Project Atlas [Inactive]

[Erica]

Erica submitted a new role play:


Project Atlas - Low-Level Supers RP

View attachment 37128

​

There are gifted people among us, deemed “metahumans” by the media a generation ago. Nearly 30 years later, heroes and villains have come and gone, but the world still doesn’t know exactly how to handle them. Adjustments have been made. Mechanized suits have been designed to counter metahuman abilities and are used in different ways throughout the world. The U.N. led the creation of the Saturn Accord, limiting the use of metahumans in military...

Read more about this role play...

 

[Erica]

A light blanket of snow covered New York. Heaping piles of the dirty, sandy stuff lined the street: they had for months and would for some time yet, but the fresh coat painted the city clean anew. It was an alluring illusion. Within the heart of the city, a thousand deals were being made, from brokers on Wall Street trading in the economy down to the falafel cart vendors selling their wares on the corner. Despite the vast knowledge available to them, most of the general public went about their daily lives blissfully ignorant.


All of it depended on a larger delusion of safety and security. The Saturn Accord had been signed five years ago, limiting the use of metahumans in military operations and banning any programs designed for human enhancement. While pundits debated its efficacy - especially with a few major nations like China refusing to sign the accord - few events had made international headlines since the Accord. A spectacular fire here, a daring robbery there, but nothing came close to the war with a telepath leading the troops in 1991. Morena’s trial thrust the issue into the spotlight, but it also raised the bar on what would be considered a truly newsworthy metahuman event.


No peace comes without effort and sacrifice. Behind the scenes, the U.N. had established a secret program enlisting metahumans to help keep counter their own kind. After five years, Project Atlas still remained a secret to the public. With limited personnel they had been successful in thwarting countless potential threats and arresting dozens of dangerous metas. Yet the world continued to evolve: their model of pairing one or two metahumans with a larger team would not be sufficient forever. Debate raged for months until Marshall Roberto F. Turchi had issued the command: they would form meta-dominant teams.


Thus, on a Tuesday in February, cars would be sent out today to escort a handful of metahumans to the U.N. building in New York.

~ * ^ * ~

​

Far beneath the U.N. building, Corporal Chelsea Tyler took one last assessment of Conference Room C. The room was dominated by a large white board on the far wall with a projector screen stored neatly above it. Someone had written a time and a date - 11 Oct 2014, 16:30 - on the bottom corner of the board in blue dry erase marker, and a handful of markers dotted the tray at the bottom of the board. In the center of the room, track lighting shone off of the polished surface of an oval wooden table and twelve accompanying black leather chairs. To the right were a series of cabinets and a small counter that had a coffeemaker set upon it along with cups and the various trappings of the American morning ritual. The coffeemaker was percolating quietly; soon the room would be filled with the best scent cheap coffee grinds could offer. It made for a pitiful welcome for the new recruits, but it was what she could manage. Project Atlas was worse than a government-run program; it was a multi-government-run program, and that meant no end to the paperwork and red tape. Even for acquiring bagels and scones.


She took a deep breath, straightened her navy skirt suit, and squared her shoulders before heading for Drexler’s office. As she navigated the maze-like hallways with ease, her sensible heels sounded a steady tattoo against the tile floors. The hallways had been made to feel less like a bunker through drywall and plaster, but the walls still boasted a cement and cinderblock skeleton.


Finally, she stopped before Colonel Drexler’s office and offered a perfunctory nod and smile to the man who waited outside. Drexler’s 8am was running over. Reaching up, she placed a single finger against the bridge of her glasses and pushed them back into place. With a final unnecessary check that none of her blond hair had escaped its bun, she nodded again to Special Agent Vanburen and knocked twice on the door before opening it.


Drexler’s deep voice carried into the hall. “… we’re clear. If I had my way, you’d be in prison.” Inside, the Colonel looked as if someone had swapped his live ammunition for blanks. “This is your chance to be useful. Don’t waste it.”


In front of Colonel Harold T. Drexler’s impeccably organized desk sat a man with brown hair and stubs for fingers. The wrinkles around his eyes and the touch of grey in his hair placed him in his thirties, but his ill-fitting suit and too-short tie aged him further. His attempts not to stare at the large, star-shaped scar on Drexler’s left cheek were meeting with limited success. Clenching one hand into a fist, he answered in an irritated New Jersey accent, “I got it.” Then, with the sudden certainty of a child who knows his answer will displease, he cleared his throat and added, “Sir.”


“Let’s hope for your sake you do,” Drexler responded, focused solely on his target. Silence stretched for a long moment as the man before his desk looked anywhere but into the Colonel’s eyes. When he finally dared to glance up, Drexler said, “Dismissed.”


The man stood and headed for the door, brushing past Mark Vanburen with a muttered “Sorry” before heading down the hall with Corporal Tyler as escort. Drexler waived Mark into his office without missing a beat.


Without a doubt, Colonel Harold T. Drexler lived to serve his country. His office testified to his obsession with order and patriotism. This field office was in the United States, so many of the officers - including Drexler - were American military. No one ever stated this explicitly, but it was only logical. He waited for Vanburen to close the door then nodded. Although he hadn’t had much direct interaction with the metahuman they called “The MetaHunter”, he knew his work and his reputation. He was useful. Dependable.


“I’ll cut to the chase. You’ve heard the rumors about a change to the team structure approach.” He paused only long enough to see a glint of recognition in the other man’s eyes. “They’re true. Like it or not, we’re forming a meta-dominant team. Congratulations. You’ve been selected.” He handed over a folder with a summary on each of the team members. It was high-level; abilities, background, risk assessments. “We’re bringing them in this morning. Meeting at ten thirty in Conference Room C. I don’t much care how you introduce yourself, but you may want to rethink your codename for this crowd.”


He returned his attention to his desk, providing Vanburen a moment to look over the files before he looked up. “Any questions?”


[Tagging players with accepted characters: @sharlene79 @Mitheral @MissPenny @Pattycakes @Pastaa ]

 

[Pattycakes]

Mark was awoken by an alarm. He frowned, looking at his clock and checking the time to confirm his guess. It was seven o'clock, far too early in the morning for his alarm to have woken him up. That alarm wouldn't go off until eight. What alarm had woken him? The alarm buzzed again, this time coming from his nightstand. He rolled over to the other side of his bed, seeing a new text from Corporal Tyler, Dexler's assitant. "Colonel Dexler would like to speak to you at eight thirty." Mark let forth a small curse as he pulled his body at of bed. As he began to move towards the bathroom, he thought of what Dexler could possibly want him for. He had never been called in to speak to him before.


