#𝗥𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗗! — an independent pkmn multimuse, with an unhealthy mix of canon divergence and all media. featuring 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲, 𝗿𝗼𝗮𝗿𝗸, 𝗮𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗻, and their trusted teams. as excavated by ovan. / 𝗘𝗦𝗧 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟭. 21+. personals: do not reblog anything unless tagged with #ok to rb. zero tolerance policy.
Verses: ( literally just the roarkverse i'm SO ill )
𝖠𝖱𝖪𝖭𝖨𝖦𝖧𝖳𝖲. x x / 𝖠𝖱𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖤𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖱𝖤. x / 𝖦𝖤𝖭𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖭. / 𝖧𝖨𝖲𝖴𝖨 (𝖠𝖣𝖮𝖯𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭). / 𝖥𝖥𝖷𝖨𝖵.
This list is not exhaustive, just a compilation of the more important stuff! Posts get filed and filed again, it be like that.
I reblog my art here cause I love my canon divergence and my aus. If you wanna commission me, hit up my ko-fi. :)
For personals, I don't mind if y'all like stuff but seriously. If it's not tagged #ok to rb. and you reblog anyway, you're getting blocked. You have literally one rule to follow. Exercise some basic online etiquette, please. And at least don't be weird in the comments, role-play blogs are not fandom blogs. Lifting writers' headcanons and worldbuilding without consent is not a compliment, it is theft.
@solaurous said: " -- meu arceus, roark, meu querido sobrinho, why is everyone asking for byron's number all the time .. ? caralho ! ! & here i thought i was the hot one in the family that'll make people's heads turn. que tristeza, really. " head falling onto the tables plate dramatically, the aura wielder let out a noise against the wooden surface ; azul his lucario probably standing a few meters behind absolutely unimpressed. " -- anyway, " turning his face, his cheek nestled against the wood he spoke again while looking at the other from one open intensely blue eye. " --- when are you gonna pop the question? " / riley throwing his ass in the trenches TWICE | unprompted.
He can't help a laugh—boy, were truer words never spoken. "I've been trying to figure that out for years, man, and I still don't know. Canalave and Oreburgh aren't even sundown kind'a towns, either, but I get moms asking like at least once a week when I'm on the clock for matches. It's crazy!"
Maybe something really resonated with the west side of Sinnoh with a grizzled guy that can roast a mean stantler and managed to fit the epitome of dad bod? That's about the best he can think of, over the years, if the few secret admirers he had was any comparison. People certainly had a taste.... especially the Jubilife folks. "You do that 'cause you come into town once a month tops, tio—you're a duende. A cryptid," he points out with a smile. Azul could equally likely be a cryptid as well, for better or for worse, but the two aura-tuned visitors had often turned heads nonetheless. Why wouldn't they, anyway? They just radiate something special.
Of course, he can't expect the sudden pivot in conversation, a sputter in disbelief—"Is that what you wanted to ask?!" First Emery, now Riley?! The pressure is on... oh boy, oh boy.
Even so, he's rolled the question over and over in his head, debating on when to commit. Realistically, any time after he finished up both rings was fair game, where Volk's was truly an experiment to see if his little idea was feasible to begin with. His love in question, of course, wouldn't even care if there was a ring involved in the moment. He's not a material guy, but he's far more sentimental than the average onlooker would understand... Roark steeples his hands together, eventually weaving his fingers together, thoughtful.
"...I don't know when, but I know where, at least. I wanna ask in Sunyshore. He doesn't have the best memories there, but we've found so many nice places to go over the years that it's only fitting, y'know? Besides, he basically lives here in Oreburgh full-time now. It's a good excuse to have a day trip together... assuming I don't throw up from the anxiety, anyway, ehe..." Admittedly, daydreaming about what he'd say over and over again hadn't helped very much. At this point, the safest thing to do was to wing the whole spiel. "I'm almost done with his band, though, if you wanna take a look. I got mine roughed out, too. I think I'm fully decided on giving him the mahogany obsidian."
@nihilighted said: "Sooo..." oh no, she has that kinda look, chin propped on her palm and all, staring with a grin that can only mean trouble. Whatever she's about to ask, she's sure to pester Roark until he answers. "You and Volkner, mh? You're really good friends, aren't you?" Oh, no. "How long have you been a thing?" Well, Roark should've known better than to think he was being subtle. / WELL........ | unprompted.
"Eh?" He knows that tone—he does that himself when he's being extra nosy, and prepares for the worst.
