DiMA's Databanks
You've been sat here for nearly an hour now, surrounded by the humming machinery of DiMA's databanks. It feels like every fibre of your being is shifting, taking on new perspective as you stare at a blank terminal screen and wish that someone would just tell you who you are and where you're supposed to be.
DiMA puts his hand on your shoulder.
"You'll adjust," He mumbles, voice low and soothing. "But there's no rush. You can stay here as long as you like. Don't try and overthink this, just take in your surroundings and know that you're alive and you're safe. Nobody can ask any more of you than that."
Your eye flicks to Faraday in the corner typing up his latest report. Chase isn't far away, hanging around an old radio and absentmindedly tapping her foot as she listens to the latest news crackle through the old and rusted receiver. He's right. It's calm here, calm in a way you've never felt before. It's almost liberating.
DiMA squeezes your shoulder and you nod a silent thanks, returning your attention to the blank terminal and watching the cursor blink on and off, on and off, on and off.
Maybe you will be okay after all.
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