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Well, Star thought, well, I have two options. Option one, wait it out. Sounded simplistic and stupid, and also problematic. He had no idea where he was, or what lead him here. So part of option two, try to remember and make some sort of semblance of a plan despite his ignorance, was partly in motion. Star remembered a deep navy hijab with golden accents, Kimia. Which meant nothing, he worked with her on a daily basis, her two little shits provoked him almost daily, today…the day he remembered…was no different. He gave up trying to break through her solemn professional exterior, and had followed her towards one of the many briefing rooms in the massive warship. And he saw… he saw… Star clutched his head with his abominable soft hands as a headache burned through his now human skull. He was used to headaches, but this one was definitely different, like a metal headache, just, less crippling. It however didn’t erase the face that both his supervisor, Mr Morgenstern and Prime Minister Veracity Cotte siting, sitting!! In the same room together!! And nobody was dead, or dying, or even remotely injured?!
“Knock knock” His spiraling was taken away by an interpreter, some fuckboy clearly up is own ass with the power given to him by whatever authority had taken him. Most likely the Prime Minister. “What?!” He snapped, headache still lingering, he was never in the mood to socialize, let alone in this situation.