He was tough. A survivor, someone who, no matter how badly broken they were, would try to stand up and die on his feet. Good.
She wanted him to fight. When Shepard lifted her arm and lifted him like a ragdoll in a loose, shearing arc over her head towards the balcony, she wanted to see him writhe. When she made a fist and jerked it forward, the mnemonic of a shadow-punch that forced a minor singularity to briefly avert gravitational forces laterally, she wanted him to know it.
To feel the sudden, dizzy weightlessness as he arced gracefully from mezzanine to the first floor and land with a slide and a crunch against the brassy feet of this fine nation's boldest president. His blood painted a ragged stripe across the floor, and Rat's landing was not gentle— it has a sound, wet and faintly crunchy, and for a moment, Shepard stood with one foot on the balcony railing, looking for movement, listening for breath or a groan.
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She wanted him to fight. When Shepard lifted her arm and lifted him like a ragdoll in a loose, shearing arc over her head towards the balcony, she wanted to see him writhe. When she made a fist and jerked it forward, the mnemonic of a shadow-punch that forced a minor singularity to briefly avert gravitational forces laterally, she wanted him to know it.
To feel the sudden, dizzy weightlessness as he arced gracefully from mezzanine to the first floor and land with a slide and a crunch against the brassy feet of this fine nation's boldest president. His blood painted a ragged stripe across the floor, and Rat's landing was not gentle— it has a sound, wet and faintly crunchy, and for a moment, Shepard stood with one foot on the balcony railing, looking for movement, listening for breath or a groan.