[The Human Element] From the Office of Director Samantha Clive

Lady Jane

Lady Jane

Senior Member
Sam's office door was guarded by her secretary and personal assistant, an attractive young man with dark hair and a slim build. His soft voice and demure appearance belied his remarkable capabilities in organizing the director's meetings, answering her phone calls, and seeing to the other details of her life. Visitors to her office were greeted with a tight-lipped smile and a bid to wait in one of the red plush chairs just across from his desk.


Upon his invitation, they were ushered through double metal doors ornately carved with minimalist curved lines set into a perfectly formed square in the top center of each door. Sam's office windows took up a good two-thirds of the wall, and opened up to a view of the lakeshore that continued over the horizon. At night, the lights of Alliance City would provide a near-limitless golden sea. Right now, though, it was a hot summer's day, and even the birds couldn't make it to the lake to cool off.


Sam sat behind a burnished stainless steel desk and glanced over several projections from its surface that served as computer screens. Her well-manicured nails tapped rhythmically at inlaid buttons that responded to her touch.


Passing through the doors, visitors would find black bookshelves looming on all sides, well overhead, showcasing Sam's extensive collection. Though print media had all but disappeared in this day and age, Sam was something of a collector, boasting anything from Sun Tzu's The Art of War to several Shakespeare classics and nearly ancient fiction like C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia. The latter was admittedly a self-indulgent fantasy. A few works of prominent physicists also graced her shelves, but the bulk of the collection was that of history and political theory.
 
James made his way towards Samantha's 'guard' , if one could refer to him as such. He understood the man's purpose but unless he were a meta, he could do no good in stopping a determined soul from getting past him, though he could very well be under-estimating the man. He wore a tight white Oxford shirt, sleeves rolled to just under the elbows to reveal tanned, powerful forearms. Draped down two rather toned legs was a pair of dark blue denim jeans.


"I have an appointment with Miss Clive; name is 'James Greenwell.'" He asked, looking down at the man for some sort of notice. James ran a hand through shorn, dark brown hair as he awaited confirmation from her assistant. The man grew impatient, normally not a fan of visits to the shrink. He understood she meant well, though, having just been through rather traumatic experience. Even for him, though he would have hated to admit it.
 
A lingering glance from the man took James in head to toe. He smiled and gave him a nod. "A moment, please," he said, then turned to buzz into the office. "A James Greenwell is here to see you, Ma'am." There was a pause, then he stood. "With me, if you please." He opened the doors to escort James into the office.


Sam rose from her desk to great James. She extended her hand with a pleasant smile. "Gunnery Sergent Greenwell, I presume? A pleasure." Her eyes flickered over to her assistant. "Thank you Mr. Davis. That will be all."


The man inclined his head and closed the doors behind him as he left. Sam motioned to a set of charcoal grey chairs in front of her desk. "Please take a seat, and we'll take a run through of your paperwork. Have you had a chance to see much of the building?"
 
James' eyes went to the assistant as he rose, as if assessing the action he was about to take, "Of course." He clarified, without further arguement.


Upon entering Sam's office, his eyes scoped out the shelves, smirking when his eyes ran over books such as 'Art of War'. Though he did not let the books distract him, he didn't even stop to further examine them. He reached for her hand to shake, "Likewise, Miss Clive." He pulled one of the charcoal chairs over, seating himself in it, though seemed noticeably rigid in both stance and demeanor, "I have not. I'll need to go exploring sooner or later, but I think you had more important things in mind right now, am I correct?"
 
"Well, I shall have to make sure you get the tour."


She slid a stack of papers across her desk to him. "A generalized description of duties, a touch of protocol, and of course the security contract. Given your background, I don't see that it's going to be a problem. I think you'll find we have a unique juxtaposition between our public and private identities; the information we choose to share with the public, and that which we hide behind garish displays of costumed power. How you wish to conduct yourself within those limitations is up to you, and the subject of our discussion. If you wish, your affiliation with the Delta Division can be entirely secret, or you may manufacture for yourself a costumed identity to hide your private life. Optionally, you may also chose to put your life entirely on display and operate without both the literal and metaphorical mask. It's worth noting that the video of your escape from Delta has gone viral." She smirked. "I can guarantee there are many here who which to personally shake your hand for making fools out of Solstice.


