'Can you get the livery into visual? If I recognize it I might be able to figure out where we are, or at least who called us in for this job.'

It's a little awkward, but the mecha is capable of full self-inspection in a pinch. He rolls the shoulder of the arm that's still wielding the lorentz cannon forwards to see if there's any symbols or words on it that might be familiar to this ghost.

The interior of the spacesuit is empty - it was moving by exosuit support alone. Or well, it's not completely empty; it appears to have been used to store various small items, including a pouch of unidentified currency, a handful of tools, personal electronics, and some kind of small lizard creature, all thoroughly fried by the voltage. 

The screen shows a collection of command prompts and code for an unfamiliar software suite. The variables are not helpfully named. 

The mecha appears to be outfitted with what appears to be slightly dated NYPD riot control livery. 

'Freaky,' the ghost says, before radiating a feeling of irony at being the one to say it. Then it's silent for a moment as it considers. 'Those're the people I was on loan to, before all this. Never seen a place like this anywhere in New York, though. Or anywhere else for that matter, other than maybe HQ, a little bit. Given the absence of my body, though, I can imagine things must've really gone to Hell. Not sure how you ended up in my chassis instead, though. Either way, this thing looked it was here with a purpose. Probably worth collecting the goods, at least the one's that aren't toast. Then we can plug in and I'll see what I can dig up out of this place's systems.'

It feels a little weird having someone give him all these short-term specific directives, rather than mission that he's trusted to complete. Weird and a little frustrating, though also this ghost does at least seem like it knows a little bit more about the situation than he does, so he'll do as he is bid again, collecting the pouch and tools into one of the mecha's isolated storage compartments (this place is all pretty radioactive, after all).

As he extends an arm towards the terminal, pawing around for a plausible-seeming port to insert a data cable, he'll also glance at the fallen crystals, glowing mysteriously. 'Do you think those are worth picking up?'

'Maybe, though with the way they were floating around the thing before, and don't seem like they have any handles, it might be best to figure out something to hold them with that won't risk frying one of our manipulators. Maybe we disconnect one of the suit's gloves and jury-rig something out of it.'

Sitting on the desk is what appears to be a sphere, about six inches in diameter, it's entire surface covered in data ports of specifications ranging from the familiar to the absurd; it appears to already be in use as a data input between the main computer and several auxiliary drives, presumably of the intruders own possession. 

There's an unfamiliar data access protocol on the mech software that is indicating that it's the appropriate one to use to interface with this system. 

'Polite of them to include a firmware update. Let me handle this?'

Sure, he'll let the ghost use a bit of brain to manage the interface while he redirects his main attention to the not-exactly-a-corpse, bringing his manipulator over to see if either of the spacesuit's hands will come off cleanly. Then he has another thought, and reopens the iso-compartment with the tools he collected and reviews them to see if any look like they might be useful to handling the glowing crystals.

'Ah, that feels better,' the voice says, radiating palpable comfort at having been handed some autonomy. 'Now, open sesame.' It then promptly accesses the system through the indicated protocol.

The facility will report itself as a backline medical facility. Presently: It has 0 security issues. It has 17 staffing issues. It has 236 supply issues. It has 1723 maintenance tasks flagged incomplete, including 453 critical issues. It has failed [warning: integer overflow] routine functionality checks since last service. It has 1 patient presently in need of care.

Staffing issues: not something they can help with. Supply issues: not something they can help with. Overdue maintenance: not something they can help with.

Integer overflow on the number of missed routine functionality checks...how big an integer can this system handle? That's plausibly a very large number.

And, a patient in need of care...

This mecha is not well-suited for medical purposes. It's for law enforcement, and even this ghost knows that law enforcement is close to the opposite of medicine. But he remembers HQ, and what it was like being there, day in and day out. None of them wanted to stay there. That's why they all dreamed of the day they'd be mission-ready.

This place reminds him of HQ too much.

'There's someone alive in here, somewhere,' he says simply, before remembering that he's talking to a clone trooper and not a human being. 'With the first aid kit in the mecha, and whatever other supplies we can scavenged up-- this is a hospital, sort of. An old, mostly abandoned, very run-down hospital. With that, we can hopefully get them stable. Then they can help us figure out what's going on here.'

Speaking of, he'll also query the computer system for the date, and also whether there's any unencrypted files relating to the facility's abandonment.

He's a little suspicious of this idea, but, he thinks he understands. There's a lot wrong with this situation, and they've only had a moment to gather information. Someone who's been dealing with it for longer, and isn't an enemy, may know more. If they're in a position of dependence of them, then they're less likely to betray them or disappear, at least until some alternative appears. 'Alright.'

Then works the tongs he found among the enemy's tools, loads up the crystals into the same isolated compartment along with the tools, closes it all up, and radiates receptivity for new mission coordinates.

And assuming the facility's system can point them in the right direction, the ghost will go ahead and hand them over. 'Before we check in on them, though, let's collect this little data-ball. It'll be useful later.'

Is there a reason why it couldn't have said that first?

Regardless, he'll go ahead and bring the manipulator over to disconnect the data-ball from the terminal, retract his own data-cable, and place the data-ball (and all the other gear plugged into it) into another iso-compartment. His instincts expect him to be nearly out of individual compartments by now, but this mecha has a handful more, maybe twice as many as he's expecting. Another discrepancy, though a convenient one in this case.

Regardless, with the coordinates in mind and nothing else to grab, it's time to walk.

The complex isn't large; no more than two dozen rooms, the vast majority of which are long-ransacked offices. It's not hard to find the other two "patient areas" of the facility and within one (the other seems to have been entirely stripped for parts.), another pod, in which a small child in an elaborately embroidered dress sleeps. 

It feels strange, to see someone so small. But, what hasn't felt strange here? He'll walk up to the pod and see if he can spot somewhere to interface.

'Here,' the ghost indicates a port, having thought to check for this kind of information while they were plugged in, using the same Orb that mediated their interface with the terminal. Once they have access to the pod, he'll check to see what information it has on the patient's status. If they're lucky, whatever issue the kid has won't urgent and they'll be able to get out of here ASAP.

While the ghost interfaces with the computers more, Xeno will distract himself from his growing number of annoyances by staring at the little person's dress. The elaborate design is interesting and pleasing to look at. It might be the first actively pleasant thing he's encountered in this life.

The patient was checked in for treatment 157 years 23 days 22 hours ago, and was diagnosed with chronic leukaemia, a comorbid misconfigured genemod, and two arrow wounds. Treatment has been completed, and the stasis pod awaits authorisation from medical centre staff or a parent/guardian to take her back out of stasis. 

Her dress is clearly handmade, and was clearly a tremendous work of love and care. 

He hopes that he can have something like that dress someday.

'Well, that's convenient. She's apparently all good to go, just waiting for permission to be discharged from care. I'll see if us being the only apparent staff here qualifies us to give the order...'

It says something that she's been in here for over a century and a half, though. She might have some great-great-great-grandniblings to go back to, but given the conditions around here, that's not seemingly incredibly likely, and he's pretty certain that whoever she came here with is long dead.

It does! In a state of staffing emergency, remaining staff have pluripotent rights in order to enable them to provide what medical care they can. 

'Try to keep still, and let me do the talking for now. She's just a kid-- shit, do you know what a kid is? She's young, or she looks it. Not as young as you, but she doesn't have any skills burned into her either, probably. She'll probably be confused, and if we want her help, we need to not scare her.'

'You don't think the mecha itself will scare her? It's not military but it's still meant to intimidate.'