Document from my reMarkable: 2026.05.30

[mekachu04]

He was running out of good ideas. He was starting to consider some awful ones. Three days after the explosion he half gave up, and under the cover of darkness, he let the shut head go.

He knew where the kid would go. Wasat surprised in the slightest that the kid went straight to the melange of his old shop as soon as he belewed the night hid him from the old man's line of site. Let the kid see what three days of not did to post explosion chunks of flesh. Pull the wind from his sails and hopefully the fight with it. He did have to admit. he was impressed by how sure footed the lad was navigating the sap hands under only star light, straight to the blown out shop. He'd not teach thrown in the slightest by the spirally twisting Route the old man had taken him on to his hideout. A strange arsed by with a compase focus on his goal.

He was already waist deep in wreakge when the old man arrived, touch in had, He illuminated the kit in its spot light beam. The kid didn't even look back- a flick of his wrist lobbing a chunk of twisted metal at him.

Let the list work through this. Traumatize himself by seeing what an explosion does to soft human bodies. He'll come quietly after once he's done breaks his own spirit. The old man sat himself on one of the more stable edges of what had been the side wall of his buses to watch, making sure the light beam never wavored. He wanted the child to see what was band in thewreckage He expected the foul swells that started to drift up. Felt smug at the kid's recoil. The angry tears as he tried to pull metal away one handed.

After this... well, hopeful the fight would be gone, it was getting tiresome.

More shifting metal. All the same spot. All the rotting smell. Not to much longer now.

Sun enough, the lad stopped digging, crumpling down on himself in the wreckage. Soft matting. curled over the no doubt conspe he'd dug up for himself.

"Smt gaich.in help..." it was a small pitiful request,

"What did you call me?" the old man snanneled, rising to deamad some respect.

He didn't really want to see what remand of his apprentice- but the qual of the boy....

A boy now ignoring him, whispering to the coups... He's found Kellian- looks supringly infect, could up in a pocket under what might have been a workbench. The kid had pulled the trash from one side and curled down next to him, Three days in the unekage.

"help." the kid pleaded again. his good hand. Resting on his chest and his heart -the protector leather of the coveralls cracky under his touch.

In horror. the man saw his appentace take a breath, the boy's hand many with each in and exhale.

Three days.

Now he might be a bustard, but", dammit the 'teenager had been a damn fine woken. If he was holding on- he deserved to die under stars & sky as a reward for holding out as long as he had.

The mask hand heathens had done their job- protects him from the flames & heat, but the blast had thrown him back, broken bones, flash burned the Exposed cloth & flesh. What healing the boy's body had attempted the poor excuse of a soap pulling away from muscle at just the slightest touch.

Fragile, dehydrated and horrifingly consease when the old man lifted him free.

His apprentice had taken the blast to his left side- his arm taken the bunt and if the boy survived this he'd probably want to amputate it. surly any function was lost at this point. He'd broken the kid's left arm. As he lifted the dying boy up and started to Remon them from the wreckage of his shop, the kid never let go, right hand entwined with right hand, scrambly awkwardly off balance with his every step.

Not what he planned. But... he could use this...

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