An hour and thirty minutes later, Mark stepped into Dexler's office showered, clean shaven and dressed his atypical black trench coat, black dress shirt, red and black stripped tie and black dress pants. Mark made it a priority to look sharp for brass. He had never been called down to Dexler's office before, having only spoken to Dexler once or twice. However, he, like most others at Project Atlas, knew of Dexler's hardened military attitude and his temper. The second being confirmed as the previous man had left the office.


As soon as he was handed the files, Mark began to scan the files as quickly as possible. He had expected the reassignment, but wasn't expecting for it to happen today. Eyes darting from one line to the next, he grabbed only essential details of each individual. Page after page he turned the files by hand, trying to memorize as much as he could. Aliases, code names, skills, powers, family backgrounds, anything that would be essential to know before coming face to face with them. Upon coming across Snapshot's name, he smiled momentarily before furrowing his brow scanning the remaining files. Satisfied that he had done a through search, he cleared his throat to get Drexler's attention. Seeing that he had his attention, he asked, "Sir, who from Atlas is taking point on this team? I don't see their file here."

 

[Mitheral]

Xavier checked the clock as he prepared for his morning routine. 0530. Good, he had five hours until the meeting. That was one of the things he hated about early morning meetings. It meant a solid 2-3 hour physical training workout and culminating in his newest favorite obstacle course scenario he had named ‘Save the Baby.’ Baby, in this case was a 10 pound frozen turkey dressed up with a diaper.


It wasn’t a very realistic scenario, just something he had designed to hone his reflexes and push his abilities to their limits. Many of his scenarios ended in failures and this one was no different. He used the endless lap pool, a dozen basketballs, the lifesize inflatable woman - a novelty gift he’d received for his 18th birthday from a friend back at the Foundation. He’d got it the day he arrived at the Project and the looks he had received when he opened it …


He got the strangest looks when he showed up at the mess hall when he showed up later with a dozen a rainbow pelting of paintballs he’d received from the volunteers who acted as the bad guys, burping the ‘Baby.’ He took the loss well enough. Fact was, the basketballs he had planned to use as springboards to get to the Baby had been too far apart. And his groin still hurt where he had misstepped and wracked himself pretty good.


A little sore and perhaps still feeling a little green from the threat to his manhood he headed back to the room to shower up and make himself presentable for the meeting. Xavier took his shower as hot as he could stand it and did his best to scrub his skin off. He had wanted to run by the Sick Bay to see if he could con the nurse to let him use the ‘jacuzzi’. But he had abused that privilege to the point that he was wearing out his welcome.


He almost fell asleep on his bed before getting his clothes on, but he had wanted to run back by the mess hall and grab a quick bite. He rolled over and his eyes popped wide open. Crap! 0945? Double crap! He had 45 minutes until the meeting and he had seriously burned calories. Hastily he dressed in his usual work outfit - ultralight and black. And he grabbed his newest favorite “super spy toy’ - a digital camera so small it fit on his fingertip - a whole freaking camera. He couldn’t wait to show it off to someone. This was James Bond stuff. Of course, he had no idea the camera could be ordered online.


By the time he had made it to the mess hall and grabbed some food he realized had had too much food on his plate to run to the meeting room with it. It was already after 1000 hrs. So he started wolfing down his food and guzzling fruit juice. When he was done he checked his time and frowned. He was going to be late. He just knew it. He decided it was time to conserve a little time and at least TRY to make it on time.

 

[sharlene79]

Janice Rand was grateful for the prepaid card from her foster mother. As a missionary working in 3rd world countries she didn’t have much of an income. And quite frankly she had never needed one. But without the card she swore she would have starved to death. The airlines had served something inedible. And she was more than a little drunk. She hated flying. It wasn’t her first time and she had no fear of heights. But there was just something unnatural about a plane. Getting drunk had helped.


Fortunately the crew had been nice enough about helping her off the plane. She had travelled under a handicapped ticket using a wheelchair provided by the Church. And everything went smoothly until she got to the UN building and ran into the anal security of the Project. They simply wouldn’t let her bring the chair in. It was a security violation. But it wasn’t as though she actually NEEDED the chair. It was a disguise - chosen to conceal her mutation and save her the agony of walking all over New York City.


Truth to tell she had been a little disappointed. She had hoped to sight see. This was her first time in America and she had heard so many stories about the Statue of Liberty. But then this wasn’t a vacation.


Janice tried to stand up and turned green. She barely turned away in time to keep from throwing up on Chelsea Tyler. “S-sorry … I didn’t really like flying. I think my tug is nub.” She blew a raspberry. “Tongue is numb.” she half giggled. “And I haven’t been this drunk since I got into the winery at St Andrews. I had a dozen monks all trying to catch me thinking they were going to have a hard time of it. But I just fell over flat schnockered. Maybe I’ll take that chair.”


Janice had never much appreciated bathing. Moira had met her in London and made sure her daughter bathed before boarding the flight. Janice had fussed a little, but when reminded that she was travelling in civilized territories she relented. Still after a long flight and throwing up Janice certainly wreaked a little..


Even before they reached the room Janice’s nose wrinkled with disgust. Coffee. It was an American addiction, not hers. She had been raised on milk, fruit juices or tea. She looked at Chelsea and started to turn green. “I don’t suppose there is some water around here safe for me to rinse my mouth out a little with? Any tea … maybe?” She smiled weakly.

 

[Pastaa]

Danny watched her clock with the occasional sigh escaping her. She only had two hours until the meeting at the UN Building. Sleep was not an option to her as feelings of excitement, nervousness, worry, and anxiousness whirled around inside of her. She felt like a child on Christmas day and couldn't seem to contain herself. Plants had begun to grown up her brick walls and splotches of moss had appeared on her floor. Her excitement was getting out of control, especially if her powers were going wild along with her feelings. She let out another sigh and stood up from her bed and began to walk around her loft apartment.


She walked across the room to her bathroom, where she began to take a shower and prepare for the meeting. After her shower, she began to change into a turtleneck sweater dress that covered her arms and kept her warm from the clingy snow outside. She back down and glanced at the time again. 9:00. Danny rubbed her face and decided to open her work laptop to observe some of the cases she was working on.


Her fingers brushed through the documents that was drawn and the photographs taken by the forensic photographer. A bullet hole entered the victims abdominal region at a point blank range: the cause of death was caused by internal trauma to the major organs. Manner of death was not determined yet. Danny continued to examine her plethora of cases until her analog clock began to near 10:15. Quickly, she closed her laptop and began to put her coat and gloves on.