Oh, of course. It's about him and Volk. Surprise, surprise. ( but it's not like he ever talks about the fact they've been in a relationship for years... ) "Super good friends—it's a long story, not gonna lie." Emery has the time, suddenly, he knows this well enough. Still, the question gives him reason to blush, a little sheepish about being put on the spot like this. Of course, he was by no means ashamed, it just... wasn't something he wanted Volkner to deal with given the way passing mentions early on back home had gotten under the other gym leader's skin. Sure, he brushed it off at the time, but.. it was easy to tell when his reputation was feeding his doubts about being an adequate partner to Roark.
"I think it's been around... four and a half years, now? I've known him since we were kids. Then, I kinda lost contact after mom got sick, aaaand then didn't reconnect with him until I was officially a gym leader. He used to hate my guts, too, but there's no way you could tell now," there's a small laugh between, "I don't really know how he ever came around.. I think enough lunches might have done him in—and winning over his team. I can't be spilling all of his secrets though. You gotta put your work in, too!"
Oh. Oh that's straight up a Voice in his head. Why is Aigis staring at him from across the street. He's just trying to have a coffee. Please. He's violently shaking his head. No, thank you! / EMERY COME GET YO DAWG. | unprompted.
malice terrorizing the entire island with a weak elastic rope is probably the most accurate depiction of this thang socializing here. they haven't been able to make a single friend with anyone because they keep being that off putting 😭
"See? You need to stop freaking out so much over my treatments, Jaye is fine and he doesn't find anything wrong with them! For a guy that's out there taking all the hits you're way too scared about a couple of pills and needles!"
"What—rrrrr—Jaye's chill with everything, he doesn't count!" An originium-crusted tail flicks in irritation, with Roark running his hands down his face. The bear in question simply shrugs, having stuck around for a few minutes in the presence of two acquaintances in the Rhodes' shared medical offices. It's a lot less unsettling than Aak's lab, the dreaded destination when specific care and diagnosing was required, but still. A white lab coat didn't do much to ease the reflexive panic with how much the damn cat kept asking to test his newest juice on him! He's not going to forget about the last time he agreed and then blacked out for a few hours!
"I mean, Aak's been my check up guy since he's been here, he's not so bad," Jaye muses, a bandaged finger pressing on his bottom lip in thought. "Hung's had 'im for longer and he doesn't complain. You're overreacting, Roark."
"You are not helping my case—"
Okay, fine, fine. Maybe he is overreacting, but at this point, even the least smelliest durian is associated with those damned stim packs of his! He'd overlook them for the actual prowess Aak has if it wasn't for the volunteering surprises!! He still has no idea how Hung survives any of it, much less prefers him as his physician here!! But then again, with Gav as his main physician, the teapot may simply be calling the kettle black. She's also known for striking fear into even the most toughest operators.
"It's 'cause your pills and shots usually come with some whacky side effects because you needed someone to test them out," he huffs, rolling up his sleeve anyway for what he assumed is supposed to be just a flu shot. Allegedly. "At least if I take a hit, I see it coming..."
"Oh, by the way, those B12's are sour apple flavored. Pretty good. Anyway, I'll see ya in the mess hall afterwards. I'll bring you some leftovers, Aak. Thanks, again." Jaye heads out with a small wave, weaving amongst the passerbys in the hallway out of the medical wing. While most people were here for some updated shots and general check-ups, Roark's flakiness caught up to him in the form of another physical exam with his personal paralysis demon from Lungmen. Sigh. He will never learn. / @pharmacidal this is why we don't skip office visits, brother.
Somehow, such a small observation does still manage to catch Volkner off guard, at least a little. "Do I?" And if he stops for a moment to think about it, Roark isn't really wrong, per se— he feels like he's there, actually there, present and willing to talk, to keep going. He remembers nights struggling to sleep after an intense series of sorties, antsy and jittery, hands trembling, head full of static— it was easy to blame on the augmentation and assume there was nothing he could do about it, easier than to think there was something he could fix, but... mh. This is different. Better, somehow. Has something really changed? Or has he never noticed, drowning as he was?
