Chapter Text
Robert House wakes up in a dumpster.
It’s the most surreal thing he could ever imagine happening to him- he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t use chems. The worst he does is regularly pull all-nighters, but none of them have landed him in a dumpster before now. Did one of his roommates drug him?
Robert crawls out, cringing at the smell and the sounds of the dumpster’s contents, refusing to look down at what he’d been passed out in. He’ll never be able to wash this out. His head is pounding and the possible explanations for how this happened racing through his mind aren’t helping. He brushes off his suit, but the damned thing is ruined. And… wait, this isn’t his. It’s a faded blue and far too tattered for one evening’s worth of… whatever happened.
… Was it one night? He’s got three exams coming up- it had to be just one. He goes to rub his forehead but stops short.
His hands are gray.
What in the hell is in that dumpster? He brings his left hand closer to his face, scratches at the back of it with his… no, no, this can’t be right . He must be dreaming. His pointer finger, it’s... It’s mechanical.
This has to be a dream.
Hesitant, he touches the tip of the finger… and he feels it. He clenches his hand in a fist. The sensation, the detail he takes in… he’s never had a dream like this. He examines his skin again. It’s inhuman.
He lets out a shaky breath, and it feels hollow, artificial .
He slumps against the dumpster, almost expecting to phase through it at this point, but it holds him upright. Grounding. Solid. Far too real. He doesn’t even see the destruction around him.
Newly mechanical appendages can be quite distracting, after all.