William Lennox has spent most of the trip to Medietas sitting off by himself in sullen silence. The man is downright filthy, his face and hands covered in smudges of ash and dirt and his combat uniform stained with traces of blood; clearly, his day had already not been going well before he found himself on a boat to god knows where. Despite the obvious exhaustion in his movements he picks himself up as soon as the boat pulls into the docks and disembarks, frowning at the person who approaches to hand him a map and some sort of device while greeting him. He tries to press for more answers, more and more anger seeping into his voice and expression when the man fails to give him any useful sort of information. He dismisses him before his temper has a chance to get the better of him: getting aggressive with the locals rarely ever goes well, in his experience.

Once he is alone again, the Major heaves a tired sigh and scowls at the items in his hands. Part of him is tempted to pitch them into the water but, no, that would be a bad idea. That doesn't stop him from partially crumpling the map in his fist and loudly muttering a string of curses under his breath. How the hell had this happened? He was supposed to be on the aircraft carrier heading back to Diego Garcia, not some damn floating island! Angrily stuffing both items into the pockets of his pants he glances around the area, trying to figure out where to go next. There has to be answers around here somewhere.