Kirsh lay on the ground and attempted to send what little powere he had left to pick himself up. The attack had been swift and brutal. No one around would help him, it seemed, for scientist synths were everything that was wrong with this city and taking their anger out on something without feelings was just appropriate.
Yet Kirsh did feel it.
Maybe not the blows that came first, but certainly that shot of electricity that nearly jolted him out of existence entirely. That hot, sharp current coursed through his body, richocheting off of everything but unwilling to leave. He could shut down to cut off that connection, but who would restart him? In this state he couldn't do it alone and worse, the weather was turning bitterly cold.
Kirsh coughed and bits of white liquid hit the ground. No, he wasn't all right. He was going to die here and no one was going to help him. What had he done wrong this time? He had lived through so much only to be betrayed over and over. Kirsh coughed again. Help was not coming.
