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181055 No. 181055
How's that for a title?

Previous thread;
>>>179635





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Although adrenaline accumulated from an entire night of being shot at is indeed a powerful motivator, it can't possibly keep you going for the rest of the day.

For that, you will need the help of magical beans that have enough history of slavery, genocide, and all out being the driving force of human dickery for centuries to fill out an entire school curriculum.

It is the very base of modern community, of which our civilization is built on. The steams of its brewery becomes the strength of our people, and its bitter taste is enough to cause wars.

Deciding that simply sitting around would only result in you getting even more tired, you raise from your chair and open one of the many storages in your desk, and find a spare lab-coat, reserved for those days when you run out of bleaches at the most unfortunate of moment after a particularly unsuccessful experiment.

You are still shirtless, but the coat should give you enough decency for people not to instantly want to kick you in the face.

You pick up your little satchel-bag from the floor, that must had fell off when you got launched at a terminal velocity to a nearby wall, and sling it across your shoulder. As you remember it, it should still contains your wallet, phone, commemorative flashlight pen...

...and a bloodied handkerchief which you might want to do a DNA check on later.

You walk out from your office and straight toward the 'Lift Lobby', a big circular room at the center of the floor with lifts adorning every inches of its wall, connecting this floor with the floor above and below, creating a perfectly circular tube that goes inside the building from the penthouse to the basement.

You pick the lift closest to your floor in the RnD department, and wait.

It takes just a moment before the high speed lift, propelled by an engine powerful enough to rival a turbojet, arrive with a loud 'ding' sound.

Inside the lift, there's enough room to house an entire college rugby team, though it's currently only occupied by one person.

"Good morning, Doctor ManMuscle. Going down?" The woman inside calls out to your name with a thick accent that you could almost swear comes out from a cheap world war movie.

"Morning, Miss Hoffman."

You enter the lift and press the button that would take the lift to the nearest cafetaria several floors below.

"Going for a breakfast?"

"Nah, just coffee."

"Indulging in stimulant with an empty stomach could royally mess your inside, you know?"

Hoffman is quite the worry wart. But you guess it's to be expected from the head of both the security and public relation department.

"Madam, I'm a doctor." you remind Hoffman of your status.

"Which means you are more likely to kill yourself, according to the newest statistic."

What year is this again?

"So, been busy lately? I see you're a bit...underdressed."

Hoffman. If you could describe this German woman in a single word, the word 'intrusive' couldn't fit better if it was used to describe an alien anal probe. As you know it, the way 'public relation' in this company works is a little bit different from any other companies, as evident by the fact that the public relation and the security departments are basically the same thing. What Hoffman leads is essentially GenTech's own BlackOps team, silencing journalists, politicians, and any activists that might prove detrimental to the interest of the company.

You often speculate that the fact she looks like she could be a member of the Waffen SS might be a factor on how she managed to get to her current position. From the black trench coat she always wear, the tomboyish spiky haircut of her light blond hair, the sharp blue eyes, to the fact that her face might as well came from a stone stolen from Mount Rushmore chiseled by Michaelangelo equipped with a Thunderhammer.

Another word that could be used to describe Hoffman is 'sharp'. The way you know her, every word that came from Hoffman's mouth could be a form of subliminal interrogation. Talking to Hoffman feels like being constantly reminded of the Miranda Rights, every word you say could be used against you. And when you say 'against you' you mean 'bullet to the back of the head."

Also remaining silent would most likely lead to a deeper personal investigation that could rival the Spanish Inquisition, which usually leads to, you guess it, bullet to the back of the head.

So Hoffman asked what you've been up to lately.

How would you respond?

[ ] I pulled out an all nighter again last night. New test subject. Jensen was rather excited. Too excited, even.
-Japanese woman, prime condition.

[ ] Nothing too exciting. I was assigned an intern.
-there are few problems, but nothing I couldn't handle.

[ ] I was being shot at all night. Maybe you could do something about that?
-I found a bag full of weaponry. Maybe you could use that to track down the people who attacked me?
-Also, could you run this handkerchief through DNA test?

[ ] Write ins. If you're going to lie, I advise covering the lie with truth.

No. 181057
Now THAT is a title!
No. 181059
[ ] I was being shot at all night. Maybe you could do something about that?
-I found a bag full of weaponry. Maybe you could use that to track down the people who attacked me?
-Also, could you run this handkerchief through DNA test?
No. 181060
[x] I was being shot at all night. Maybe you could do something about that?
-I found a bag full of weaponry. Maybe you could use that to track down the people who attacked me?
-Also, could you run this handkerchief through DNA test?
No. 181062
[X] I was assaulted by an interdimensional horror in a van I stole from some recently killed kidnapers. And I met this girl. She was kind of cute.
No. 181063
[X] What can I say? Showing up to work in various states of undress and covered in bruises is just another average Tuesday in the life of Smoke ManMuscle.
No. 181064
It's Monday, actually.
No. 181066
>>181062
this sounds good
No. 181068
[X] I was being shot at all night. Maybe you could do something about that?
[X]-I found a bag full of weaponry. Maybe you could use that to track down the people who attacked me?
[X]-Also, could you run this handkerchief through DNA test?

Now, that is a title!
No. 181098
"I was attacked last night, you know."

You are hesitant to tell the likes of Hoffman about what happened last night, but you guess she'll know anyway, one way or the other.

Doesn't stop you to hope that she thinks you were merely joking, though.

"With guns. A lot of them. High end stuff too, MP5s and full plate composite armors."

If Hoffman actually heard your words, she doesn't show any reaction. Still standing stiff as ever with hands in front of her and face as bland as a medieval rice gruel.

DING!

The elevator doors opened, and you both stepped out.

"Wait, aren't you going somewhere else?" you distinctly remember Hoffman pressed another button that leads to another floor other than this one.

"Hmm? Whatever did you mean? I am simply looking forward to having a nice drink with my fellow working class."

