One-Shots [Boboiboy]

Trade

"Are you alright?"

The infirmary lights were blinding, piercing through the cracks of his eyelids as he attempted to tear them apart to face the world he lived in. His body felt as if it was melding with slime and clouds, his head resonating with painless pounding, and his eyes dry, despite newly opening them.

His dry teeth clenched, his jaw aching in response. Every bit of his facial muscle was strained, like his personal expression capabilities had been suppressed for years.

"Where..." Thunderstorm forced out, his throat resembling a desert with the absence of sand.

His red eyes struggled to adjust to the surgeon lights, the portable contraption of illumination and detection hovering above his head, the white stand remaining firm by his oval bedside.

He could make out a figure standing by him, with spiky hair and a tall silhouette.

"Boboiboy, are you alright?"

Thunderstorm's eyes learned towards the left, where the figure was standing. He could make out a blue jacket and a contractable sword, which he found disturbingly familiar.

The high pitch of computers and devices rung in his ears, the lights nearly intoxicating. Sensing his distress to adapt, the light was moved from his line of vision, allowing him to readjust to the world of the living.

He struggled to move his hand, his fingers, but they were stiff and sore, like he'd been running a marathon for a week with no stops or breaks.

Slowly, he raised his arm as if it weighed a ton, and placed the limb onto his forehead, sensing his high body temperature on his bare skin. It wasn't a good sign.

The adult patiently waited for him to recover. And when he did, Thunderstorm was able to sit upright, his spine screaming in agony, and eyes sharp like before despite his fever.

"Where am I?" he rasped, licking his dry, chapped lips. He glanced at the man, but he couldn't place his finger on who he was. He knew he'd seen him somewhere, he just couldn't remember where.

"You're in Sunnova's medical bay." The man had a low toned voice, his words precise and carefully chosen. "Do you remember anything before you were knocked out?"

Thunderstorm stared at him, gaze dazed and unfocused. He turned his sight towards the bland blanket that was covering him, pins and needles offending his legs under the fabric.

The mulled sounds of war still boomed within his head, phantom voices ringing in his ears. He could remember the scalding sensation on his skin caused by fire, and the dull throb that followed as he was sent into a metal wall.

He closed his eyes, blocking out the memories he deemed unsightly.

"No," he answered truthfully, sensing no relevant information in his mind. His fingers twitched in a futile attempt to recover faster. "How did I get here?"

The man crossed his arms, eyebrow raised as if he didn't believe him. "I rescued you before you were killed. You have to stop risking yourself when you know you're at a severe disadvantage." His frown returned, deepening. "Why aren't you transforming back?"

"Transforming?" Thunderstorm repeated, voice whispery. He stared at his empty palms, which he assumed that they removed his combat gloves for medical purposes. One glance behind him was sufficient to know that they had placed his black and red cap by his side, untouched but slightly charred.

Sighing in exasperation, the man unfolded his arms. He pointed to the watch that was still resting on his right wrist, the device unharmed and unscratched despite the fierce battle.