did you know the plural of ocelot is oceshitload

[loadsavepoint.livejournal.com]

    Life on the Circle Seven space station was a rather smooth, if slow transition. But the new medical bay was more than impressive – many patient beds, and actual medics to help out. (Finally, enough people to take a break now and then. Calibri wasn’t the best replacement medic. At all.) Unfortunately, it wasn’t his day off today, but just the fact that he got days off at all was a definite relief. Besides, the place was like a second room – sometimes he even fell asleep there. With none of the patient beds occupied, and only minimal injuries to take care of, it was certainly a slow day where that was likely to happen. The other medic on duty was a rather threatening woman to talk to. (Old and grumpy.) So, it was a relief when a boy walked in, despite the huffy look on his face. He didn’t want to resort to talking to the gossipy old bag.

    “Yes? What seems to be the problem?” Bentley asked.

    “Nnnghhhh…” Danny, who had been halfway hunched over and holding his sides when he walked through the door of the infirmary, looked up as the doctor addressed him. It might have been hard to tell from far away, but up close it was clear that one of his eyes was blackened and his cheek was puffy and swollen. Yep, it was pretty obvious that he’d gotten the shit beaten out of him. These kinds of injuries weren’t exactly rare in their line of work, so Bentley probably wouldn’t be too surprised. With an expression fitting of a kicked puppy, he looked up at Bentley and said, “I think I’m dyingggg… Ughhhh…”

    One must understand the first rule of being a doctor: stay calm. He took the young man by the shoulders, looking into his face. The injuries only seemed to be on the surface, but… Second rule: don’t take chances.

    “Dying? What happened? Here, take a seat.” Steering him by the shoulders, Bentley sat him at a patient bed.

    “I-It was brutal…” Danny groaned again, looking at Bentley through half-lidded eyes as he was seated. It looked like the pain was about to cause him to lose consciousness. “Two hits to the face… A kick in the ribs… and thrown down a flight of stairs… Worse than last time.”

    Bentley’s eyes widened. That sounded like…

    With a hand over his mouth, he gave a grave expression down at the (oddly fashionable) teenager.

    “Don’t tell me this was Viana.”
“You know her, Doc?” Danny managed out a nod. Anyone who was subject to Viana’s torture would probably recognize the signs immediately. “She’s such a bitch… I didn’t even do anything to deserve it.”

    “Tch, you’re telling me – most uncouth person I’ve had the ‘honor’ of meeting,” the doctor scoffed, running a hand through his hair. Idly, he dug through his coat with the other mechanical arm, pulling out bandages and ointment. “So yes, I know her.”

    “Sounds like you’ve been whacked around a few times too,” Danny grumbled out, lifting a hand to rub his swollen cheek. Though, now that he thought about it, he didn’t recall ever talking to anyone else that had a problem with Viana like he had. (Actually, did Danny even talk to anyone aside from the Boss or his dog?) “What’s your name anyways, Doc?”

    “Bentley Foster,” he said proudly, as though he might be famous. Dabbing the ointment on a cotton ball, he motioned for him to lift his chin, applying some near the bruised eye. The ointment quickly became cold (a new age replacement for bags of ice), adding relief to the injury. “Met her back on Erclesse. Her brother is much better company, to be honest. And you are?”

    “Bentley, huh?” Danny let out a sigh of relief as the ointment touched his skin. Well, he had to agree about Viana’s brother that was for sure. Even though Danny didn’t actually know him that well, Evan had saved him from a few of Viana’s beatings before, and that was a good enough reason for him to like him. “I’m Danny.”

    “Nice to meet you, Danny.” Bentley stuck out his hand for a shake, other hand dabbing down along the bruise on his jaw. Danny had a hint of familiarity, come to think of it – but Bentley couldn’t place it.

    Danny didn’t even think to introduce himself as the boss’s son. He figured that everyone already knew who he was (though it was likely enough that they wouldn’t know his name). Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Bentley’s outstretched hand and shook it with his own. This Bentley seemed like a pretty good guy. “Yeah, same.”