It's just... something he's never had to think about, really, never having much to do outside of sorties, repairs and surviving along the way, let alone something that someone around him could ever point out, walls after walls maybe even sturdier than the heaviest AC around. Honestly, the way Roark's managed to chip away at so much armor and so many layers to find him underneath, seeing all the scars and ugliness and still deciding that was good enough to stay... it's something Volkner still can't quite figure how it happened, whenever he does think about it. ( maybe it's not such a bad thing, after all. maybe it's just what he needed all this time, someone pulling him out from under the water. )
"Guess it's just what the coral does... not like I had much to do after racing, usually." Always easier to just go back to the hangars in his lonesome and scroll through the list of available sorties to keep his quiet little life going, one day after the other, dull surprise at finding himself still intact when coming back. Well, no use dwelling on that right now. ( he will be leaving that for later, when the high of bristling coral has passed and he's staring at the ceiling once again. )
Now, however, he has other decisions to make, decisions he's not thought about before. Honestly, his initial intentions were truly to just toss Roark a bone if he wanted something to do that didn't involve burying his head in the dirt, this is much further than he thought it would go, and Volkner himself isn't really the guy to go to for food decisions as it is—
"Mh... I guess..." Ah, this is hard. What has Roark talked about wanting to show him before...? If Roark wants to celebrate with a bite, something new would probably hit the spot far better than the usual burger and fries sitting on the AC's core. "You talked up ramen a lot, didn't you? Is there any place like that open at this hour?" Might as well shoot his shot while he can pick over shrugging it off. And that only leaves the AC, turning to look in WILDVOLT's direction. "Guess we could always squeeze in the core and fly there if it's getting late." That might or might not be a joke, depending on how Roark takes it!
Has no one ever pointed this out to him, ever? Sheesh, he knew Volkner to be anti-social by choice, but anyone with a pulse could have been able to pick on the way he carried himself at least. Roark almost looks perplexed, brows furrowing some and lips curled. "I guess that makes sense," he cedes, a little sad for him soon after. "You aren't usually expecting anyone to wait for you, anyway." Though the words weren't meant to be a jab, it does expose the sad reality even such a chipper pilot like him can deduce. What else was he going to do, bother someone? He had no interest—hell, he was only tolerating Roark as it was after being thrown on enough sorties together.
Not that Roark could say he was any better with the way he disappeared after outfitting his AC with excavation parts, flying off some hour away into the wildnerness to work on finding something exciting on this planet. Sure, neighboring pilots were on good terms with him, sharing some small talk, but rarely did he ever go out to socialize with any of them himself. And on those occasions he did, whatever came out of anyone he brought home was always short-lived, one way or another. Nothing really stuck—AC pilots didn't necessarily live long enough to be worth investing in outside of a fling. Those stubborn enough would eventually learn that it didn't matter if they were augmented or not—they would almost never be prioritized unless they could be convinced to retire early. Roark, in his late twenties, was not so easy to sway. Socializing with others was really only there if he was craving a human connection long enough to do anything about it.
He wouldn't have been surprised if Volkner had an obligation after the coral surge, but—no, he had plenty of time to walk out of his life after that recovery time and he still opted to put up with him, even in his own home. It was easy to convince himself that Volkner might just be content, and finally just accepted Roark was just the way he was. That wasn't too bad, was it?
"Oh, you remembered!" How sweet, intentional or not—the excitement settles right back in, the other pilot rocking back on his heels in thought. "—There's a couple of places that stay open after midnight. They know there's always a late crowd to feed. One of 'em is my go-to on a late sortie. It's a few blocks down from the hangar, so..." He follows Volkner's gaze towards WILDVOLT, his stomach sinking at the thought. That thing goes fast—faster than he's trained himself to adjust to compared to the top speed on STONEDGE. A gulp follows to try to keep his throat from being uncomfortably dry. "...I'll take you up on that only if you don't floor it, unless you wanna clean up a mess all over your control panel," Roark reluctantly warns, very much aware Volkner probably wasn't joking with the offer. "I'd rather just walk from the hangar while you're juiced up..."
what's something that could break them beyond repair? how do they act when they're at rock bottom? would they try to fight back or accept it? and what would fix them?
putting mine boy in the deep fry since he does hit rock bottom in a few verses HEHE.
as it stands now, should he lose volk he's on a trajectory to crash out off the mortal coil. most losses he can handle, or live with. most things aren't permanent enough to break him beyond where he can't crawl back from. his mom was a tough loss with the way him and his dad had to grow around that hole no one else could really fill—the struggle to talk about it could have been a lot worse for them had it not been for the way roark learned off of byron. he was old enough to learn from both of his parents how to handle stressful events with patience, even if the anxiety could eat him alive. but, lucky for him, the cycle of life and death was something he learned early. the whole fossil hunting and all made it easy. hell, growing up with fossils essentially normalized the whole process. he learned to accept the loss, how it changed him and his perspective, and matured ( maybe sooner than a kid should have ) from the experience. in this instance, he still had the time to grow up.
