Chapter Text
York was tired, very, very tired. Barely able to lift up his arms.
He could still hear water running in the small adjacent bathroom in Maine's bunk, a small thing. Barely enough room for a standing shower, toilet, and sink. It was a surprise that Goliath was able to fit.
With a huff, he heaved up, body and muscles aching with a sweet sting. His eyes panned around the room. It was bare. Lacking any form of decorating, and no sort of personality. As if it was going untouched. The only item out of the project's original design was the bed. Instead of the half assed cot that most of the freelancers received, Maine had a full sized bed, the only real bonus to being that tall.
Maine himself was… a mystery. A silent, and brooding monster of a human. Everybody was pretty sure that he was some sort of spartan, like a failed super soldier who had to find work elsewhere. He had no personal objects, besides the few items of civilian clothing he had that fit, and some sort of lock-box that York had seen him fiddle with once.
After a moment of contemplation, and self readying, York pushed off the tall bed. His bare feet hit the floor with a soft sound, not enough to jar any movement out of the bathroom. He wandered over to Maine's dresser, which was mostly empty besides some sweats and gym clothing. He swore he’d seen Maine tuck the box in the second drawer somewhere. He dug through the sorted piles of clothing until his fingers grasped a small leather box. With a small victorious gasp, he pulled his arm back out, the box couldn't be more than half a foot long, and an inch tall.
York spun the box around, the small key used to open it was left in the slot. With a gentle turn a quiet click sounded in the box. Carefully prying, it opens, a small plume of dust expanding out of the rusted hinges.
There was a small photo in the base, a pair of dog-tags, and a small vial. Sitting back down on the bed, York slowly removed each piece, the vial was solid metal, the top was sealed on, with no way to see inside. The tags read Montgomery, Jorge with a birth date and blood type listed. The photo was crinkled, old, and worn. On it was a young woman, a boy, and a pair of girls.
“Is that… Maine?”
Suddenly, the sound of Maine clearing his throat rumbled from the corner of the room.
“Find something?”