Log:Another Military Facility?
The Defender was going home, at least he who was Anton, was being shipped home. Then again, shipped may not be the right term to use, but during his extended stay under military quarantine, the ex-Marine had slowly slipped back to a military mindset. Round-the-clock monitoring, doctors coming in to take his readings, check on his condition, etc. It doesn't spook him and his mind took a back seat at that point, not worrying about how long it was going to take. Instead, he had his own issues to deal with. How to come to terms with what he saw, the people that were lost, the bombings, which then lead to further back to his past when he was in the service, in Afghanistan, IEDs, ambushes.
But he was flying home, wherever home was, at least he was supposed to when he eased into slumber on the quiet flight, the loud humming of the engines fading away. When the Defender's eyes crack open in narrow slits, the sounds of the loud engines is gone. The gentle vibration of an airplane cutting through the skies is no longer felt. He's... not longer sleeping upright but laying down. In a bed. Opening his eyes further, he turns his head left, and then right. A room... did the military bring them all back? Did they find something and return them to quarantine?
No... it doesn't feel like a medical facility. There is no constant beeping of monitoring devices, the disgusting smell and feel of a sterilized environment. The medical gown and uncomfortable environment. This is different, this is new but also... welcoming. As if the Defender belonged here, the room felt right. Maybe it's a new environment the military or government want them in, to observe them with new parameters.
Slowly, the Defender sits up, and the lights turns on, but it is dimmed, giving his eyes time to adjust without the stabbing brightness. He has no recollection of picking this room, furnishing it, but everything in it, the placement, the decoration, it seemed just right. The room itself is spartan in nature, but not unwelcoming. Hardwood floors gives it a clean and smooth feel, walls painted white giving it a warmer interior. The furnishings just enough for his needs.
There are some muffled sounds outside but that is ignored, the Defender sitting cross-legged on his bed now and tries to slip into some sort of meditation trance. Memories, however, are beginning to come back. At least what transpired on the island, as if a horror movie is playing in reverse. The threat of being nuked, the sacrifices, the undead, the deformed natives, the partying 1%ers. But anything further back? Hazy, his time in the military which he could've sworn he remembered clearly, the experiences that sparked his PTSD, it's as if a heavy fog had descended on certain parts of his mind, unwilling to part.
He doesn't know how long he was in his silent, unmoved state, having lost track of time. Or, time wasn't important. The Defender was sure whoever is monitoring him will come in to check on him, or send someone.