Warmth, that is what he felt. He felt at peace, calm, and safe. This feeling...He wanted to stay like this forever, no more work, no more orders, no more lunatic officers, nothing. He wished it would last forever...But all good things must come to an end, as the man regained his bearings and looked around to find himself in a non-descript room. Its walls just as plain as the rest of the Empire's color scheme. He was sat at a table, for some reason his wrists were bound to the same table he sat at. He tried to move them to no avail. The room was like a box, no doors, windows, or exits, he began to struggle violently for several minutes before giving up on the futile attempt. The man sighed and tried to think back on where he was, what had happened. "TK-029." He grunted in surprise while his eyes shot wide open at the sound of a voice, stopping his attempts at struggling entirely, looking for the voice.
"Do you blame yourself?" The exceptionally deep and almost robotic voice asked him, confusing 29 greatly, he swallowed quietly and spoke. His tongue dry and leathery as he responded. "Wh...what?..." He looked forward, hoping to see the source of the voice, to no avail. The strangely human yet electronic voice paused. "Well, it's quite common in this situation for a patient to feel a kind of...Guilt..." 29 blinked at that, his mind scrambling to try and find out what this...Thing, was talking about, his hearbeat getting faster and faster all the while. "...What situation?" There was a long pause with no response from the voice, causing him to panic slightly as the possibilities ran wild through his mind. After several unbearably long moments he received an answer from the voice. "The accident."