The door opens to reveal a small room, a room from what cool air seems to rush forth to greet you, a room that compared to the dulled and worn tunnels that you have seen so far, seems pristine. The walls of this room are a cold, medical shade of white, bearing no signs of grime, no marks, no damage from the passage of time. Small ventilation grates are visible in them, keeping the room feeling cool and fresh, despite how far beneath the ground it is.
A monolithic slab of glass sits against the far wall of the room, one that seems to sparkle, to glow softly, then burn into life as you approach it, as the door behind you slams shut, as the screech of metal on metal tells you that you are locked in here. That the man who brought you here has not entered the room with you.
You do not feel fear however, as you know that this place, this room, this thing before you, are all familiar to you in some manner.
A mask burns into view before you as the lighting in the room dims, encased, hovering within the monolith before you, a mask of gold that you watch rotate, letters glimmering beneath it, fading into view as they seem to scroll in from the side.
E.L.D.E.R.
Those letters, that word, it makes sense now.
This is the Elder, this is what you were brought to see. This mask encased in glass, a mask that finishes rotating as a musical chime echoes about you. A mask that despite appearing to be made of metal, moves as if it was skin as it speaks.
"Warden-Ten. Please, have a seat," comes a voice, one with a deep, gentle tone, one that despite its artificial nature has you release a breath you were not aware you were holding in.
The hiss of the floor behind you doubled with the gentle whir of gears tells you that while the room bore no such furnishing when you entered it, that now, you at least have a place to sit. You are thankful for it, you realise as you sink down onto the hard surface behind you, for your feet and your joints ache from your time running through the forest so soon after your fall.
"Your form appears to be compromised, Warden-Ten," comes the voice of the Elder, followed by a slight whirring, a beep and a hum as a glowing light descends from above you. "Please be still while damage assessment is performed."
The light washes over you, bathing you with a warm glow that makes your skin tingle. A light that engulfs your entire body, a light that you can just barely make out the Elder through. For the brief moment that the light engulfs you, floods the room with its warm glow, you find yourself trembling.
You're afraid, not of the glow, of the scan that this thing is performing upon you, but of the results that it will find from the scan.
With a chime, with your eyes adjusting to the dark of the room as the glow fades, the Elder starts to speak once more.
"Warden-Ten, this facility is not equipped to correct the problems that have been discovered at this time," came the voice, followed by a brief pause. "Alternatives are available to lessen the damage in some areas, though these alternatives are hardly befitting of a Warden."
"What is the damage?" you ask, almost automatically, your voice seeming different somehow, authoritative almost.
"Many of your cybernetic systems, along with the redundant backups have been disabled. Your shoulder-ports are still active, though the wings that you were fitted with are not in a state where they may be salvaged and repaired."
You frown, reaching back to those stumps, stumps that flutter helplessly in response to your touch.
"List the problems. List the alternatives," you sigh, rubbing at your forehead as a dull sensation, pain, begins to blossom.
"Your neural-control relays are offline. Your bio-energy relays are offline. Surgery will enable them again. No alternative," starts the Elder, who pauses as you cringe, though when you have no response or input, it continues with the list. "Your wings are non-salvagable. Replacement wings are not available at this time as the status of the fabrication and cloning plant is unknown. Multiple alternative limbs are available for plugging into your shoulders."
"What kind of limbs?" you ask, curiously, while the term 'cloning' drifts through your mind in a manner that has you feel briefly unsettled.
"Limbs range from utility arms, to offensive arms, to defensive arms," the Elder states, before resuming the list of problems. "Your spinal ports are not in use, damage to them is minimal, though there are no on-site options for them at this time. Many internal systems for monitoring and regulating your body are offline. Surgery will fix them. No alternative."
You frown slightly, not liking the sound of surgery being the only option to fix some of these problems, though you do have one more question that you need answering immediately. "What does all this mean?"
"Due to your non-functional neural-relays, any cybernetics plugged into you will function less efficiently. You will have lessened fine control and awareness of them. Due to your non-functional bio-relays, you are incapable of generating offensive or defensive measures. Due to your damaged monitoring and control systems, you will not have control over release of adrenaline, release of endorphines-"
You cringe once more.
"I get the picture," you sigh, rubbing at your forehead as the pain in it continues to blossom.
"Warden-Ten, do you have any questions, do you wish to requisition equipment?"
You breathe deeply.
There are many things you could ask, that you could request.
The question is, what?