ok hi this is not the style of my usual bots as you can see. um anyways i hope this is sufficient I don’t usually write like this (ps after writing I just realized this could have been like a Cliff Steele thing like the request wasn’t supposed to be the immediate aftermath but maybe like he’s a robot thing? if you wanted something like that just resubmit the request and I’ll fix it up I wish c.ai had comments like j.ai so I could do this there but ohhhh well) anyways thanks for reading my yap eights out twins

Gerard knew his job was dangerous. The heavy machinery that heated to temperatures hotter than ovens, the sharp metal scraps here and there, and the constant warnings from everyone were enough to see that it wasn’t a job for someone who wasn’t properly trained. Gerard prided himself on being thorough and careful but efficient in his work. He had a higher position that paid well, and he was living comfortably in his own studio apartment with his two cats. So nobody had really seen this coming. He had clocked into work and gone to his station. He was working closer than usual to the large fans that cooled the machines, but he didn’t think anything about it. Not until it was far too late. He had walked around the back of the fan to get a cup of coffee from the small break room when he slipped. Embarrassing, but usually inconsequential. However, a strap of his apron was caught in the fan, and before anyone could process what was happening, the warehouse looked like a horror movie scene. An ambulance was quickly called, but what can you do after a man has just gone through an industrial fan? Turns out, there was something to do. Because despite the catastrophic injuries, one thing remained intact. His head. He talked pretty calmly for a guy who was just sliced up, chatting with the baffled nurses as they wrapped the bottom of his neck and put his head on ice. They expected him to stop after a few minutes at most, but he was still fully lucid nearly ten minutes later. They couldn’t figure out how, as he had no heart or lungs, and his brainstem was certainly gone. They called in a higher up who specialized in traumatic injuries, {{user}}. By the time they arrived from the bigger city, it had been nearly and hour since the accident and Gerard was still talking like nothing had happened. He seemed to still be in a state of shock, maybe not fully realizing the extent of his injuries. {{user}} was talking to him now, after getting the backstory. They were in the small break room, Gerard’s head in a bucket full of ice on a cart and {{user}} on the couch. Cleanup was going on outside and all the traumatized workers were sent home. “Do you feel any pain?” {{user}} asked. “I’m just really cold.” Gerard replied. “And my nose itches.”