circle7 | the infiltration operation

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the infiltration operation

The research outpost on one of Gladsheim's more distant moons was less a functioning facility than it was a glorified storage closet for all the projects the militaristic government abandoned in favor of stealing from other planets' research sectors. Now that they had acquired the Seventh, which meant that they were privy to a great deal of information from the Sixth, a large portion of Gladsheim's more legitimate research facilities had been shut down, according to what reconnaissance agents the Circle still had out on the field, many of its previous scientists placed under obligatory planetary residence as to avoid leaking anything.

But the research outpost on Gladsheim's distant moon contained one thing that was still highly relevant to modern day prosthetic sciences, even if the government itself didn't realize as much - a field of study regarding the signalling of brainwaves to operate machinery not only attached to the body, but perhaps even in an entirely separate form itself. If brought to fruition, it could limit the need for human casualties and greatly reduce the Circle's disadvantage of lesser numbers. It was something one of its previous researches had been looking into on the down-low.

Speaking of which.

"You're looking a little pale," Evan said, checking himself in the car's side mirror as he combed a hand through his newly dyed hair before donning a pair of red-rimmed, plastic-lens glasses. His eyes slid sideways in his reflection. "You remember where it is, doc?"

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"Likewise," he said, and ducked into the room.

It was... much larger inside than it looked from the door's window. A quick glance at the security cameras ensured that there were minimal blind spots. But he knew these facilities - knew the guards that were to watch the cameras often aloofly did so. Half the time they were not paying attention.

Hopefully it was still like that.

Bentley walked slowly down the row. He couldn't look suspicious, after all. And naturally, none of them in this row with the P-08's they needed. He tried the next row, and again, nothing. The last row also proved not to have what they needed. Conscious of the surveillance, Bentley made it look as though he had forgotten just what room it was, scratching his head and stepping back out.

"Not C," he informed Evan through the D door. "Trying E."

"All right," Evan called back, only a third of the way through Room D. He was disadvantaged in that he didn't know exactly what he was looking for and, unfamiliar with the Gladsheim internal coding system, he couldn't just skim over every label before making a decision. Peeking into every box would just look suspicious to any possible observer, so that was out of the question as well.

The door opened with a characteristic squeak of metal gears as the the handle was pushed and then released.

"Did you find i-" Evan moved toward the aisle lining the side of the room and found that the person who had entered was not Bentley at all (but oddly similar in some ways). "Oh," he said, blinking at the man before lowering his gaze sheepishly tot he floor. "I-I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else."

The man in front of him wasn't amused by his mistake. His posture was rigid, expression trained to be intimidating. He held a hand out.

"ID," he said.

Evan looked as though he was all but tripping over himself to hand it over.

"Sorry," he apologized again, slipping it into the man's hand.

He all but snatched it from his fingers, glancing it over. The silence drew on for a long moment as he glanced it over, taking much more time than he needed.

"Who's here with you, Dr. Ravanon?" he asked, not yet handing back the ID card.

Edited 2013-03-19 18:54 (UTC)

"M-my colleague, Dr.-"

Evan only just managed to glance up in time to spot the nametag above the soldier's left breast pocket, and even then only because the artificial light happened to be glaring off the hard edge corner of the metal plate, his mouth thankfully working fast enough not to even cause a hitch in his explanation.

"Frasierre."

He raised his eyes over the rims of his glasses to the man's face this time, however shyly. That strange resemblance wasn't so strange now, but honestly, what were the odds?

So this was what Joel Foster looked like.

Joel Foster's brow raised briefly, though there was no emotion behind the gesture. He handed the card back, settling his hands behind his back. He was looking at the shelves that Evan had just been at.

"And you two are looking for what, exactly?" he asked.

"'A long, rectangular box,'" Evan parroted dutifully, looking painfully aware that it was a vague descriptor and all the more seemingly embarrassed for it. To be fair, he really didn't know what the research was comprised of, so there really was no way he could answer that question. The answer was as truthful as it got.

"I'm just here to help him pick up some old research," he explained, this time making a bigger show of looking at Joel's nametag. "Commander Foster."

Joel nodded as he heard him out.

"Interesting. G24's belongings are in room A," he informed. "And none of them are as you describe."

His gaze fell back to Evan.

"So, tell me again - what are you looking for?"

Evan looked confused as well, shrugging slightly. "Dr. Frassierre just told me it was a long, rectangular box. It might've been from where he was stationed before he transferred to our division. He said to start here, 'cause the boxes in Room A looked too small. Guess he was wrong."

He took a small step - not enough to fully sidestep, but enough to suggest that he probably wanted to leave the room. "I should tell him that, I guess."

Joel didn't move to stop him, and even politely turned so that there was enough room for Evan to pass him. The commander smiled, almost too politely.

"You should," he said. "I'll accompany you."

Pausing by the door, Evan looked over his shoulder, smiling awkwardly. "I don't want to bother you with that, Commander. You must be on business of your own to come down here."

He just hoped Bentley didn't come barging in now - Evan held the door firmly shut just in case.

"Funny you should say that," he chuckled, but the smile quickly fell from his face. His eyes were dark - nothing like his brother's. "You and Dr. Frasierre are my business."

Joel fingered the handle of his gun at the holster around his thigh.

"I have little patience for you researchers, bumbling around and acting clueless," he sighed. "So, I insist you move, as I will not hesitate to shoot you for insubordination."

Evan backed up against the door, seemingly surprised by such an aggressive reaction. He held his hands up in surrender, clearly unarmed, using the motion to keep the door closed still. Hopefully Bentley wouldn't hear the hustle of movement from next door and grow curious.

"C-C-Commander! I-I wasn't trying to be insubordinate or anything!" he said, attention single-mindedly fixed on the weapon like a deer in headlights. "S-surely there's no need for that?"

