There was a loud hissing, he was decompressed. Eyes opening slowly as his helmet kicked on, display calibrating for the switch of life support from the pod to his suit. Stepping into the armor he securely locks it, cracking his neck and knuckles, he was stiff from the long rest and was hoping they'd get back out. He rearmed himself, putting his handguns at his side and securing the sword to his back before he makes his way out.

He is orderly, quiet in his demeanor and step, with his eyes forward on where he'd been called. Diagnostics had finished and still his lungs wouldn't be able to support him without a respirator for more than an hour, they were getting better in the chamber but still not nearly enough. Entering the room for briefing he turns his head ever so slightly. [color=9e0b0f][i]The idiot is here[/i][/color] He thought to himself, looking away in irritation. If anyone had to be left behind, he had a first choice. [color=9e0b0f]"Sir."[/color] He said firmly, offering a strong salute and his full attention, his voice was raspy locked inside of the respirator. [color=9e0b0f]"What is the target?"[/color]