It would take approximately 15 minutes to get to the UN Building - in her spare time she had planned out what time she had to be ready and what time she would be picked up. Danny walked down the stairs and looked out the door to see if the vehicle was there yet. Come on, come on! They have to be here soon. She bit her lip and tapped her foot; a nervous habit that had developed throughout her lifetime. Suddenly, a black Sudan pulled up to the apartment complex. Danny opened the door as a man climbed out of the driver's seat to open the door for her.


"Thank you sir," She smiled and carefully climbed into the vehicle as she made sure not to slip on the ice. The man didn't say anything as he climbed back into the driver's seat.


The Sudan entered a closed garage and began to turn down into the lower levels. It never seemed to end as the vehicle kept on turning down into the garage. Finally, the vehicle lurched to a final stop and the engine turned off. "This is where you get off," The driver said in a deep voice that sort of sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Danny climbed out of the car and as soon as the door closed, the vehicle was off.


She looked around for someone to greet her, but at the moment no one was there, until she spotted a blonde woman near the elevator. She cautiously walked up to the woman and greeted her. She introduced herself as Ms. Chelsea Tyler and opened the elevator. Ms. Tyler began to type in numbers on a previously green keypad. The elevator descended and opened to reveal a series of hallways. After a few turns, she was led into a room where a sickly looking woman and a pretty younger woman. The smell of coffee filled the room.

 

[MissPenny]

Diana paced the outer lobby of the news outlet's skyscraper of a studio. The compound lay smack in the middle of New York, New York and consisted of over seventy floors of hair, makeup, and camera crews as well as quite the extensive basement storage and parking garage. The majority of her time was spent on the forty second and third floors, running data and tapes on political rallies, candidates, and officers from across the country. When summoned to make an on-screen appearance, the lower mid twenties were usually the floors to go to. It was level twenty six that she descended from almost fifteen minutes ago, not wanting to be late for her 'collection'.


Having not wanted to take the whole day off, seeing as she'd probably be doing so or leaving all together quite soon, Diana had taken a cab into work, completed two data sets, and appeared as a panel guest speaking on the minor primary elections on the morning news all before nine o'clock. It was now 9:45, and those coming from Project Atlas were meant to arrive at any moment.


Just as she anxiously paused in front of the large glass doors for the third time, a black sedan came to a smooth stop across the skyscraper's pavement plaza. Too consumed in her own worries to think that there was a possibility that was not the car intended for her, Diana gave a small nod and wave to the front receptionists and slipped out the doors into the cold air. Her nude heels crunched softly against the morning's snow, leaving evenly spread footprints from the front entrance, past the drained fountain, to the curb where the vehicle idled. She was still dressed in the clothing from the studio, given to her for the morning appearance on the air; a royal blue business dress falling approximately two inches above her knee with a shallow scooped neckline and shoulder straps about an inch wide paired with a black peacoat. A set of pearl earrings and matching necklace set off the ensemble.


As the driver stepped out to open her door, Diana took a deep breath. This would be the beginning of something completely foreign to her.


----


With her coat now neatly folded over her left arm, Diana stood behind one of the chairs surrounding the room's conference table. Only minutes before, she'd been introduced to and escorted by a Ms. Chelsea Tyler. The pair had descended even further beneath the United Nations complex than the underground parking garage, past somewhat of a security bay, and, with the echoes of two pairs of heels, continued down the halls to the meeting's location. Another young woman occupied the room, though she seemed to be having a bit of difficulty staying upright. Diana simply gave her a polite smile, one well practiced from her years in front of the camera; modeling and television.

 

[Erica]

Military life ran on schedules. While Project Atlas wasn't technically a military operation (it was an officially unofficial part of the Office of the Rule of Law and Security Institutions, or OROLSI, within the U.N. Department of Peacekeeping Operations, or DPKO), so many in the Project possessed a military background that the schedule-addiction came with the territory.


Corporal Tyler was not immune to this effect. Her public relations background made the military's obsession with sticking to schedules seem like child's play. So when Miss Rand - whose smile in person, even when drunk and smelling of unpleasant travel, was sweeter than her file had indicated - asked for a chance to wash up and some tea, she managed a motherly smile and nodded. "Follow me."


She led Janice to the nearest ladies room then escorted her back to the conference room, all before she had to be back to the parking garage to greet the next arrival. This was not an auspicious start for the new team.


Conjuring scones, bagels, and donuts was beyond her abilities. But she could relocate a hot water dispenser and some tea bags from the commissary between escorting the others to the room. When Ms. Chmerkovski entered the room, so did the tea supplies. Chelsea smiled at Miss Rand before departing again.

~ * ^ * ~

​

Drexler checked his email while keeping Vanburen in the corner of his vision. The agent had a reputation for his attention to detail, and his file said he was a quick study. It seemed the file was correct on that count at least.


He nodded toward the file in Vanburen's hand. "You'll be reporting to Sergeant Carter." He paused. The file only contained detail for the metas. He didn't have to explain that Vanburen wouldn't be given the file on his C.O. If the man expected that, his aptitude test was off the mark.


Carter was a recent transfer from the Luxembourg facility and there had been curiosity and speculation about him among the others since his arrival. Colonel Drexler cut off any potential questions by meeting the younger man's gaze. "The Project isn't just about our strength. We need to preserve secrecy or the whole thing falls apart. This new approach solves one problem. I'm counting on you to ensure it doesn't create another." With that he motioned toward the door. "Dismissed."

 

[Pattycakes]

Mark stood at attention, saluted Colonel Drexler, and quickly exited the room. Outside the door, another person, a blonde, fair skinned woman, stood outside the door. Her nerves were obviously visible from holding her hands behind her back to prancing back and forth from one foot to another. Making the most terrified face he could make, he shed a few fake tears and cries walking past her while visibly shaking his head in sadness. The woman starred, obviously mortified that she awaited the same fate as Mark. As soon as she had walked into the office, Mark let out a large grin and chuckled to himself. Sometimes, it was just satisfying to play off of others emotions.


He took a glance at his watch, noting that the time was 08:40 hours. It wasn't enough time to get a workout in, but he probably had time to grab some grub from the mess hall and review the team files more in-depth before the meeting. He turned right at the hallway intersection, heading towards food.


The mess hall was relatively empty at this hour of the day. The chefs continued to serve breakfast until 10:30 hours, but the bulk of the people ate around 06:00 to 07:00 hours. After browsing through the choices available, Mark placed upon his tray a blueberry muffin, banana, two hash browns and coffee. Walking to the checkout, Lydia, one of the chefs' assistants punched in the items individually to a register. Without even glancing at the cost, Mark scanned his badge and walked past the checkout.