but boy. it doesn't prepare him for the emotional impact, especially as someone who just has a lot of love to give to anything that wants it. volk's year yeetage to hisui got him to crack after a few months of absolutely nothing but failed searches. the prolonged fatigue was physical, mental, and emotional—taking care of volk's team while also being their pillar of support wasn't easy, and over time he wore himself out telling himself he had to handle everything on top of his workload.
had volk not come back at all, he'd be changed entirely with no real way back up, with a heavier burden, and inevitably for good because he'd feel solely responsible. nothing would really fix him besides time, and even then, with what he knows about volkner ( and lux, too, god he loves that cat like he's his own 'mon ), the lack of closure would genuinely be an obstacle he can't overcome. hide it, sure. but he's totally screwed in the scenario where there's never going to be an answer about what happened to him.
and maybe it's still not so different now, given how interconnected their lives are. he knows one day he'll lose his dad. he knows one day he'll lose ramses. he knows most of his 'mons will outlive him tenfold. those thoughts hurt deeply, but when they happen, he can still pull himself out and accept that's just the way time goes. there's inevitability in that. but man. if he lost volk before they got old enough to say they lived long enough? that's his worst nightmare right there ( and the same is true the other way around, too. they're so normal ). he's put too much into building their lives together to really ever recover in the event it's all gone too soon.
"It's just what happens when the guys in charge of coming up with all this shit realize they should be scared of what they created." A matter of fact statement, hardly bothered by his own words, only a shrug and a stray thought spared to what Volkner believes is only the logical conclusion to the horrors and carnage that must've taken place to allow for human augmentation to exist to begin with. It's not as if the first few unfortunate souls being subjected to the augmentation would've been willing, after all, right? Who would've, in their right mind? When this is what it had turned into, what it turns people into?
( that might or might not say some things about him, but well. too late for volkner to care. )
Regardless, Volkner complies with a huff, jacket shrugged off and shirt quickly following into a pile on the couch. What's left exposed is pale skin on a thin frame, ribs visible, the occasional scars and old bruises not even able to hold a candle to his back, scratched metal tracing his spine and framed by deeper, darker scars, taking up nearly half of his back, almost a wonder in itself how Volkner can simply... move around, and do all he does without being seemingly bothered by, let alone have it be more noticeable than this. The wonders of old gen augmentation, huh? And to think it can still work out as well as it does...
Volkner himself doesn't seem all that bothered by everything he's now exposed either, not even taking a moment to glance at Roark and the myriad of cables that seemingly keep increasing in number as he finds more things that need to be plugged in and monitored, just reaching for the tablet and starting to type as if this is just another day on the job picking sorties, compiling info and sending out sparse reports of success. And maybe it's for the best to be so casual about this, to treat this like any other day. At least he's not ignoring Roark entirely right now, a huff somewhat resembling a chuckle and a lopsided, forced grin once the next question comes up. "Hell if I know— I haven't done this in years as it is and I didn't really get to ask more questions the first time, anyways." It would hardly surprise him if after so long, the process ended up taking longer than the average, even if nothing goes wrong. ( man, he's really gotta work on the whole self care thing... or at least start caring about it in the first place. )
Finally, Volkner hands the tablet back, carefully putting down in what little space was left available between the laptop and all the cables turning it into an improvised operating monitor, elbow propped on his knee and chin on the palm of his hand, quietly watching and listening as Roark seems to be making more sense of the program and all the variables to consider than he maybe expected him to at a glance. He didn't doubt Roark's mind, not after being stuck with him for as long as he has been, but... it's not as if old gen tech is that widely available nowadays. At least where most people are more likely to look— and that's before even considering the knowledge on augmentation an unaugmented pilot who had no interest in the procedure would really have.
... Hopefully Roark does have a decent enough idea of what he's doing to not cause some sort of coral surge in his living room.
Well, he's agreed to it, and he's still committed to going through with it, so Volkner will simply have to keep fighting himself to leave that fragile trust in his hands and let him do it all while hoping he's not making another wrong decision here. At Roark's request, he straightens up, now sitting up in his spot and letting him reach over and poke and prod as he needs. And halfway through sticking sensors and cables where they're supposed to go, Volkner sighs, tries to relax a little more. Not much, but it's an effort, at least, to make this easier on the two of them. "... Thank you, by the way." It's the least he can offer in return, and he feels the need to say it now. Just in case.
