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It had been days. Days of barely enough water to keep him from burning out as things he couldn't see poked and prodded at his casing, trying to find a way in. Occasionally, someone would ask him a question or two in languages he didn't immediately recognise. Always a different one as soon as he managed to make sense of anything, sometimes a language he knew with a query about how to break him open.
The first time he'd told them to go shove it, they'd broken off one of his spines. He woke up a few hours later, spitting hot oil and fighting with strength he hadn't known he had left, screaming and writhing as he saw green and red and copper, felt everything too hot and deathly cold and pressing down and throwing him into the air, heard explosions and the rending of metal and the horrific death throes of WRONGthingsNO that had been human, once, until he felt his core could burst and goodBADdon't let themWRONG-BADtake youRUN-
The second time he told them to go shove it, they had wired him up to some sort of mains power, and he could feel phantom pains from where the power surges had burnt through his wiring in seconds while his body still twitched and jerked unfeelingly.
It had been weeks since anyone had entered whatever they were holding him in- or had it been hours? His internal clock was telling him the former, but he couldn't remember anymore whether it was clockwork and steam that could withstand the electricity or just more newfangled wires and circuits that burnt out so fast, so delicate, melting like water and burning like wood, like rock candy fires sending clouds of NO-WRONG-BAD danger and pain into the sky. There was always just enough water, though. It tasted of dead things and oil, but it was clean enough for him to run on.
Was this how HELP-SAVE-PLEASE Hatchworth felt, locked up away from them all for so many years? Was this a vault for the same thing? He hadn't done anything BAD bad, had he? Sounds were pouring from him, half-formed PLEASE justifications for whatever he'd NEVER done, he could fix it make it right NO he didn't mean to HELP sir, hands were TEAR pulling him away from the metal frame, DRAG supporting him as he tried to walk to the TRAP door, voices trying to soothe him it's okay, you're safe now, just tell us how to fix you- no.
No no NO no noNOnONONO they couldn't trick him he'd show them all he was RUN running as fast as he could, he couldn't feel anything but that didn't matter as he saw HUMANS-SAVE bodies fall WRONG-YOU-NEED-TO-HELP-THEM no he didn't they were just trying to hurt him green and red and screaming, so much DEATH red and screaming and green clothes now, dark green, and his gun arm wasn't responding to KILL anything anymore but he was so close he could see the BLUE-DRIPPING-DEAD sky through a window at the end of the corridor, just had to run GET-AWAY a little bit faster NONONO when something clattered through it and an explosion knocked him off his feet, the last thing he saw was the sun setting over geography he'd never seen before as he felt something clamp shut over his core and twist.
They THINGS-WRONG didn't try asking him again EVER-RUN-GET-AWAY. It was just an existence of WRONG-BAD pain with periods of PLAN-RUN-FIGHT isolation when th THINGS-GREEN-BAD weren't there and the THINGS-BAD-WRONG were hurting him so bad but HIDE-TRICK sometimes they would reconnect something he needed and then one day he could move just enough of himself.
The ???monsters??? didn't notice he was hoarding WATER until it was too late. He KICKed and FOUGHT and pulled himself out of the ???bunker??? and across the ???desert??? and RAN and RAN and RAN towards ???HOME??? and shot and fought and ???defeated??? the ???monsters??? and he could tell he was almost HOME he could feel it he could feel SAVE Hatchworth in his vault buried dark and deep and SAVE Rabbit and even SAVE The Jon was there but he had to ???stop??? the ???monsters??? from finding SAVE them so he circled fought and clawed and ???stopped??? them and there were so many ???monsters??? and he could feel BAD-WRONG-MONSTER fear from his SAVE siblings who were HIDE-SO-THE-MONSTER-WON'T-FIND-YOU hiding from the ???monsters??? he was ???fighting??? that had to be it but there weren't any ???monsters??? left so he set a destination for HOME.
It took years of dedicated repairs to get him functioning again. That's what he'd say to anyone that asked. He wouldn't mention how he was, mechanically speaking, functioning fine within a couple of weeks. Nor how Rabbit and The Jon had to stay either side of him whenever he could see people just in case a face looked familiar for the wrong reasons and his mind classed it as 'monster' instead of 'person'. Not how he spent months trying to find the vault Hatchworth was in, tearing through concrete and stone until he fell apart all over again because he couldn't bear to feel on the edge of his core the crushing lonliness again.
He would never even think of mentioning how it still affected him now, how he could never stand next to the window, could never walk through a public place without looking fearfully for anything dark green and splotchy. How at every show, he was still always ready to flee, to grab Hatchworth and Rabbit and just run until the monsters couldn't find them anymore.
He would never say any of that, he explained to the poor police officer who had tailed the strange man down a couple of back streets. He was, most certainly, absolutely fine; he affirmed as the police officer scrabbled uselessly against the brickwork, desperately trying to breathe. After all, he concluded as a scorch mark that had once been a police officer smoked slightly, his vow of pacifism protected all that could think, and feel.
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