[The reporter is still unsure about what's going on, but that isn't stopping him from looking around, touching where he can with curiosity, following the wall with one hand to try and see what it's made of. Taken from a dying London, brought here to a place past all experience and knowledge... he needs the distraction, frankly, before he goes as insane as so many of the people he'd met recently.
He nearly trips over the console, still busy looking, although the voice alerts him before his foot hits anything important. Even he can tell something is out of place here, and he crouches, studying the wreckage.]
Hello?
[He feels a little foolish, but far more wary. Recent experiences with machines haven't gone all that well, and although this one seems to be speaking in English, not the terrible and unearthly cries of the Martians, he isn't sure why a machine would speak at all. Perhaps it's inhabited by a very small alien.]
no subject
He nearly trips over the console, still busy looking, although the voice alerts him before his foot hits anything important. Even he can tell something is out of place here, and he crouches, studying the wreckage.]
Hello?
[He feels a little foolish, but far more wary. Recent experiences with machines haven't gone all that well, and although this one seems to be speaking in English, not the terrible and unearthly cries of the Martians, he isn't sure why a machine would speak at all. Perhaps it's inhabited by a very small alien.]
What manner of machine are you?