Professional pt 1

That had been... quite close. Charles didn't waste much thought on whether he had been justified in what he had done. He had been attacked and rightfully defended himself (albeit he had pretty much issued the challenge). Melmord had planned to exploit Dethklok, and it was Charles' job to stop the band from doing business with people like that. 

Of course, he was only their employee, so if they wished to do so he should technically not intervene, but when it came down to it he was in charge of Dethklok‘s business. If he could help it, Dethklok would never hear about the incident and he would never need to explain himself anyways. The manager turned around, straightening his tie, and it was then that he noticed a figure standing in the shadow of the door to the roof, blocking his path.

A large and abnormally imposing Klokateer watched him impassively through his hood, arms crossed over his chest. The man, at about six feet and over two hundred pounds of hard muscle, had seen everything. He had witnessed the fight, seen the ruler of the empire fighting for his life against his replacement and stood aside. 

“Yoo need help?” The man asked as the silence stretched, his accent thick and Scandinavian, sounding nearly amused.

"Not anymore," Charles said, watching him through narrowed eyes. For a moment, a surge of adrenaline went through him as he irrationally thought it to be Skwisgaar or Toki from beneath the hood, but his stature was far different from the tall lanky Swede and even the muscular Norwegian, and the accent was much thicker. Regardless, mere Klokateer should not have the audacity to laugh at him when he had just almost been murdered. 

The gear nodded towards the ledge where Melmord had stood, alive, mere moments before. Alive, were it not for Charles. “I make tidy oop?”

"Yes, you will do that." He ordered without missing a beat, walking towards him as if he was not carrying a sword but his briefcase. "Your number?" 

“3665.” It was obvious when his eyes studied the sword, though it was of course impossible to see. He turned to the side so that his large body no longer blocked the archway, in case Charles wanted to pass by. “Conjelations on yoo win. Melmord wood kill everyting.” 

Charles looked 3665 over with his usual business expression in place. Yes, he had seen that man around before. He was hard to miss, broader than most of the other Klokateers, and with an impressive aura that did not seem to need the hood to be in place. "Ah. You are one of the personal guards, right? You are not to talk about what you have seen with your Lords, any of the gears, or anyone else. Understood?"

“Off curse.” 3665 nodded his head respectfully, stepping past Charles to look over the edge. Another train went by at that moment, further crushing what little bit of Melmord was still recognizable. By now he had been reduced to little more than a patch of bloody hair and a large lump of red goo inside a ripped suit. “I haff tidy oop in ten.”

"Good." Charles curtly nodded his head. He had to watch that man from now on, he realized, as he was teetering on the edge of behavior that could get him fired. It was hard to tell whether a certain stoic sense of fairness or a very flexible kind of opportunism had led to the Klokateer's failure to at least try and break up the fight, and Charles wouldn't rely on it in either case. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The concert was ending, now on the second to last song "Bloodlines", and Charles was leaning over his various machines and monitors. His muscles were tense and achy from the altercation and he just wanted to call it a night, but during big concerts he never left the security booth. "Someone bring me, ah, some coffee please." 

The branding of the gears was almost complete, but people driven half mad from murder, fear and pain were not to be trusted so early on. Already a new recruit, his neck still smoking from the brand had attempted to force his way on stage with the band, but had been easily subdued with a well-placed boot to the skull. The crowd of glazed eyes shifted in front of the gear that delivered it with an ominous tone and he moved to place his impressive bulk between those closest and the singer. 

Charles thoughtfully turned the cup in his hand. It was always a risky thing, the first concert after the branding of the Gears. The emotional bond that was now etched into their skin was best reinforced with playing Dethklok's music for them, but it also weighed on their pain-clouded minds. This was, in a way, the real final test, though Charles didn't officially classify it as one.

The crowd stilled slightly and might have halted entirely but for an ear-drilling roar issued from their Lord Explosion. The battle-cry seemed to encourage them and the Klokateer suddenly found himself with an entire wall of people rushing him. 

"7097 and 456, you help me remove Dethklok." Charles jumped from his chair and rushed down the stairs with backup to reach the front line. The gear was holding his own, as Charles watched his fist meet someone's jaw with an ugly crunch before he reached Skwisgaar. 

"The show is over, you did great." He pushed at his back and kicked a new Klokateer trying to climb on stage right in the face. "Please go, ah, back to the living room."