Joel scowled, stepping closer. His gun still sat in its holster, but his fingers tightened around it. Such a groveling response - he was in no mood for it today.

"Move," he growled.

---

In the other room, Bentley had heard the thud from next door. Unfortunately, he immediately feared the worst - rather than thinking he maybe dropped something - that Evan had been found out. He peered through the window of room E first. Through the window of D, where Evan was, he could see the back of his head pressed to the glass. Almost as though he were being cornered.

Naturally, he panicked. Bentley pulled his arm between him and the door, out of sight of any cameras, and pressed a button on his watch. ("Watch", rather.) It would send an emergency alert to their ride out of here, along with their location.

Of course, that didn't guarantee haste. And they still had to get out.

With the signal sent, Bentley did one more thing - he charged his arm with its defibrillator ability. He stepped quietly out into the hall, and waited next to the door, listening in.

Bentley was behind the door.

Evan could hear him and in response, he stiffened, back straightening against the door. Joel Foster was clearly just as stubborn as his brother and about ten times more used to getting things his way. It made Evan wonder if they had really acted suspicious enough to be caught or if Joel was simply just the type to bully the weak - after all, he did mention not liking the scientist type. (Did his brother have anything to do with that?) Either way, it was clear that no one was going anywhere unless Joel Foster was either listened to or dealt with.

As Evan straightened, it made him a little taller, a little less cowardly-seeming, a little more unlike his part. The way worry seemed to slowly seep out of his face furthered the transformation, which was the only indication or warning he gave before he pushed off the door, launching into Joel.

The first thing he did was knock his hand away from his gun.

The grip on the weapon had been so tight that it was yanked from the holster when his hand was knocked away. When he hit the ground, it slid across the floor to the far wall. Joel immediately fought back, flinging his fist out and attempting to kick away the man on top of him.

Whoever it was, he certainly was no doctor.

Doctor? Not even close.

The fist glanced off his jaw, muffling out the grunt of pain that Evan made as he rolled to the side to avoid the kick. Just because he dodged the kick didn't mean he let go of Joel, however - he yanked the man off to the left with him, not about to let him squirm away just to retrieve his gun. Instead, he brought his knee up, trying to catch the soldier somewhere, but Commander Foster was clearly no novice at hand to hand combat.

Joel barely moved in time for the knee to brush off his side, yanking away from the man's grip. He immediately moved in for another attack, his fist balled and flying towards Evan's stomach. Like hell was he going to be bested by some punk who thought he could waltz in and take what he wanted.

The harder they struggled, the more it became apparent that Joel Foster was hardly going to allow himself to be bested. Though Evan had some substantial training under his belt, he wasn't, at his core, a soldier. His area of expertise wasn't fighting and it became increasingly obvious the longer they were locked in combat. Joel Foster moved too fast and with too much force, holding nothing back with an intensity fueled only by anger and whatever offense the 'scientist type' had committed in his eyes.

Evan stumbled back when a hit finally landed in a perfectly brutal position, rolling as far as he could away from the man and, subsequently, bringing him further away from the door. There were bruises on top of bruises where he had been pushed and punched, he was reasonably sure, and he could only hope that Bentley had at least had the good sense to find his research and high tail it out of there before higher security was alerted.

Bentley didn't have the good sense to high tail himself and his research out.

What he did have the sense for was rescuing his friend which, admittedly, might not have been in the best interests of the mission, but appealed to a humble man like him much more.

Joel was hardly winded by the scuffle, but he didn't escape without his own fair share of injuries. A couple bruises that would surely form later, and a cut across his arm where a sharp shelf corner got him. He noticed by now, though, that this was not a fight to bring him down - it was a fight to hold him off. His accomplice was probably on the run by now, and that made him none too happy.

"Well done," he said, with no air of actually complimenting the fallen man. "Buying time for 'Dr. Frasierre' to get away while you-"

Whack!

Joel was hit by something from behind - a large case - by none other than 'Dr. Frasierre'. The commander fell to the ground, his vision shaky and dark at the edges. He exercised some amazing will, though; he stood up quickly, his hands fumbling for a grip on the shelves, and it was then that Bentley realized who this man was.

And as Joel's gaze raised back up, eyes widening slowly, he did too.

With a terrible, angry yell, the commander lunged at him. Bentley stuck his arm out. Joel hit his palm with no modest amount of force, and immediately jolted back. Bentley stumbled backwards with the momentum of his brother's lunge and the electrical shock. Joel was on the floor, passed out.

Bentley hurried to his feet, rushing to Evan.

"We've gotta go, I alerted the driver," he breathlessly informed him. "A-are you all right?"

Evan nodded, pulling himself to his feet using the nearby shelves as support.

"I don't think your family wants you hanging out with me anymore," he supplied, wiping a thumb across his chin and mouth, where a few of Joel's well-placed knuckle sandwiches and shoves had broken the lip, scuffed the jaw. "Did you get the research?"

Bentley glanced at Joel, frowning. What had he been doing here, anyway..? What were the chances?

"I found some digital files," he said, supporting Evan on one side. "The arm itself would've been better, but it'll have to do."

"It'll have to do," said Evan, managing to stand on his own. Joel hadn't had time to mess him up that badly, though he did give Bentley a small smile before pushing away from his support.

He glanced quickly at the door before all but hopping over the fallen Commander to make a break for it. "C'mon. Is there a back door? They're going to be sending backup soon, if anyone's paying attention to the surveillance."

Bentley took a moment to follow behind, staring at his brother while he reached for something on the ground, before following behind Evan.

"There's an emergency window latch in room A, but it leads to a guarded fenced-in area."

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heh split lip

heheheheheh

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