Perfect. He finds a bit where the wall has crumbled down to a more reasonable height, with plenty of massive blocks of rubble, and flings himself twenty feet up onto a decently sized piece of rubble. Then up to the next, and the next, and he's up over the wall floating down to the other side.

He sets the ex-prisoners down gently in the sand and sets his omni-tool to a general health checkup.

The three of them are unconscious and slightly battered, bruised, and cut, but not horribly so. One of the two men, the dark-skinned fully-shaven one, is in clearly better condition than the other two even at naked eye inspection: his nutrient levels are all top notch, he has no parasites or illnesses to speak of. The other man, very white with a very thick beard and a very Viking-like build, is physically fit but not as healthy, and has many lice in his hair and one intestinal parasite. The woman, dark-skinned but less so than the first man, definitely of a different ethnicity (though none of them are particularly perfect fits for any modern-day Earth ethnicities), seems like she has not been eating or sleeping well lately, and has the muscle tone of someone who does not do much manual labour.

All three of them have been drugged out by something his omni-tool has absolutely never seen, and white guy's got some weird shit going on in his brain.

They're also all three of them wearing identical bracelets of patterned leather with a large green oval gemstone on their left wrists. The bracelets look entirely decorative.

Preindustrial health problems, great. Tintin administers a mild deworming agent to the man with brain problems, but lacking knowledge of the drug they were administered, can't really do anything about that. Instead, while eating an energy bar to replenish calories lost in the fight, he examines the brain scan in some more detail, and compares it to Milou's downloaded medical library to see if it's recognizably something.

It's not recognisably something, no. What it is seems to be is extra activity around the cerebellum and interior parts of the brain coupled with reduced frontal lobe and interstitial neuronal activity.

This side of the wall, there is a chilly wind coming from the west, wetter than it should by rights be in the desert; but then again, further north the sands soon make way to some packed earth and eventually grass, so it's not desert forever.

Tintin will fabricate a thin but highly insulating blanket from some of his omni-gel and drape it over his patients(?), then get to work fabricating that suit he was thinking of making earlier. Now that he knows there are unreasonably sturdy hyena-people around who want to rip him to pieces, it seems more important.

His patients(?) do not stir, and no hyena-people, hyenas, humans, or any other kinds of animals will disturb him while he does this.

Tintin did not expect to be trip-sitting tonight, but it's not the worst way to spend a few hours. He has his omni monitoring the erstwhile sacrifices while he works out the specs and fabricates the pieces.

He strips and starts pulling on the suit, shivering. Damn, it's cold in this desert.

Deserts tend to get freezing cold at night and this one is no exception. As if to punctuate this, there's another one of those cold wet breezes.

Fortunately, once he's in the suit he's practically immune to Earthly temperature extremes. He can still lose heat through his head, but the rest of him is perfectly warm.

Also, it flatters his figure very nicely.

He settles in with an audiobook to wait until either his charges start to wake up or something else happens, such as it having been long enough that he needs to set up an IV drip for them.

It'll be a bit past sunrise before the first of his charges starts stirring, the man with the strange brain activity. He furrows his brows as a ray of sunlight hits his face, and raises a hand to cover his eyes.

Tintin is sitting in a chair fabricated from thin but unreasonably sturdy strands of plastic. He gets to his feet, then crouches by the man.

"Hello! Are you feeling alright?"

The man's eyes open abruptly and he yelps, a high loud sound of startlement only matched in suddenness and intensity by how quickly he jumps away from Tintin.

"Whoa, there. I won't hurt you. Unless you try to hurt me first, I suppose, but even then I'd probably just try to drive you off, not hurt you for the sake of it."

The man... whines might be the word for it, or screams. He is half-crouching, his eyes wide open, and he looks ready to bolt, looking around for exit strategies. He does not respond using language.

Tintin backs off. If this man wants to run off into the wilderness, it is not actually Tintin's job to stop him.

He does not immediately do this. The fact that Tintin isn't attacking or anything is at least mildly reassuring, even if everything is... weird and confusing and scary. He remembers being scared but he doesn't remember of what and maybe it was this person so maybe he should run, he has no friends here, but he has no friends anywhere either, where would he go...

The man lets out a long, thin, low whine from the back of his throat, like a dog who is very unhappy about something.

Tintin slowly reaches into his bag and pulls out a cookie wrapped in plastic. He unwraps it, breaks off a piece, pops it in his mouth, and offers the rest to the frightened man.

He takes one tentative step towards Tintin.

Tintin does not move.

He will keep taking slow tentative steps, almost never blinking, the low whine only pausing for breaths, until he's within arm's length of the cookie.

Tintin smiles, slowly, measuredly, and without showing any teeth.

No teeth is good, yeah. He slowly stretches one arm towards the cookie...

...the woman groans as she starts to wait up...

...he grabs the cookie and bolts to hide behind a boulder nearby.

He turns to look at her. "Hello! Feeling better?" he asks, hoping that guy's problem was his brain and not the drugs, because that would get old quickly.

The woman's eyes don't open in surprise like the man's had. She groans again and shields them from the sun with her right hand, then veeeeeeeeeery slowly opens one of them to blearily look at Tintin. She looks rather unfocused, and doesn't immediately reply.

Bleary is better than feral! Tintin's seen worse drug reactions! Tintin will continue to be friendly and nonthreatening until she's more conscious, how about that.