“What ams with these dumb dildos Klokateers, ah? Dey has to ruins de concert for everyones.” Skwisgaar sniffed in distaste, watching as a pair of gears that had made it to climbing the edge of the stage were suddenly yanked back down. “You punish them?”

 Pickles crowed as he watched the battle from his higher vantage point at the drum kits, trying unsuccessfully to wave away the 7097’s attempts to assure him away. “Hey, hey, you gat this crap on tape? Check out that one dood down there, he’s whoopin’ ass!”

 “Oh, I know that guy.” agreed Murderface, stomping on the fingers of someone that had managed to grab the stage at the far right. “He makesh good shandwiches. And uhhh… I think he broke my Dethphone.” 

“Don’t make shit up Murderface, you don’t know him.” grumbled the singer.

“Do too!”  

"Yes, that's all great." Charles pushed against Nathan's broad shoulders (he might as well have tried to move a boulder about the lead singer's size) and Toki's back and finally got them out of the room into the hallway through a back door.

After he had heard the door being barricaded from outside, he turned to assess the level of chaos in the hall. To his surprise, the front line was still holding, mostly thanks to one man standing a few feet away from him. 3665, he remembered, and wished he had gotten a moment to look through his file today. He was a higher ranking personal guard and thus at least two years old, which was a good half-life time for a Klokateer, all things considered. 

7097 and 456 looked eager to join the fight, but he raised his hand and shook his head. Now that Dethklok was out of the room, it was the right time for a little experiment. He wanted to see how long 3665 could take the pressure; there was always need for Klokateers with special talent.

The wave was growing steadily more powerful as the Klokateers saw their beloved Dethklok disappear, even the still-sane ones joining in the fray. Three of the largest recruits rushed 3665 at once, taller and wider than him, and he only stepped back for a moment before they were both on the ground with a pair of large black boots in the nose. 

For some reason believing that speed would make up for strength, a smaller character, gender questionable, tried to slip past him as he crushed the previous opponent’s nose, but suddenly found their arm in the senior Gear’s grip. Rather than the expected yank or punch, they were pulled up by the ankles and swung at the approaching crowd. The small person was knocked out instantly, along with three new gears. 3665 brandished his now limp, but no less effective weapon and, faced with a wall of muscle using an adult for a weapon, the press of the crowd quickly lessened.

Charles had retreated to Pickles' former position from where he had a slightly better overview. Indeed, it seemed that 3665 had managed to push back the whole crowd; this was technically impossible, as he couldn't as one person cover the whole of the stage with only his body, even if he was swinging another grown person as a weapon and used them for extension of his range (which in itself was a pretty original use of recalcitrant co-workers).

 However, the sheer ability and determination implied in this act held them back for a moment. Of course, at some point they would storm forward, and even 3665 wouldn't be able to keep them under control anymore, but Charles thought this was quite enough for the first test. 

He gestured at the back-up to take over and leaned over the edge of the stage, tapping 3665 on the shoulder while the small flood of gears fell upon the crowd. "Follow me." 

3665 breathed a short sigh of relief as someone at last came to help him. As effective as it was to scare the living shit out of people by brandishing a dead body (though whether or not it had been dead when 3665 first started swinging was immaterial, of course), he knew it wouldn’t hold them back very long. He jumped up onto the stage, throwing his limp ‘weapon’ into the crowd. 

The Klokateer walked after the smaller man as he led him through the cavernous halls. The walls had eyes and ears in Mordhaus, and the deeper you traveled the more you could feel the suspicion and hostility. He imaged as they walked that the manager was going to ask after his cleaning job from earlier. If so he had nothing to fear, as he had done an acceptable job with what little had been left.  

They didn’t end up in Charles’ office, but rather within one of the security rooms in the lower levels. The room was empty though the many moniters and screens along the walls flashed dangerously, a more than a few of them turning to snow as they sat down.  

“What you need,  Lord Uffdesun?” 3665 said when he the manager had been seated. 

"Ofdenson," he said, automatically. "Have a seat." He nodded towards a chair and pulled his Dethphone out. "Place a complete copy of G-3,665 directly in the main folder of computer 8 in Internal Sector 2-7 Station 6, I can't access the network here." 

As Charles spoke into his phone/weapon, 3665 sat awkwardly in the chair, seeming to struggle to place his bulk into it. He watched the gear struggle with some curiosity before finally breaking the silence. "How long have you been a Gear, 3665?"