    When he dropped his hand to his side, Danny noticed the hand that he shook was distinctly different from the one that was dabbing his face with medicine. He raised a brow, eyes running along Bentley’s mechanical arm. “Hey, what’s with your arm?”

    The doctor glanced down where Danny was looking, laughing nervously. “Oh, y’know, just up and lost the thing.” Flicking the cotton ball into a nearby trash bin, Bentley used the bandage to cover the majority of the purple blotch seeping through his skin. Not that he was changing the subject, but he was a doctor. “Now, how’re your ribs? I know Viana is quite… good at kicking.” Bentley’s face cringed at the thought, the unpleasant memory returning, and his stomach feeling not quite pleasant itself.

    Although Danny would probably have liked a better answer than that, he was easily distracted by the doctor’s question. He gingerly placed a hand to his left side, obviously the place where he’d been kicked, and winced. “It hurrrrrrrrts…”

    Whine, whine, whine. How old was Danny anyways?

    Bentley was thinking about thirteen. He shrugged to himself. “Can you lie down? I’ll give it a look. Lift up your shirt.” (FOOTNOTE: wow koba this is turning kind of gay now. it’s okay BENTLEY’S A DOCTOR) Quite honestly, Danny could probably get the information out of his dad if he really wanted. He wasn’t about to spill everything to a whining kid about his past and his arm. Maybe he could drop more vague hints if he persisted, though.

    Danny swung his legs up onto the bed and winced as he slowly eased himself backwards. Although Bentley had asked him to lift up his shirt, he wasn’t sure it’d lift all that high. (Form fitting clothes were totally in style and it wasn’t like he was going to risk stretching it out or pulling off the buttons.) He began to unbutton his shirt from the bottom until he was able to pull it up high enough to expose a dark purple bruise. (Please be gentle, Bentley.)

    The doctor gave an impressed whistle. “Sheesh, Viana. Let’s hope she didn’t break anything, huh?” Although it was meant in humor, Bentley himself didn’t find it funny. Viana was capable of very painful things. Putting on a glove, the doctor reached for a drawer, pulling out a small tube of a different kind of ointment. “This’ll be cold for a second, too.”

    Thank goodness for technology, huh? The cream spread on his side was indeed cold, but within seconds, the numbing agent started to kick in. With this, it should be much less uncomfortable to run his fingers along the ridges of his ribs, checking for any breaks or fractures. “This stuff won’t last too long, so don’t get too reckless.”

    “Whoaaa.” Danny blinked a couple of times in surprise once the second ointment was applied. The numbing had pretty much alleviated all the pain in his side. He didn’t know anything about medicine or technology (or anything outside of fashion and yappy dogs for that matter), so he was fairly impressed. “That stuff is pretty strong.”

    “Sure is,” Bentley agreed, sounding more focused. “Don’t touch it.” His (real, gloved) hand ran down the teenager’s side. So far, everything checked out. It’s just one nasty bruise. “Well, Danny, good news – you’re gonna live.” With a dorky smile down at the kid, he pulled a towel from under the patient bed, wiping the substance from his skin. “Most I can suggest is to take it easy, take some painkillers, and avoid Viana. Especially that last one. Any other injuries?”

    (** With all this skin rubbing I feel so tempted to make this really gay.) Not like Danny had seriously thought his life was in any danger, but… He was a little relieved that nothing was wrong. He couldn’t handle the slightest bit of pain, so he’d probably never stop whining if something really had broken. He glanced up at Bentley (and his dorky smile) and shook his head. “Not unless you count ones from all the other times she’s kicked my ass.”

    “Ha! All healed up then, I take?” he laughed. “From those times, anyway.” Bentley pulled out more bandages, patching up the bruised area before giving Danny the okay to get up.

