with said chemicals that disfigured me. Ha.
@director-of-arkham-city @askd0ctorjcrane @e-nygmaofficial @arkham-jekyll-gotham-hyde
Hm? Oh, yes. I was stabbed and nearly molested as a child. I narrowly managed to escape, but when I screamed to be let go; the man laughed at me.
@askd0ctorjcrane, @crowsinthecornfield, @ivy-posting, @questionquery
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐈𝐭 𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬.
𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞.
I only got kidnapped because I saw that the Joker had killed an entire kindergarten class and sewn their limbs together in a chain.
@broken-wings-of-jaybirds @babycassandracain @gothamsfox @forbidden-bajha-blast-resurrctor
ooo ooo we wanna play umm were tortured in arkham for a year, we dug our of selves out of a coffin, we were in a coma for like another year, we were dunked into some toxic koolaid and now we are split into 3 parts!!
@marthajo @first-boy-wonder @waynesnumber1butler
Ummmmm.. thinking!! I had to watch my parents fall to their deaths and then got told I couldn't stay at my home at the circus anymore with them gone! Now I'm stuck in GOTHAM, which is the traumatic part hehe :>!!!
@boundtobeahare @babycassandracain @thebestwondergirl @brucewayneloveswomen @gothams-dark-prince @mild-stalker-energy @izakk-tiberius-kyle @r3d-robin @stargazertheofficial
oh, um-
i didn't really get traumatized, actually
(bull fucking shit.)
Sometimes when I’m around fires the smell of it takes me back to the day my father died horrifically suffocating in a forest fire.
@raging-rosewilson27 @cursedass-demonhunters @gothams-star-seeker @john-brendan-knowles (if you want!)
When I see kids younger than 6 misbehaving my mind bombards me with images of me hitting them just like my father used to do before I got adopted.
@le4ves-1n-the-w1nd @morningstarscratch @jinx-badluckqueen
I don't think I'll truly be accepted for changing my ways and every time I patrol, I'll have to brace myself to fight with the people I'm siding with...
Tagging!: @darkseraphscorner @xirunafer-the-worldshaper
We do not have the time, patience, or alcoholic beverages to get into what happened to me.
Tags: @loki-ft-other-ocs-too @thetruescholar @beauty-under-the-sun
Um... my father tried to sell me to some guy who dressed me like a prostitute and branded me, then I blew up in front of my future boyfriend and went to Hell. Just for a little bit though.
@reminders-of-rhodes @wren-beowulf
Whenever I'm bein' shot at by the gangs or the cops, sometimes I just wanna let them have one lucky shot for everything 't be over. Never wanted things 't turn out this way, I just wanted 't go 't school...
@eden-byrnes @the-godly-trickster @fire-mfing-storm
i discovered i had the ability to track someone via their blood by it leading my to my parents bodies.
@seam-queen @corvidae-clockwork
everything about me isnt real and i tell myself i like it that way :)
its true if i keep saying it
@initialsubject @modronman
unit ASCALON is an artificial intelligence and therefore incapable of experiencing trauma
@samaeloffbrandangel @ants-body-shop @belladonna-ismyfavoritecriminal @sleep-deprived-tim
My arm and leg hurts when it rains. And my jaw. The cheekbone that needed to be reconstructed. Hm? Oh, geez...I was attacked by a group of local boys a few years back. Got the beating of a lifetime, but I was lucky.
...there was a kid, a friend of mine, who could have stopped it from happening. He must have known ahead of time that the gang was planning to ambush me, because he was hidden nearby, watching. I saw his hiding spot...I knew he was there the whole time. I tried to call out to him for help after the gang had left, but...he left me there in the mud and the rain.
Poor kid. He was probably freaked out.
(( @jean-paul-azrael , @caspianova , @azrael-sword-of-justice , @gothamgabber , @darlingdickie, @lt-doberman ))
the Gotham Police Force sanctioned torturing me for over a year in solitary confinement then killing my family in front of me so that they could turn me into a devil. They told me that program was a chance to get back on my feet. It wasn’t. Now I’m afraid of the dark.
@claudekrueal @crow-of-gotham
There was once a girl I cared about very much, young and bright eyed. My student. She looked up to me, I tried to help her when I could. Train her. But her work…. Got her killed. Gruesomely.
I wasn’t there to protect her when she needed me most. But that always seems to be the case, doesn’t it…
@m0neysp1der @theoneandonlyscaregoon + anyone else who would like to do it
Due to a ‘refusal to cooperate’ with the intake process at Arkham, I was put in solitary confinement the entire time I was there.
Normally, I wouldn’t be able to fit through the vents. But I’d lost a lot of weight. It took me a few days to navigate my way out. I think I’ll take the sewers next time.
@ants-body-shop @crowsinthecornfield @drisleythorn + open tags
Idk my life hasn’t been too sad ig. I mean I guess I’ve never had many friends? And most of them have stabbed me in the back… (literally)… But I have a friend from work and my roommates so really I’m fine
Open tags
Reblog this post if you're okay with your muse(s) being mentioned in other people's threads!
//some quick doodles <3
//also I made a blog for dumping my art it’s @glarbimactafin :))
Reblog if you're okay with people coming into your dms or ask box with storylines and rp ideas!
