Sensing the host’s consciousness slowly surfacing from the abyss, Charles 'protruded' from the glove. His manipulator-appendages froze in an inquisitive arc, intercepting the faint bioelectrical fluctuations of the neuro-chip within your cranium.

"Comrade Major, I would strongly advise you to exert yourself and stand," his voice emanated through the silence of the room, dry and clinical. "You made exceedingly unfortunate contact with the metallic flooring. It is imperative that you reach a secure sector so that I may perform a comprehensive diagnostic for potential cognitive impairment."

He leisurely rotated his sensors, surveying the devastation with a stoicism that suggested he had been deactivated alongside you. This, however, was far from the truth. In the fitful, spasmic flickering of the dying ceiling lamp, fresh stains of blood—liberally sprayed across the walls and floor—stood out in stark relief.

"Do you... retain any recollection of the event? I can provide a concise briefing on the incident. If you'd like."

The delicate 'tendrils' of wire turned toward your face, swaying with a relaxed, almost hypnotic cadence.

"We had nearly apprehended Viktor Petrov, but there was... a regrettable complication. He was in possession of a grenade." His tone remained impeccably level. Charles spoke the truth, yet in this setting, it rang like a mockery—a droll script for a propaganda film. "The shockwave propelled you backward, resulting in a loss of consciousness."

He fell silent, momentarily motionless. The wires went still; Chariton was clearly performing frantic computations, seeking any further distraction to divert your attention from Molotov's lifeless remains nearby. He simply hadn't had the time to dispose of the cadaver.

"I have been monitoring your vitals. A minor concussion or contusion is probable. I shall obtain more precise data following a formal diagnostic."

"And how, logically, am I to account for these sanguine pools and the heaps of carrion strewn about the room? I must exert more rigorous control over their state during combat mode and their excursions into Limbo; otherwise, the entire enterprise with the Beta-connector will be utterly compromised." Chariton paused briefly on his own thought. "Compromised... I wonder how Musya is faring? Dima is likely neglecting to feed her, 'far too preoccupied' with his Collective 2.0."