HE PROBABLY ISN’T ALLOWED OUT THIS FAR, but when you can’t feel the terrain under your feet, it would make sense to end up lost. Perhaps this is why Moira had insisted on having an escort for him– and this is perhaps the best reason to keep an eye on him.
He doesn’t really remember how he got this far, but upon finding himself under street lamps and other bright, jarring neon lights. When he does finally take notice to his surroundings, SIGMA’S made very aware of his displacement– but…. he doesn’t find it particularly troubling.
It seems a bit early to determine whether or not he’s “on his own” now, but for the time being, he tries to keep to the shadows, though gets distracted by all the different lights. It’s unfortunate, to have all this light pollution to block out the wonders that lay so tantalizing above the Earth– but the wonderful colors seem just as inviting for the first time.
It’s when he’s trying to retrace his steps ( OR LACK THEREOF ) that he drifts into the alleyways, trying to remember if he’d passed through one or the other and muttering in Dutch under his breath. While his jumpsuit keeps him fairly warm, he’s still very old, and if that weren’t bad enough, he’s made painfully aware of his lack of footwear, and the chill in the air makes his extremities go numb.
The large, behemoth of a man some ways up the alley was nearly overlooked; in such moody light, he nearly blended in with the rest of the junk down there, and while his gruff, certainly threatening warning makes SIGMA briefly reconsider, he’s yet to encounter someone that wasn’t affiliated with TALON, which, ultimately, is what prompts him to tentatively approach.
“– Hoi.“ SIEBREN tentatively waves his hand, cocking his head to the side as he looks him over a couple times.
“Are you quite all right? Why are you….”
He momentarily rolls his wrist, trying to determine what he was doing.
Mako, while disguised beneath the murky shadows, slowly plucked the hog-shaped mask that hung from his side. Dark eyes swept across the worn, leathery veil; the blackness scored with grey and crusted red, scarred from the many battles that Mako -- no, Roadhog -- had flung himself into.
He pulled the mask over his face, securing the straps towards his nape, and turned to face the intruder.
His big, meaty hands clenched, forming fists.
Even as anger filled his blood and blurred his vision, he was able to note one thing; this man, this idiot was floating. A floating fool. Great. Probably meant he’d been infused with some sort of power which, honestly, hardly surprised Mako in the slightest. The world had gone to shit; what was a hovering person to the rest of the maniacs in society?