"Uh-huh." was that supposed to be a joke? Sure, you can see how that line could be funny if it were delivered by a talented comedian, but Hoffman's delivery was flatter than China after a bad case of Mongol horde.

"That was an interesting story you told me, why don't we continue over some freshly brewed coffee?"

With nothing else to say comes to mind, you simply answered with 'Eh, sure.'.

The cafetaria, or more accurately 'The Employee Lounge', occupy an entire floor of its own. A gigantic opening with no walls separating it into numerous rooms, with space only limited by a miniscule amount of supporting pillars and a giant concrete tube in the middle for the elevators to pass through. On one side of the room, the entire outer wall had been replaced by a series of massive panoramic wall, where you can almost see the entire city from.

The lounge was deliberately given the 'Ye Olde' feels, with dim yellow lighting, wooden padded chairs, sofas, wooden tables of various sizes, and wooden paneling covering the entire wall. This room is the green movement nightmare.

No TV's, though. Nor any bookcase in sight. Because they've figured that in this modern day, all you need to do to keep people occupied is giving them a free unlimited access for a broadband Wi-Fi.

Your feet slightly sink each time you step on the beautifully embroidered brown carpet that covers the entire floor, except the corners, where four bars had been set up for people to get their refreshments from.

In your way to the nearest bar, you notice that the entire lounge is almost empty. Naturally, since early Monday morning isn't exactly your typical time to rest. Only few guardsmen and researchers here and there, sitting around, polishing their guns or playing with their tablets.

The bar table and stools are made of wood, just like everything else in this room, with big glass rack sticking to the back wall filled to the brim with stuff like margarita to vodka to strawberry Fanta.

The one that tends to the bar is your typical pretty young woman with slick, neck-length dark hair, friendly face, and a butler outfit of white shirt, black vest and slack, smart shoes, and a bow tie. And...

...

Are those...raven wings sprouting from her back?

You rub your eyes. Certainly your fatigued eyes once again play some mean trick on you.

Certainly enough, the next time you open your eyes, you only see a normal human girl instead of angel of darkness.

"Good morning, Mr. Hoffman, Mr. Manmuscle. What could I get you in the beginning of this fine day?" The bartender offered, with an excited tune and a smile full of genuine idealism.

Hoffman, whom since now has been following quietly behind you, and by that you mean she walks like a ghost, gives her order first.

"The usual, please."

"Certainly, Madam! Here you are!" the girl response cheerfully, as if almost shouting.

You could almost swear the girl use some sort of Kung Fu or something, because she suddenly pulls out a clean white plate out of nowhere and lays it on the table, and then just as fast, she pulls out a small paper bag from behind the table and pour a bunch of whole ungrinded coffee beans to said plate.

Also you are sure that porcelain cup filled with black liquid certainly wasn't there two seconds ago.

"Exactly twenty beans of recently baked Carribean Coffee for snacking, plus a cup of black Italian coffee. Is this order correct?" The girl asks for confirmation.

"It is, thank you." Hoffman put a bill of twenty on the table and pick up her 'Holy Caffeine Fest'.

"I am going to secure a table for us.", she says as she leaves you in front of the bar, alone with the bartender.

"And can I get you something, sir?" The girl asks you, just as enthusiastic as before.

[][][][]


A/N: Believe me, I want to skip straight to the epic gunship chase (should be pretty soon) as much as the next person, but patience is a virtue. A stupid virtue, but hey. For now, pick your drink. Your choice of beverage may or may not affect the story and your relation with other characters. Also humanity uses too many names to refer to the exact same thing.

[ ] Americano.

[ ] Antocinno.

[ ] Cafe Cubano.

[ ] Latte.

[ ] Medici.

[ ] Mocha,

[ ] Zorro.

[ ] Cappuccino.

[ ] Eggnog Latte.

[ ] Espresso.

[ ] Frappe.

[ ] Guillermo.

[ ] Macchiato

[ ] Ristretto.

[ ] White.

[ ] Black.

[ ] Just give me a bag of coffee powder of random mixture, a spoon, and a glass of milk.

[ ] After second thought, I rather get sloshed. (pick your poison)

[ ] Do you have that new Japanese bottled coffee? MAX coffee or something?


Optional:

[ ] I'd also like a sandwich, if you please. (specify kind)

[ ] I've been working here for more than ten years, but I don't remember anyone with such...cheerful personality.

[ ] Lady, are you an angel?
No. 181099
[x] Irish Coffee
[x] I've been working here for more than ten years, but I don't remember anyone with such...cheerful personality.
No. 181100
[x] Espresso.
- Shaken, not stirred.
[x] Lady, are you an angel?

Genuine question disguised as flirting, or just flirting?
No. 181104
[X] Drink something.
[X] I've been working here for more than ten years, but I don't remember anyone with such...cheerful personality.

Drink vote is of vital importance to the story guyz. So sayeth the OP, and so it is written.
No. 181106
[x] Latte.
[x] Lady, are you an angel?
No. 181167
"Sir?"

A slightly raised voice of a girl tells you that this is the moment to make a decision.

Decision about coffee. Of which there are so many you can't even differ one from the others.

So, your brain just goes 'eh, who give a fuck?"

"Just give me the strongest legal stimulant you have. Your recommendation. whatever."

You lean against the table, rubbing your tired eyes.

"Certainly. Anything else?" the bartender asked.

"Nah. Just want something to keep me awake until evening."

You absent-mindedly observe as the black haired girl starts to prepare your beverage with an almost inhuman speed. Her hands dissolve into a blur as she take out a small knife and starts cutting up some mushrooms, herbs, and plants you cannot identify before adding it into the grinder with a heap of non-descript coffee beans.

Hmm, some sort of herb coffee? Gues that wouldn't be so bad. You've never heard of mushrooms being used in a coffee mix before, however.

"Been pulling out all nighters lately, sir?"

You have no idea how someone could manage an idle conversation while moving at that kind of speed and precision. Some sort of latent augmentation, maybe?

"You can say that again. My eyes are so tired I started seeing things. Just a moment ago I could swear that you have wings." you chuckled half-heartedly.

