![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Memory: Fighting
Source: Roleplay (Polychromatic)
Time: ~Age eighteen
Somewhere in a darkened city full of running and jumping and slithering Things, Chekov is doing what he can to help others escape danger. Mostly, that involves shooting the Things with one of his homemade laser guns.
That's what he was doing, anyway. The gun has stopped working and Chekov, with his engineering knowledge temporarily traded away via Deity magic, can't get it running again. He's tried pushing buttons, removing and replacing parts, hitting the stupid thing, swearing at it in a variety of languages... and it's not responding. This would happen when he tries to be heroic.
"Derrmo... Pavel, you are an idiot. Trading away knowledge..."
There's a scraping sound. Chekov pauses. Behind him, a manhole cover lifts and is pushed aside by what might have been, in a previous life, a set of hands--gnarled, knuckle bones visible through a glistening coat of slime and rot.
Even as he turns to look, something whips out of the manhole and wraps itself around Chekov's legs. It drags him towards the hole and the grabbing hands. The young man yelps and reaches for the useless gun, but it's too far away. He twists and hits the thing around his legs with the only weapon at hand: a small communicator. It doesn't so much as faze the Thing and now he's halfway down the manhole, holding on to a crack in the cement above ground to prevent the creature from dragging him under. He slams his communicator on the ground and--
--disappears from view, a jagged, broken piece of plastic--a remnant of the network device--firmly in hand.
There's nothing for a minute.
Two minutes.
A bloodied hand grasps the rim of the manhole. Chekov hauls himself up onto the relative safety of the cement, filthy and bleeding but very much alive. He has the presence of mind to replace the manhole cover.
"Eto pizdets..."
Time: ~Age eighteen
Somewhere in a darkened city full of running and jumping and slithering Things, Chekov is doing what he can to help others escape danger. Mostly, that involves shooting the Things with one of his homemade laser guns.
That's what he was doing, anyway. The gun has stopped working and Chekov, with his engineering knowledge temporarily traded away via Deity magic, can't get it running again. He's tried pushing buttons, removing and replacing parts, hitting the stupid thing, swearing at it in a variety of languages... and it's not responding. This would happen when he tries to be heroic.
"Derrmo... Pavel, you are an idiot. Trading away knowledge..."
There's a scraping sound. Chekov pauses. Behind him, a manhole cover lifts and is pushed aside by what might have been, in a previous life, a set of hands--gnarled, knuckle bones visible through a glistening coat of slime and rot.
Even as he turns to look, something whips out of the manhole and wraps itself around Chekov's legs. It drags him towards the hole and the grabbing hands. The young man yelps and reaches for the useless gun, but it's too far away. He twists and hits the thing around his legs with the only weapon at hand: a small communicator. It doesn't so much as faze the Thing and now he's halfway down the manhole, holding on to a crack in the cement above ground to prevent the creature from dragging him under. He slams his communicator on the ground and--
--disappears from view, a jagged, broken piece of plastic--a remnant of the network device--firmly in hand.
There's nothing for a minute.
Two minutes.
A bloodied hand grasps the rim of the manhole. Chekov hauls himself up onto the relative safety of the cement, filthy and bleeding but very much alive. He has the presence of mind to replace the manhole cover.
"Eto pizdets..."