The fwooshing of hydraulics heralded the emergence of Hokey as the doors of his storage hangar ("The Dog House", as his handling crew referred to it) parted, leaving a square shaped hole in the center of the chamber's floor. The orange rotating beacons positioned around the space illuminated and spiraled. An elevator platform gradually rose from out of the abyss to fill the gap. On the center of the platform was Hokey, who was stood on all fours, but held in place by bindings locking his joints in place. Several technicians rushed over and began to unlock each, one by one. On their overalls they each bore circular patches labelled "Project Ophois" with a cartoon image of Hokey clutching a metal bone in his fangs occupying the center of the design. 

"Rise and shine, big guy." A technician said. "Got a lunch date for ya. Now, I know you can't eat anything, but they wanna show you off. Introduce you to the others, y'know?"

Hokey gradually stepped off of the platform. He raised his head and faced the technician. When he spoke, the mouth of his mechanical body did not move. "Understood." His voice rumbled. It wasn't a robotic monotone, though it clearly didn't belong to a living creature. "Lunch? Best time of the day, outside of training." He added.

The technicians laughed. "You're such a kidder!" One said. "Well hey, since you're not gonna have any, do you think you can bring a plate or two back for us?" Another added. 

Hokey dipped his head in a light nod. "Though I thought you made me for combat, not catering." This got another round of chuckles.

"Anyhow, you're free. Run along now, little doggy." The technician gave him a gentle pat on the back, and with that, Hokey exited the room. He had the layout of the facility uploaded to his brain upon arrival, albeit with an abundance of omissions for security reasons, so did not require escorting over to the lunch room. He also hadn't "spazzed out" in quite a while, so they trusted him enough to do as asked without training a gun on him. Whoever he was in life, he was surprisingly cooperative for someone that presumably did something very wrong to end up here, with his brain scooped out and in a robot. It was almost as if he actually [i]wanted[/i] to be here.

When he entered the lunch room, he scanned over the occupants and took his place in some distant corner, not wanting to obstruct any further arrivals with his rather large frame. He did not speak, as if this would some how conceal his obvious presence.