( awareness hits him in stages.

jason isn't one to usually pass out, let alone sleep this deeply. he's woken up places where he didn't go to sleep before, but it's usually because someone's bashed his skull in to knock him out. he remembers the voice well enough, which keeps the initial what the fuck reaction to a minimum. his eyes are still closed, breathing even, while he takes in the sterile air. listens for any movement around him, anything that says someone else is in the room with him.

if he hears someone, he'll stay still. keep his breathing even, keep his face pressed down against the mattress, listening. hearing shit people don't think you're listening in on can give handy information.

if he doesn't hear anyone skulking around, jason'll slowly slide a hand into the red half-vest he's got on, wrap fingers around one of the knives he keeps on his person, and when he moves, it's all in one fluid motion: he pulls himself up to a sitting position, fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of the knife and ready to swing or throw it at someone if they happened to just be quiet enough he couldn't hear them before. he won't hesitate, aim steady, but he will stop before the blade makes contact if it gets that far. )

( after he's - settled in a little more, jason makes his way through the station. he wanders the halls for a bit before turning on his heels to waltz straight into the armory, making long strides over to what looks like a collection of space-pistols. they're unfamiliar, but he's dealt with plenty of unfamiliar weaponry before. fingers wrap around one of similar size and weight to a luger, even if it doesn't seem to have a trigger and the barrel's blue.

with his back pressed to the wall, he looks it over--idly disassembling and reassembling it in his hands to familiarize himself with it. he keeps his fingers away from what looks like it might be the trigger--a touchpad near where a standard one would have been.

it'd be a real shame if he set it off here by accident. )

( jason hates this.

the sensation in his gut that tells him to keep going, that he needs to dig - isn't new. urgency is something he's very familiar with, but it not feeling like it's his own is unpleasant. he's got a red hood drawn up over his hair, white tuft of hair visible under it, and as fingers wrap around the door knob for the next door, he's angling his head back to look to the person he'd taken along with him.

offers a very dry, ) If we get attacked by a hoard of rubber duckies, it's every person for themselves.

hit me up at crowbars or just throw something wild down, i'll run with it!