“I haff being here for ahhh….. Tree? Tree- Three years? I don’t count, Lord Ot-Dan-Soon.”

"I see." Which was probably why he wasn't in accounting, then. Charles wasn't too worried about these things, as someone who could keep a room full of frenzied Klokateer's at bay for a almost a minute didn't have to be good at counting. His eye twitched a bit at the terrible mispronounciation but didn’t bother to try again. "Well, we will, ah, see in your file how long... there it is." 

 Charles scrolled the mouse over the screen as it blinked cheerfully to show it had a message,  but the moment the arrow indicated it was opening the file, the computer froze. It only stayed that way for a few moments, before the screen went black, the entire system shutting down.

"Oh… Well then.” 

That was certainly… unusual. The computers were regularly scanned for viruses and were upkept by expert technicians. He pulled out his phone, sending a text message to one of the secretaries, asking for the paper file to be brought down. He had really hoped not to go into this blind, but Mordhaus was known for its strange occurrences.  Really, there had been a chance that 3665 would die on his way through the hall so it could certainly be worse. 

“You are.. a personal guard right now, yes?” he asked, setting his phone on the desk. “Do you already have, ah, permission to act as body guard outside of Mordland as well?"

“Ja, I has dat.” 3665 agreed, nodding his head, as a hand came up to scratch his chin through his hood. “I has gone. My leader, he die and I am to go…. Florida.” strangely enough he could say Florida perfectly clearly and entirely without accent, but not his own boss’ name. Such was the unfairness of Charles’ life, apparently. 

"Oh, yes... that." Charles preferred not to think about that episode in Dethklok history. It had taken a very long time to clean the resulting mess up. But if 3665 had survived Florida, then that was another positive reference. "Do you know about the Klokateer Elite Commando Squad?"

“Effryone knows dat.” he nodded again, leaning back in the chair. “It ams…….. Big. De best ones..” He seemed interested, but suddenly his stance changed to a more defensive one, worried. “Yoo uhhh… yoo knows dat I don’t tells… no ones… anyting…. Ja? I tidy oop everytings …”

"Yes, well, I would hope so. I would offer you a place there …Except I am now looking for higher qualified members as the field leaders of the security teams, and the KECS are, ah, mostly stationed in Mordhaus."

“I……. ja. I wood say ja?” 3665 shifted foreword in the seat. “I ahh… Ja. I haff… been to dis place a whiles. I amen’t know whats.. whats… that does? My… Engelske….” He made a ‘speaking’ gesture with his hand, flapping it open and closed before swiftly cutting it horizontally for ’no’.  “Ament’… gud… to talks. Ears are… okay… No practice.” 

Charles nodded his head. "We can work on that. Well, in, ah, simple words: I want to train you to be the leader of a special security squad of your own. You. As the leader. Alright? That security squad would be close to me at all times, or rather, you would be. Outside. On tour and such." He spoke slowly. "This would be, ah, necessary so I can always dispatch your team directly when you are needed. I mean send. Send you to protect Dethklok."

3665 as leader, send him outside to protect Dethklok. His demeanor shifted again to a more eager one and he stood, a hand fisted. “Ja! I wood-- Ja does dis! I--Ja, thank yoo, Lord Off-dens-nun!” He moved foreword to the desk as though to touch Charles but pulled up short of the actual physical barrier, seeming to see it was  a bad idea. He was like an excited puppy, despite his size. “Ahm… ja. Thank yoo.”

"Good." Charles leaned back in his seat, in case 3665 did decide to become too grabby. There was an old reflex in him, a slight prudish streak that led him to shy away from strangers entering his personal space outside of the usual kisses on the cheeks from other men’s trophy wives. "No need to thank me. You obviously, ah, take your job very seriously. I doubt you need much training in fighting. However, we will, ah, have to do something about your language skills. I will get you a teacher." 

The gear stared at him silently for a moment, one of the times when their lack of facial expressions made conversation difficult, before he lifted up a large and calloused hand, fluttering it. “Ja… uhhh….. That wood be gud. I learn uhhhh.. Flying? On… on…. In the flying….. Ship?…… …. Lobster… uh… ja.” 