The girl's fast movement abruptly stopped. Her hands hovering still above your cup.

"Wings, sir?"

"Yeah, black raven wings. So, either I really need that coffee, or you are an angel of death sent by lucifer to kill me with said coffee."

The girl smiles.

"You definitely need some caffeine in your blood, sir. Or sleep. Lots of it." the girl gives a silent laugh before continuing to work on your cup, stirring the steaming content with a small silver spoon. You notice that her movement has slowed down, though. It's slower and more cautious, more...human. "In fact, I would suggest taking a bath at the gym and go for a nap, if you would consider it."

She put the cup on a small plate, and proceed to push it in front of you. You gladly accept it.

"Thanks. Maybe I'll do that."

You pull out a note of twenty from your wallet and put it on the table. As the girl gives you your change, you notice something.

"Say, are you new? I've been working here for ten years and I don't remember anyone with such...cheerful personality."

The girl smiles again.

"Yes sir. Just joined last week."

Hmm. An intern and a bartender. This company sure draws a lot of new manpowers lately.

Or girlpowers that is, if you want to make the feminists happy.

You take a single sip of your freshly brewed coffee.

"It's good."

Really good, in fact. Better that anything you have ever tasted. Well, no, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the subtle taste of the herbs sure make this brew one of the top ten.

"Well, guess now i know where I'm going to get my fix every morning."

"I'm flattered sir. It's just an old family recipe." The girl bows slightly, smiling humbly.

"so...what's your name again?"

"Aya. Aya Shameimaru."

"Doctor Smoke Torgue ManMuscle. You've heard of me?"

"With a name like that, sir? How can't I?" The girl gives you a teasing smile. You wonder if this girl ever stop smiling.


"Right. Well, can't choose your own name, right?"

At least you can't without a sod ton of paperwork.

"Anyway, Shameimaru. I guess I'll be seeing you again tomorrow?"

"Of course, sir. I'll be expecting you."

And with that, you left Shameimaru to tend to her bar and go looking for the head of the security.

You find Hoffman sitting on a sofa somewhere near the middle of the room, with her cup and plate left half empty on a low table in front of her. You proceed to sit across the table, on a comfortable leather armchair.

Hoffman gives you a few moment to enjoy a few sips of your own herb coffee, and, after making sure there's no one around that would listen to your conversation, proceed to ask you to continue telling her what she had considered as an 'interesting story'.

You tell her everything you can remember, from your newly purchased item from the net, the girl in your bathroom, the armed men, your laptop, your chase throughout the night, and how you became a suspected terrorist.

Any other woman would consider your story insane, but Hoffman...she didn't even raise an eyebrow as you tell her a scenario that would be rejected by Michael Bay from being too wild and nonsensical.

And then she starts asking question.

"Your laptop. Was there anything important in it?"

Yes. It was your gaming laptop. With 200 hours of save files in it and a 10000 words of fanfiction update. You should have made a back up.

"I meant something related to the company's interest."

Oh, then no.

"Your phone calls, could it be traced back to you?"

No. Just like any other higher ups of GenTech, you have equipped your phone with a series of scrambler and router going through enough proxies to rival the cold war. Though you might still want to change your SIM card, just to be sure.

"Alibi?"

You left your home to work, forget to lock the front door, and have your house thrashed for your trouble. At least, that what you planned on telling to the cops.

"DNA trace? Fingerprints?"

There might be some in the half destroyed van, but you've parked it in a junkyard, so with some luck, it is already destroyed for scrap metal by now.

The series of question continues regarding your traceability and evidence you had left behind, before Hoffman finally concludes with one, final question.

"So." Hoffman scratches her head. "From what you told me, their primary objective seems to be that girl, and you just interfered because...why, exactly?"

Huh.

Now that you got confronted upfront by that question, you find yourself at a difficulty to answer.

Why exactly you did what you did? Why did you risk your life?


[ ] It is a man's duty to help a woman in need.

[ ] I was bored.

[ ] They broke my property, so I broke them.

[ ] I just want to reclaim my property, that's all.

[ ] Write Ins.
No. 181169
[X] I just want to reclaim my property, that's all.

I laughed that you threw in Torgue. I mean, really, I couldn't stop giggling. That made my day to see my vote get used in some way. So his middle name is Torgue, huh? A name fitting of a badass, even if it is silly.

Anyways, we've thus far gone the route of only doing this for the laptop, so we might as well continue.

Also, while nothing to sneeze at, and easily being a few weeks of work down the toilet, losing 10k words towards a fanfic is hardly reason enough to throw in the towel. He did say indefinite hiatus, right? Sure, it would be a pain in the rear to rewrite, but he must not be very dedicated if he gave up after so little struggle. ...Not counting risking life and limb to recover the update, of course.
No. 181177
>>181167
[ ] "They broke my property, so at first I wanted to break them, then they stole my shit and no one steal my shit.
the beauty in distress was a nice bonus, hopefully she wasn't turned into a ninja cyborg by Jensen... a man can hope right?"
No. 181184
[x] It is a man's duty to help a woman in need.
Either this or he changes his name
No. 181187
[x] I was bored.

Badass.
No. 181188
[X] I just want to reclaim my property, that's all.
No. 181192
[x] It is a man's duty to help a woman in need.
No. 181197
[x] Don't need a reason to help someone.
No. 181198
[x] I just want to reclaim my property, that's all.
No. 181223
"Well, now that you asked me, there are various reasons why I did what I did."

You reclines deeper into your seat, enjoying the fine cushion that must have cost the company quite a fortune. You see Hoffman inclines on her own seat, with her knuckles on her chin. Her eyes looking straight at you with undivided attention.

"At first, I was angry that someone broke into my property. Bathroom door is not cheap, you know. And then they start dragging out this wounded woman that was somehow inside my bathroom, and then they sealed the deal by stealing my laptop." You scratch the back of your head. "So, you may say that what I did was merely the result of my non-static motive fueled by my ever-changing desire."

