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Reyn

Reyn

Sleepyhead
Staff member
Re: Safety proposal [DRAFT]
From:
garth.oleander@mira.gov
To:
placeholder.melnyk@mira.gov
CC:
N/A

Hello Dr. Melnyk,

This is an email regarding the accident during the raid on the Natural Sons, as your department is the only one I have not yet heard from. I thought that, given the main cause of the accident relates to inadequate suit functionality and preparatory measures, I would have already recieved correspondence from you, but I thought I'd reach out just in case. I understand that I do not have the authority to be requesting changes to other peoples' per


Jesus Christ, you sound like a child who's just been given detention. Or a politician.

Tak-tak-tak-tak.

Gaz frowned before the now-blank text box, staring pointedly over his glasses at the screen. The Wallace and Gromit branded mug was half-empty by now- his fourth cup of tea that day, as much as he loathed to admit it. His posture was slouched and uncomfortable; slumped over, back arched, head resting against his hand which dug into the bruise across the side of his jaw. Lucky he didn't break it, he'd been told. Lucky his teeth were made out of titanium. He didn't feel lucky. If he did, he wouldn't be writing this email.


Re: Reminder about personal safety [DRAFT]
From:
garth.oleander@mira.gov
To:
placeholder.melnyk@mira.gov
CC:
N/A

Hi Dr. Melnyk,

I've been meaning to catch up with you and your department about safety procedures going forward, regarding Dagger personnel who are deployed with me in the field. Given what happened during the raid on the Natural Sons, I think a stricter approach to personal protective equipment would be a good idea. I understand that operatives of this type are regularly exposed to threats in the field, but that doesn't mean that simple matters of chemical exposure should be ignored!

Perhaps take note from the strict procedures the Substance Analysis team are required to undergo before working with hazardous materials? Or at least make sure to inform everyone of the risks involved when working alongsi


Too patronising. He's not going to fucking listen to that, is he? I know I wouldn't.

Tak-tak-tak-tak.

It wasn't like him to be lost for words, not normally- but, in his defense, the past few days had presented some pretty extraordinary circumstances.

The discomfort, for one, was intense and mostly unfamiliar. Mostly. His Analyst job rarely involved physical hazards--they didn't let him near explosives--and most chemical hazards were either irrelevant by way of immunity, or grimly familiar. Throwing himself away from a detonating bomb, that was a new one. The shock-absorbent layers in the Venom Suit had been enough to cushion his body, but the functional parts were mostly unprotected- his jaw, mostly, as well as his forearms.

And the familiar side of that discomfort was around the same area. He was having a flare-up again- his right arm had gone completely numb the morning after the incident, and it had taken until that afternoon for him to regain the use of his hand. Even now, it was difficult to move. Using it to type these emails, he thought, would at least serve to build up strength.


Re: Reconsideration of standard briefing [DRAFT]
From:
garth.oleander@mira.gov
To:
placeholder.melnyk@mira.gov
CC:
N/A

Hello Dr. Melnyk,

I'm curious to know the extent to which my peers were informed about the appropriate safety measures required when working with hazardous materials in the field. How does it compare to the briefing the Analyst team recieves? Was the briefing the same for everyone? Why on Earth d


But you informed them yourself, didn't you? And most of them followed your advice anyway, this is all...

Tak-tak-tak-tak.

The personal circumstances, they weren't on his side either. Rowan still seemed on-edge; guilty, perhaps, that she gave her blessing to what ultimately, indirectly, almost caused their deaths. He hadn't spoken to Ayla much- offering his help, but mostly keeping his distance. The last thing he wanted was to be overbearing- he had no idea quite how unusual this was for her, quite how used she was to seeing violence of that caliber. And Hannah... he hadn't seen Hannah at all since her recovery. God knows how she was handling all of this, given that it was him who ultimately, indirectly, almost caused her death as well.

