"Alright, Dyer. You've been running surveillance for long enough for a report. What do you have for me?" Adams' hands were clasped behind his back as he peered down at the smaller man, who was hunched over a computer terminal. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes when the sound of his voice caused Dyer to jump.
"What? Oh. Well..." Dyer's desk, aside from the computer, was a mess. His superiors had tried again and again to make him straighten up, to not have paperwork (some highly classified) piled and gathered in a small disorganized mountain on his desk, but it always accumulated again. Sometimes, this took less than a day to happen. But the man was good at what he did, which was sort through months' worth of video and audio material, in addition to the digital equivalent of a building full of paper. He could find the important bits, always, and so a disheveled nature was tolerated. Even if some, such as Adams, found it utterly disgraceful.
"I need information, Dyer. You're not being paid to thumb through pictures of women with cat tails." It would have been a joke, had Dyer not been caught doing just that on more than one occasion. "So come up with some. Now."
Dyer's eyes had widened; he never did well with confrontation, which is part of why he (or anyone else) had never considered the possibility of his placement in the field. "Um. Sir. Yes, I know. I have it here. Just...just a moment..." He reached into the pile of paperwork, only giving the location of his hand a cursory glance. A mess it might have been, but he knew it well. A folder, stuffed thick with papers sticking out sideways, was withdrawn immediately.
"How the hell do you do that, Dyer? I didn't know better, I'd think you were holding out on some sort of psi-gimmick on us."
Having abilities without disclosure was a serious breach of protocol. Especially if they would allow one access to information above one's classification. Dyer shook his head vigorously. "No, no. I just remember things, sir." He had flipped open the folder, was rifling through the contents. "We have all the vitals. Genetic markup is still being decoded. Something weird about it, I don't know about all that." He made a dismissive gesture as he moved to another page. "Basics. Full name, approximate weight, height, all that. Along with heart rate, blood sugar content, all the standard medical workup." He handed that batch of papers to Adams, then nervously adjusted his tie while the other man looked it over.
"Good. We already knew some of this, or guessed it from Aspen's information. But the rest is good." He looked up, handing over the papers. "What else." It wasn't a question, but a demand.
The papers were stuffed haphazardly back into the folder, another batch removed. "Personal information. Not much on relatives, he seems to be from off-world, probably one of the dimensional refugees. Earth, but that doesn't narrow down place of origin here as much as it would back home. His occupational information is here, friends, and so forth. Based on conversations, along with hormonal reactions, we've got a pretty good sense of who he likes, who he dislikes, in his personal life. Allies and enemies."
"Good." Adams nodded. "I'll look over that later. Always good to be able to establish surveillance over him in case our devices crap out. Keep that near the top of that mess." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "What about his activities when wearing the costume? Have you noted any excessive violence, or a trend toward greater aggression?"
"No, sir." Dyer was looking at another page, now. "There are fluctuations, but nothing that couldn't be accounted for by... ah, mood changes. He does tend to swing before making an attempt to resolve things nonviolently, but that's not at all unusual around here, from what I've seen. Body functions have been hard to get a read on while he's zipping around. Something in him is causing the monitoring devices to get power surges that are affecting their readings. Engineering has been working on compensating."
"I thought we might run into that problem. It can wait. Most of this will be useful. Any intel on how he got like he is?"
"No, sir. Nothing yet. He hasn't discussed that with anyone, and the bioengineers haven't pulled off replicating what he does. Not with any real success. They got a brief burst of speed out of a half dozen rats, but two of them starved to death within minutes, three killed themselves running into the walls of their cages, and one seemed to die of old age." Dyer frowned as he looked over the papers. "These were young rats. Any aging disorders would have been noted prior to the experiment. And these attempts involved an injected serum derived from his blood, so even if the rats did survive, they'd have slowed down after a few minutes at best."
Adams nodded. "I didn't think we'd be able to copy it, but scientists don't listen. At least they tested on rats first. Anything else of use?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Dyer nodded, drawing another paper from the middle of the file. "We determined his race. Obviously meta, but even beside that, he's not entirely human." He offered the larger man the sheet.
"Interesting. Hopefully the genetics peoples are taking this into account. Good work, Dyer." Adams took the file in its entirety from the other man and turned to walk away. "Cromwell! Call supply and have them bring in some filing cabinets for Dyer here. His desk is going to collapse soon, and the avalanche that will cause could kill us all." He spoke with dead seriousness, even if it was a jest, and strode out of the room.