You barely have any idea on what did you just said.

Hoffman tilts her head aside.

"Illogical."

Maybe, maybe. But hey;

"I'm a scientist, Madam, and if you look behind unto history, you would realize that the biggest advancement humanity has made was merely the result of very, very smart men doing a really, really stupid shit."

Like penicillin, for example.

"Stupid that's more often than not ends up getting them killed. And what advancement could you contribute to humanity by being shot at all night?"

"A thesis on the catharsis of utter chaos?" you shrugged.

Hoffman sighed slightly, just slightly, enough to agitate the microbes in the air near her nose.

"Mister ManMuscle." Hoffman starts to speak in an authoritarian voice that unsettlingly fits her appearance. "It is my duty to protect the interest of the company. It is what I was brought in for, and that is my purpose."

"Uh-huh." you nod slowly.

"And you must understand that the interest of the company includes the protection of its assets. And Mister ManMuscle, you may not aware of this, but you are an asset."

An asset, huh? Stuff to be used, and then maybe thrown away after?

Well, an atom bomb is an asset, so you guess it's fine to be referred as an 'asset' once in a while.

"And I can't have the asset of the company endanger himself like that. For now, I might be able to do some favors for you, maybe smooth some things up with the government or the local police, but I also can't waste resources on something that should be avoidable in the first place."

"your point?"

"I just want you to be careful, that's all. Understand that your brain doesn't belong solely to you. It belongs to the company."

Again with the objectifying. Now you know what it feels to be a pair of breasts.

"Sheesh, fine, mother." you say mockingly.

Hmm. Mother. That reminds you, this is almost mother day, Isn't it? Too bad you can't even remember your own mother. Father said she died in a foreign land just soon after she gave birth to you. Thought where exactly he never specifies. The best you can get from him was 'Somewhere in Asia'. And you will know, if you have the slightest knowledge about geography, Asia is motherfucking big.

Sorry mother.

"Anyway." Hoffman takes another sip of her black coffee. You follow suit with your own herb coffee. "Regarding the men you attacked, do you have anything that I could use to identify them?"

You rub your temple, trying to remember all the details you can give to Hoffman.

"Well, I managed to salvage a bag full of guns, if that helps. It's in my office."

You sense a smile coming from Hoffman. No, not seeing it, just sensing it, if that even makes sense.

"A lot of guns are always welcome. Anything else?"

"Well...I have this."

You hand over the bloodied handkerchief from your satchel.

Hoffman examines it for a second before she found the initial embroidered on it.

"M.H?"

"I found it among the little belongings the girl had on her. Maybe you can run a DNA check on it."

"Hmm. It's certainly feasible."

She runs a finger on the many dried blood patches on the handkerchief, before carefully folding it and put it behind her trench coat.

"I would like to speak to that girl."

"She's still being worked on. If Jensen doesn't turn her into a ninja cyborg, you'll be able to see her at the recovery room, tomorrow at the soonest."

"Hmm." Hoffman reclines her back to her seat, before jerking right back up and clasps her hands.

"Well, Mr. ManMuscle." Hoffman stands from her seat, and she takes her cup with her. "It seems like you just gave me enough work to make an overtime. I would need to start now if I were to finish it before the next dawn, so if you would excuse me..."

"Of course."

"Ah, and one more thing." Hoffman added, before she takes another sip of her coffee. "We've been having some espionage problem lately."

Well, now this is a surprise.

"Espionage?" you parroting.

"Nothing we couldn't handle of course, it just that some of our files have been missing from our various archives in the past week. Nothing too important or secretive, but still..."

She takes another sip.

"My advice to you..."

She puts her nearly empty cup on the table, near half a plate of coffee beans.

"Be careful of new faces."

After telling you what could only be a deliberately cryptic suggestion, Hoffman walks past your seat and towards the Lift Lobby, where she went to do...whatever a head of security like her would do.

"New faces, huh?" that reminds you...

Oh, speak of the devil. You just about to look for her.

Sitting on Aya's bar, and seemingly in a good mood as expressed by her cheerful tone as she talks with the bartender, is the intern that was assigned to you.

You remember that you want to apologize to her.

But how?

[ ] She seems shy the first time you met her, so let's be subtle.
-Maybe Subaru has her contact number. Maybe you should just text her.

[ ] Be bold and straightforward.
-Specify (write ins).
No. 181229
>>181223
[X] Be bold and straightforward.
"Miss Kawashiro I'd like to apologize for my actions earlier, I've had a rough evening which did nothing for my habit of being touchy with technology I'm not familiar with. also seeing your reaction you might want to tone the sensibility a bit and please next time tell me you're not comfortable with what I'm doing because chances are you're not going to be comfortable with some of my work."

I'd try to make more double meaning but I'm not good enough
No. 181249
[X] Be bold and straightforward.
[X] My bad. Let's be friends.
No. 181306
[X] Be bold and straightforward.
"Miss Kawashiro I'd like to apologize for my actions earlier, I've had a rough evening which did nothing for my habit of being touchy with technology I'm not familiar with. also seeing your reaction you might want to tone the sensitivity a bit and please next time tell me you're not comfortable with what I'm doing because chances are you're not going to be comfortable with some of my work."

Without votes, the writer can't exactly continue. Well, technically they could, but that would be combining the two votes, and while I'd rather have neither of these used, I think this is the lesser of two evils.
No. 181406
Oh well, let get this done with.

You walk silently towards the bar and the two conversing girls as you thought about what you would say to the girl whom you may or may not have sexually harassed.

You've never find it easy to apologize for something. Especially not to a girl.

Honestly, you suspect that this would be a bit embarrassing. For every party involved, that is.

As you are closing in to them, you realize that the two girls are talking in what you can only think of as Japanese, which unfortunately you can't comprehend. Also, they don't seem to be aware of your presence yet, strangely enough.

"Excuse me?" you called out to make yourself noticed.

The girls ceased their conversation almost immediately, jerking their heads very rapidly at your direction like deer in front of a car's headlight. You notice this strange reaction to be similar to that of a thief caught in the middle of his act, which you consider as weird. Maybe you just caught them by surprise?

