York arrives stripped of his armor, in just the thin, skintight undersuit he wears beneath. He's freezing and confused, and gets to his feet to brush the snow off as quickly as he can. Shivering and looking around wildly, he speaks to seemingly no one in particular. The last thing he remembers is jumping into a teleporter, which while it could have taken him somewhere lse shouldn't have claimed his armor. His voice is deep and steady, though, he's not panicking yet.
"D, status report." Nothing. No response, not even a stirring inside his head. He tries again. "Delta, hop to. What's going on?"
Nothing, and now he seems tense. "Delta?" His voice shakes as panic sets in. "Delta!" He touches his head and the implant is still there, but Delta is gone. His gaze is now wild as he looks around at the others, these strangers.
What is he supposed to do now?
the base
No stranger to military bases or protocol, York doesn't question their treatment at the base. Detainment is the best that they could have asked for, really, he acknowledges that, but when it's clear that the Cetagandans don't know how the strangers have arrived any more than they do he falls quiet. What comes next? Do they expect him to assist in the conflict? He's not willing to, not yet anyway.
He walks through the base in a fog, sometimes reaching out to his left to check if anything or anyone is there. He has no trackers and no D to advise him and it shakes him more than he wants to admit. His reaching hand may bump into you, for which he'll apologize lightly and gesture to his face.
The medbay is also a place he recognizes and knows well, and he submits to the examination without complaint. They prod his scars and examine his bad eye and take great interest in the back of his head where the neural implant is placed, and that'll be when he speaks again, asking a million questions. Is it intact? Could it have been deactivated when he arrived? Can they get it working again? The medical personnel don't know, as it's so foreign to them, and York's manner deteriorates further. He needs it to be working, he needs D. He doesn't know how to be alone anymore.
the exotics room
York is now looking shell-shocked, his good eye staring out into nothingness just like the bad one. He changes into the base fatigues and follows along at mealtimes but hardly eats, for now seemingly unappreciative of the comforts they're being offered. Sometimes he doubles forward with his head in his hands, shaking. He feels empty, hollow, like a part of him is gone.
He clearly needs help, this is more than being scared of someplace new.
york | ota
York arrives stripped of his armor, in just the thin, skintight undersuit he wears beneath. He's freezing and confused, and gets to his feet to brush the snow off as quickly as he can. Shivering and looking around wildly, he speaks to seemingly no one in particular. The last thing he remembers is jumping into a teleporter, which while it could have taken him somewhere lse shouldn't have claimed his armor. His voice is deep and steady, though, he's not panicking yet.
"D, status report." Nothing. No response, not even a stirring inside his head. He tries again. "Delta, hop to. What's going on?"
Nothing, and now he seems tense. "Delta?" His voice shakes as panic sets in. "Delta!" He touches his head and the implant is still there, but Delta is gone. His gaze is now wild as he looks around at the others, these strangers.
What is he supposed to do now?
the base
No stranger to military bases or protocol, York doesn't question their treatment at the base. Detainment is the best that they could have asked for, really, he acknowledges that, but when it's clear that the Cetagandans don't know how the strangers have arrived any more than they do he falls quiet. What comes next? Do they expect him to assist in the conflict? He's not willing to, not yet anyway.
He walks through the base in a fog, sometimes reaching out to his left to check if anything or anyone is there. He has no trackers and no D to advise him and it shakes him more than he wants to admit. His reaching hand may bump into you, for which he'll apologize lightly and gesture to his face.
The medbay is also a place he recognizes and knows well, and he submits to the examination without complaint. They prod his scars and examine his bad eye and take great interest in the back of his head where the neural implant is placed, and that'll be when he speaks again, asking a million questions. Is it intact? Could it have been deactivated when he arrived? Can they get it working again? The medical personnel don't know, as it's so foreign to them, and York's manner deteriorates further. He needs it to be working, he needs D. He doesn't know how to be alone anymore.
the exotics room
York is now looking shell-shocked, his good eye staring out into nothingness just like the bad one. He changes into the base fatigues and follows along at mealtimes but hardly eats, for now seemingly unappreciative of the comforts they're being offered. Sometimes he doubles forward with his head in his hands, shaking. He feels empty, hollow, like a part of him is gone.
He clearly needs help, this is more than being scared of someplace new.