The winding, vacant halls of Watchpoint: Gibraltar hold a lifetime of memories. Some fond, others left best lost to time-- like any childhood home, there’s a certain sense of nostalgia that comes with walking through the front doors after having been absent for a long time.
And Gibraltar WAS a home, at the end of the day.
One he’d run from. Not the first, certainly not the last, but perhaps the one that Jesse could say with certainty that he’s missed the most. It’s all... oddly familiar to him, despite how the years had clearly taken their toll on the base. Hell-- on him too, if he’s being honest.
Jesse manages to navigate the halls with no assistance from Athena, the muscle memory of having walked them a thousand times over making the process come naturally to him. It's a walk made in silence, just him and his thoughts, shoulders rolling back as honey brown eyes flicker about the walls.
He's not nervous. No, not when there's still the taste of tobacco lingering faintly on his tongue. The nicotine settles his nerves like a hazy, pleasantly numbing fog rolling over a morning bay; hides it, takes the edge off--
-- but just because it’s hidden doesn’t mean that it’s not there.
Half a decade is a long time to go without seeing a familiar face. Especially considering how some of those familiar faces might not be so friendly anymore, seeing how he’d left. He wouldn't blame them, really, it'd been a long five years for ALL of them-- he just hopes he didn't make the trip all the way to Spain only to be turned away by his former peers. It's too late to turn around now though, even if he wanted to: the long hallways come to an end and widen into a dusty, scarcely-furnished sitting room. There's a brief pop of static as Jesse steps into the room, removing his hat from his head and sparing a glance towards the loud speaker on the ceiling. The pleasant, robotic tone of Athena fills the room a moment later, effectively breaking the silence.
"ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴛɪғɪᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴇɴᴛ sʜɪᴍᴀᴅᴀ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀʀɪᴠᴀʟ. ʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏʀᴛʟʏ, ᴍᴄᴄʀᴇᴇ."
...So much for running with his tail tucked between his legs, then. There's a flash of white teeth as Jesse's lips twitch into an appreciative grin, which he directs up towards the camera settled in the corner of the ceiling. A courtesy, not one he expects the AI to return, but a polite force of habit all the same. He plops down into one of the chairs scattered about the vacant room- might as well make himself comfortable if he's going to have to wait- and pulls his lighter out from his pocket. He fiddles with it absently, flicking the cover off and on with the brim of his thumb, brows furrowed in concentration.
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