Rick (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bedroomblackbelt) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
smash_logs2013-04-25 04:11 pm
bedroomblackbelt) wrote in smash_logs2013-04-25 04:11 pm
A HOSPITAL ADVENTURE: by Rick, age 9999999
Who: Rick and YOU
What: Some idiot got stabbed in the kidney and had to be hospitalized. He tries to escape and it doesn't go over very well. Open to visitations and mocking.
Where: FDC general hospital
When: April 25th - April 29th
Warnings: R for Rick. Minor gore if you read the live action adaptation.
Alternate reading: The live action adaptation where Rick is played by Jason Statham.
"I'm still amazed he wasn't dead on arrival."
Voices came in a haze, vision even worse. All Rick could make out were two vaguely humanoid shapes at the end of the... bed? He was in a bed. Alone, in a bed. Shit, how'd he end up here? Where was here? There was a soft, steady beeping of a machine, and a sterility in the atmosphere that duly reminded him of...
"He probably would have been if we left his kidney in."
The more portly of the figures scoffed and flipped through papers on a clipboard he was holding. "Seventeen stab wounds and that thing was a lost cause."
"We still have it in storage, at Doctor Breen's request." The other figure remarked, decidedly lady-like. Rick squinted his dry eyes, trying to get a better focus on either of the individuals. "This patient is odd. I can't even tell if what I'm looking are his actual finger prints or part of a company logo..."
"He hasn't even woken up yet has he?"
Doctor Breen? Where had he heard that name before...?
"Just a logo. No next of kin, no living relatives. Maybe if he doesn't we can put him on the waiting list for the rest of his parts. I'm sure there's someone out there who would appreciate a super kidney."
With that casual statement, a sense of urgency and adrenaline forced his muddled senses to cooperate a little better. Rick blinked away the haze and managed a groan, only to realize immediately after that there was something lodged in his throat and that would be the only sound he could produce.
The nurse noticed the bed sheets shuffling thanks scruffy, bandaged blonde hooked up to the intensive care unit; tubes coming out of his mouth and nose, veins and cords acting as one and the same. It was the closest thing he'd come to being plugged back into a machine in months, only without any of the fun. Uncomfortable and pitiful looking was an understatement.
"Good morning, sunshine." The nurse came closer. She was a redhead. She was a peppy redhead. "Can't take these out just yet, sorry sweetie."
From there the days dragged on slowly, as best as Rick could guess the time being confined to the bed. It didn't even seem to matter anymore, for whatever spark would drive him to excessive thrill and danger didn't even seem to be there anymore. Probably because, for the first time, he realized it could've all ended. Ceased to exist. Dead. No rebooting. No rebuilding. His brain seemed more than content to agonizingly replay the last moments of Vivian's bullets whizzing in the air and Ishimaru's white uniform stained with so much blood, over and over again. That was supposed to be cool and exciting... right?
...Or maybe Rick was so miserable because he was stuck in a bed with a gorgeous redhead bending over teasing him all day and he couldn't do anything about it. And he hurt. His whole body ached something fierce until she came by to load him up with morphine or sexy juice or whatever the hell she put in there. It was placating enough, and usually he'd submit to unconsciousness again and again.
It wasn't until the dead of night, some night, that Rick had a sudden epiphany: Breen.
Breen.
He was in Black Mesa. Holy shit he figured it out! He was kidnapped by Black Mesa and they were going to scoop out his organs, and then sell them back to Aperture for ransom. There'd be no rebooting or rebuilding for him, but fuck that if he was going to let some slimy, no-good Black Mesa creeps have the opportunity. He had a... whatever it was; a super kidney or whatever. Who wouldn't want a super kidney? A moron, that's who. That spark came back--perhaps in his delusional, pain-addled, morphine-uped state of mind--Rick felt the thrill of adventure and danger.
He had to escape. It was the dead of night and he had to use its cover. Precariously, Rick swung his legs over the bed, a dull ache ever present but not enough to stop him from moving. He pulled all the tubes off his face, ripped the needles out of his arms, and carefully took his first steps. Barefoot and barebacked, the cold moonlit tile and cold hospital air permeated through him made him feel especially vulnerable. Rick knew all the moves, it was all coming back to him; he pressed himself up against the wall and made sure no one was passing through the hallway before opening the door and sneaking off. If his side didn't hurt so bad he'd duck and roll for extra style.
dundedun dun dun dun dundedun dun dun dun dundedun dun dun dun dundedun dun dun dun deDON Do do do
At some point Rick hid behind a potted plant to evade a passing security guard (obviously) disguised as another patient. It worked real damn good. Even perfectly mimicked plant sounds for added blend-in-ability. The guard only stared for five seconds before moving on, clearly none the wiser.
