@greycommand
Breaking down the Magician's door proves to be fruitless. Earnest inquiries, bargaining, and threatening alike all go without answer. No ship will go out further than the coastline, no messages will get through to anyone other than the citizens of wherever-the-hell he's landed. Within a day he's wrung dry of options and stuck pacing like an animal in a too-small enclosure with no weapons, no car, and - most crucially - no Noctis.
Gladio can't remember the last time he's had to go without the Royal Pain In The Ass, but if Noctis is anywhere here, he's sure proving to be tough as shit to track down (and believe him, it's not for lack of trying on Gladio's part). Ignis and Prompto are equally elusive, which leads him to believe that they've been thoroughly separated; or at least he has. He prefers that option. Prefers to think they're all still able to look out for each other, back home.
In any case, being without them - without a would-be King to protect - is no reason to let his guard down. Just the opposite: Gladio fully intends to get out of here one way or another, and that means cracking some skulls or busting some walls down then he'd better be prepared to do just that. Besides, he'll never hear the end of it if he lets himself go.
He's always considered himself something of a city boy, love of the great outdoors notwithstanding, but ENCOY is something else entirely. Amidst all the tech and the shiny high-rises, though, the real stand-out of the place is the Arena. He spends a good chunk of the morning taking on the place's artificial enemies (and, man, if that ain't somethin'), which is all well and good, but in a matter of hours he's itching for somebody a little more real to spar with - somebody to call out your mistakes, to adapt to your techniques. He's starting to realize he took it for granted just how far Noct has come in the last few years - he's damn fun to duel with. But he's in no position to be picky, so he books one of the sparring rooms and spends a while swinging around one of the supplied swords until somebody else turns up.
The woman who walks in some minutes later is even shorter than Prompto and at least twice his age. Gladio stares at her for a moment or two, looking her up and down. "Uh," he offers with a jerk of his thumb towards the display of weaponry situated near the door, "think maybe you've got the wrong room, lady."