He stood just past the checkout for a moment, pausing to consider where he wanted to eat his breakfast. He spotted his target: an empty table about fifty feet away. He placed his tray on the table and took a seat, placing the files next to the tray. Picking up the first page, he began to slowly process and digest each one of his new coworkers. He stared first with Janice Rand. A primate-human hybrid who, Mark thought, looked like the beings scientists were always trying to find. The apelike-human common ancestors to man called the Missing Link. He took a ballpoint pin out of his pocket and wrote next to the code name line: Missing Link. Yes, that will do nicely.


Turning to the next file, he saw that it was Xaiver's and shuffled it to the back. He already knew enough about Xaiver and his personality, having helped train him in his powers and skills on multiple occasions.


The file after Snapshot's was Diana Chmerkovski. He was surprised to her listed among those joining the team. While he was not a follower of politics, he had seen Diana on TV several times. The Project had apparently had their eye on her for some time, finding her file to be the largest, other than Snapshot's and probably himself. Upon his original scan, he noted a potential yellow flag on her psych evaluation. Reviewing it, he rediscovered what had caught his attention earlier. The Chameleon was known for opinions, talkativeness, and temper. None of which were aspects that Mark particularly cared in a coworker. Coupled with the fact that she had no prior combat training at all, and Mark was less than thrilled about the prospect of working with her on a daily basis.


Most of the other team members were give and take, some better than others. For each team member, he formed a mental image of the person in his mind, filling it in with their personality, powers, skills, and attitudes. As his uncle, John had explained to him at a young age, "preparedness is the key to success, Mark." John pointed over to a skyline tower, one of the many new ones being built in a New York City that was ever expanding up and out. "Look at that building. A man does not simply decide to begin construction. Instead, he takes careful plans, formulating every possible outcome and solution before hand. Only when he has considered every possible outcome, does he begin. Acting without planning is planning to fail. Learn this, Mark, and you will go far in life." Mark nodded with his uncle, watching the sunset as it dipped beneath the New York horizon.


Reality settled back in with a small beep of his watch. It indicated that it was 10:00 hours. Mark grabbed the files and collected his trash, placing it in the garbage on his way out the mess hall. He saw Xaiver in the food line, but Xaiver was focused on selecting his food. Besides, he would see Xaiver in thirty minutes anyways.


Mark arrived at the door, and performed a quick check of the watch, noting the time was 10:15. Without so much as a knock on the door, he walked into the meeting room, finding the Missing Link, the Chameleon and the Dyrad all already inside. He played out a joke in his about the level of estrogen in the room, but quickly squashed that idea. Giving a pleasing smile, he said, "Ms. Rand, Ms. Chmerkovski, and Ms. Fidela welcome to Project Atlas. I'm Special Agent Mark Vanburenm, code name Marksman. I'll be working with you for the foreseeable future."

 

[Mitheral]

Xavier pulled in at about 1028 - plenty of time to spare. It seemed ironic that a man who could control his passage through Time could be late to anything. But he had very nearly fallen asleep and missed the meeting altogether. So he wasn’t doing too bad.


He glanced around the room and took what seemed like an eternity to drink in the view. LADY team members? Cool. Make that hot. His face brightened to a barely post adolescent grin as his eyes feasted and he barely managed to get out a goofy sounding “hi”. After that his brain shut down for a bit. Maybe lady team members wasn’t such a great idea after all. They were going to be a distraction.


To the outside observer Xavier’s dilemma lasted less than a second even though for him it had lasted a good 2 minutes. At that point he caught sight of Mark’s familiar face. He gave a serious nod and did his best not to grin as his attention went back to the ladies.


His attention finally turned to the girl in the wheelchair. It wasn’t the sort of think he would have expected of a field ops team member. But there she was. And she looked sick. Maybe that was it. She was having an off day perhaps. He would have liked to chat the ladies up, but he was on the verge of holding the meeting up anyways. So he found himself a seat.

 

[sharlene79]

Though Janice’s accent was influenced by many factors, it was most strongly British with a strong impact by Irish and natives of the Congo region. She wasn’t one to hold her tongue when she had something to say so what Mr Vanburen left an opening for her to speak she griped a little. “It would have been nice if they had flown me in a day earlier. Five days of travel, maybe 16 hours of sleep in total - none since I left London - starved on the flight over - I could have used a bite to eat. If my Mum hadn’t fed me during a layover in the UK ..” She tried to stand but groaned. “And I hate this chair.” With a second effort accompanied by a hangover enhanced whiny groan she managed to stand and rocked sideways. “When do we get a break so we can get some food?”


Janice raised one foot to eye level and wrestled with a shoe and tore it off. “Ow! And I hate wearing shoes.” She repeated the effort with the other shoe. Then she lept in a backwards somersault - and miraculously landed on the arms of a leather chair where she rocked sideways at a perilous angle.





“I am sooo sorry I am not at my best. I really don’t care for flying. The only good thing about it was those tasty drinks in the little bottles. I had no idea rum tasted so good.” She smacked her lips. Her eyes fluttered near closed for a moment as she peered through her goggles.





“So what happens in … in … “ she began counting on her fingers. “March, April, May … today’s the 11th, right? … eight months and...” she counted some more, “... 6 hours?”

 

[Pattycakes]

The first time Janice spoke, Mark added the accent to the working persona he had in his head. He had to admit that the accent is not what he expected for someone from the Congo region, but he paid it no matter. As soon as she spoke, however, Mark could tell she was drunk, nay, he could smell she was drunk. It was a scent he had sniffed on many others around the Project and on himself throughout the years. As she asked about food, Mark simply offered a shrug, believing the question to be more of a rhetorical question induced by drunken rambling.


He jumped back several steps startled when she suddenly leaped out the wheelchair. He had read about her acrobatic skills, but seeing them in person, while she was drunk no less, was something impressive. She must be amazing when sober, Mark thought.


He took a step towards her, casting her his playful smile as he said wily, “It's a date.” He let out a laugh, loud and clear, as he settled down into the chair closet to the door, placing his feet upon the round table and relining backwards with fingers locked behind his head.


As Xavier entered the room, Mark sat up. Looking down, he checked his watch. 1028 hours. Scolding, while pointing his finger, he said, “Tsk, tsk, tsk Xavier, almost late, and on your first assignment, too. I hope this isn't a sign of things to come.”

