[center][h3][color=ff4c4c]Joshua Ray[/color][/h3][b]HANGAR, NEW ANCHORAGE[/b][/center]
Joshua, for not a few minutes, just sat in a corner of the hangar and watched the others, sort of frightened and just thinking hard. One of them, with a mechanical hand, yelled "Stein!" and was seemingly scared for that one to fall and crack her head open like an egg. Not to mention, halfway through her climbing of it the older lady, Agatha, he thought, joined in and followed suit. Both of them were fairly quick in achieving what was asked of them.

Joshua just waited for them to finish and for the other man to... do anything, really. When it was all said and done, with this cybernetic individual still standing there gawking, Joshua slowly walked up to behind him, then continued to the feet of the of the glorified wreck of an NC. Getting onto a foot, he then inched along the top from unintended foothold to unintended foothold until he got to the base of the torso area, but he soon realized he couldn't safely get to the cockpit from here. It was far too much of an angle, necessitating him to 'monkeybar' his way to the front, but he highly suspected he needed to be a bit stronger for that course of action.

Not wanting to find out just yet, he then traced his steps back to the ground before he realized he didn't time himself at all. Probably three or five minutes, though. Proportionately slower then those other two for sure, sadly. Wordlessly, he then searched for a general 'Gopher', asked where he could acquire his room-keys, then after a short jaunt throughout the base got them and went towards his temporary abode, unpacking things from his backpack, but still holding unto his knife in secret.

He had no idea where he got this feeling from, but he swore to god that this knife would change his life for the better one day. This, specific knife. Like some sort of serial murderer he even gave it a name and personalized it a bit over the years. A black-tinted, matte blade with serrations to cut through foilage and fauna alike, that didn't reflect light, and his own initials on one side, with the knife's own 'name' on the other. 'Chance the Knife', he christened it, like a kid who just got the best toy ever. Of course, unlike that kid he had this knife for a while.

He flipped it around, nearly fumbling and cutting off his thumb by accident, until he nonchalantly put it into his pocket for possible later use. Soon afterwards, after dispersing the contents of his backpack throughout the room (Various snacks being hidden at key points for 'emergency rations'), he dumbly flopped on his bed and just sat there for a few minutes, not intending to sleep just yet.

He thought to himself while testing the mattress apparently. [color=ff4c4c]I hope my NC is fine... Should check.[/color]

A little while later, he had his room-key in a death grip and locked his room behind him while he wandered about, attempting to find the hangar once more.