Not in the bushel of eyeballs, near any more ribcages cracked open like obscene flowers, among the tubes and veins of entrails and other assorted viscera. Nothing that looks like it belongs on a ship or not to this memory. No hard lines save those on their armor. York's quickly growing frustrated, there's no time, he's not gonna lose Locus to this place, he's not gonna let everyone die-

Click click click goes the chains and he turns, sighing. "Buddy you gotta stay put, you're gonna make it wor- FUCK"

He even said it himself. That bastard? Won't stay dead. He doesn't think, he doesn't have time to think, sprinting the distance between and diving for Felix's shambling, shuffling body. A shoulder charge worthy of Maine, aimed right at the oddly glittering tears in his fleshy undersuit. "Why won't you stay the fuck down?!"