Thanks to bare feet and twitchiness he feels the spark a split-second before it hits and teleports onto a server rack, properly this time. He's definitely attracted attention, and it's not good attention if it's got this whole warehouse rigged to blow-- or shock, as the case may be.
Wykkyd has about a minute to flounder and collect himself before lightly-padding footsteps join him down on the floor. A voice, that he's sure he's heard before but can't place, and he turns from his regal perch of beeping electronics to stare down the person he's disturbed. Illuminated mostly from below he looks more like a gargoyle, if gargoyles could move and blink. He does, briefly, one row of eyes shutting and the other opening. He feels twitchy and unsteady, unhappy with this turn of events, but not nearly jumpy enough to make a bad decision so far.
Without a voice there's only so much he can do. With the risk of seeming impetuous, he simply waves.