 

[Mitheral]

Xavier glanced over at Janice and steeled himself to catch her if she lost her balance. He didn’t blame her about flying. He didn’t much care for vehicles of any kind. They were just a necessary evil. With a smile he wondered if she was a master of the art of Drunken Monkey Fu. But he didn’t make the question on his mind known. She might have been offended.


Xavier shrugged. “Rough workout. My new Save the Baby scenario was a bust.” He broke into a smile. “And some of the guys had their fun peppering me with paintballs again.” He laughed a little. “Oh … they know they’ll pay for it later. 1028? Plenty of time to spare.”

“Oh hey, check this out!” He pulled a tiny digital camera from a pocket. “It’s a whole camera. This is like James Bond stuff. They’re gonna get one built into a set of sunglasses built into my mask. It’s like a whole camera - not just a piece. Of course, I need to have them make two setting - IR and normal - I think. It’s the physics. They showed me one that was wifi to. I still don’t get how that works. Tech guys gave up explaining stuff to me. I’ll figure it out. Just a concept thing. Heck I just heard about Y2K. Were people really hording for the collapse of civilization?”

 

[MissPenny]

Diana only nodded in response to Vanburen's introduction, too preoccupied with sizing up the room's occupants to give what she thought would be an acceptable reply. It was from the young man who entered next that she took the cue that it was alright to sit down. She folded her coat over the right arm of the chair before slipping into her seat to the left of the male Vanburen would soon refer to as Xavier. It would only look rude if she purposefully chose to leave a chair open between them.


No sooner had she taken her seat, the woman in the wheelchair spoke up. Diana merely raised an eyebrow, coupled with the hint of a smile, as the intoxicated female leapt to her seat. These were certainly some very gifted people. Diana began to wonder if her own abilities were really all that big of a deal when placed against the kind of skill she imagined the rest of the group may possess.


Brought out of her thoughts by a voice from the chair next to her, she turned her emerald gaze to Xavier. He had posed a question to, she supposed Vanburen but, possibly meant for the group as a whole. Though typically the opposite of quiet, Diana felt this wasn't her time or place to speak. She was accustomed to having the upper hand in the majority of conversations and debates she took part in. Here, she was out of her element.

 

[Pastaa]

Danny observed from her seat as she watched more and more people come in. The woman that was sitting in a wheelchair had already shown that her powers were useful, even when intoxicated. The back flip that she performed was perfect by her standards. She found interest in Xavier's small camera. "That's really cool," She finally spoke up and stood up from her seat. "Sort of futuristic," Danny noted. She paused for a few second then spoke again. "Hello. My name is Danielle Fidela. You can call me Danny."





She kept quiet again after she introduced herself and continued to take note on the other people in the room and began to form a flower in between a finger. She twirled it around her finger as she thought. There was Agent Vanburen or "Marksman" as he called himself. He seemed like a man that knew what he was doing and understood what was going on. The boy that Agent Vanburen called Xavier was an interesting character; especially since he mentioned the scenario called "Save the Baby". She didn't get what that was all about. The brunette girl that had only nodded to Vanburen's introduction seemed to be quiet. Danny thought about how the other individuals had so many different powers in this room, some of them were probably stronger than others. She hoped to be able to keep up with everyone inside this program.

 

[Alterius]

Cedric had never been this nervous even after completing his longest run and taking a hot shower he felt like he was going into a risky situatino, which he most definetly was. He had finished getting dressed in his nicest suit it was a pretty standard fitted suit with a vest that pulled it all together, the suit was a creamy color that complemented his skin tone and eyes. his dreads were still loose so he took a black hairtie and pulled his dreads into a ponytail and quickly wrapped the hair tie around them, a couple locks in the front hung down over his left eye. He sighed but left them alone quickly slipping on white jays. He liked looking nice but always prefered his mobility. As he walked out of his room and into his living room are going down a circular set of stairs into the living room. He walked through the living room and past the bar-styled counter grabbing his armored gloves from their spot out of habit. He noticed but didn't put them back, not wanting to leave himself unarmed, if they tried to take them from hims he could give them the whole "My-body-is-a-weapon" excuse. He slid them into his back pocket and walked through his door. Cedric had kept a track of the time on his watch after dressing and then again on his cell-phone the dark-blue android being a reliable source of entertainment when he wasn't freerunning. He paused remembering to grab his headphones of off a decorative table near his door. he grabbed his keys aswell and headed out slipping evrything into their proper place. He stepped out the door just as the black sedan pulled up, he hopped into the car and went willingly.


The whole ride he felt the claustrophobic feeling creeping into his thoughts, he stayed calm but had a hard time resisting the urge to kick open the door and roll out. This only became worse as they descended. Thinking to himself of how hard it would be for him to escape if needed. Cedric refocused his attention back to the coming task, remembering that HE put HIMSELF in this situation. as they pulled up to the lady he exited the vehicle listning to all she said, but not fully paying attention. He followed her into the elevator and scanned it out of habit noticing her press a button with SB6 on it. "Sub-basement six?" he thought to himself jolting when they came to a stop. He walked out behind her sliding his hands into his pockets but relaxing his arms as to not give any inclination on his current mental state. Cedric breathed in deeply and followed Ms. Tyler through the halls, not asking any questions since she didn't seem inclined to answer. He heard voices up ahead and figured it was either the people that worked here or the other metas that had been gethered. Cedric was leaning more to the latter seeing as it was already 10:29. Ms. Tyler lead him around a corner showing him that they arrived at the room, he read the name then disregarded it thinking it unimportant. He walked through the door glancing at the crowd he paused after crossing the threshold nodding towards the whole group in general, feeling more relaxed now after seeing the rest of the people. . He took a spot next to a woman with brown hair. Cedric looked around the table making eye contact with everyone he could. "Hello, my name is Cedric. It's a pleasure to be here with you all. He could smell the alcohol on the woman next to him but he ignored it. though he didn't drink himself he didn't see the point in judging someone who did. he simply leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap, relaxing more now that he had actually seen his new teammates.

 

[sharlene79]

Janice swayed drunkenly toward the voice of Danielle Fidela. “An’ he’s Xavier an’ I’m Janice. An’ he’s Cedric.” She rocked the other way and looked at Diana ".. and … she’s … she’s … “ Janice fought to remember, “Ms Chmerkovski. Рад познакомиться с вами.” Truth to tell she didn’t speak a lot of Russian. But she knew basic greetings in dozens of languages - as well as simple numbers, foods, and how to ask for directions. She figured she had slaughtered her speech so she broke out in version of the greeting just for fun. “, qaqIHneS!” She grinned broadly to reveal sharpened canines. “Pleased to meet you. Pleased to meet you all.”