"Phew, that was a close call."
Things were going great until Rick realized he couldn't escape this nefarious Black Mesa holding facility until he recovered his kidney. It was the missing sum from his whole, the holy grail. They said it was in storage somewhere, right? By sheer luck (and more potted plants and maybe an elevator or two) Rick managed to find what he was looking for. The halls down here were dark, illuminated only by the ominous red glow of WARNING: RESTRICTED ACCESS hanging above all the doors.
"Need a key card, damn." He'd have to go procure one.
"Ooooorrrr..." Rick's eyes flitted over to a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. Conveniently. Not a second later it was crashing through the small glass window port of one of the storage room doors. Hot damn it sure was great having opposable thumbs sometimes.
"Tripped the alarm!" A static countdown clock appeared in the upper left-hand corner of his vision. He had to move fast. Putting those thumbs to use he wrested his arm through the shattered glass, not mindful of the cuts he acquired as he did, and opened the door from the inside.
Lo, Rick was greeted with quite possibly one of the most creepy storage rooms. It was dark, cold, and musty. Fitting, for Black Mesa, he thought. He had a difficult time making anything out on the labels.
"Educational use only my ass." It occurred to him that he really did not know what his own kidney looked like as he hastily passed rows and rows of human parts floating in jars, but convinced himself that it would be a healthy looking organ, thick and manly and meaty. And full of stab wounds, yeah. The distant sound of boots clomping above and voices snapped his attention away from any innate urges to explore any further.
"Gotta' find it!" He started smashing jars on the ground, looking for whatever felt right. "Not this one." Smash! "Nope." Smash! "That's a penis." Smash! "Come on!"
Every formalin jar he smashed filled the air with a putrid, acidic, rotting stench. A small team of security guards closed in on the chaos, and Rick new he had to run. He decided that the next jar had to be his, no matter what; do or die. He smashed it, picked up the slimy organ from the ground and bolted.
"This way! He ran over there!" The security team turned on the rest of the overhead lights, and could easily see a grown man in nothing more than his hospital gown, clutching what was probably a dripping liver under his arm like a football. Not to mention the slippery (expensive) mess he made all over the floor.
"Like hell I'm letting you take me in!" Rick had effectively cornered himself in the storage room, with no other exits than the one he came in, but there was always an air vent or something, right? He grabbed another jar and shouted, "SMOKEBOMB!" before throwing it on the ground in front of the security guards. They recoiled in surprise, and were mostly baffled the distraction worked well enough to give Rick a few precious seconds of distance.
"After him!" The team came prepared for this and decided they weren't going to fuck around with what was clearly a dangerous, deranged man. "Load up the darts!"
Rick was about halfway climbing up a shelf, knocking yet more jars down in his haste, sure he could make a five-inch by five-inch air vent somehow work for a daring escape. He had to resort to using his mouth to hold his 'kidney' in order to scale the shelves, but he was so close he could taste it.
It tasted kind of acidic and partly carcinogenic. Faintly, like falling.
Rick didn't even feel the tranquilizer hit him in the butt before he hit the ground and blacked out.
"He really should've been dead after that!"
Voices came in a haze, vision even worse. All Rick could make out at first were two vaguely female humanoid shapes at the end of the... bed? Bed. He was back in the bed. There was a soft, steady beeping of a machine, and nnghnnn... his whole body ached, head to toe. He tried moving and found resistance in just about every limb.
"He probably didn't because you like, gave him way too much--Oh... look who's awake!"
This time two nurses. Both redheads. Two peppy redheads.
To Rick's merit, there wasn't something shoved down his throat this time so it made speaking an easier task.
"Wh--" Not that he could say much before the nurse cut him off.
"Yep. You're strapped to the bed now." It wasn't quite what was said but how cheerfully it came out of her ditzy mouth that kept him quiet. Indeed, Rick registered the weight bearing against his limbs as being actual restraints--leather straps cuffed around his wrists, ankles, and two bigger straps across his thighs and chest. Say nothing for all the tubes and needles stuck back in him where they belonged. Rick grunted and tested them, finding them snug and secure, and much to his chagrin. There was no longer an overwhelming paranoia flooding his brain that urged him to escape, but Rick didn't want to be here all the same.
"This your idea of a good time?" He rasped to the redhead with a grin that bared teeth.