    “Yeah, I guess so.” Danny pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed a hand over the bandages before buttoning down his shirt again. He couldn’t help noticing how cheerful Bentley was. There probably wasn’t anyone in the mafia who laughed as much as Bentley did. (Well, aside from the Boss that was.) He scratched the un-bruised side of his face awkwardly, like he didn’t know how to respond to Bentley’s enthusiasm. “Um, thanks.”

    “Yeah, of course. It’s my job to help you guys out, y’know,” he said, grinning. Bentley is definitely the cheery type, if a bit quirky – but that trait comes with more than one meeting. (Or maybe one long meeting.) “Now, no strenuous activity. Doctor’s orders.” The man laughed, seeming to find humor in acting like a stereotypical version of his role. He didn’t get many people that appreciated his laughing or jokes. It was a mafia, after. For the most part, everyone was hardened by battles and dealing in things you normally wouldn’t, if you had any mind for the law. Danny was a good person to run into after countless serious walk-ins; even if he was a bit young. Bentley tended to get along with anyone.

    As long as Danny didn’t run into Viana, his life really wasn’t all that strenuous. After all, he tended to run away from fights or anything that would get him into trouble. (Even his jobs from the Boss never involved dealing with other people.) Danny slid off the bed, a slight smile actually working its way onto his face. “Gotcha. I just hope Viana doesn’t find me again.” (** Viana is like Sae. If she finds you, you die.)

    “Just don’t comment on her comics or her love lines.” Bentley shuddered for a second. “Or on anything, for that matter.” With a quick glance at the clock, though, the doctor shrugged off his white coat. “Ah, about time for lunch, too. Thank goodness.”

    “Even if I don’t do anything she still has it out for me.” Today for example, he accidentally bumped into her as he was coming around a corner and she took that as a personal attack. (Though, she was probably only that sensitive towards Danny, he didn’t know it.) “But if you’re going out, you should avoid her too. I think she’s in a really bad mood today.”

    “Haha, I think I’ll take your advice.” He nodded in agreement. “She doesn’t much like me, either. Or my jokes.” With a bitter smile, he hung his coat, sighing. “I get along with that Calibri fellow better than her, and he’s a scary man.”

    “Yeah, I think Calibri really only gets along with the Boss.” Danny nodded. “I guess he’s an alright guy, but…”

    A chill ran up Danny’s spine and his mouth flattened out into a line as if he’d recalled something particularly unpleasant. “Yeah. He’s scary.”

    Bentley’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. It looked like his definition of scary varied a bit from his. He just thought of Calibri’s superb lack of foresight in what his poisons were capable of – not to mention that ‘test’ he put the doctor through. (Could’ve got the doc in a huge amount of trouble, and that is scary.) But Danny looked more serious; honestly scared by something. “Wait, scary?” he asked. “Suicidal, yes, but in what way is he scary?”

    “Huh, you mean you’ve never seen ‘it’ before?” Danny shivered again as he recalled all the times he’d seen that other side of Calibri—not the overly calm, collected side that Bentley was probably used to seeing. “When it comes to the Boss, that guy gets crazy.”

    He’d probably only go into more detail if Bentley probed him, though persuading him wasn’t likely to be that difficult.

    “I… see,” he said, not entirely sure of just what he was ‘seeing’. “I haven’t seen ‘it’ before, then. I’ve seen him around the boss, but nothing peculiar. Isn’t that normal, though? Protecting the boss, and all that?”

    “Protecting is one thing… but what Calibri does is something completely different.” Danny shook his head.

    “Whenever someone threatens the Boss, he gets this… bloodthirsty look in his eyes.” He made an oddly stiff pose, lifting a middle finger up to the bridge of his nose like he was pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses… and then suddenly flailed his arms around. “AND THEN HE JUST STARTS RIPPING PEOPLE’S FACES OFF.”

    Well figuratively, of course. Probably. Maybe. It was hard to tell.

    Bentley jumped at the flail, falling back a few steps. His eyes were wide. Naturally, the naïve man could only take it literally.