Her face began to sober up a little. “So I was sent an invitation to come here. Am I the only one - or did you all get that invite?” She looked at Mark Vanburen and her eyes crossed a little. “You must have had a plus one because I see two of you.” She turned to look at Cedric. “And you may as well count as two.”


She closed her eyes for a moment and turned a little green. “Oh … I think I may have drank a few too many of those bottles. Clean up in Conference Room C… Oh God. I am going to have to do sooo many Hail Mary’s later.” She swallowed hard. She wished the room would stop moving. She almost asked for an aspirin.





“So .. exactly what is the purpose of this thing here? Just exactly how does the UN want to make a difference? What kind of a difference? They were a little vague on that issue. And how are they NOT going to be the very problem we ought to be stopping?” Janice managed to focus her attention on mark for that last question. “Let me guess. Those guns are for us if we aren’t perfect little angels? I may be drunk, but I am far from drunk enough not to recall being on both sides of this … making a difference thing. I bet that’s in that file you have on me. That’s what those are, aren’t they? Do we get to read them? Who’s got YOUR file?”

 

[Azseth]

After initially accepting the offer he was given, Dolos hadn't heard anything from anyone, aside from a few police officers asking him if he had health issues, if he had anything to declare and so on. He'd been put in a cell by himself and with no one around him so the last 4 days had been rather uneventful. This did give him a lot of time to reflect.


He was anxious and nervous, not liking this situation. Part of him was hoping that in trying to infiltrate this group, he'd be caught or denied. Then maybe they'd just release his son and even Ruth, and then he could figure things out all over again. This was all Ruth's fault, and he was upset at her to the utmost degree because what she did not only affected him, but his son. His son was innocent, didn't deceive anyone and Dolos would rather have been completely out of the boys life than to be involved and have this happen.


But that was no longer an option, and Brent was taken. Gone. He could be dead now for all Dolos knew as he had nothing to go on except that initial contact. He didn't even know if the request was even valid at this point. How do they know how to find him? How would they even know if he succeeded?


He went over the brief phone conversation in his head over and over, trying to find something. There was no background sound, nothing unique about the call or conversation. The only thing was that the voice had a distinct South African accent.


He was laying on his cot, the action he performed most of the day when not eating, using the toilet or showering, when finally he heard footsteps approaching. Even the sound of them was official, a slight click to them, uniform in the time between steps and he could even hear the faint swishing sound of the sleeves contacting the coat of the individual. There was only one person coming his way and he thought that was odd.


He continued to stare at the ceiling when he heard the door click as it was electronically unlocked, and then the person slid it open and said firmly, "let's go."


Dolos tucked his chin to his chest so that he could see the black suited individual clearly. The man was tall, had a no-nonsense look to him, and a gun at his side. Dolos snorted, looked back up at the ceiling and said back "who are you? I wasn't told I was going anywhere."


"I'm the jail fairy, here to sprinkle you with dust so you can fly through the wall." The man's tone or face didn't change as he said that, and then continued.


"Fairy? Kind of cliche."


"I'm not going to ask you again. You know who you are, you know why I'm here and you're not really in the best position to ask any questions."


"Not even a please?" He asked as he stood up and took a step towards the man. The agent stepped out of the cell and to the right as to allow Dolos to exit the cell to the left, keeping the criminal in front of him. They made it down the hall, through a door and into the main area of the precinct, which was unusually almost empty. All people there however had eyes on him and he realized that the area was probably made secure for his transport.


'Aren't I important' he thought with a sarcastic grin. Truth be told, he didn't like the attention, not at all. He was used to living low key, blending in and not standing out. This was all new to him. There was a female agent standing next to a male uniformed officer at a desk and they were going over paperwork. He let his gaze go over the room quickly, left to right as he took it all in, just in case something would be necessary to recall later, and then focused on the female agent, and her INTERPOL credentials.


She looked over at him and he smirked at her, looking as attractive as one could after wearing the same clothes for four days, only being allowed to shower every other day and not having access to a toothbrush. "Another jail fairy I see. Much more pleasing on the eyes. I'll take Tinkerbell over here." He turned to the other agent and lifted his chin and nose in a dismissing manner. "You can run along now."


The female spoke up, her tone mildly amused, although Dolos could swear he heard a bit of amusement hidden in there, and could see the same dancing along the edges of her eyes. There was quite a bit of contempt to look under however. "Neither of us are taking you anywhere but to you vehicle. Now shut up and walk." The male stepped in front of him to lead while the female fell in line behind Dolos and he turned around to say "You kn--" but quickly got a half push, half punch to the back before he could finish the sentence.


"That's the opposite of shutting up. Pull that again and the next reminder will be with my fist to the back of your head."


"Fine, fine. Look me up on Facepage then, maybe off hou--" suddenly, he went down to both knees but managed to get both hands down to catch himself. Both agents moved to him quickly grabbing his forearms and shoulders while dragging him to a seat.


The skin of their hand on his forearm was exactly what he was after, his membranes absorbing some of the DNA that could be used later. Just in case...


"What the hell wa--" the male began.


Dolos said quickly, "I just need water. They gave me barely a bottle a day." Both of the agents looked at him questioningly, but the female went to a machine, paid for a bottle and brought it to him. Now, he had access to her fingerprints too.


"Thanks," he said, drinking it heavily before finally moving to stand. "Will you hold this for me? Just until I get to the car?" The male grimaced and snatched the bottle without a word. "Go. If you slump again, I'm going to drag your ass out to the car by the scruff of your neck."


There was no dialogue after that as the two led him outside to where a black car was waiting for him. Without a word to the driver, they opened the door and let Dolos step in. Before he had a chance to ask for the water bottle, the man crushed it in his hand and as the water spilled into the street, he threw it at Dolos, hitting him in the chest. "Oops. Enjoy your freedom."


He smiled to himself as the door closed, picking up the bottle and getting the fingerprints off there too. He couldn't have cared less about the water, he'd actually been well taken care of in the cell, minus the isolation for 4 days.


The car was large and had a glass divider that was down as the driver navigated away and towards whatever their destination was. The driver was silent, looking at Dolos in the mirror occasionally, but that was about it. Finally Dolos asked, "can we stop somewhere and get a cheeseburger or something?"


"It's like 9:45 in the morning."


"Well, shit on me. Breakfast burritos then? Something?"


"No. Cuffs stay on. Doors stay locks. Windows up. No stops. That's what I was told."


"Well, they didn't tell you how I've been eating jailhouse cafeteria food that they threw my way 2 hours after eating hours were closed. I'm starving here man."