"That's what you get for being crazy, sweetie. Sorry it has to be this way. But, hey, at least you're open for visits now."
What: Some idiot got stabbed in the kidney and had to be hospitalized. He tries to escape and it doesn't go over very well. Open to visitations and mocking.
Where: FDC general hospital
When: April 25th - April 29th
Warnings: R for Rick. Minor gore if you read the live action adaptation.
Alternate reading: The live action adaptation where Rick is played by Jason Statham.
"I'm still amazed he wasn't dead on arrival."
Voices came in a haze, vision even worse. All Rick could make out were two vaguely humanoid shapes at the end of the... bed? He was in a bed. Alone, in a bed. Shit, how'd he end up here? Where was here? There was a soft, steady beeping of a machine, and a sterility in the atmosphere that duly reminded him of...
"He probably would have been if we left his kidney in."
The more portly of the figures scoffed and flipped through papers on a clipboard he was holding. "Seventeen stab wounds and that thing was a lost cause."
"We still have it in storage, at Doctor Breen's request." The other figure remarked, decidedly lady-like. Rick squinted his dry eyes, trying to get a better focus on either of the individuals. "This patient is odd. I can't even tell if what I'm looking are his actual finger prints or part of a company logo..."
"He hasn't even woken up yet has he?"
Doctor Breen? Where had he heard that name before...?
"Just a logo. No next of kin, no living relatives. Maybe if he doesn't we can put him on the waiting list for the rest of his parts. I'm sure there's someone out there who would appreciate a super kidney."
With that casual statement, a sense of urgency and adrenaline forced his muddled senses to cooperate a little better. Rick blinked away the haze and managed a groan, only to realize immediately after that there was something lodged in his throat and that would be the only sound he could produce.
The nurse noticed the bed sheets shuffling thanks scruffy, bandaged blonde hooked up to the intensive care unit; tubes coming out of his mouth and nose, veins and cords acting as one and the same. It was the closest thing he'd come to being plugged back into a machine in months, only without any of the fun. Uncomfortable and pitiful looking was an understatement.
"Good morning, sunshine." The nurse came closer. She was a redhead. She was a peppy redhead. "Can't take these out just yet, sorry sweetie."
From there the days dragged on slowly, as best as Rick could guess the time being confined to the bed. It didn't even seem to matter anymore, for whatever spark would drive him to excessive thrill and danger didn't even seem to be there anymore. Probably because, for the first time, he realized it could've all ended. Ceased to exist. Dead. No rebooting. No rebuilding. His brain seemed more than content to agonizingly replay the last moments of Vivian's bullets whizzing in the air and Ishimaru's white uniform stained with so much blood, over and over again. That was supposed to be cool and exciting... right?
...Or maybe Rick was so miserable because he was stuck in a bed with a gorgeous redhead bending over teasing him all day and he couldn't do anything about it. And he hurt. His whole body ached something fierce until she came by to load him up with morphine or sexy juice or whatever the hell she put in there. It was placating enough, and usually he'd submit to unconsciousness again and again.
It wasn't until the dead of night, some night, that Rick had a sudden epiphany: Breen.
Breen.
He was in Black Mesa. Holy shit he figured it out! He was kidnapped by Black Mesa and they were going to scoop out his organs, and then sell them back to Aperture for ransom. There'd be no rebooting or rebuilding for him, but fuck that if he was going to let some slimy, no-good Black Mesa creeps have the opportunity. He had a... whatever it was; a super kidney or whatever. Who wouldn't want a super kidney? A moron, that's who. That spark came back--perhaps in his delusional, pain-addled, morphine-uped state of mind--Rick felt the thrill of adventure and danger.
He had to escape. It was the dead of night and he had to use its cover. Precariously, Rick swung his legs over the bed, a dull ache ever present but not enough to stop him from moving. He pulled all the tubes off his face, ripped the needles out of his arms, and carefully took his first steps. Barefoot and barebacked, the cold moonlit tile and cold hospital air permeated through him made him feel especially vulnerable. Rick knew all the moves, it was all coming back to him; he pressed himself up against the wall and made sure no one was passing through the hallway before opening the door and sneaking off. If his side didn't hurt so bad he'd duck and roll for extra style.
dundedun dun dun dun dundedun dun dun dun dundedun dun dun dun dundedun dun dun dun deDON Do do do
At some point Rick hid behind a potted plant to evade a passing security guard (obviously) disguised as another patient. It worked real damn good. Even perfectly mimicked plant sounds for added blend-in-ability. The guard only stared for five seconds before moving on, clearly none the wiser.
