[ His first few moments are a blur. The moment he saw a gun pointed at his face and felt hands dragging him away, John thought his life was over. His mind had flashed back to another room, a different gun, and other pairs of hands. He fought hard, like he had then. Just like then, he was weak.

And then he'd found himself in a room, in a cell, with others. He's barely got his bearings, much less his clothes, and absolutely none of that matters. Instinct sets in.

He has to get out of here. ]

Who are they? Have they said anything to any of you?

[ Okay. So maybe his initial panic jumped the gun a little. He doesn't know how else he could've reacted to being faced with a gun and dragged off to a cell, but apparently that was unreasonable and he should've understood that they were just doing their jobs. And they mean him no harm.

And whatever.

Now that his head is clear enough to think, John takes his time getting to know the place. It's obvious that the people here don't have much. It's equally obviously that they weren't really looking for more mouths to feed. Once he comes around to that thought, John makes himself useful. A kid with huge eyes and a sad little face tells him about the leaking pipes near her hammock. He goes to work, and then he works on others, and he keeps going. It seems that there's no shortage of things that need fixing, and luckily, he's the man for that.

Less luckily, tools are in as short supply as anything else. ]

I'd kill for a torque wrench and a fresh set of bolts, this is almost rusted through.

[ He looks up, spying someone nearby. ]

But if you could just hand me that metal ring? That'd be great.

[ The moment he has his hand on his gun, some tension in John's shoulders eases. He takes a long breath, then carefully checks it, cleans it, reloads it. He slides it into the back of the jeans he's just reclaims, and when he walks away, he feels more like himself again.

So, naturally, he gets to enjoy that for less than two minutes before he hears the talk of scientists.

He pushes his way into the crowd. ]

Wait a second. Someone's lost? I'll volunteer. We can't just leave them out there.

[ This might not be his world, but the people in it still deserve saving. Besides, he's itching to get out of this place. If he can scratch that itch while helping someone in trouble, you'd better believe he will. ]

[ Before there's any text, there's two tones; similar pitch, similar note, one slightly higher than the other. There's no explanation, but the people who know the code wouldn't need anything else. He puts that out there first, and then...

Considers what he's been asked to do.

Why the hell so many people are just giving their names to an AI is beyond him. ]

While I appreciate the icebreaker, I'd rather break out my own.

If you could live in any decade, which would it be and why?

[ Prompt John! I'm open to anything. ]