Alright, maybe it was a stupid question, admittedly—of course he wouldn't know, nor probably care to remember at this point. Even with that, Volkner was diligently typing away with instructions, so at least there was the confidence that he held onto the important information ( or, maybe the coral did, who knows? ).
Still, that doesn't do much to cover up the twist in his expression when he sees the state of the other pilot, practically skin and bones with the augmentation the only thing that could he described as sturdy. The coral was probably handling much more than just his muscles and mental aptitude... Even the pale skin he touches on his shoulder feels colder than it should be, using it as leverage to push in the connectors into the ports that tap right into his spine. "Dude, you've got a cute face and all, but I'm gonna have to make meals for you. No wonder you're so tired all the time," he chastises, not particularly hearing the words he's saying to Volkner so much as he is vocalizing the concern he's been so suddenly plagued with. Even the coral burns under his skin wouldn't stand out so much if he had a little meat back on his bones. "I bet you're anemic with all that nothing." For emphasis, he proves he can fit each finger between his ribs, enough of an outline to pinpoint exactly where they are. "I think your augmentation is veering off because it's stuck trying to optimize your basic body functions, too..." Unfortunately, the visual example puts some truth behind those who boast about the newer generation augmentations. Maybe feeling less like an object keeps people's spirits up. The perception of being labeled barely human had lived up to it's standards... Roark's brows remain furrowed as he inserts the rest of the cables in, looking over his shoulder to verify each individual input registering on the diagnostics panel. Afterwards, he works on the sticky pads, examining the probes with interest. They certainly don't look comfortable to have on... but if the human part of a pilot isn't responsible for these kinds of signals, maybe the assumption here is that a pilot wouldn't feel it to begin with. He's not entirely convinced, but at least the contacts don't break skin. Touching the pointed tip, however, still doesn't feel very pleasant. Each one is applied to a muscle group on Volkner's arms, chest, neck, and shoulders. They remind him of a TENS unit—this is likely to check results of calibration...
Well, at least Volkner is there to break his drifting thoughts, smiling half-heartedly and shaking his head in return. "Don't sweat it. I'll help you out with anything, you just need to ask." Nothing could get more stress-inducing than this, right?
Once the tablet is handed back to him, Roark quietly reads through the notes, lining up with the program routines on the application in front of him. Everything has a nominal range, and so far, these calibrations are automated. There's a few notes underlined, mostly precautions, but otherwise, given the length of time it had been for Volkner, he needed the entire routine and then some. The discharge was the only real concern here, unsure of where, or if, Volkner would feel it— and more importantly, if this laptop had a limit on how much excess throughput it could handle. "Well. If you're ready, we'll get started then."
Only when Volkner agrees does he select the toggle for diagnostics mode, forcefully putting the augmented pilot into what could only be described as a power-saving mode, transitioning what little humanity he had left into a stasis as the coral remained active. Roark waits as the sensors start to track idle activity, and he catches the dim glow of the coral in his pupils, seemingly possessed like a puppet. Vitals are normal, a little elevated if anything, but otherwise he's stable, so at least that's a good sign. Roark fiddles with the visible data on the screen, checking the various electrical signals emitted from the hive that was contained in his augmentation. As expected, the average current was higher that it should have been, especially since Volkner hadn't been on nearly enough sorties to discharge the excess into his AC. The cooling system for their ACs could handle the kind of heat dissipation required when burning coral for energy, but a human could not in large doses—hell, most electronics couldn't. He clicks his tongue, examining other measurements taken—the surge did hit him by proxy of his AC, so... that must have also meant WILDVOLT had been saturated with excess coral, and the rest would be... ( oh, shit ) circulating in his body. Had it not been for the sorry state his physical body was in, maybe Volkner wouldn't have had much of a pleasant recovery from the worst of it.. after all, coral was more interested in occupying technology than it was humans. Actually... if this laptop had this program, then surely it was factored in, then, right? What's the external capacitor at—ah, empty. This must have been why. Things are beginning to make sense.
"Okay... first things first, we'll discharge the excess coral so that your augmentation is running in the nominal range. It looks like whatever wasn't free coral decided to stick around, so some of it needs go be purged. There's a big ol' capacitor bank in here that doubles for the post-calibration test, which uses coral to instigate and record response time... so, if I set the target current to the middle here... I should see..." as Roark narrates his actions, he selects a function to transfer some of the coral. Slowly, siphoning some out brought down the voltage, and in turn, the current as well. He can't help his surprise when the function actually works, soon taking up only half of the bank before ceasing the transfer. The visual tell is obvious, with Volkner's eyes dimmer than before in this standby state.
