The tablet he'd found, upon waking, had been thoroughly inspected both in terms of hardware and available software. The hardware examination hadn't been an issue, but the software had proven decidedly more ... challenging.
Harold had started out seated but his chronic injuries had reacted badly to the prevalent cold and he'd soon decided that standing and moving was better than letting his muscles seize up. So he continued to walk and poke at the tablet, eventually sniffing around the network programming.
"That doesn't seen right," he muttered to himself. Frowning, he tried a couple more tests, coming up blank before eventually accepting that he was going to have to actually open and try using the application.
It wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to determine if Mr. Reese was around, or possibly Root ... Shaw ... hell even Fusco or Bear would be a comfort. But in the hours since he woke, Finch was getting the sense that he was on his own. At least for now.
Scanning the network, he frowned as he noticed the anomaly. The way the software appeared to be glitching on it's focus. It did offer a small benefit, if his own face was obscured, even as it proved frustrating for collecting data on any others using this network.
A little more digging, suggested he should be able to utilize audio, which was rather his wheelhouse to begin with, so Harold eventually established a connection to an open network line.
Audio:
"Hello? I've been attempting to run a diagnostic of the network, and my scan of the network suggests there are other users logged in. If you are, could you tell me if the apparent glitch in the video function of this application is systemic or only affecting certain users?"
His voice was post, clipped and direct. Forget any of the usual politeness of names or 'where are we' type inquiries, it was straight to business.
Action Prompt - House at the End of the Lane:
Despite the benefits of years spent being gently harassed by John and even Shaw to maintain an exercise routine, designed to maximize his otherwise limited mobility, Harold was finding moving around this strange new world to be a challenge. He'd left his previous bolt hole with some reluctance but a resignation to fate and the need to keep moving. While physically he wasn't well equipped to up stakes at the drop of a hat, mentally he'd lived the life for so long he fell into the habit naturally.
Still but the time he'd spotted the shelter down at the end of the lane, he was physically in trouble and in no position to quibble with whoever had come to his aid.
Pushing through the door, Harold practically collapsed just inside the door, dropping his knapsack as he leaned heavily against the wall.
"Thank you," he offered the gratitude to who ever had just helped him get out of the elements and into the house, eyes gradually adjusting to the interior light.
Which may not have been a blessing in this case.
As his eyes traveled the charred scene, Harold scrabbled to regain his balance, upright, stumbling to turn a full circle as he studied the destruction, before coming to rest on the silhouettes on the kitchen wall.
"Oh my God," he breathed, stepping towards that area of the house. "What happened here?"
[ooc: Hello! Two quick disclaimers.
1) I am not a coding genius, or even a coding semi-genius. I will be relying upon my google-fu and the joy of vague mumbo jumbo.
Harold Finch | Person of Interest
The tablet he'd found, upon waking, had been thoroughly inspected both in terms of hardware and available software. The hardware examination hadn't been an issue, but the software had proven decidedly more ... challenging.
Harold had started out seated but his chronic injuries had reacted badly to the prevalent cold and he'd soon decided that standing and moving was better than letting his muscles seize up. So he continued to walk and poke at the tablet, eventually sniffing around the network programming.
"That doesn't seen right," he muttered to himself. Frowning, he tried a couple more tests, coming up blank before eventually accepting that he was going to have to actually open and try using the application.
It wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to determine if Mr. Reese was around, or possibly Root ... Shaw ... hell even Fusco or Bear would be a comfort. But in the hours since he woke, Finch was getting the sense that he was on his own. At least for now.
Scanning the network, he frowned as he noticed the anomaly. The way the software appeared to be glitching on it's focus. It did offer a small benefit, if his own face was obscured, even as it proved frustrating for collecting data on any others using this network.
A little more digging, suggested he should be able to utilize audio, which was rather his wheelhouse to begin with, so Harold eventually established a connection to an open network line.
Audio:
"Hello? I've been attempting to run a diagnostic of the network, and my scan of the network suggests there are other users logged in. If you are, could you tell me if the apparent glitch in the video function of this application is systemic or only affecting certain users?"
His voice was post, clipped and direct. Forget any of the usual politeness of names or 'where are we' type inquiries, it was straight to business.
Action Prompt - House at the End of the Lane:
Despite the benefits of years spent being gently harassed by John and even Shaw to maintain an exercise routine, designed to maximize his otherwise limited mobility, Harold was finding moving around this strange new world to be a challenge. He'd left his previous bolt hole with some reluctance but a resignation to fate and the need to keep moving. While physically he wasn't well equipped to up stakes at the drop of a hat, mentally he'd lived the life for so long he fell into the habit naturally.
Still but the time he'd spotted the shelter down at the end of the lane, he was physically in trouble and in no position to quibble with whoever had come to his aid.
Pushing through the door, Harold practically collapsed just inside the door, dropping his knapsack as he leaned heavily against the wall.
"Thank you," he offered the gratitude to who ever had just helped him get out of the elements and into the house, eyes gradually adjusting to the interior light.
Which may not have been a blessing in this case.
As his eyes traveled the charred scene, Harold scrabbled to regain his balance, upright, stumbling to turn a full circle as he studied the destruction, before coming to rest on the silhouettes on the kitchen wall.
"Oh my God," he breathed, stepping towards that area of the house. "What happened here?"
[ooc: Hello! Two quick disclaimers.
1) I am not a coding genius, or even a coding semi-genius. I will be relying upon my google-fu and the joy of vague mumbo jumbo.
2) Right now I only have the 1 icon. ]