"Hello again, Mister ManMuscle. Here for another cup?" Shameimaru offered, just as friendly as before with a smile that could probably rival the sun. "Or can I get you anything else?"

"Nothing for now. Thanks."

Unlike Shameimaru's almost overly friendly gesture, Kawashiro's expression is almost the exact opposite. She doesn't greet you at all, instead, her face is solely focused on the small glass of cold beer she is holding between her fingers.

"Uh...can I sit here?"

Even tough you technically the one with the higher position in the company, you can't help but feel like you need permission from these girls first before you attempt to do anything.

You look at Shameimaru.

Shameimaru looks at Kawashiro.

Kawashiro looks at Shameimaru, then looks at you, and then back at Shameimaru.

Kawashiro gives a small silent nod.

"Of course, Mister ManMuscle. You can sit." Said Shameimaru with a smile.

You sit down at one of the small stools lined up in front of the bar.

"you sure you don't want anything? A small breakfast, maybe?"

"Nah. By the way, you two knew each other?" you pointed at the two girls in quick succession.

"You can say that we're old friends. Right, Nitori-kun?" Shameimaru called out to Kawashiro with an extra cute-ish emphasis on her name. She doesn't respond, instead deciding that her glass of beer is the most interesting thing in the world.

Shameimaru turns to you with a slightly disappointed look on her face. "Sorry, she's always been shy around hu...men."

A shy person, huh? That gives you an idea...

At first you wished for a more ideal situation with just you and Kawashiro, but if Kawashiro is really that shy around men, like you, then the existence of a familiar third party might actually be beneficial. At least for her.

You stand up and leave, only to sit back again on a stool two steps away, giving Kawashiro some extra personal space.

"So, Shameimaru, do you know that Kawashiro was assigned internship to me? Some sort of apprenticeship, you may say."

Shameimaru gives Kawashiro a teasing look with a cat-like grin, which seems to make Kawashiro want to sink deeper into her glass of beer.

"Oh? Really? She never told me about you. Now why is that?"

You fiddle with the button of your coat, making sure that at least your chest is covered. And it is just you or it's getting hotter here?

"Well, maybe that because I did something really, really stupid. You see, I have this some sort of light OCD where I constantly want to know how things work, see? That exactly why I do what I do. I want to know what exactly make the world ticks, and sometimes I go overboard, like this one time when I tried to cut my grandma ope to see how "Old People" works."

"Okaay...." Shameimaru gave you a weird look. Not exactly condescending, just...awkward.

"That was a joke." Maybe.

"Ah, of course it is."

"Anyway, I can keep myself together most of the time, but this morning was not the usual morning, as I found myself half-naked and really-really sleepy."

"Uh-huh."

Shameimaru sounds like a good listener. Which is good, since it means you can avoid direct contact with the shy Kawashiro.

Good thing you took that small lecture on psychology.

"Well, so, this morning I may just find your friend's arms...a bit too interesting, though honestly, if my personal opinion worth anything, I would suggest that she tune the sensitivity down a bit."

You look aside to see Kawashiro blushing like a tomato. You think you would want to end this as soon as possible, because you're not sure whether or not this room is actually getting hotter as you feel your own face rising in temperature.

"A...anyway! What I'm trying to say is that I'm usually a decent ma...person, And I would like to apologize and if it is possible I would like to be friends with Miss Kawashiro because I think she would be a very useful asset to the company if her arms are any indication and I find it really embarrassing to talk like this so if Miss Kawashiro has nothing to say like explaining why she was doing in my office, I would leave now thx bye!"

You stand up and preparing to fast-walk away from the vicinity. You don't know why you feel so embarrassed just from talking. Maybe you suddenly develop a Caligynephobia or fear of pretty woman. Wait, did you just admitted to yourself that you find either Aya or Nitori pretty? Well, that's fine, you guess, there are nothing wrong with being pretty and BLOODY HELL THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO BE BLUSHING LIKE A BOLLOCKING TWATMUNCHER!

AND WHY ARE YOU THINKING IN BRITISH!?

"Tsk,tsk." you heard Shameimaru's voice "Look, Nitori, He's more afraid of you than you are afraid of him."

"I...I weren't afraid!"

Kawashiro suddenly raises her head and shouted. And you suddenly find the bar's table to be rather interesting. What's this? Mahogany?

"Now that's the spirit! And don't you have anything to say to our friend here, Nitori-kun?"

"uu..."

You steal an aside glance and see that Kawashiro's blushing has intensified to the level of ,basically, a neon red paint. You can't help but wonder if you also currently wearing the same expression.

Finally, in a very subdued manner anyone could barely able to hear, Kawashiro begin to speak.

"It was Mister Mercer."

Doctor Mercer...He's in charge of the morgue.

"Mister Mercer said he wanted to meet you immediately, but he couldn't contact your phone."

You pick up your phone from your bag and realize that you still connected to the proxy server. You quickly turn it off.

"I met him by chance...and he told me to told you to meet him in the,...uh, freezer."

This is when you are once again made aware to the fact hat you are still shirtless.

"He said it was 'Code Reform'. I don't know what it meant, though."

Code Reform?

"You sure it wasn't Code R-E-Four?"

"M...Maybe it was. I'm not sure."

Crap.

"Well, it seems like I have a job to do, so I'm going to take my leave."

You stand up, but as you're about to leave, a voice stopped you.

"It was my fault!"

You look back to find Kawashiro standing up near you, extending her arm to you. Her beautiful, seamless arm.

Calm down.

"I messed up with my calibration this morning and tuned the sensitivity too high. I tuned it down now so...if Mister ManMuscle want to start over...."

You are dumbfounded, standing there, looking at the technological marvel stuck out basically up your nose.

YOU WILL NOT MESS THIS UP. CALM DOWN YOU TWAT.

"Err...sure. Doctor Smoke Torgue ManMuscle, nice to meet your acquaintance." you grab her hand, trying really hard not to even think.