    “R-ripping peoples’ faces off?! That’s… what is wrong with that man?! I should’ve known he was crazy!” The old woman on medic duty glared their way, shushing them, but Bentley hardly calmed down. He was frantic now. There was a real live threat that the doctor saw on a somewhat regular basis. (Never mind that, y’know, he’s surrounded by mafia members left and right, daily.) “It’s one thing to poison himself no less than once a week, but…” Bentley looked horrified, rubbing fingers through his goatee nervously.

    Danny stared at Bentley with the same flat-mouthed, wide-eyed expression as before. “And after he kills his victims they say he even drinks their blood and uses the half-dead people in experiments.”

    Was Danny being serious? It was hard to tell… though it seemed like he was leaning towards the side of truth.

    Bentley’s mouth fell open. This… had to be pushing it, right? There’s no way that man could…

    “Y-you must be joking,” the doctor laughed nervously, trying to put on his best doubting face.

    “I went inside his lab once…” Danny crossed his arms with an earnest nod. “There were all these big lumpy things under white sheets on the table. I’m pretty sure they were bodies.”

    That grave look returned to Bentley’s face. He knew exactly what Danny was talking about. He had been in that lab before. “I-I think I’ve seen them. I-I’m not sure what else they could’ve been…”

    One thing was for sure: Bentley severely underestimated the man known as Nathan Calibri.

    “But, um…” Danny fingered the edge of one of the longer strands of hair that framed his face. “I think it’s probably alright as long as you don’t do anything to the Boss. He’s okay to the people on our side.

    “…Probably.”

    Bentley shivered, but nodded, looking resolute.

    “I’ll be sure to stay on his good side.”

    “Whose good side?” asked the very devil himself, standing in the open doorway of the doctor’s office. He had a strange-looking brick-red smear on his face, and as he swept an impassive stare over the other two inhabitants of the room, he reached up to wipe it off, except all Calibri succeeded in was wiping the mysterious crimson stain a little further down his cheek, like it was dripping down. He pulled his glove off with a sharp snap, dropping the rubbery material into the dark, dangerous abyss of his jacket pocket. (Who knew what sorts of dangers and how many bloody, ripped-off faces laid in store there?) With a sniff, as if testing the toxicity of the very air, Calibri took another ominous step towards the two. “Doctor. Daniel,” he said, by means of greeting. “Good afternoon.”

    “WAHH--!!” Danny stumbled back a step as Calibri suddenly appeared, obviously surprised by the sudden intrusion. Well, that was just like Calibri, wasn’t it? He always seemed to appear at the most inconvenient moments. (That is, when Danny was saying something bad about him or doing something wrong.) But… at least it hadn’t been Viana who’d shown up. “O-Oh. Calibri. Hi.”

    Smooth, Danny. Real smooth.

    “C-Calibri,” Bentley stuttered, after a (completely not) smooth play off of a startled jolt. “Gave us a scare there. Haha.” The look on his face was all but modest as he rubbed the back of his fluffy hair, teeth clamped. He couldn’t help but stare at the red smear down the chemist’s face, that chilling sensation returning down his back, goose bumps running along his neck and back. That stare was cold-blooded, wasn’t it? “What… uh, what can I do for you?”

    At their odd reactions, Calibri merely raised a perfectly arched brow. “I was looking for the medical-use cyanisium sulfate,” he answered, as if that specific chemical compound wasn’t used as an all-purpose highest-grade anesthetic, capable of rendering any living creature, regardless of size, utterly defenseless. Though this sort of knowledge wasn’t exactly common, and hence the gravity of the situation might have been lost on Danny, the odd glint from the artificial lighting on Calibri’s glasses was more than enough to make up for the effect.

    He approached the two of them, hands sliding into his pockets and disappearing into them. His over-long sleeves bunched up at the top of them, the fabric too heavy to simply slip in. Calibri gave them each a long, measuring look-over, sort of like the way butchers looked at animals before choosing them for their meat, maybe, or the way a particularly carnivorous animal looked at their prey before suddenly pouncing in from the shadows. Or, alternatively, maybe just the way someone stared at another person when they were oddly covered in a Picasso-esque array of black and blues. “What happened to you?” he asked, with a curious tilt of his head.