"On the ship and on the, ah, hoverbikes. Actually, have you seen them before?" Probably not, Charles kept them under quite good security and made sure their existence was mostly secret. If Dethklok ever heard of them, they would definitely want to try them and create a disaster of epic proportions, maybe kill themselves in the process, too. 

“Hove-mer…bi…kuh….. Hovomo….. Homo…bike… bikes?”

Alright, communication was pretty much impossible by this point. It was painfully familiar, the testing out of a new word and mangling it beyond recognition. He really didn't speak English at all.  "Right. So then you have, ah, free time right now." Charles raised to his feet and gestured towards 3665 to follow him to the door.

He shrugged his massive shoulders and followed him. “Frreeee….. Time?”

"Yes, free time. Time to do what you want.” 

“I… ament know dis. I haff… doo what I want… now? Here?” free time was more or less unheard of amongst Klokateers. Of course, those on teams tended to fuck around like regular jack offs, but the serious ones, the ones that worked alone and the ones that didn’t speak a common language tended towards working themselves into exhaustion. 

“Yes. But I can show you the hoverbikes you will be flying on now, though.." 

“Ohhh, ja, oh-kayy. I amen‘t see dat.” 

“I’ll show you now, then.” He pulled open the door and almost bumped into his assistant. With a nod, he received the copy of his file. "Find a Klokateer that has teaching experience in his or her background and have him prepare some basic English lessons. Focus on, ah, vocabulary expansion and grammar."  The assistant vanished with a nod. 

Charles turned a corner and then led them down a flight of stairs. "By the way, starting tomorrow morning, you have, ah, four hours of English lessons every day. I need to be able to speak to you in about two week's time."

“Engelske…… Engelsh. Ja. Okay. Amen’t know for where, but ja.” 3665 said, turning slightly as he walked down the needlessly narrow stairway. 

"Your English is very bad. It's hard to, ah, talk to you." Charles opened a door to a hallway, and then around another half dozen corners, into a great hall with high ceilings. A row of silver hoverbikes stood at the left side. In the empty space, their footsteps were loud. 

While he walked, Charles leafed through the file, trying to make sense of what he was reading. There was a mention of marriage in the biography, but the official status was single (and no mention of being a divorcé), and that was only one of the things that didn't match up. "Are you married, 3665?"

“Ja, I am marry!” His voice seemed cheerful at this, unaware of Charles‘ confusion. “Him name Defuk, ahh… boot-ful. Glass.. Like yoo.” 

"Oh, so it's a man, this De... fuck?" A man with glasses like Charles, someone beautiful. Or he was just getting genders confused. "Why does your file say you are single? Are you not legally married to Defu...Defuk?" Okay, the guy played a stupid joke on him, there was no way anyone was named 'Defuk'. Charles drew his eyebrows together. "Are we in kindergarten or why do you feel the need to, ah, make me swear accidentally?"

“Ja. My wife am Defuk. Hims name.And ja, we marry, ahhh….. Before dis. Littles bit. We married. Haff son too. But uhhhhhhh……. Ja. Not no more. I’m here… can’t talks to dem, yoo knows dis.” he waved his hand carelessly, not seeming particularly bothered that he had apparently not spoken to his wife and son in around three years. “I don’t knows why de file, cants look it.”

Charles took a long, hard look at him, but it was hard to judge whether he was serious or not without seeing his face. Probably, though, his English skills were not developed enough to make this joke. And who was he to doubt a couple's nicknames for each other?



"Right.Well, you could at least, ah, call your family. Don't you love your, ah, wife?" The manager stepped on one of the hoverbikes and put the file on the ground for the moment."Now... step on the bike behind me and hold on to my hips."

The gear did as he was told, the hoverbike lurching a bit as his large bulk shifted it until it became used to idea and steadied itself. His large hands grasped Charles‘ hips a bit too intimately as he attempted to get a good hold. “De Dethphones? Uhh… hahaha… dead phones. Dey uhh… dey deads. You killeds dem gud.” 

"... what?" Charles was just about to kick the hoverbike into action, but stopped at that. He had killed lots of people, of course; not all of them personally, but he would take responsibility for the souls whose deaths he had ordered. Even as a bad person, one should still be honest to oneself, because they wouldn't cut you any slack anyway. But that someone who's family he had killed would... well, then again, it was Dethklok. Losing an arm at a concert was considered an honor.

