S.O.S., can't feel nose or feet. Or teeth. Anything really. Need ten, maybe fifteen snuggies stat.

Grandma always said "Don't sail out farther than you can row back." Maybe next time I'll listen to her.

[ Alternatively, if you're brave enough to save his dumb ass, he'll be huddled against a wall, chin to chest with arms as tight as possible around his face in some halfhearted attempt to shield himself from cold. Otherwise, he'll respond nearly the same in video. Got to keep the blood flowing and keep moving. Talking might keep him lucid a little bit longer. ]

[ Everything is murky. Like a heavy fog wrapped around his face, blinding him and making his movements weak and sluggish; like wading through water. His mind turns slowly, blank but not. He knows his name and where he's from, he knows the face of his colleagues and remembers the taste of the cafeteria's jell-o. But it feels like he's been whacked hard on the back of a head, like he's in an episode of Looney Tunes and got stars swirling around him, bright and pulsing.

Eventually getting to his feet, his eyes start to adjust though his body is still slow to follow. He realizes with heavy footfall that it's a little -- no, a lot -- numb. Like his limbs have all fallen asleep, but without the telltale tingling. It's nauseating, but he can't feel the ground, or the wall he starts to clutch against, nails digging in for any sign of something palpable. Drugged, maybe? That has to be it. His tablet buzzes and he groans as he feels his pockets for it, nearly tearing it out and dropping it as he reads the message.

His memories are less fuzzy, though. Before anything else, he remembers being cold.

Followed by how much it sucked.

As he carries on through the nearest open door, he's sure he hears someone else. Still careful with how he holds himself as he gathers his bearings, an involuntary sigh comes before he speaks. ]

Hey, uh. Little help over here? Hand or two? Foot, maybe? I'll take whatever you got.