    Danny’s shoulders stiffened, a chill going up his spine as Calibri’s glasses glinted. He instinctively took a step back when Calibri started eyeing him over, but managed to compose himself quickly enough. He looked at Calibri with a lopsided frown. “Viana.”

    That should have been more than sufficient enough an explanation.

    Bentley’s eyes widened, completely interrupting Danny. “Cyanisium sulfate?! But- what do you need that for? I mean… You have to have a license to even handle that…” Did you forget you’re part of the mafia now, Bentley A. Foster?

    Ah, the Dominico girl. The corner of his mouth almost quirked, before Calibri started a leisurely stroll around the office. Occasionally, he bent over and read the labels on boxes and bottles, obviously looking for the said chemical. “It’s one of the primary ingredients in a new compound I’m working on. If it turns out as expected, it should be able to render subjects to a state of near-death for almost a week. Even doctors wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.” He seemed rather proud, and as he finished, he turned around to face both Bentley and Danny with a flat stare. “Would you like to try it when I finish?”

    Danny gave a half-squeak, half-gasp at Calibri’s proposal and took a step back so that he was hiding behind Bentley. He stood with his hands on Bentley’s shoulders, peeking out from behind the doctor to reply to Calibri. “Um. My week is kind of important so I’ll pass. Thanks.”

    “I, uh. I have to agree with Danny here,” Bentley stammered. “I’m needed around here, so…” The man gave the younger boy a glance over his shoulder, then down at his hands. Hey, how come he’s the human shield?

    Well, he had to shrug him off anyway, to get Calibri that compound. Not that he approved, but he was under special orders by the boss – not to mention him being second-in-command. It would be unwise to disobey either of the two. Working his way across the room, Bentley reaches into his pocket, pulling out a key. That kind of thing was in the locked cabinets.

    “A-anyway, right here.” Bentley opened the cabinet with a click, pulling out a sealed container, labeled with the chemical formula of cyanisium sulfate.

    Calibri lifted a hand out of his pockets to take the container. Despite having taken off the rubber glove earlier, the hand, when he raised it, was covered in a black cloth glove instead, the skin hidden from view. The contained liquid was an innocuous colorless substance, not at all viscous in constituency – in fact, it sloshed around inside like water, though it was not nearly as harmless. “Hm,” he murmured, unscrewing the cap and, without even an ounce of hesitance, taking a whiff. For a second, he swayed, and it almost seemed like he was going to pass out-… Then, his eyes opened. “No odor. Fancy that.”

    Lowering his hands, his sleeves fell forward, almost covering the bottle of cyanisium sulfate from view, as if engulfed by the fabric. “Thank you for your cooperation, Doctor.” His eyes shifted to Danny. “I have something for those bruises if you’d like to stop by after this, by the way.” Jeez – this artificial light was really something. It managed to hit his glasses at every horrifying angle.

    W-What the hell? Danny didn’t know anything about chemicals and that sort of thing, but he was sure that whatever Calibri asked for had been dangerous. Yet, Calibri was going around sniffing that kind of toxic stuff without a second thought. Once again, he was reaffirming Danny’s suspicions that he was mentally insane. Though, when Calibri offered to get rid of Danny’s bruises, there was a split-second when Danny was about to accept his offer. “H-Huh, really?”

    …and then he saw the way Calibri’s glasses gleamed and he was sure it had to be some sort of trick to turn him into a test subject or something of the like. He shook his hand, placing his hands in front of him with his palms towards Calibri to show his hesitation. “I… I’ll be okay.”

    “Y-yes, really, he’s quite okay. Just a bit beat up. Nothing a few days rest won’t cure,” Bentley laughed, a (hesitant) steadying hand on Calibri’s shoulder. “And you shouldn’t go smelling dangerous chemicals, y’know. Just saying.”