"Phew, that was a close call."
Things were going great until Rick realized he couldn't escape this nefarious Black Mesa holding facility until he recovered his kidney. It was the missing sum from his whole, the holy grail. They said it was in storage somewhere, right? By sheer luck (and more potted plants and maybe an elevator or two) Rick managed to find what he was looking for. The halls down here were dark, illuminated only by the ominous red glow of WARNING: RESTRICTED ACCESS hanging above all the doors.
"Need a key card, damn." He'd have to go procure one.
"Ooooorrrr..." Rick's eyes flitted over to a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. Conveniently. Not a second later it was crashing through the small glass window port of one of the storage room doors. Hot damn it sure was great having opposable thumbs sometimes.
BRRRRIIIINNNNNGGGGGGG!
"Tripped the alarm!" A static countdown clock appeared in the upper left-hand corner of his vision. He had to move fast. Putting those thumbs to use he wrested his arm through the shattered glass, not mindful of the cuts he acquired as he did, and opened the door from the inside.
Lo, Rick was greeted with quite possibly one of the most creepy storage rooms. It was dark, cold, and musty. Fitting, for Black Mesa, he thought. He had a difficult time making anything out on the labels.
"Educational use only my ass." It occurred to him that he really did not know what his own kidney looked like as he hastily passed rows and rows of human parts floating in jars, but convinced himself that it would be a healthy looking organ, thick and manly and meaty. And full of stab wounds, yeah. The distant sound of boots clomping above and voices snapped his attention away from any innate urges to explore any further.
"Gotta' find it!" He started smashing jars on the ground, looking for whatever felt right. "Not this one." Smash! "Nope." Smash! "That's a penis." Smash! "Come on!"
Every formalin jar he smashed filled the air with a putrid, acidic, rotting stench. A small team of security guards closed in on the chaos, and Rick new he had to run. He decided that the next jar had to be his, no matter what; do or die. He smashed it, picked up the slimy organ from the ground and bolted.
"This way! He ran over there!" The security team turned on the rest of the overhead lights, and could easily see a grown man in nothing more than his hospital gown, clutching what was probably a dripping liver under his arm like a football. Not to mention the slippery (expensive) mess he made all over the floor.
"Like hell I'm letting you take me in!" Rick had effectively cornered himself in the storage room, with no other exits than the one he came in, but there was always an air vent or something, right? He grabbed another jar and shouted, "SMOKEBOMB!" before throwing it on the ground in front of the security guards. They recoiled in surprise, and were mostly baffled the distraction worked well enough to give Rick a few precious seconds of distance.
"After him!" The team came prepared for this and decided they weren't going to fuck around with what was clearly a dangerous, deranged man. "Load up the darts!"
Rick was about halfway climbing up a shelf, knocking yet more jars down in his haste, sure he could make a five-inch by five-inch air vent somehow work for a daring escape. He had to resort to using his mouth to hold his 'kidney' in order to scale the shelves, but he was so close he could taste it.
It tasted kind of acidic and partly carcinogenic. Faintly, like falling.
Rick didn't even feel the tranquilizer hit him in the butt before he hit the ground and blacked out.
"He really should've been dead after that!"
Voices came in a haze, vision even worse. All Rick could make out at first were two vaguely female humanoid shapes at the end of the... bed? Bed. He was back in the bed. There was a soft, steady beeping of a machine, and nnghnnn... his whole body ached, head to toe. He tried moving and found resistance in just about every limb.
"He probably didn't because you like, gave him way too much--Oh... look who's awake!"
This time two nurses. Both redheads. Two peppy redheads.
To Rick's merit, there wasn't something shoved down his throat this time so it made speaking an easier task.
"Wh--" Not that he could say much before the nurse cut him off.
"Yep. You're strapped to the bed now." It wasn't quite what was said but how cheerfully it came out of her ditzy mouth that kept him quiet. Indeed, Rick registered the weight bearing against his limbs as being actual restraints--leather straps cuffed around his wrists, ankles, and two bigger straps across his thighs and chest. Say nothing for all the tubes and needles stuck back in him where they belonged. Rick grunted and tested them, finding them snug and secure, and much to his chagrin. There was no longer an overwhelming paranoia flooding his brain that urged him to escape, but Rick didn't want to be here all the same.
"This your idea of a good time?" He rasped to the redhead with a grin that bared teeth.
"That's what you get for being crazy, sweetie. Sorry it has to be this way. But, hey, at least you're open for visits now."