"You are requested..." said in the tone that make it clear this was not actually a request. "...To guard the identities of those who which to keep their private lives hidden. I'm sure I need not to tell you how important that is in how we conduct our business."


Her hand hovered over her intercom button. "Would you like something to drink?"
 
James' eyes darted down to the stack of papers, picking it up and fanning through it. He didn't look up to address her this time, however, ensuring he understood what he was reading, "I'm not sure how well I can hide anymore, Miss Clive. With the sloppy stunt I pulled, not to mention the job that got me there in the fucking first place." His hands dropped the stack of papers out of frustration, the papers noticably a tad crumpled at the sides from increased pressure on them.


He looked up at Sam, "D'you think the mask will really do any good?" He didn't even seem to regard her comment about guarding lives. Whether or not he was mulling his decision over, or just didn't hear her, was unknown. He nodded his head when asked for a drink, though, "Some water, please." He requested, only having slightly calmed down.
 
She smiled. "You'd be surprised what a pair of sunglasses can do." She spoke into the intercom. "Mr. Davis, bring me my tea please, and a glass of water for my guest as well, thank you."


"The mask can be both a literal object and an idea. People see what they want to see. It's a principle that's been used in public relations since mankind learned to communicate. As a public figure, people will want to know about you. An identity separate from the one that is your true self will provide them something to know, to talk about, the centre of gossip among their friends. Meanwhile, on your off time, your secret identity is free to go about your life unrestrained by the cares of the public eye.


"The identities that my agents often craft for themselves are notably superfluous. It's like a magic trick. All the pomp and circumstance is there to distract from the trap door beneath the fish tank."
 
James waved a dismissive hand, "I'm aware of the powers of sunglasses, Miss Clive. Believe me." He paused for a moment, as if mulling over whether or not to wear the literal and metaphorical tights, "I'll wear a mask...but you're not getting me into any spandex."


He looked up as he was handed his water, nodding respectfully to 'Mr. Davis', "Thank you." as he sipped his drink.
 
Sam chuckled. "The adage is true, 'everything old is new again', but even in nearly a century, spandex hasn't made it full circle. You couldn't even wear it ironically."


She accepted her tea as it was handed to her. The scent of Earl Grey wafted over to James as she blew away the steam and took a sip. "Perfect, thank you," she said, nodding at Davis, who turned and left the room. Sam then turned back to James. "Have you given some thought to a name? What was your callsign? That might be useful in crafting your identity."
 
He nodded to her response, "That's reassuring. I wasn't looking forward to seeing any, either." He inhaled the scent subtly, almost basking in it. Having been around diplomats, tea was an often occurrence. The scent grew on a man after a while.


"My callsign? Normally those are assigned by squadron, or they're assigned prior to an operation. I've had a few different ones. 'Helix', 'Kronos', 'Daedalus'. Not sure what we can bring out of those."
 
"Hm, I don't believe any of those encapsulate your new-found abilities. Perhaps 'Shadow', or something with that in the name. Not terribly original, perhaps, but accurate. As for a look... You carry yourself like a soldier. That's not something we can do away with, and it certainly will work well for you. Stylized combat fatigues, or perhaps something in leather."


She paused to take a sip of her tea, then smiled at him. "Please feel free to give input. I'm a director, not a dictator. This identity will be a part of you, or at least a version of you. It must be something you're comfortable with."
 
He nodded at the Director, "I'm aware. They normally don't focus on abilities, but rather the operation at hand and one's role in it. Sometimes referencing mythology, but it's all up to the head of said operation. I'll think on the name." He sipped at his water while the Director spoke, nearly choking on it at the mention of wearing leather.


"Surely you're joking about the leather. I'd like to be mildly comfortable while I swing from rooftop to rooftop. Stylized fatigues will do nicely."
 
She grinned, showing straight, pearly white teeth. "Comfort and practicality are not always the same thing. Style preferences are nearly as diverse as the heroes that wear them.


"Regardless, this isn't something we need to fully detail now. I'm sure you have many questions. Discovering something that changes your entire perception of yourself can be...intense. Of course you know that Meryl Allison is always at your disposal should you seek counselling, but if I can speak for my leading staff for a moment, they are very open to lending a listening ear or a sparring match to blow off some steam.