    Of course, they had this conversation before; the dangers of smelling, ingesting, injecting dangerous substances. Naturally, he never listened to the advice, saying it was preposterous that there was any risk of death at all. (But Bentley knew better – that man was cutting years from his life, he was sure. Though as many bad formulas as he created, he might just come up with one to reverse those sort of effects, if he hadn’t already.)

    “I was just checking that it hadn’t expired,” Calibri explained, tilting his head back. It was sort of an odd gesture, as if he was trying to even the playing ground considering that despite his reputation, Bentley still towered a good few inches over him. “Good cyanisium sulfate has no smell – that makes it useful in a poison. The supplies in this office have been here for years without a presiding medic to tend to them, and I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them were unknowingly releasing toxic fumes all over the place. We might be basking in them.” He made a thoughtful sound, and then, as if it had just occurred to him, he added, “Perhaps you shouldn’t stay here overnight so often, Doctor.”

    Danny made an odd choking sound at the mention that there could possibly be chemicals in the air taking years off of his life as they spoke. Oh godddd. He didn’t want to die! He was too young to die! There was still so much to live for! Though if he had to think of what that “so much” was, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to name anything. “Are you serious?! We’re all gonna die?!”

    Bentley scoffed at the notion. “As self-proclaimed head of the infirmary, I made it my business to rid the medical bay of any and all expired medicine and chemicals. I’d like to think the boss hired a professional,” he said, straightening his vest with a cocky tilt of his chin. However… Just because the infirmary was clear of toxic fumes and waste didn’t mean Bentley was any more sane or ‘normal.’

    Calibri only smiled at that – a professional, tight-lipped, shuttered smile that seemed to strain his very features. “We’re all ‘professionals’ in a manner of speaking.” It was up to them to decide in what context he meant that in. With a steady step, he stepped back toward the door. “I’ll take my leave then, and leave you two to your fascinating office gossip then.”
Almost like a shadow, he slipped out.

    Danny gulped as he watched Calibri disappear through the door, staring at the empty doorframe a moment before he slowly turned his head to look back at Bentley. “Yeah. He’s really scary.”

    “I-I think I see what you mean now,” Bentley muttered, his shoulders finally relaxing.

    The old woman, who was there the whole while, just sighed.

    “So mysterious... A total dream boat, that one,” she said, her face tinting a shameless pink.


-----



(the baddies are up to stuff)

    Gladsheim military base H-2. The steel halls lined with neon markers and signs were relatively deserted today. The newbies were out on training, the commanders teaching their squads how to operate their new weapons. The on-base civilians were hardly ever bustling, few in population as they were. (Family of the soldiers.) Joel, however, was sent on a special mission. Well, if it could be called that. His squad was receiving a new recruit from the planet Asteron. That in itself guaranteed an interesting addition.

    Joel knew these halls better than the back of his hand. The way he maneuvered through doors with a quick wave of his key card was nearly reflex. Making his way to one of the miscellaneous meeting rooms, the commander prepared himself to welcome aboard the new member. The smile on his face was oddly modest as he entered the meeting room, seeing the lady whose aqueous appearance was confirmation of who she must be.

    “You must be Quelorie,” the commander said, voice amiable. Not sure of the Asteron customs, he held his hand out anyway. She was on Gladsheim now – she’d have to adjust sometime.

    Quelorie’s eyes turned to the door as it opened. When Joel entered and she was addressed, she stood up and extended a webbed hand to shake Joel’s. If the customs on her planet were different from those on Gladsheim, she didn’t seem to be confused as to what she was supposed to do. As for Joel’s question, she responded simply, “Yes.”

    Her speech was oddly accented, an almost bubbly quality in her words. “I wasn’t told who would be receiving me when I arrived…”

    “You’re assigned with me, Joel Foster,” he answered, shaking the fin-like hand firmly; without hesitance. “I’ll be your commander starting today. We’re in special operations. I heard you’ll be a good recruit for the team.” Another smile.