Re: Loved the prank on that last field op, very funny [DRAFT]
From:
garth.oleander@mira.gov
To:
jedediah.ross@mira.gov
CC:
placeholder.melnyk@mira.gov

Hey Jed

Forgive me if I'm mistaken here, but I believe I told everyone in that carrier I would be deploying a sedative into the air vents of that building, before we were deployed, to absolutely no objection. Of course I assumed it was safe. I'm an ex-fucking-terrorist; I'm used to everyone around me sealing themselves off like bloody Fort Knox every time I take my mask off. I know I'm just a lowly cog-in-the-machine scientist, but this is ridiculous.

Did Ravenir tell you he could defuse a bomb in his sleep, or something? Did you take him at his fucking word?

Thank god those bastards were stupid enough to keep their bomb in an unventilated room, otherwise you'd be hearing this at our bloody funerals. Quite why he waited until after the building had caught fire to tell me he had to choose between basic motor skills and basic respiratory filtration is beyond me. Could you ask him, actually? Or do you just not talk to your operatives at all? That would explain a lot. Maybe sending off an email every once in a fucking while would help, I know I'd certainly appreciate a little more corresponden

Come on, mate.

Tak-tak-tak-tak.

Gaz grit his teeth, rubbing his temples with his asymmetrically aching hands. He wished he could call the frustration uncharacteristic as well, but it was par for the fucking course at this point. The fact that this whole mess had nearly killed the others, that's what bothered him the most- they didn't deserved to get dragged into all this. It was bad enough that they were being sent out to risk their own lives, to take the lives of others, but for his own- for a mistake related to him to nearly kill the lot of them?

Should he have been clearer, then? Was there a way he could've been? Jesus Christ- were they ever going to let him out in the field again? The prospect of continuing his career stuck inside the facility was almost nauseating, though it was what he was used to. Despite everything that happened, there was something almost energising about Dagger work like that. He wasn't going to pick apart what that something was, however. Not yet. There were more important things to worry about, like his peers, and his health, and his-

"Paperwork."

Dr Navarro didn't even knock.

Gaz turned the office chair around, greeting her with a tight smile as she pushed her way into the cramped plexiglass booth that functioned as his office. The department couldn't budget a separate room for him, so this makeshift coffin with a fume hood situation had to suffice. Health and safety gone mad, he'd say- ironic, given the circumstances, but he still felt like a fish in a tank, regardless of how poisonous he was.

"Something to fill, I assume?" He asked, "Is this about the-"

"To deliver, actually." She shoved the stack of paper towards him, "Need you to bring these over to ORG-2."

He sighed, and he nodded. The walk would take his mind off things, at least, even if he wouldn't be taking the stairs down. A little alone time, spent outside of his aquarium exhibit, usually did him well- even if half of it would be spent in an equally cramped lift. He'd draft the email properly once he got back.

Gaz took the papers from Navarro, picking up his tea with his right hand and shuffling out of the booth.

"On it. Won't be a sec." He said, "Oh, would you mind sending yesterday's report to the guys in the lab for me? I'd do it myself, but- I don't know, my emails haven't been sending properly recently. Must be having trouble with the network."

"Sure thing."

"Cheers."

"Thank you."

Saved by the bell, eh? Bet you're glad she snapped you out of that, or the next draft would read like a fucking manifesto. Take this to ORG-2.

He was halfway down the hallway before he remembered to pull the mask back over his face. It was a good thing he did- whilst the people on this floor tended to be a bit more lax about that particular measure, he doubted that courtesy would extend to other departments, especially not the ones where his own misdeeds were stored.

He called for the lift, and waited patiently by the door.

But- man, he was getting tired. The sugar in the tea would help, surely- at the very least, it would give him something to burn so he wouldn't be tempted to start chewing the documents. He idly slid down the mask, taking a sip of the tea.

The lift doors opened and--still sipping, still mask-down--Gaz stepped inside.
 
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Only to be met with a sharp stare from the corner.

Hannah hated being in the elevator with other people. It set her on edge. It wasn't exactly rational - she was in room with other people which, while it wasn't exactly pleasant, didn't make her feel like this. Something about being forced to stay closer together with a bunch of people she couldn't escape from, though?

Torture.

