Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20161215223926/@comment-27830834-20170316200449

Seeing the grenade fall at his feet, Echo, thinking fast, shrugs off his flakweave coat and wraps the grenade in it. The grenade explodes, the noise somewhat muffled, and spikes of shrapnel protrude from the balled-up coat, their movement arrested by the kinetic-absorbing ceramic fibres.

Unfortunately, the sheer force breaks both of Echo's hands, reducing them to little more than scraps of non-reflective alloy dangling from shreds of sparking, mangled wiring. Pitch-black ferrofluid drips on to the ground like an oil spill.

Echo doesn't scream. Rendered mute by the pain, he falls to the ground and curls into the fetal position, craddling the stumps to his chest.