    “I’m looking forward to working with you, Joel Foster.” Despite all of Joel’s smiles, Quelorie’s expression remained unchanged from something akin to indifference or boredom. “I believe you’ll find me useful.”

    “Let us hope,” Joel said. There was a challenging hint to his voice, but it might be lost on a first meeting. “Shall I show you to your new quarters? It took awhile for the arrangements to be ready, but they should be suitable. And while we’re at it…” Reaching into his pocket, the commander produced a card key and name tag, complete with a pin. “Your uniform is in your room as well.”

    The challenge was not lost on Quelorie, but she took no special care to acknowledge it. She took the items from Joel, not with her hands but with one of the long tentacle-like appendages extending from the back of her head. “Please. Lead the way.”

    Well, that was interesting. Joel had never met an Asteron native, but it seemed promising already.

    “Of course. You’ll be staying in section 3, room 205. Most of our division is there as well, if you ever need anything.” Waving his card at the key reader at the door, it opened for them both with a soft whirr, and he stepped out, waiting for Quelorie.

    Quelorie followed out behind Joel, her webbed feet making a light slapping noise against the floor as she stepped. As he led her down the hallway, she noticed that the corridor was steely and dry—quite the contrast to the underwater life that she’d been used to up until now. Although it wasn’t like she’d never left Asteron before (in fact, she’d done so countless times), differences between planets never ceased to interest her. “It sounds very accommodating. I’m sure life here will be no problem.”

    Joel smiled, looking down at the aquatic being, eyeing her curiously. Her skin (if you could call it that) was many shades of blue; practically the opposite of the human race. “You seem rather prepared for such a long-term arrangement away from your home planet.”

    “Of course.” Another simple reply. Another disinterested stare. “Our military would never send reinforcements without making the necessary preparations. Please don’t underestimate us.”

    “I wouldn’t dare,” Joel laughed. “They’re just interesting circumstances. I expected no less of Asteron’s soldiers.” Another steely hallway and the red neon lights lining the halls transitioned into blue, a sign noting the residential area. After passing through a large, metal door, the hallway expanded into an open area. There were small store stands, food stands, and miscellaneous booths.

    “This here’s pretty much the commons,” the commander said, motioning around them. “That card also keeps track of your credit, should you need to buy anything. But I wouldn’t worry too much – special ops are covered completely.” A confident smile, and a motion to the right. “Section three is this way.”

    Quelorie observed the commons as they passed through. Their base seemed to be well-equipped to handle people’s daily needs… though, Quelorie actually preferred to catch her own food, she’d have to make do with what she had while she was away. They headed down the corridor that led to section three, rows of identical doors lining either side of the hallway. Finally they stopped in front of 205, her door.

    “Here we are,” Joel said, stopping in front of the door. “Go ahead and try out your keycard.”

    Quelorie took the card from her tentacle appendage and slid it through the card-reader beside the door. As expected, the door hissed open. The room was simple, yet accommodating. She was sure that all the rooms were fashioned similarly, but in her room the bed was replaced by a large tank of water. She stepped inside to examine it, and after finding it to be satisfactory, she turned back to Joel. “This should be fine.”

    The commander looked satisfied, nodding from the doorway. “Good. If you ever need anything, the intercom there has a contacts list. You’ll find me and the rest of our division there. I recommend you get to know Tootsie.” Then, another laugh, clearly sarcastic. “Except he’ll be under the list as Vercelli.”

    “Tootsie.” Quelorie repeated as if she was committing the name to memory. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

    Oh, Tootsie was gonna love (loathe) this. Joel smirked to himself.

    “Great. Well, I’ll let you get settled in, Quelorie. Welcome aboard.” Raising two fingers to his forehead, he saluted.

    Quelorie nodded, imitating Joel’s salute, though to be honest she’d never used that kind of gesture before. “I’m looking forward to it.”

    As Joel left she began to settle in, wondering exactly what kind of person this “Tootsie” fellow was.