Charles thoughts were diverted when he noticed properly the strong hands grabbing his hips. A very
unprofessional feeling worked it's way up Charles' spine and he took a silent, a little deeper breath. Focus. It was just a Klokateer, and this was just training.

“Ja, dey dies. Everyone. Unders de…….. Box. Metal… box….. “ 3665 continued when Charles made no effort to interrupt again. He made something like a ‘boom’ sound, squeezing Charles’ hips for emphases, not seeming to notice how completely unprofessional what he was doing was. 

"Oh. Well. Sorry. I think we, ah, sent everyone who lost people to that accident some hoodies. I hope you, ah, received yours." Metal box. Skandinavian accent. About three years, though Charles guessed it was closer to two and a half, which worked with some of the dates on the file (though not all of them) - well, apparently they had dropped a box for the Coffee Jingle concert on his family. They lost one completely, and even those who worked unfolded by crushing about a hundred people each when the metal plates hit the ground, so there was enough room for 'Defuk' and the kid to get killed. 

He nodded, seeming equally unaffected by Charles’ usual level of disregard (or more accurately, his professional detachment) for the deaths of his entire family. Seeing as the bike was still in a sort of ‘resting’ position he released Charles’ hip, reaching in his back pocket. He pulled out a heavily scribbled-on piece of paper and held it in front of Charles. “Ams Defuk…… My uhhh… pretty wife.” 

It was not a bad picture at all, a drawing of a possibly Asian looking man with an irritated look on his face, wearing glasses and... well, nothing else. Clearing his throat, Charles handed it back. "Yes, ah, very handsome. Sorry for your loss. We should probably get going, so, ah, hold on."

“Hahnsoom? Ahh… means… ?” he seemed to search for the word before entirely giving up. “I am… Happy… for de eenglesh teaching.. I… needs it.” He laughed a little, the sound very low and masculine, as he shifted foreword a little bit, his strong arms locking around the manager’s chest, body pressed against Charles. 

There was nothing poking Charles, no press of hips or roaming hands, but the large body was simply so powerful that his presence seemed to take up the entire space. He let the hoverbike spring into action, ignoring it as best he could, but the vibration, he found, did nothing to help the already embarrassing situation. How desperate was he, really, that a simple hug could confuse him that much? He hadn't even seen the man's face, for heaven's sake, but the dark laughter that shook his chest against Charles' back still made him want to think improper thoughts. 

3665’s hands tightened on Charles, fingers grasping at the front of his suit as lightly as he dared as they took to the air. The view was interesting, dark and red, littered with corpses if you knew where to look, but he was able to adjust fairly quickly to the idea of being in the air with little-to-nothing supporting him. He eyed the front of the bike, thinking that he might be better supported by the machine itself rather than his small employer, but knew better than to randomly grab things he didn’t understand.

They sped through the air and Charles steadily increased their speed. He was very good with the hoverbikes and even as the head wind brought his brown hair out of place, he was happy to be flying again - but something wasn't right with the machine. It gave small, weird jerking motions.

3665’s large arms tightened around Charles’ chest. “…dis ams… gud?” He murmured, disliking the decidedly dangerous-feeling jerks. “Or… it want me off…?”

"I'm not, ah, sure..." The small screen that showed the hoverbikes general status was blinking, as if there were interfering frequencies, but the hall and the piece of land in front of it were training grounds and specifically shielded for the sole purpose of not confronting beginners with such problems. Even Charles, who was a veteran on riding these things and could perform circus-like acts in the air, was now hardly able to control the machine.

 Then, it burst into flames, something that should technically be impossible.

 Charles held burning steel for as long as possible, then shouted 'jump!' at the other man and flung himself off towards the high grass, hoping to god there'd be no sharp stones hidden in the place where he landed.

3665 would have caught Charles if he thought it was any safer in the air with a burning chunk of metal. He waited only a brief moment longer, until the fire hit his leg before he bailed, diving off of the failed bike. 

Charles had managed to catch himself, but had to stretch out his arm to avoid crashing his head on a boulder. There was a wet, loud cracking noise and he grit his teeth as his bone was levered out of the shoulder. However, that was about to worst of it.



The manager got to his feet as well, staring incredulously at the burning hoverbike some thirty feet in the distance. "I've never seen that happen..." He shook his head.