"Nitori Kawashiro, uh, nice to meet you."

"Now that wasn't so hard, is it?" said Shameimaru, butting in from behind her table.

"Right, now if you excuse me, I have some work to do." you start to turn around and walk away , in no way trying to avoid taking Kawashiro apart then and there.

"W, wait! Do you have any task for me, uh, sir?"

Kawashiro asked. By this point you already forget she's here for an internship.

"Err...dunno? Just relax here, I guess, I'll see you in a bit..."

Suddenly, your phone rings.

You take it out. One glance at the screen reveals that it's Jensen.

"Sorry, business talk."

"Sure, take your time." Said Shameimaru.

You walk away from the two girls to the most secluded area in the room you can find, and press the green button.

[i]"Yo, Boss! Been trying to contact you for a while"

" 'sup, old man? Sorry, my proxy was active. How's the girl"

"She's still kicking."

"What, you gave her a jumping jet?"

"Come on, it's not like I could do total conversion in the ten minutes before you sent Miss Funbreak here."

You hear Subaru's subdued protest somewhere down the line.

"Anyway, we're currently in the recovery room 6, her sedative should wear off in an hour or so. But I think it is to your best interest to get here as soon as possible."

"And why is that?"

Jensen's tone suddenly take a dive in volume.

"The bullet we found in her...It wasn't just a mere bullet. It was a transmitter. Whoever shot her knows where she is now."

....

"Well, that's something to think about."

"Furthermore, it was the model T-70. It's our own product sold exclusive to the Canadian Military. It was a rather genius design, using the victim's own body heat and chemical reaction with hemoglobin as a power source and..."

"yes, yes, Jensen, I know you designed the damn thing. What are you implying, that I'm fighting against Canadian black ops?"

Or worse, the fucking mounted police?

"I don't know. Maybe you should see it for yourself? Either way, I already deactivated it."

"Right. Be there as soon as possible."

...

You cut off the line and sighed.

"Crap on a cracker. This day just keep getting better."

[ ] To the recovery room and check on Sweetcheeks.

[ ] To the morgue, before the company suffers from the worst PR disaster this side of Racoon City.
No. 181410
[X] To the morgue, before the company suffers from the worst PR disaster this side of Racoon City.

We've got another hour before she wakes up. Plenty of time.
No. 181413
[X] To the recovery room and check on Sweetcheeks

When the resident scientist tells you to go there pronto, something is horribly wrong
No. 181418
[X] To the morgue, before the company suffers from the worst PR disaster this side of Racoon City.

The plot thickens.
No. 181423
[X] To the morgue, before the company suffers from the worst PR disaster this side of Racoon City.

and pray to all that is good (to us) that our , I'm guessing, boss isn't pissed at us being late I'd hate to lose our job; also
-[X]bring up the new info about the transmitter bullet
No. 181566
You lean lazily against the steel wall of the garage-sized elevator, completely alone. There were some other people with you, a team of janitors and what you suspect as some low tier wage slaves from the finance department, but as you descended further into the underground, they left one by one, eager to finish their business for the day.

You feel tired. It's difficult to merely keep your eyes open. Aya's coffee was pretty good, but still can't beat four hours of sleep.

The elevator music certainly doesn't help.

You know, if they were to put an elevator in a company building, they shouldn't be using "Ipanema" as the music. You're pretty sure it negates the effectiveness of the employees.

Yeah, they totally should have put some Led Zepellin in here. Or Motorhead, something that would make you want to take on those mountain of paperwork with the force of a charging Rohirrim cavalry.

DING!

....It also would help if the bell doesn't simultaneously trying to give you a heart attack.

The morgue is located deep below the surface, even further down than the basement. As you step out of the elevator, a rush of cold air greets you, hitting your uncovered chest and makes you shiver, just a little. For a room that is just about the same size as the employee lounge, you would recon that 6 Artic-class cooler units should be enough, but no, they had to install twenty instead, and somehow still manage to be under budget.

Point is, it's 'effin cold in here. And very dry, too. If you die here, there's a good chance that you would get instantly mummified just like if you die in an arid desert.

"Whoo!" You let out a shout just to watch your breath fogs up. People may call you easily amused, but it's the little things that make world worth living.

As you enter the morgue proper, you are greeted by the view of dead bodies.

A lot of them.

Imagine Auschwitz, if Hitler was really, really immaculate and a germophobe, and probably has an OCD. The entire place looks like it was made from the very essence of cleanliness, white without a stain. Even the lighting is excessively bright, coming from dozens of meticulously placed neon lamps to make sure no shadow can be casted and no one would be able to get their 'rest in peace'. It's like that scene from The Matrix, but instead of guns, you have dead bodies.

Lines after lines of corpses, some look even more beautiful than when they were alive, positioned in an uniformed manner on top of dozens of steel tables. Though some are not so uniformed, having lost some of their limbs, like legs, arms, their unmentionables, and even a head.

As you walk further inside, you come across the body of a negroid child, about ten year old, with a caved in face as if it had been smashed with a sledgehammer. You wonder what happened to him.

You know that many of these bodies came from some...questionable sources. And looking from an outsider perspective it may look like the company is committing crime against humanity, but all of this is still technically legal, mostly thanks to Hoffman's work.

"Doctor ManMuscle."

You heard a voice calling you from one of the corners of the room. You shift your gaze towards its general direction, and find two of your contemporaries standing around a small table that is supporting what seems to be a birdcage covered in piece of fabric.

"Doctor Mercer, Doctor MacGrath."

Mercer, wearing a thick red jacket as usual, is the 'undertaker', so to say. He makes sure the bodies are taken care of, which sometimes means keeping everything dead. He is also responsible for the incineration of, to put it kindly, 'Excess Garbage', bodies that has been used up and no longer has any worth to the company. He wears a 'Pripyat-style' gas mask that covers his entire face and distorts his voice into a series of guttural grumbles.

"Would I need one of those?"