The man said nothing, which was a good sign. He didn't get more firm, nor did he roll the courtesy glass up.


"Come on, I know you are hungry too, you've probably been told to wait out there since 6 o'clock. Hurry up and wait and all that. You don't even have to open my window, just grab it and toss it back, we'll park and eat."


Nothing.


"Look, if I wanted to I could take the damned cuff off and kick out a window or attack you. All I want is some breakfast man. Look." He held the cuffs up, having shrunk his wrist and thumb just enough to slide them off.


The driver slammed on his breaks and before Dolos could gather himself from the sudden stop, there was a pistol trained at him and car horns honking behind him. "Back on. Now. I'm going to a mexican joint up the road, but pull that stunt again, you'll just be watching me eat."


Success. He slid the cuffs back on, adjusted the size of his hands again and held them up to show. "Mexican sounds great."


---------


After stopping and eating, the driver took him to his destination without another word. These windows were completely blacked out, so he didn't know where he was going but at some point, he recognized that they were driving underground, most likely an isolated parking structure. Eventually the car stopped and Dolos heard the driver door open and stay open while he simply sat there by himself.


'Starting to see this as a trend,' he thought.


The door opened and the driver gave a one word command. "Out," and then he held a hand out to offer Dolos some help. Dolos gladly accepted his hand, getting both DNA samples and fingerprints at the same time, and stepped out into the parking structure. The driver helped him stand, then simply nodded and got back in his vehicle to leave. Dolos turned to the woman in front of him and smiled.


"All this way to go to a library? I've always had a thing for librarians. Quiet, but sexy and smart. Maybe we could whisper about the Dewey Decimal system for a little bit?" He could see the faintest color of red on her cheeks, or he was imagining it, but she was obviously not expecting such a dialogue. "Or perhaps you're my secretary? If so, things are really looking up, and I'd like some vitamin water and to pencil you in for lunch. To discuss...business Are you allowed to mix business and pleasure sweety?"


The woman cleared her throat and her face quickly got a more assertive, almost annoyed look to it. "I am Ms Chelsea Tylor and I'm here for the purpose of getting you situated and to your appointment. So if you could keep your mouth closed and ear open, that would be great."


"Well co--" he began to ask but was cut off.


"That's the opposite of keeping your mouth closed."


Dolos' mouth hung open for a moment before finally asking, "is that a standard issue reply these days?"


"Get in the elevator please, sir" was the only reply she gave. He absent mindedly watched her punch in the code and the elevator began to move.


"What is SB6?"


"SB6 means that if you keep asking questions like that, I'm going to have to blindfold you. Which, now that I think about it, you'd probably enjoy. Keep your eyes straight ahead and stop asking questions. I'm only here to move you from A to B. Any questions you have will be answered later."


"Any questions?"


"That's what I said." He found it amusing that besides the actual semantics, he tone and demeanor were unbelievable crisp and professional, she even kept a genuine looking smile on her face the entire time. She'd danced this dance before.


The elevator opened up and at this point, Dolos went silent, a feat that had Chelsea smiling a bit more genuinely now. One glancing at Dolos would almost assume he was in awe or intimidated, and he made sure to put on the face to add to that impression. The truth of it is that he was simply looking at everything, slowly, taking it all in. Guard positions, computer terminals, exits and doors, cameras. After one slow glance, all of this would be committed to his memory for use later.


They walked in silence down a few doors until Chelsea finally stopped at one and said "here we are."


"One would almost guess you were happy to be rid of me. And so quickly?"


She opened the door with no response but before stepping in, Dolos asked "can I get these cuffs off? I don't want to walk in there, you know, in cuffs."


She smiled at him, nodded and said, "sure, once out of the hall."


He stepped in and looked around briefly, seeing about half a dozen other people in the room. After a quick glance, he looked back towards the woman and raised an eyebrow, holding his hands up towards her. "Oh, you know what. The driver had the key. I'll see if I can find a spare or. Something. And next time I have to move you, I'm getting you a damned muzzle."


And with that she stepped out and slammed the door in his face...

 

[Pattycakes]

Mark prepared to answer Janice's concerns, “I think you will find that...” He paused as Dolos entered the room. “Dolos, glad you could join us. Dolos, everyone. Everyone, Dolos."





Arising to his feet, Mark raised his voice, silencing as much of the commotion as he could. “Now that everyone's here, let me say that I am not at liberty to discuss any details with you...yet. Rest assured, your questions will be answered when the Commanding Officer arrives. I'm as much in the dark about what's going to happen as you are, so believe me when I say I don't have the answers and even if I did I couldn't discuss them with you.”


He calmly walked over the counter, filling a cup with coffee and took a drink. It definitely wasn't the best coffee he had ever tasted, but once you were on site long enough, the taste of coffee became irrelevant. He continued “Now, can we please all keep things civil here? I'd hate for me to have to restrain one of you – or for you to see our security team in action first-hand. It's,” he glanced down at his timepiece, “1030 hours now so the Commanding Officer should be any time now.” With that, he walked over towards the door, resting his left foot against the wall and crossed his arms.

 

[Mitheral]

“What the HELL is THAT?” Xavier demanded, gesturing to the figure of Dolos. His voice was flat, tinged with disbelief rather than anger. “Did IQ’s just drop sharply? I might be the junior member on the totem pole - and don’t you dare tell me to shut up - but did everyone up and forget all the problems we’ve had in the past because we rushed security protocols.


“Seriously … cuffs? This should be an all volunteer force with everyone here able to pass a CIA poly and a thorough background check, not some ex-con. Maybe future teams might be more lax, but not now. I think I am being as civil as any of us should be.”


Of course, for the moment Xavier was forgetting how he had woken in cuffs, and strapped down to a medical bed when he had been captured. But he had been watched for years before being accepted by Project Atlas. This … this was just stupid. And he did not have to work with these people. He wasn’t a prisoner.


He gritted his teeth as he realized noone was moving. He noted his own body position and maintained it. Not moving was the one way to extend how long he could remain in Null Time. He frowned as he consider the women. They were civilians if he was reading them right. Of course he could be way off base. It wouldn’t be the first time. Chelsea hadn’t struck him as a military sort the first time he saw her.





“Who’s idiotic idea was this anyway?”

 

[Alterius]

Cedric's raised his right eyebrow and looked back to the woman next to him. "Drunk, multilingual, with some serious canines." Cedric thought this to himself, taking notes on her as he got to observe her. He was about to ask her why he counted as two, when she asked some more questions that had been on his mind to. He didn't say anything instead just whatched and listened, when the cuffed man called "Dolos" came in, based in the name cedric figured it was a code name. It made him wonder what his codename would be but that could wait. according to Sharpshooter, the head honcho was going to be here at any moment. Cedric was an odd mix of excited and nervous to meet this person, kinda hoping for someone he could at least tolerate. He was content to just sit back and watch the events unfold around him .