"Okay... I guess with that, we can actually start calibrating your augmentation," he sounds relieved, admittedly, soon referring to the notes he was given and the program in front of him. Each augmented sense had it's own procedure, implying the hyper-specific modifications made by the use of augmentation. There were muscle groups, of course, and then there was also the rather vague calibration that referenced certain parts of the brain. It was beyond his understanding, but at least it all lined up with the notes he had—executing them in order was key to minimize issues in latency between the groups of coral that worked each cog in the man machine. The process, at least, was relatively hands-off, assuming no catastrophic failures occurred. Now, there should be an ideal model to calibrate as close as possible to... ah, here, this dropdown has some options. Nominal, performance, longevity... A finger follows the text on the tablet, finding the closest description before selecting and executing the first calibration procedure. The fan on the toughbook kicks on, and another window pops up, recording the deviations on one side and the nominal values on the other ( now, call him a regular civilian, but some of these values are so off the norm that volkner shouldn't have been as stable as he appeared... ).
"It's starting with the main core driver in the cerebellum. You might feel some involuntary movement or lose some motor control for a bit," he says, watching the monitor like a hawk for any potential warnings that could come up. Even with the pool of fourth gens being larger than it's predecessors, there still must have been flaws in the design and application. Mechanical parts were easy, but... even if the human body is also just electrical signals like a computer, the very biological nature of it still wasn't well understood.. There had to be inexplicable variables that caused all of the issues pilots had to deal with, right?
( he goes back to the alleged loss of humanity tied to fourth generation again... maybe that was part of the "improvement" in a twisted way )
Burgundy follows the total completion displayed, the process in total taking around fifteen minutes total just for the one. Foreboding, sure, but given the values Volkner has presented thus far, it was probably generous for how long he'd gone without any calibration at all. Still, thankfully, the adjustment completes without issue, and Roark doesn't see anything strange happening when he glances over. Alright, onto the next one, then...
Each calibration takes about as long as the one before, taking nearly a whole two hours from this phase alone.. Roark's lower back is hurting, but it certainly couldn't have been any less comfortable than Volkner in his current state... He brings his arms up over his head, stretching and letting out a noise. Okay, break time is over. "Let's see... the readings are still stable, it looks like the coral is working just fine," he reports, clicking through the numerous charts that update in real time. No spikes, and the fluctuations he can see are minor and rhythmic. "I think the next phase is the internal testing? Yeah, it's a sanity check. You'll feel some reflexive movements with the coral reacting to specific signals. The whole suite is... um, over a hundred individual entries." Well... if this is as invasive of a procedure of what he understood of it, this might not even be fully comprehensive either, but... just to be safe, right?
"Starting now." Once he clicked the button to start, the various sensors that were also placed on Volkner are involved more actively, inducing a small current as Roark had surmised using the coral that was siphoned off of Volkner's excess. The tests roll through, triggering muscle groups one at a time, some more visible under the surface of his skin than others. Each output records the average response time for each unit, the grading scale an easy to read series of colors for pass or fail. Overall, it takes less time than the calibrations themselves, the long list rolling through. It certainly doesn't look comfortable to sit through, but... none of the tests have failed ( he's relieved, he wouldn't know what to do if there was a failure to try to fix ). Once completed, Roark does another review of the tests done, in awe of the raw number values on response time. This was coral augmentation at it's prime before the Fires of Ibis... and to think this could have been iterated again... could humans hold up to the wear and tear, or would humans have to embrace almost being entirely built from synthetic version of their bodies? It's an uncomfortable thought to consider, and Roark doesn't see much benefit, especially now that coral itself was outclassed in reliability with those newer generation augmentations. Why not just become as close to one's own prime before letting something else override your instincts, anyway...? It's none of his business at the end of the day—coral parts for ACs made more sense to him than it did in humans, anyway. There was no way he was going to understand the motivations of the research institute outside of maximizing pilot capabilities beyond what any average person could do. Any longer, an Volkner would probably find a way to speak to him, too.
Roark finally takes Volkner out of his powered down state, transitioning over to standby mode so that he could control his senses again. He gives him a minute to acclimate to his body, though he stares the entire time. After another beat, "So, how do you feel after all of that?"