"Of course, many questions you might have cannot be answered until we have your guarantee of secrecy where it is needed." She pointedly slid the contract a little closer.
 
He nodded in agreement, "I should hope so, unless you guys have uniforms." He smirked over at her, and pondered potential 'costume' ideas. "It can wait...but if I need this to get in the field, I'd like to do this ASAP." He looked down at the contract she seemed so eager for him to sign, picking up a pen before grabbing at the paper, pulling it closer and signing it, "You had my guarantee of secrecy the moment I started working with you guys, but if this makes it official." He knew the importance of legal documentation, though never really apprroved of it.
 
"Uniforms are provided for more covert operations, when we don't need to make a public statement."


After he signed the contract she slid it back to her side of the table and flipped through it. She smiled. "I'm quite confidant of your word. This is simply for posterity." Satisfied that everything was in order she slid it to the side and stood. "Shall we take a tour of the place? We can continue discussing options for your public face--or lack thereof if you wish--while we walk. You'll be able to see how others function within our agency and we'll perhaps be better able to define your role. The Delta Division really is unique in its diversity."
 
Grace spent a few minutes to drop off her equipment at her locker. It was hard to imagine what was going on in Sam's head. Did Drake say something? Did she accidentally give up a secret ID to her fellow heroes?


Grace pulled on her jacket as she moved to the door. She wondered if she would be a hero after this. She knocked on the door, this time waiting for the invitation to enter. Would Sam remove her from the team?
 
A young, thinish man with dark hair answered the door. Grace would recognize him as Geoffrey Davis, Sam's secretary and personal assistant, who often followed the director around like a lost puppy dog, seeing to it that her appointments were meticulously arranged. He stepped aside with a tight-lipped smile to let Grace through.


Sam sat behind her desk of burnished metal, flicking through a leather-bound data pad. She smiled as Grace entered. "Have a seat, Miss Romanelli." She paused for a moment, sensing her discomfort. "You're not in trouble. As I understand, you performed admirably tonight, above and beyond that which was expected of you. No, what I wish to discuss is an entirely different matter. Mr. Davis is about to bring me a cup of tea. Would you like something to drink?"
 
"Huh?"


Why would she get called into the office if she wasn't in trouble? Why couldn't Sam be easier to read. She had just spent all that time worrying about what went wrong. And now she was asking her what she wanted to drink. "Cola with ice, two cherries."


She took a seat still a bit confused as to what was going on. Her eyebrows scrunched together as she was trying to get some read of what was happening. It was only when she sank back into the chair a bit more that she realized she was about to put her feet up on Sam's desk, that she snapped out of it, tucked her feet under her chair and sat up straight. "Okay? What did you want to talk about?"
 
Mr. Davis gave a nod and left to fulfill the requests.


Sam laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the desk in front of her, appearing not to notice Grace's near social faux pas. "I wanted to keep you apprised on the investigation into your parent's disappearance. This might be poor timing, giving the more recent events, but I do think it is important you are informed. Mr. Hacherobie has, of course, been pursuing the investigation. Despite his...obvious personality issues, he's still the best we've got. Marcus Romanelli and Ellie Fallon are Delta heroes. We take care of our own.


"He was able to track their movements from their vacation spot to a small village northwest. That's where the trail went cold. The village is known for some rather strange ritualistic practices, so it was a focal point of the investigation for some time, but nothing was ever turned up. However, some photographs that were taken just came back today. They've been run through a particular light filter, reveling otherwise hidden images in the surfaces around the nearby woods."


She slid the tablet over to Grace. There were several pictures on it, all in a strange purple hue. The only slightly contrasting lighter color made patterns that showed the outline of trees and other forest shapes...but at second glance there was something else. It was hard to see at first, but the lines that didn't make the shape of trees instead formed strange symbols. Symbols that looked an awful lot like the ones that were left behind by the Fae's teleportation spell.
 
Grace's mind worked in a different way than most people. She had built it that way as a defense against her father's constant prying. Still, the things it latched onto were strange even to her. Her parents missing. Mr. Drake leading the investigation. He was on the last mission. He must have told Sam what he found out. But the timing didn't add up. If she knew before the mission, why didn't anyone tell her. Why didn't he tell her. He didn't have time after the mission to do any research. They must have known for a little while at least.