 

[Azseth]

When the door was slammed in his face, Dolos, felt a flash of anger but that was quickly replaced by some mirth, knowing that eyes behind him were on him. He smirked as he turned around, giving a double-fingered, pistol point across the room. It looked goofy, but again, the purpose was to slowly take in what was going on, getting a mental picture.


When the man glared at him and spoke his angry words, Dolos actually laughed, out loud. It wasn't a totally genuine laugh, it was mocking and demeaning and in a tone that told the boy he couldn't care less about what he thought. "Well, if you don't know whose idea it was, it was probably the idea of someone who knows their ass from a hole in the ground. Don't get your panties in a bunch sweetheart. I have handcuffs, but that lovely lady out there propositioned me and things got...a little adult rated...something I'm sure you'll learn about when you're a little older. So. Anyone got a pair of keys?"


He smiled, looking from person to person slowly, hands raised in front of him. He was studying them, but more on a personal level this time. Judging who was angry, who was uncomfortable and who was unsure or reserved. That was something that Dolos just enjoyed. Learning about people. Getting to know them. Studying them. He never kept many friends, any by "not many" you could say zero, but that was something he'd always regretted and wished he could change.


In his life, he was moving and on the go so often that the only people he MAY have came in contact with frequently were actual criminals, and many didn't share his belief about non-violence on the job.


"Come on, I don't bite....well," he motioned over his shoulder towards the door, indicating he was talking about Chelsea, "she does."

 

[Erica]

In his newly assigned office, Sergeant Mikael Jacob Carter had sipped his coffee while he watched the newcomers file into the room one by one. Their interaction was limited, and nearly every one of them was as green as a budding leaf. Still, there were limited surprises. For instance, he hadn’t expected the missionary woman of all people to arrive drunk.


Typically new people gave more than their name, even when sizing each other up. A bunch of introverts then? The files hadn’t indicated that. Then again, Metahunter liked throwing his weight around. At least he had listened to the advice about sharing his codname. And the boy - Thomas - looked more serious than expected, although some of his eagerness seeped through.


The others were either intimidated or waiting it out. Like a bunch of collective Charlies, holding their collective golden tickets with no idea of what they were in for. Except Miss Rand: she seemed vocal enough. And then there was Dolos. The last addition to the team was going to be a headache: he could already tell. It hadn’t been his call, but like it or not, this was his team. This was what he had to work with. Luckily he welcomed a challenge.


He set his coffee down, deactivated the monitor and left for the conference room. He arrived outside just in time to hear Xavier Thomas’ rant.

~ * ^ * ~

​

As Dolos was disparaging Corporal Tyler’s reputation, a figure appeared at the glass doors. A man apparently in his early thirties with thick brown hair, green eyes, a flat nose, and no facial hair entered the room in military dress. His impeccable posture made the most of every inch of his 5’10” height. It may have just been the uniform, but he appeared to be in great shape, even for a solider. A scar running from his upper lip to the right side of his nose didn’t mar his looks.


As he stepped into the room, he spared a quick glance for each of them - starting with Dolos. He made no comment on the cuffs or Dolos’ commentary. Instead, he moved to the head of the table. Once there, he paused briefly, perhaps expecting them to stand or sit. When he spoke, his voice carried a faint tinge of an Eastern European accent. “I am Sergeant Carter. You will call me Sergeant Carter, or Sir. I’ll be your C.O. - Commanding Officer. Most of you are new to the Project, so I’ll answer a few questions to start.”


His voice took on a slightly rhythmic pattern as he continued. This was not the first time he had given this explanation. “Project Atlas was formed when the Saturn Accord was signed as a part of the U.N. Peacekeeping Forces. Our existence is not public knowledge, and it will remain that way.” He looked directly at Janice Rand. “While most metahumans seek to live peaceful lives, that is not always the case. There are those who would seek to conquer, enslave, or just exploit their fellow man.” His gaze moved to Dolos before he continued on. “And there are those that need our help. Our primary purpose is to maintain the balance. We achieve that in many ways, but largely we seek out threats and attempt to neutralize them before people get hurt or they become international news and elevate tensions for everyone.”


He smiled then, and the expression changed his face completely. He went from a stern commander to the kind of guy that might buy you a beer in a pub. “In other words, we’re the good guys. You haven’t heard of us because we do our job well. You have each been selected because you can help. That’s why you accepted the invitation.


He paused briefly to let that sink in. His smile had faded to a memory, but his demeanor was more casual. “After this meeting, you’ll have time to train together. Since you’ll be working together, you need to learn each other’s strengths. In a few days, we’ll be leaving for our first mission, so I suggest you get to know each other. We have facilities here for those who wish to stay. I recommend it, at least to start; you’ll get more rest that way.


The next pause was much briefer as he looked over each of them. “Now, unless there are any other immediate questions, I suggest we move to the training facilities.”

 

[Azseth]

Dolos never sat down, he simply stood behind the chair and leaned his elbows on the back of it. His hands were in front of him as he listened, his handcuffs blatantly displayed in front of him. He took it all in as he studied the speaker. None of this was any significant surprise as some of the information was given or able to have been deduced from prior conversations with agents after his initial arrest.


He didn't know this would be so high up on the level of secrecy and that didn't sit all too well with him. But that was a bridge he'd cross when he got to it.


"I actually do have a question Sergeant." Even though he'd never been in the military, he did say the name with respect in spite of his generally snide, sarcastic nature. "I, uh. I can leave too?" He kind of shook the cuffs in the general direction of the man, not to emphasize he was handcuffed, but more to show that he was under the impression he'd be under lock and key for some time, both figuratively and literally.

 

[Erica]

Carter looked at Dolos and gave a brief nod to acknowledge him and indicate permission to ask the question. He had been observing the man along with everyone else during the meeting: he hadn’t missed Dolos’s casual posture, the handcuffs, or the way he had spoken about Corporal Tyler. He held Dolos’ gaze for a long moment, as if waiting to see if the man really thought there was any possible way he would answer that question in the affirmative.


Then he spoke, his tone dry and somewhat condescending. “You, Mr. Thomnas, will be our guest for the foreseeable future.” They would also have a chat later, but now wasn’t the time or place for that.


“Any other questions?” He asked the larger group, but he was already moving toward the doors.