The dull thrumming of the spaceport puts Daryl in mind of the streets lined with neon signs in the big cities, back before the world went to hell. They'd always made him uneasy. But the droning is quiet enough to disregard when he isn't thinking about it, so he instead focuses on listening for the other sounds. The occasional faint hisses, thumps, rattles, and unmistakable sound of steps, not always bipedal.

He's accustomed to this feeling of vulnerability, of not knowing what might be lurking around the next corner, but somehow, creeping around in a disconcertingly bright yellow, skin-tight space suit just makes it that much worse. The unwieldy outer space suit was shed and stashed in an alcove he's mostly sure he can backtrack to if needed (thankfully the corridors aren't all identical), but he still feels like a walking target as he makes his way through the hallways filled with blinking lights. Everything seems to reflect off his suit in the worst way.

Thus far his scavenging for supplies has left him empty handed. He's crept through several of the strange, circular rooms so far, but none have produced anything remotely useful — with the possible exception of one that had contained tubes large enough for a person to fit inside. Those may yet come in handy.

Rounding a corner, he moves quickly once he can see there's no one else in the hallway, but stops short at the muffled thump he could swear he heard. Somewhere very near, possibly from within a wall. He warily moves away from either wall and glances toward the ceiling to check it just in case, already preparing for the fight that he feels is inevitable. But maybe there's still time to retreat...