Sparks.
A furious cloud of spars erupted from his shoulder. And it didn't bother him so much that his arm had blown a processor. Not as much as all the power it was costing him.
When he fell, he saw the wasteland, and the city it bordered. He decided in those precious seconds as he was falling to steer himself towards the city. Neither region promised a softer landing; the landing didn't worry him. What happened after the landing is what mattered. And landing near people sounded better to him than landing far away from them. He still wasn't quite sure why, but he had made up his mind.
The landing cost him dearly - overextended servos and pulverized sensors all through his legs, nevermind the crippled arm. But he never doubted he'd survive. Rather, he was already calculating his course of action before he even landed.
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