[center][h2]Tiny Nord[/h2]

[h3]In the Air[/h3][/center] 

The man had woken up abruptly inside a cot that kept him strapped down during take-off and landing, and turbulence. It was a odd place over time moment that he had been out, the bleeding had stopped, but he was still somewhat light headed from the blood loss. He saw an IV in his arm, and saw it hanging above him. He saw his arms weren't strapped, but his leg and torso had bandages lining his currently bare chest. He shifted around a bit, and felt that something wasn't right on his torso, but he felt that it had been handled for the most part, or at least set properly, and held in place. He was thankful forstimulants, but more important, he saw the tattered remains of his shield, and of his armored suit. He stared at the cylinder imprint in the shield's face. Then he saw the fractured plates of his suit, honestly it didn't do too much damage but to the mechanics and shock absorbers, it looks more like the damage from when the suit was taken off of him. 

He was thankful that they were able to get it off him, if things shut down, then he knew how bitchy that suit could be to take off, or disassemble. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his eyes again, He slowly pulled the strap to his upper body, and sat up, he felt the ridged lining of a plastic body suit that covered his lower torso. 

"Fuck, remind me to get one of those things... better than a fucking tank cannon." He slowly went back down after saying that before passing out once again, the small bout of adrenaline in him finally kicking it to his bodies drowsiness. 

[hr]


[h3]Camp Hannula : Infirmary[/h3][/center] 

When he reawoke several hours later, Oliver stared up at what seemed to be a medical ward of some sort. He looked around, seeing a few others in the room, he saw Skye, and she didn't seem to be in good shape, then again most of them didn't either in the room. He looked at his charting, two broken ribs, and a decent amount of blood loss, but that had been remedied for the most part. His armor was the next set of things. He slowly stared at the cot, he was no longer tied down, then again, he wasn't in a moving object anymore, or at least to his knowledge. There was the IV stand, which had a bag that was attached to his arm, he decided to move it to a rolling one so that he could move.

Oliver stared at the others in another part of the ward; most of them were armed, Skye looked hurt, and well, he didn't want to deal with this anymore. He already had the cast on to get his ribs fixed and was loaded up with stimulants and whatever else was thrown into him cocktail wise. He stared at that situation and slowly slid off his bed the other way. Then, slinking out of the ward in its entirety. 

From there, he looked outside, deciding a gown was not enough to get fresh air, he turned and started looking for a place to get clothing, this again was foiled by a searing headache. He stumbled and moved towards the room with the armed guards, Skye, and a good portion of the people he knew. 

"I thought she was doing alright; when did she get hit?" he asked, peering into the room outside the doorway, holding onto the IV rolling stand he was using as a walking implement. Then he questioned the tense armed guard if they were under attack again. Also, why were they so tense? I could use a butter knife to cut the air. I don't hear gunfire, so why are you all so jumpy-looking?" With this, he had a smile on his face, and if a man could look like a dog, he would look like the dumbest golden retriever possible in that moment.