When the elevator slowed to a stop, she gritted her teeth. When she saw who stepped in - she narrowed her eyes to dark slits. As Gaz entered, she gave him a single, curt, nod of her head.

I still don't like you, but I don't hate you, I guess.

"Rowan was safe." She said it matter of factly, without context. He'd get the context. "And the shit you gave me worked."
 
It wasn't until the doors closed that Gaz looked up from his tea, and it wasn't until Hannah spoke that he realised she--or anyone--was there. He returned her nod with one of his own- one which, whilst certainly more polite, didn't seem all that more comfortable. But... Rowan was safe, she said. Which meant he was, she implied.

"I'm glad to hear it." He said? "Glad to hear both, actually."

Of course the toxin worked, that's to be expected. Usage by a third party, though- interesting. Potential to arm more colleagues during jobs? Do you need specialist training to deploy chemical weapons?

Gaz adjusted the pile of documents under his arm, and gestueed vaguely with the mug.

"And you, Hannah- how are you holding up?"

He was aware that there was no feasible way for him to comment on the way her wounds had healed without sounding like, for lack of a better term, an absolute fucking creep. Maybe someone who wasn't him could point it out and still have it come across well, but a lanky, middle-aged, ex-convict scientist probably wasn't the best person to hear it from. Still, it looked like she was healing well- though, the fact that he could say that about her in this state made him very, very concerned as to what state they had found her in.

"You look... well."
 
"I cope."

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, leaning against the wall, eyes never leaving Gaz' face.

"You should see the other guy. Think they could fit him in a fucking shoebox."

She grinned, sharp and not particularly joyful.

"You get yelled at, yet?"
 
"Mm, don't we all..."

He shrugged. She seemed back to her usual self, at least. The fact she was able--and willing--to talk, that was a good sign. That comment about the shoebox- it was almost enough to make him smile, although...

Is she talking about Gerald? Or...

"Not yet, no." He chuckled lightly, shaking his head, "Still trying to schedule that one. I'll tell you what, though- they don't half keep me busy whilst I'm waiting. This is the fifth bloody run I've done of these..."
 
"Yeah?"

Her eyes drifted to the documents. Her expression was unreadable - the smile had faded, giving way to something placid but not pleasant.

She shifted a bit closer.

"What you got there, then, g-man?" She pointed. "More torture?"
 
His smile tightened.

"No, Hannah, it's just- substance analysis." He said, "I don't tend to-"

Carry that sort of thing in public lifts? Is that all?

A short breath escaped him- kind of like the start of a laugh, if he followed through with it. He didn't. He just sort of looked vaguely bewildered.

"Y'know, a lot of my job is quite dull, actually. It's mostly jus-"

THUNK.

The lift shuddered to a halt- short and sudden. What little remained of Gaz's tea was spilled over the floor, and what little remained of his balance was used to help him stagger towards the nearest wall. The overhead lights started to flicker, then flicker some more, then finally fizzle out. There was a grinding sound, metal against metal, another lurch, and then...

Stillness.

"Fuck..."

He hissed, regaining his footing.

"Quick, do you have a torc- uh, flashlight? Bloody... bloody power's gone out."
 
Hannah continued to stare at him in the dark. She was a lump, a black silhouette, but in the dim light, her eyes gave off the reflective sheen of a predator.

"My phone's got a flashlight." She didn't bring it out. The pale lights flicked to the ceiling. "Elevator's not moving. Lotta time to talk. I fucking hate small talk, so let's get to the point."

Molt shifted a little bit closer.

"You kept Rowan safe for the mission. Good for you. But I wanna ask a bit more, okay? I want you to promise to keep that shit up. I don't know what - fucking shit you guys are doing, but I don't like what it does to her. She gets to be happy. Keeping her safe means keeping her happy."
 

The elevator intercom promptly chimed.

Attention, occupants-- there's been a security issue in lvl-ORG. Facility access is on hold while we deal with this incident. Please remain calm; elevators will resume operation shortly. We apologize for the inconvenience.

Another chime. Silence.

The elevator creaked, then fell silent.
 