"Probably. Here." MacGrath, wearing a similar get up as Mercer with blue jacket and a surgical mask instead of full face gas mask, hands you another mask similar to his own. You put it on immediately. "And why are you shirtless?"

Technically, as the head of the neurology division, which is a part of the RnD department, MacGrath is your subordinate. But since he's been working in GenTech for almost twelve years, he's also technically your senior.

"Nothing much. I just haven't decided to wear any shirt this day. Anyway, what do you guys need me for? What's in the cage?"

"Guess."

Now that you approached it closer, you can see that beneath the table there is a boxy, compact yet complicated machine with lots of tubes that extend up into the bird cage. The tubes are transparent, allowing you to see the red liquid that is being constantly pumped upward before the hoses disappear behind the dark fabric that covers the birdcage.

You recognize the device. It's usually attached to people with diabetes. You never seen one like this, though.

"That's...some sort of blood purifier?"

"You can call it that, maybe." says Mercer with a voice that sounds like he had been chain smoking a six pack every day for the last twenty years. "Only it's more than that. It oxygenates blood, clean it up, pump it, basically, it's a machine that replaces your entire circulatory system."

"Cool. But still, what's in the cage?"

"Hmm. That is disappointing." MacGrath sighed. "We though you would be able to guess with just that."

"Not we. You. You owe me a fifty."

"Dammit."

So, you're being used as a betting material. Fantastic.

"Seriously, guys. What's behind the cover?"

"Well. Why don't you find out for yourself? Just reach your hand and pull!"

You can't help but feels Mercer's pompous smirk behind that full face mask of his.

Oh well, here goes nothing.

"If this just some sort of jack-in-the-box trickery, I will have your head." you reach your hand forward, until your fingers touch the unexpectedly soft fabric.

"well, actually, it is a head." says MacGrath.

"What?"

As your curiosity overcomes you, you pull the fabric that is covering the birdcage as fast as possible, revealing...

...

It's a cage, just like any other bird cage you can find in a pet store. A cylindrical object with a dome-like top made from wire mesh. The cage itself is totally ordinary. What interests you is that the birdcage doesn't contain any bird, instead, it contains, just as MacGrath said, a head.

A human head, with a face that could either be a very manly woman or a very girly man, with long white hair that doesn't seems to fit her or his young complexion scattered across the bottom of the cage like a bridal veil.

Having a severed head in a cage in itself is already pretty outrageous, but it's made even more outrageous...when the said head is alive.

As you open the cover of the cage, you see its pupils dilute, trying to adjust to the sudden change of light. Its eyeball moving frantically from side to side, and you can see its expression change from desperation to fear to ...anger.

Its eyes suddenly locks on to yours, as she stares at you with a killing intent of magnitude you had never seen in a human being before. You see it gritted its teeth, as if by doing so it could remove your neck from your body so that you too, could experience its pain.

Unconsciously, you take a few step backwards.

You never thought that you could be intimidated by a severed head, but this...thing, you know that if it's ever given a body, it would immediately kill you to death...


....

Is it just you or its suddenly getting warm here?

Suddenly, without any warning at all, you are on fire.

"Quick! Cover the cage!"

You quickly remove your burning lab coat and throw it to the floor, leaving you, once again, topless, and this time, it's below freezing.

When you look back at the cage, Mercer already put its cover back, removing the still alive head from your sight.

"Well, that was close, wasn't it?"


{}{}{}

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isolated_brain

[ ] Holy shit.

[ ] What the fuck!?

[ ] Yup. We're going to hell, alright.

[ ] That is creepy. Even by our standard.

[ ] You guys owe me a coat.

[ ] Where does that thing came from?

[ ] Who was that?

[ ] It's official. We're going too far.

[ ] Eh, we've crossed the line a long time ago.

[ ] Interesting. That is genuinely interesting.

[ ] write ins.
No. 181570
[ ] Holy shit. We're going to hell for whatever experiment that resulted in a severed head capable of setting people on fire. then again we've crossed that line a long time ago. but who thought of that? because it's creepy. Even by our standard. still how interesting. how very interesting.

but anyway you guys owe me a coat. and new eyebrows.
No. 181574
[X] Eh, we've crossed the line a long time ago.

Holy shit were working with Alex Mercer & Cole MacGrath... is that a good thing or a bad thing?
No. 181602
[X] OK MacGrath...when I told you the only way to get promoted out of R&D was to give the boss head, this is NOT what I meant.
No. 181613
[x] Interesting. That is genuinely interesting.
[x] ...but seriously, we are so going to hell. Just putting that out there. In the meantime...
[x] Who was that?
[x] Where does that thing came from?
[x] You guys owe me a coat.
No. 181675
[x] Interesting. That is genuinely interesting.
[x] ...but seriously, we are so going to hell. Just putting that out there. In the meantime...
[x] Who was that?
[x] Where does this thing come from?
[x] You guys owe me a coat.
No. 181803
Sane is a lot more like a Mage then a hunter though. .
No. 181865
>>181803
Wrong thread, mate.
No. 181866
Again, sorry for the slow drag in the last couple of months.

Basically, we saved the girl from the van and brought her to our workplace, a hospital/research centre hybrid specializing in human augmentation. also our MC is some sort of mad scientist with his own mad scientists team.

There, now you can skip it.


{}{}

"So," Mercer clasps his hands. "How's your opinion so far?"

"Depends." You slowly rub the top of your eyes. "Do I still have eyebrows?"

"They are fine." informs MacGrath. "Can't say the same about your cloak though."

You solemnly look at the remnant of your doctor coat on the floor, now nothing more than a mere piece of black, singed cloth.

"You guys owe me."

"Oh, stop whining. It was a company issue anyway. Here."

Out of nowhere, Mercer throws you a bundled piece of clothing.

You unravel it and find yourself in possession of a slightly ruffled, long-sleeved, dark brown shirt. It looks rather expensive, with a bit of ironing, it wouldn't look out of place if worn by a rich businessman. You uncomfortably notice a slight crimson patch around the collar.

