[h1][b][i][color=olivedrab][center]Ansgar Staudinger[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]

	Ansgar growled as he worked his way back through the ship's corridors, ripping through panels and wiring, cursing at the sprays of sparks and smoke that sometimes, too often, emitted from the panels as he dug into the guts of the ship, isolating the sections prior to repairing what he could before resuming the functions of the panel, closing it back off and making mental notes as to what was done, what wasn't done, and what wouldn't be effective prior to being docked. Of course, a casual observer would simply see this irritated, annoyed human seemingly tearing into things at random and then just cobbling the parts back together with seemingly no regard for any sort of safety or concern. Eventually, he was nearing the med bay, and given what he had heard and what was going on, he paused what he was doing to march in and assess what was going on.

	"Right, since I happened to be passing by. How the hell did we end up with a tin man on the ship, and who the hell thought it was a bright idea to bring it online?" The mechanic crossed his arms, his protective garb singed and blackened superficially from the work he'd been doing so far, showing its worth in keeping him from getting injured by his work. Of course, the fact it was even necessary to begin with marked how delicate his work was despite surviving both the beating it took, and the attention of the man who put it together. He knew about the pilot being effectively downed for good, but he hadn't heard nor even been told about the other being put on death's door as well. Narrowing his eyes at that, no doubt the poor bastard of a medic was going to need a drink or three to get over that one's loss. Two dead, replaced by some pink cyborg and a tin man. What the hell world did they live in?