If it was hard to meet her gaze before, it was all but impossible now. For one, his eyes were still adjusting to the sudden darkness- he could see a shape, two points, and a shadow, but couldn't make out an expression. And, of course, what he could see wasn't all too encouraging. Her eyes were pale and cat-like, catching the last dregs of light from the room and throwing them back at him.

And she didn't bring out her phone. Helpful. Gaz didn't want to resort to chemiluminescence- cleaning out the braces would be a nightmare matched in horror only by having to explain to the archivists why his wrists were glowing bright yellow.

Might have to crack myself like a glow stick anyway. Good to keep resources set aside for that, in future. Practical.

A request, and an announcement- neither of which were particularly reassuring. Some vague security issue- no details given, as per. Hopefully, whatever it was, it wouldn't be waiting for them once they exited the lift. Or, if it did, it would be stupid enough to chase them back inside it.

The request.

His smile tightened further still, stretching the skin on his face like it wasn't his own. It took a moment before he spoke, but the moment was insignificant, really. All he did was stand.

"You want her to be happy doing this?"

He sighed, thin and almost wheezing.

"Fucking 'ell..."
 
Something came over the intercom - something about a security issue. Whatever it meant, it meant they had a bit of time.

Hannah continued to stare at Gaz. At his comment, she snorted.

"I don't want her fucking doing it at all," she replied. "As if anybody could be happy here. You like being a lapdog, Gaz? Cuck to the spooks? Shit when they say shit, piss when they say piss, kill when they say kill?"

She scowled.

"But we got our shit lot, and we gotta cope. But she - she's not good, here. She's different, yeah? But they've got her doing MKULTRA blacksite shit, and I know she keeps smiling and laughing but it's not fucking good for her."

Hannah folded her arms, sharp nails digging into the skin.

"I know you can't do shit. But maybe if you - say something. That's what Rowan said we've gotta do more. Say something. Cause we're too important to them, right? So maybe, like, if you pitch a fit, they can go a bit easier on her."

The glimmer of her eyes narrowed sharply.

"The spooks aren't gonna give a shit. And I'm not gonna pretend you give a shit, either. But - you did what I asked, last time, so I wanna ask again. Down there, whatever the fuck is happening, you're responsible for her. You keep her safe. You keep - the worst of that shit away from her, and you do what you can - whatever you can to tell the spook fucks to stick it up their ass. She's unfit for it. She's not necessary. She's fucking - got a sore throat, I don't care, say what you gotta say and do what you gotta do to make sure she stays out of the worst of it."

She poked Gaz in the chest with a single, sharp finger.

"I'm the one that gets shot. Not her. I'm not down there with her when you do your shit, so you gotta be the one that gets shot, too."
 
"I don't mind it, no." He said, "There's a lot worse I could be doing with my time, I can tell you that."

There was a faint crack, followed by the sound of liquid filling up a vessel- two vessels, in fact. Both clear, both mounted on his wrists, and both newly luminescent. The lift was lit a vibrant, sickly yellow. Unpleasant, but it was the easiest colour to make, given the resources.

"'s not the same for you lot though."

Lit from below, with the colour draining even more life from his face, there was no way for him not to look sinister.

"S'pose I could propose alternatives to her involvement. Chase down a couple dead leads on the research side of things. That's all I can think of to keep her away from it- melting people's brains with experimental psychoactives so their priceless Cloak doesn't break down on national television from the strain of having to-"

He shook his head.

"I don't know. It's all utility with these people, innit- and, unfortunately, Rowan's a bit like me: too fucking efficient for her own good. 's gonna take a lot of convincing to get them to stop clicking their instant espionage button, but..."

A pause.

"Jesus, do you think I don't see it too? Do you think- do you think I'm not fucking trying?" He frowned, "Look, I'm not the only one down there who's worried- and not just about her, either. Nobody... wants to be doing that shit."

Gaz sighed.

"But we have to, because- yeah. We're important."
 
"Yeah. Right. Bet this was part of your plea deal, huh? Work for the spooks, don't get the chair."