"You knew." She looked through the photos mentally stripping the purple colour and adding in the proper colours. Greens and browns for the trees, blue for the sky, a few reds and golds. She didn't know what colour to make the glowing symbols, so she left them as white.


"I don't know what this means," but she knew exactly what it meant. Her parents were gone, taken by the fae in much the same way they might have taken the boy. But they weren't acting alone. They were directed by Cronus or however they wanted to spell it out. And he was acting to follow the interests of PSO. They might be doing to hire parents what they had done to Charity.


"When do we leave?"
 
"About the Fae involvement? Not till now. The photos have only just finished processing. If Mr. Hachirobie knew, that's another matter entirely. He's not known for being forthcoming, after all. To be fair, he tends to have a method to his rather chaotic madness.


"As for what this means, let us stick to the facts, leaving any assumptions we might make aside. The Fae are involved, that much we know for sure. Who is behind this is an unknown. While we have leads, nothing is certain, and it's best not to jump to conclusions until we know for sure. To what end are the Fae acting? Yet another mystery. However, I think if we answer the first question, the second has a chance of becoming clearer."


Mr. Davis walked into the room and placed their drinks in front of the ladies. He gave a curt nod to Sam's motion of acknowledgement and thanks, and left as silent as he'd come.


"If we had somewhere to go, we would leave immediately, but as of yet, we haven't a place to start. I will not lie to you, Miss Romanelli, this investigation will take time. Meanwhile, there is also your safety to consider. We will do what we can to protect you, but you also must be able to protect yourself. I'd like to step up your training and have you play a more active role in mission participation. You are bright and capable, and I believe you to be a tremendous asset to the Delta Division."


Sam reached out and placed a hand on Grace's. "I know I come across as cold and uncaring, but I am not unsympathetic to your plight. We are at war. And if nothing else, tonight shows the consequences of that war. We will fight to protect and avenge each other. Is that understood?"
 
"Yes. I understand. But I don't want to avenge their deaths. I want to rescue them. I want them to come home." Grace hadn't expected to have any hope that she would find her parents, she just knew that one day she would find out what happened to them. Here she was faced with a possibility that they might be able to find out what was happening.


Of course, the thought that a fellow hero was murdered today dimmed her need for reckless pursuit. She was aware that her parents were probably lower on the emotional scale to everyone but herself. But if there was even the slightest chance she could learn something about what had happened she would pursue that.


"Can I look at the data we picked up today? I want to see if there is anything about the shadow fae that we could find in there. I want to know whether the group we went after was involved in any way." Despite all the determination she was mustering she felt a tear run down her cheek, and wiped it away with the back of her hand. She missed them more than she had ever imagined.
 
Sam pretended not to notice the tear. She removed her hand from Grace's and wrapped it around the cup of tea. "Absolutely. I could use someone to work on the data entry anyway. There's also another avenue of investigation that could be pursued. There's rumored to be a man who knows the whispers of the streets of Alliance City. He goes by the name Spyder. He's not officially a Delta informant, but the information he can provide is usually good nonetheless. Officially, Delta doesn't contact him. Officially, Delta cannot condone vigilantism. But if there should happen to be someone without official Delta ties that might have a meeting with this Spyder, it could send her in a better informed direction."
 
"And those unofficial Delta ties would be someone like Girl Prodigy?" So far it seemed as if she was part of Project Delta, so she wasn't exactly sure how she could manage it. Then again, Red Raven might... but she stopped that thought. She couldn't risk betraying that identity to Sam. Not even through expression.


"So, he might give us enough background about things going on under our noses, so we might know what to look for in the data we recovered." that might be very useful. Red Raven would have to pay him a visit.


"How many of these PSO sites are there out in the world do you figure? Not like I would plan to hit each one, but they certainly can't protect them all, Can they?"
 
Sam raised an eyebrow and her mouth quirked in a smile at Grace's first question, as if she perhaps knew. She held her council as the girl continued to think out loud, and raised her tea cup to her lips. It had cooled, and she took a sip.


"According to the latest intel--" She coughed. "There are several--" The teacup rattled as she set it down and missed the saucer. She stood. "Get...the doc--" she managed before she began choking and gasping for breath. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of the desk before she stumbled to her knees.
 
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