whatsinthehatch | The Crash Site

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The Crash Site

It doesn't matter who you are. It doesn't matter how you were travelling. All that matters is the Island, and the Island wants you. All are drawn to the same stretch of shoreline; your plane suddenly loses power and drops from the sky to crash into the sand. Your boat runs aground. Your helicopter plows a deep furrow until the blades tangle and catch in the thick growth of the jungle.

However it happened, now you're here. You belong to the Island. There might be something salvageable in the debris, but no matter what you find, no matter who is with you, one thing is certain:

You are lost.

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Hatchworth awoke to falling and pain and a slew of errors. Reaching out, he felt solid wood beneath his fingers and let out a short sigh of relief. Had he woken up in the crate? They hadn't dropped him, had they? He hated it when that happened.

At least it wasn't completely dark. There was light shining through the crate. He pressed against the wood more purposefully, and slid out onto the floor with a crash. If the humans didn't want him breaking the crates, then they should really stop -

Oh. The plane was on fire. That was nice.

Except maybe not quite so nice, because there appeared to be several humans on fire too, lying still and motionless and burning on the ground. This part of the plane didn't look the way it was supposed to, he thought. It was too small, a little smoky space surrounded by walls of bent metal. His systems were still recalibrating, various warnings and damage reports filing into his mind. Most of it wasn't too bad, except for one particular warning he'd come to be fairly well-acquainted with. He was on fire too.

Heavy trails of steam rose to mingle with the smoke as Hatchy carefully levered himself upright. //Rabbit? The Spine?// Without waiting for an answer over the WiFi, he threw himself against the nearest piece of twisted metal. Well, half-threw and half just sort of toppled into it. The humans were clearly beyond his help, so he needed to get himself out now.

//Hatchworth! Where are you--//

The Spine cut himself off, hearing the thump and groan of stressed metal as something heavy hit the torn hull. He veered towards the sound, sand flying behind him.

There was a hole torn through the curved skin and he put his glowing optic to it, letting out a relieved rush of steam when he saw a familiar blue glow inside. "Hatchy! Hang on, partner, just let me..." He jammed his fingers into the tear. The hull screeched in protest as he dug his booted feet into the sand, seeking stable purchase as he pulled.

Between the two of them, it would have to give. His sensors were alerting him to fuel in the air and it spurred him to bend the metal all the faster.

"The Spine!" Hatchworth had been about to give the hull another go when he saw the green optic appear at the tear. Quickly (or as quickly as he ever went), he moved to look through it as well. "I am. here. The Spine!"

Of course The Spine had seen him already, but Hatchy needed that verbal confirmation. He knew he was in here, and he was going to get him out now. Seeing what his brother was doing, he took the other side of the tear and began to pull as well. He wasn't as strong as the Spine was, but he could help. The fire was licking at his clothes, but for now it hadn't caught at any leaking oil.

The Spine's booted feet dug deeper into the shifting sand as he pulled. It was too unstable, he couldn't get a good stance--the tear was widening, but not quickly enough. Smoke poured from the shredded metal and he could see the flames flickering inside. "This isn't goin' fast enough," he muttered under his breath. Not nearly. They could withstand fire, to a point, that was certain, but he wasn't going to risk it.

"Hatchy, stand back, I'm gonna make a bigger hole--"

"Okay. The Spine." There wasn't really a whole lot of room for him to stand back, but Hatchworth made do, shuffling away to stand back near the flaming remains of his crate. And the flaming remains of what had probably been a lady.

After staring down at her for a moment, he turned away and started beating out the flames on his clothes with jerky motions. Don't think about it. Too much steam hissed out with each motion; he'd filled up before the trip, but the heat was overtaxing his boiler. Hatchy had always thought fire was pretty, but he didn't like being quite this close to it anymore.

A quick blast with the old tesla ought to do it--

Plating shifted and steam hissed as he prepared to bring the old weapon online, raising his hand. With a screeching, grinding finality all movement ceased, The Spine's arm caught midway in the transformation from appendage to device.

Error.

"Uh..." Well, okay. He'd just try something else. He opened his mouth, and--

Error.

No time. There was no time to sort himself out. The Spine gripped the edge of the tear and started hauling again. "Hatchy, if you've got any ideas now'd be the time...!"

Hatchworth looked up from where he had been waiting. So he wasn't going to blow it open? Why not? The Spine wasn't damaged, was he?

Gloved hands hovered hesitantly over the hatch in his chest for a moment, before swinging it open. He didn't have his cannon anymore, but of course the rift was still there - maybe he could still do it? "I have an. idea. Stand back."

He vented a long jet of steam, fingers nervously twitching together. Okay. Okay. Managing the blue matter wasn't as easy as using a normal weapon would have been; even in war he'd never precisely been able to control what came out. Hatchy tried to hold very still and think maybe-a-cannonball-or-something-definitely-not-actual-blue-matter-blast thoughts as he felt the rift twist and warp inside him...

...and a turkey sandwich popped out and fell onto the ground. And then caught fire.

"Never. mind."

"That's okay, Hatchy, we'll just have to get you outta there the old-fashioned way." It had been a tiny flicker of a hope, anyway. The Spine suspected sandwiches. He frowned, stepping forward to dig his feet into the sand. His silver fingers worked into the tear again. Steam wafted from his vents and gears ground as he worked to widen the gap. "How's it lookin' in there?" Not that he needed more incentive to hurry.

Hatchy moved back to put his own weight against the tear again, glancing around as he did so. "It is very fiery. the Spine. But I am not anymore." That was one good thing, right? At least he wasn't actually on fire as they were talking.

After a moment of silence, he added: "There are people. here." With fewer wars behind him than his older brothers, it had been a very long time since Hatchworth had seen bodies.

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The Crash Site

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