Hannah watched him warily as he filled up the vials on his wrists with - something. It was yellow. It glowed. It'd probably kill anyone it touched in thirty seconds, painfully. Whole nine yards.

"Yeah, sure, nobody wants to be doing it. But nobody cares enough to not do it, yeah?" Hannah muttered. "Cause if people actually cared, then it wouldn't happen."

We're important. Fucking farce. Important was just a nice, neat way to say useful. To say efficient. The feds were doing what they used them for for as long as there were feds, they just made it more cost-effective. Lot easier to have one guy who could make any chemical he wanted than to have a full pharmacy team, yeah? Lot easier to have a girl who could make people do things than to have to break them down the hard way.

Lot easier to have someone who could wear any face than to find a body double to fit the bill.

She hissed, letting the air slip between her teeth, sharp points digging into her tongue.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Just - try harder."
 
If you had told anyone in the London branch that Gaz would end up spending half his time doing work like this, on executions and interrogations and torture and countless chemical weapon trials, they'd have shot him in the fucking head, followed shortly by whoever gave the greenlight. His plea deal was so far removed from what he was doing these days, it was almost laughable.

"Yeah, more or less."

And people did care, down there. They had to. The problem was that the people who cared lacked the power to stop it, and the people with power lacked the care to try. Gaz didn't command much authority, despite his particular responsibilities. He was a resevoir connected to a needle, to inject whoever he was told, whenever he was told, oftentimes with whatever he was told. The rest of his time was spent in the lab, fine-tuning, so next time he could poison them better.

In that way, it wasn't much different to his day job.

"I know." He said, "And I will. Only person who belongs down there is me, really- and I'm on the wrong side of the bloody table."

Gaz sighed, tapping the side of the mug with his fingernail. There was a moment of this before he spoke again- maybe a moment too long, he was never good at judging these things.

"You, uh... you alright after last week?"

He looked at her through the glow, concerned.

"I mean you've healed, obviously, but are you... y'know, doing alright?"
 
"I -"

She stared at him, still a bit huffy, not entirely sure how to immediately respond. They weren't on good terms. They had a mutual understanding, but they weren't on good terms, and whatever terms they were on certainly didn't include positive small talk about wellbeing. It was like getting handed a flashbang a second after waking up.

"The fuck are you getting at? You -" she stared at him. "Yeah. I'm alright. I'm always alright. That's part of my whole thing, Gaz, I get better."

She continued to stare. That reply didn't exactly feel good enough.

"What, are you my fucking doctor now or something? Get off my ass."

There. Better.
 
"Sounds a bit bleak to me." He shrugged, "Can't imagine the type of shit you get sent out on, knowing they can drag you out of anything in one piece."

She looked uncomfortable. She looked really uncomfortable. The lift still hadn't moved- no sign of power, no sign of rescue, no sign of someone cutting through the cables to send them plummeting to their deaths. He couldn't even try to corrode the door, not without inadvertently fumigating the fucking place. Brilliant.

He shrugged, raising his hands defensively and moving the light with them.

"Look, I don't normally do this Dagger stuff, alright? I'm used to sterile labs, monitoring, safety measures. And- fuck, if they treat us that badly down there, then fuck knows how bad you lot have it up here. I know it's just work, but..."

He sighed sharply.

"For god's sake, tell me they didn't just send you home with a bottle of paracetamol and a week before your next shift. Tell me you're better kept than that."
 
There was a long, awkward pause. Awkward on her part, now - she wasn't trying to intimidate him, she was just completely caught off guard by his reaction. She knew what he was. What he'd done. Why he was always so - so fucking hush hush all the time, and the sort of awful shit he was capable of. Who knew the sort of spook shit MIRA had him doing in their basement, MK ULTRA, Tuskegee Airmen fucking - why was he so fucking -- normal?

"I said get off my ass!" she shouted, maybe a little bit too loud. Rubbing at her arm, she looked away from him, anywhere but at him, hoping to whatever gods were out there that the elevator would just start moving again. "I'm fucking - I can take care of myself, okay? Don't fucking act like I need kiddie gloves. I don't need your help."
 
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