Harbinger of the End Times and Apostle of Ghan
Hercules paused in the act of shovelling another forkful of grilled chicken breast over egg-fried rice into his mouth to consider Zyor- Commander Kirin's words. Was he over-analyzing things? Should he just pass off the events of the day as done and immutable? There was certainly merit in that way of thinking, why overthink that which can't be influenced? But more that that, he needed to regroup, mentally. Seeing his respected commander trapped in an immobile suit of armor with failing life support systems brought back sore memories of another hero, another non-Traverser, who had risked his life alongside them. A man of immense strength, bravery, wisdom and mirth. Hercules missed Booty. More than anything, he had felt a kinship with the hulking sergeant in the short time the two of them had known each other. Men who appreciated good food, powerful physiques, fighting forms and firearms. He swore to himself after that loss, he would never let a member of his team die before him if there was even a single thing he could do to prevent it. Even if it meant giving his life, just like Booty had done for them."Teammate of my daughter, I have seen the look you wear before in the eyes my own human crew here on the Broadsword. Uncertainty. Fatigue. Bewilderment." Zyorna chews then swallows. "If my advice is welcome at your table, then I say to you what I have said to them - we are a people at war. War brings chaos. Chaos brings times that create questions. Do not spend too much time trying to make sense of it all lest you miss out on the time that you have left. Rest.... knowing that time will provide answers of its own. Analyze, but also let go. For life is to be lived,"
He finished his plate of food, rose to his feet and saluted the COs in the room, "Respectfully, ma'am, I'm hearing my rack calling me. Thank you for your thoughts, and welcome back."
So saying, he turned and grabbed himself some much needed rest.
Hercules rose early, like always. His mind and body were conditioned to the point that he needed about five hours of sleep before he was finding himself staring at the insides of his eyelids. He got up, showered and hauled on fresh fatigues and a uniform jacket. First order of the day, he hit the gym. Thirty minutes on his arms, thirty on his chest, thirty on his shoulders and a final thirty on his legs. He pushed his muscles, adding an extra 50 kilos to his usual weights until the bar creaked uncertainly at the significant weight it bore either side of his frame. While his sleep had been complete, his mind had been mulling something over, something that he felt he needed to do. Once his last reps were done, he toweled himself down then took himself down to the armory. Once he got there, he searched around for tools, high-speed saws, grinders and drills. Once he'd found them, he sought out a SAM (or SAMANTHA) and posed a question.
"If it's still around, I'd like to get my hands on what's left of Captain Sharp's old megasuit breastplate. I have a... project I'd like to work on. Do you know where I'd find it?"