“Off-den-soon. Yoo alive? I ament tink dem homo-bitch are gud safe.” the gear said as he stopped beside him, breathing heavily, a hand on his stomach.

 The completely mangled word managed to bring him back to reality. "Ho-ver-bike. Are you alright, 3665?" He turned around,  left arm hanging limply at his side. 

“Ja, just de air is punch-ed out from me.” 3665 waved his hand, and other than a few scratches and a singed patch on his jeans, he really did appear to be fine. . “I uhhh….. Amen’t want.. Rides dat, ashcully. Everyting ams fire here.” 

"You're sure it's just that? If you are suffering from shock there could--”

“No, I am oh-kayy. Broods, maybe, but ahhh…. No. Oh-kayy.” he rubbed a hand against his chest as though checking to see if his ribs were okay, but when he only felt a few minor twinges he stopped thinking about it. “You arms?”

 “Ah, its an easy fix. I need only pop it back into place. I could do it myself or the medical staff could--"

3665 stepping over and, without the slightest hesitation or warning, yanking it back into place. “Yoo gets dat to de Decateeers, dey fix it gud, ja?” 

Charles gave a surprised, entirely instinctive yell of pain, but his hand was working again when the stars disappeared. "Warn me first, 3665!" His voice was a little sharper now as he carefully pushed against the relocated shoulder. It seemed to be alright but that wasn’t the sort of thing he wanted thrust upon him.

“You warns first me when hov-mo bikes fire.” 3665 retorted easily.

"It's not normal that hoverbikes just... explode. The circuits are not wired in a way that... that can't happen." However, it certainly had happened.  He would need to have a word with his scientists. 

“It no Eksplosion. It burn. Everyting burns.” He reached back into his pocket, withdrawing it and looking at his bloody palm in confusion. It would seem that he had lost his picture at some point in the flight

“Does it hurt?” said Charles, drawing his own attention from his shoulder to the gear’s hand. 

“Is okay. I haff more.” The light from the fire reflected off of the man’s glasses, painting his face red. How nice… 

He smiled briefly at 3665's reassurance - he imagined the man was referring to his other hand - before readjusting his glasses. "Take your mask off. I need to check for head injuries."

3665 seemed puzzled at the idea, standing up straight again. He wasn’t particularly tall, really, but he was taller than Charles, made more obvious by his close proximity.  “My head? My head… am….. Oh-kayy…. don’t need for taking it off, ja?” He pulled his hood slightly, as though to make certain it was still on. Gears didn’t take their hoods off. It was the number 2 rule, right below ‘do anything for Dethklok’. Without his hood he was dead, hospitalized or in the shower. “I am oh-kayy…..”

The manager gave him a long look, but eventually shrugged. "Well, ah, if you say so. We should better get back to the Haus." With that, Charles started on the way back.

3665 was glad when Charles changed his mind and was quick to follow him back towards the haus. He didn’t see any snipers around and chose to assume he was still in the clear, despite that he had somehow managed to kill Charles’ vehicle. 

The ground was rough and the walk long but the gear was entertained by watching his new, more direct boss. It was a rainy, gray day and the wind blew his hair out of order and caused his suit jacket to slap behind him. He was the only person he knew of that dressed in the sort of clothes he wore, the only one he’d see wearing glasses, and besides Outsiders and the Beloved Dethklok, he was the only one without a hood. “Why you ament de same?” he asked after a few minutes as they neared the building, waving lightly to a guarding gear that seemed surprised to see him coming. 

"The same as what?" Charles supposed he might have missed a line or two of conversation, lost in his thoughts as he was.

“De clodes, and uhhhhh….. Eyes. Glass.” He waved his hands. “Yooo… not wear uhh… de…. “ he plucked at his shirt, realizing he didn’t know the word for it. “Does….. Doesss….. Ament matters. I ask yoo when I skeak spenglish.” He nodded his head resolutely, seeming to have decided that he would be perfectly fluent by tomorrow. He lifted his hand to the gear they passed, receiving a very quick and silent high-5.“And ummmm….. Skool? Tomorrow? For…. At…….. In…. yoo orifice?” 

"No, in the library. Your teacher will meet you there. Come to, ah, my office after 'class'." Charles stood in the entrance for a moment, contemplating him, and finally gave him a nod. "I will meet you tomorrow, 3665. For now I have some business to take care of.”

There was a pair of scientists that needed to get their collective asses handed to them.