That the breathing tube is unnecessary; that's Godric's first thought upon awakening. His second is that he shouldn't be here, though his reasons for knowing that escape him. The liquid drains, the tube retracts, and when the doors to his chamber open he drops, his body strangely uncoordinated.

He stays there for a time, his legs folded beneath him and his head bowed, a statue among a swarm of the living. This place is unknown to him. The scents and sounds surround him and he takes them in silently, listening to heartbeats and voices, the subtle slap of wet feet against metal flooring. The gel he emerged from smells both chemical and organic, his surroundings almost sterile save for the warm bodies moving here and there. None of these are vampire. None are humans he knows. Some are not human.

There's a thought at the edge of his mind he can't grasp, a collection of memories and images that escape him. There's an urgency about them, something important, even vital in relation to the place he finds himself now. He makes a few attempts to recall, but the usual sharpness of his mind is blunted and he's forced to let it go. Later, he'll try again. For now, his thoughts shift to why his memories are failing him, and the odd unreliability of his limbs. Few things should affect a vampire in such a manner, all of them deliberate and usually cruel, and yet he senses no hostility from the people around him. If this is a trap, he is not the only one caught in it.