---------------
((Adams' information is preserved here.))
"What? Oh. Well..." Dyer's desk, aside from the computer, was a mess. His superiors had tried again and again to make him straighten up, to not have paperwork (some highly classified) piled and gathered in a small disorganized mountain on his desk, but it always accumulated again. Sometimes, this took less than a day to happen. But the man was good at what he did, which was sort through months' worth of video and audio material, in addition to the digital equivalent of a building full of paper. He could find the important bits, always, and so a disheveled nature was tolerated. Even if some, such as Adams, found it utterly disgraceful.
"I need information, Dyer. You're not being paid to thumb through pictures of women with cat tails." It would have been a joke, had Dyer not been caught doing just that on more than one occasion. "So come up with some. Now."
Dyer's eyes had widened; he never did well with confrontation, which is part of why he (or anyone else) had never considered the possibility of his placement in the field. "Um. Sir. Yes, I know. I have it here. Just...just a moment..." He reached into the pile of paperwork, only giving the location of his hand a cursory glance. A mess it might have been, but he knew it well. A folder, stuffed thick with papers sticking out sideways, was withdrawn immediately.
"How the hell do you do that, Dyer? I didn't know better, I'd think you were holding out on some sort of psi-gimmick on us."
Having abilities without disclosure was a serious breach of protocol. Especially if they would allow one access to information above one's classification. Dyer shook his head vigorously. "No, no. I just remember things, sir." He had flipped open the folder, was rifling through the contents. "We have all the vitals. Genetic markup is still being decoded. Something weird about it, I don't know about all that." He made a dismissive gesture as he moved to another page. "Basics. Full name, approximate weight, height, all that. Along with heart rate, blood sugar content, all the standard medical workup." He handed that batch of papers to Adams, then nervously adjusted his tie while the other man looked it over.
"Good. We already knew some of this, or guessed it from Aspen's information. But the rest is good." He looked up, handing over the papers. "What else." It wasn't a question, but a demand.
The papers were stuffed haphazardly back into the folder, another batch removed. "Personal information. Not much on relatives, he seems to be from off-world, probably one of the dimensional refugees. Earth, but that doesn't narrow down place of origin here as much as it would back home. His occupational information is here, friends, and so forth. Based on conversations, along with hormonal reactions, we've got a pretty good sense of who he likes, who he dislikes, in his personal life. Allies and enemies."
"Good." Adams nodded. "I'll look over that later. Always good to be able to establish surveillance over him in case our devices crap out. Keep that near the top of that mess." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "What about his activities when wearing the costume? Have you noted any excessive violence, or a trend toward greater aggression?"
"No, sir." Dyer was looking at another page, now. "There are fluctuations, but nothing that couldn't be accounted for by... ah, mood changes. He does tend to swing before making an attempt to resolve things nonviolently, but that's not at all unusual around here, from what I've seen. Body functions have been hard to get a read on while he's zipping around. Something in him is causing the monitoring devices to get power surges that are affecting their readings. Engineering has been working on compensating."
"I thought we might run into that problem. It can wait. Most of this will be useful. Any intel on how he got like he is?"
"No, sir. Nothing yet. He hasn't discussed that with anyone, and the bioengineers haven't pulled off replicating what he does. Not with any real success. They got a brief burst of speed out of a half dozen rats, but two of them starved to death within minutes, three killed themselves running into the walls of their cages, and one seemed to die of old age." Dyer frowned as he looked over the papers. "These were young rats. Any aging disorders would have been noted prior to the experiment. And these attempts involved an injected serum derived from his blood, so even if the rats did survive, they'd have slowed down after a few minutes at best."
Adams nodded. "I didn't think we'd be able to copy it, but scientists don't listen. At least they tested on rats first. Anything else of use?"
"Oh, yes, sir." Dyer nodded, drawing another paper from the middle of the file. "We determined his race. Obviously meta, but even beside that, he's not entirely human." He offered the larger man the sheet.
"Interesting. Hopefully the genetics peoples are taking this into account. Good work, Dyer." Adams took the file in its entirety from the other man and turned to walk away. "Cromwell! Call supply and have them bring in some filing cabinets for Dyer here. His desk is going to collapse soon, and the avalanche that will cause could kill us all." He spoke with dead seriousness, even if it was a jest, and strode out of the room.
---------------
((Adams' information is preserved here.))