"Mercer, where did you get this? And for that matter, where did you get that head?"

"The answer for both of that questions is in our contracts. It's all in the need to know basis."

Right. Your 'contract'. Well, as long the pay comes.

"And what do I need to know? Other than the fact that you have a disembodied abomination with the power of spontaneous human combustion, of course."

"Well..."

"This."

Again, out of nowhere (or perhaps it's from behind their thick, comfy coat, which you wish you have one right now inside this giant fridge full of corpses.) MacGrath pulls out a small beretta, and before you can fully identify the exact model, he fired two shots into the birdcage, through the covering and into the disembodied head.

Mercer slowly unravels the cover on the birdcage, revealing...well, a dead head with two holes on it. The head, its white hair now dyed crimson, is knocked aside to the edge of the birdcage, resting against its bars. The previously enraged eyes had rolled back behind its skull, completely motionless. Its mouth wide open, leaking saliva all over the bottom of the birdcage, and revealing a series of surprisingly well maintained teeth.

"It's dead." you say, stating the obvious.

"Not exactly." object MacGrath.

Suddenly, bright, noiseless flash of light blinds you, and when you regain your sight, the head is back to what it was before, and just as angry, if those eyes are anything to go by.

You feel the temperature of the room suddenly raises.

"Nope." as if denying the head the satisfaction of burning you alive, Mercer quickly covers the birdcage again.

....

Dumbledore called. He wants his phoenix back.

You know not of what to say or what to do. To avoid just standing there like an idiot, you decide to put your new shirt on. It'll at least gives your hands something to do. The 'new' shirt kind of smells, though. It smells of adrenaline, smells of cornered person that is about to be shot. It's a depressing smells, but it distracts you from the...whatever you just saw.

At least you're no longer naked.

"Interesting." you finally able to say. "That was genuinely interesting."

"It is, isn't it?" Say Mercer, probably with a little too much excitement.

"You know we're going to hell for this, right?"

"If it exist, we'll all be there already."

Probably.

"Just...putting that out there. Anyway, what do you want me to do with...it?"

"The thing is..."

MacGrath retrieves a huge stack of documents from a desk nearby, but before he could gives it to you...

BOOM!

....

You wish this day would at least let you finish one interesting event before giving you another fucking random explosion.

"What...is that?" You ask, not entirely want to know the answer.

"An explosion." Say MacGrath, again, stating the obvious. "Sounds like it came from the middle of the building..."

Crap.

"That's around RnD...your turf, right, ManMuscle?" Say Mercer, looking up to the ceiling as if it would help with his hearing.

"It was."

Your phone rings shortly. You quickly pick it up. It was a message from Jensen.

LOL WE RE FUCKED HELP

....

....


....














OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE YOU HAVEN'T EVEN HAD A BREAKFAST YET.



{}{}{}{}

[ ] 'Jensen, bring the others and meet me on the rooftop, we're taking the transportcopter'

[ ] 'Jensen, bring the girl to the basement, we're taking Subaru's car.'

[ ] 'Stay put. I'm coming.'



A/N: And now back to your scheduled mindless violence.
No. 181873
>>181866
[X] 'Jensen, bring the others and meet me on the rooftop, we're taking the transportcopter'
-[X]and make sure to activate ALL the defence drones even the experimental ones

you know I just realised I've been the first to post a vote for 3-4... yay?
No. 181874
>>181873
Thank you.
No. 181883
[X] 'Jensen, bring the girl to the basement, we're taking Subaru's car.'
No. 181893
[X] 'Jensen, bring the girl to the basement, we're taking Subaru's car.'

If "mindless violence" turns out to mean "fisticuffs with Mokou's headless body" then this will officially be the greatest story of all time.
No. 181899
Well, that's an idea, Isn't it?
No. 181960
Oh my god, this story is not dead yet? Or is it? This is probably the most fun read I've had anywhere and I was getting hella nervous. Please, at least, put up a status update or something.

And I guess it's time for me to stop being a silent reader and vote, dammit.
[X] 'Jensen, bring the others and meet me on the rooftop, we're taking the transportcopter'
No. 181962
Well, as long as there are still five people who read it...
No. 181963
>>181962
Oh fine I'll vote for once
[X] 'Stay put. I'm coming.'

And how dare you lot try and run away from danger. Its not going to do stupid things to itself!
No. 181979
“Tits. Sorry guys, gotta go.”

“Of course.”

You make a mad dash towards the elevator, leaving the two scientists behind with their effectively immortal head. The last thing you hear from them are Mercer asking ‘What’s up with RnD and big ass explosion?’

Well, what’s up with you and piles of dead bodies countable in kilonazi?

You waste no time entering the elevator. It just right after the elevator starts moving you noticing something strange.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t the standard procedure for any external attack against the building is that the elevators would get deactivated to isolate the attackers? So why…

DING!

The elevator’s door opened, revealing Hoffman and a squad of armored security guards carrying FNC assault rifles.

All pointed at you.

You’ve never hated the Belgians any more in your life than you are at this point of time.

“Tits.” You muttered “You know, I’ve already had my suspicion when you so willingly believed that I was attacked by an inter-dimensional monster.”

Hoffman simply gives her usual blank smile. “It was an interesting conversation, Mr. ManMuscle. Now, if you would kindly come with us without giving further resistance…”

[ ] Yeah, Yeah. What choice do I have?

[ ]On the contrary. I am actually predicting your very violent death in the not too distant future. *point behind her*
No. 181981
I have to wonder if we're doing the ol' 'Ohh god, what's that behind you?!' routine with the latter option...
No. 181982
[x]On the contrary. I am actually predicting your very violent death in the not too distant future. *point behind her*
No. 181985
>>181979
[X]On the contrary. I am actually predicting your very violent death in the not too distant future. *point behind her*

I guess we forgot rule one of mad science: never trust the people with stereotypical german accents
No. 182215
Ya I still believe this thread is going to go on.

[ ] Yeah, Yeah. What choice do I have?
Because obvious choice is too obvious.