#loched.interactions

[lochblocknroll]

who: an open starter to anyone interested! what: SciPNET Login SetUp

Loch fancied he could be forgiven for having been the first in line for this. It was, perhaps, a bit of overkill to have arrived as quickly as he did when he heard exactly what this was, but the mere possibility of being able to touch a keyboard again was enough to push him to a level of punctuality he'd never before demonstrated. It was as exciting as the first time Nathan Drake realized he had the ability to survive the impossible. Survival was not, perhaps, Loch's strength, but adapting was and he was confident in his ability to jailbreak even this limited system into something more useful. Christ on a bike, he was excited about this.

Turning to the person with the (mis)fortune of standing behind him, Loch began asking the questions he considered to be of paramount importance. "So, have you worked with this system before? Is it pretty standard, like Linux or Windows? I've heard it's more like a search engine before. Have you heard if it's particularly intuitive or is it running off of like Windows 84-style bullshit? And, most importantly, how good is the WiFi? If it only works on WiFi, we'll need a halfway decent connection, unless someone's willing to get into the details of hardware, which I'm not. I'm more than happy to optimize the software, but actual hardware is so far beyond me, it makes a summer trip to Andromeda feel feasible."

[lochblocknroll]

Loch snorted, a quiet noise through his nose as he stepped into Vera's office. "You'd have had a better assessment of our coworkers than I did if I wasn't sure you were talking out of your ass. I mean, can you imagine someone as brown-paper bag as Garden Variety picking up a book. It'd be like trying to teach an Ewok Galactic Standard." The steps he took to enter the office were hesitant. When no force field obliterated his atoms, he stepped in a few more steps and looked around.

It was a remarkably windowless void that this doctor worked in. Loch was fairly used to these things. His best work was done in a place where no one could see him, after all, and he felt his shoulders relax before he had even registered the tension running through them. It was reassuring in its own way. "I appreciate the advice," Loch started, "but I think I'll hang around long enough to not waste your time. Professional curtesy and all that. The lack of Edna Mode-style ceiling-based death machines is also nice."

Loch sighed. It didn't sound unreasonable, which, of course, made his worry about it all gnaw ever-stronger in the back of his mind. But what was there to be afraid of? It was questions and a physical. Nothing unusual, he assumed, for a job like this. He should be glad he wasn't being demanded to do it either which was more that he'd expected. "Fine," he eventually decided. "But does full physical mean I gotta go commando? Because we are not at that level yet, doc. No offense."

Vera tilted her head a little to the left. “Disappointing. After those introductions I’d really gotten the impression that this was an overly scholarly bunch and we were going to have heated debates on the classics over tea and scones.” She gave him an easy smile. “Maybe I’m just jealous. Quote Unquote does something to it that Elevator Music just doesn’t.” Then she shrugged. “Really, though. They’re both pretty insulting. Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable.” 

“Wouldn’t do you much good.” Vera looked back at the windowless exam room as if she didn’t already know every cubic inch of it by heart. “You could go next door, we’re low enough to the ground that I wouldn't expect anything more than superficial damage. Believe me. I checked.” Escape. Always on her mind these days. Always the painful futility of trying to run from what already had her. “And then they’d just carry you back in here anyway.” Like her.

She walked over to the sink and rolled her sleeves all the way up for a good scrub. “We’ll be doing a complete physical including a blood panel.” Vera pulled on yet another pair of blue nitrile gloves. At least they were the good kind. The true off-brand gloves could wreak havoc on her hands if she wasn’t careful, but the Foundation rarely splurged like this.

“And I’m hoping we can have a bit of conversation, too. I’ll ask you a question. Then you ask me a question. Not even difficult questions, I promise. If you feel uncomfortable or you don’t want to answer for any reason, feel free to just pass. Or ask another question. Or leave out details that you don’t think are really necessary. The only thing that matters, really, is that we don’t lie to each other. We only have so much time to build trust, any trust at all, before,” Vera took a long breath, “before they send us into the field.”

“And we don’t have to,” Vera added quietly, biting her lip. Long day. “It’s meant to build rapport. But, honestly, it’s been a long day. All my research aside, I'd like you to leave this exam room knowing that I’m more than a faceless body with a medical kit. I want you to feel like you’re in good hands.” 

[lochblocknroll]

who: an open starter for anyone interested! what: the defense seminar

Forgive him for not having a background in these things, but it was Loch's esteemed opinion that anytime weapons were needed, he'd already failed in whatever job he was supposed to be doing and he may as well accept his fate as the red shirt of the group. Sure, he played enough video games to have half-way decent hand-eye coordination and could at least hold his own when it came to hand-to-hand and self-defense, but picking up a gun? It put a sour taste in the back of Loch's throat, like the tingling promise of bile. He was not going to enjoy this.

The person next to him likely, in his mind, didn't expect to be addressed with how quiet the room was, but the few cares Loch gave for social convention had long-since decided to abandon ship when this requirement came through. "Is this really necessary," he demanded, hand shoved so deeply into pockets it was a question on whether or not they'd reappear at all. "I'm a techy. Support class. Unspoken genius of the electronic variety, whatever you care for. Is it seriously so important I know how to shoot?"

[lochblocknroll]

Loch's stomach had taken up residence in his toes, alongside his hopes and dreams for the brief, beautiful future he had envisioned where technology in all its modern, useful glory had returned to him in a rain of light and brilliance. Both managed to have crumbled into small bits resembling ash and loss at the plainly stated judgement of SCiPNET as 'standard'. Given the... Perils conditions of this building in the first place and the truly pervasive and mind-itching lack of anything useful to him.

"I'm sorry, you don't know what?" Loch could feel his voice wanting to rise in both pitch and volume and fought it down, choosing to instead bury his head in his hands as he leaned against the wall for support. "I'm doing to die here and it will be because of the lack of anything remotely useful." Head-full-of-rocks types were right, he thought for a moment before banishing the thought from his head. His mamá had raised him better than that, no matter how he felt about this.

After a few deep, much-need breaths, Loch looked up, trying his best to don the teacher's cap he kept stuffed in his back pocket, as ill-fitting as it was. "I don't think I got into this. Or I at least didn't only get into this. In my opinion, based on the data I've seen so far. It wouldn't make sense for an organization as big as the Foundation to run on something as limited to files and email, while being entirely dependent on Wifi. It doesn't make sense for an international, occasionally sea-based organization." Loch paused, taking a breath. "So this is probably the dumbed-down version they give operatives to allow information to be controlled better. All things through a sieve is how the Men in Black have always worked, after all. And we've got guys in Vantablack coats over here."

That hat that fit so awkwardly over Loch's mind fell to pieces at the phrase 'desk jockey' and Loch's hands returned to his palms. "They're not..." He started before trailing off, sensing the impending futility of his attempt. "Never mind. Why are you in line for this? Haven't you been here awhile?"

It took Nadia a few seconds to even register that Loch was speaking to her. Between the amnestics still fucking her up, the night before with Guin, and the promise of her check-up with Dr Nair the next day, she was not up to par. There static feedback in her head, like the biting through peach fuzz. It set her teeth on edge that same way too. "I guess it's pretty standard?" Not that she had anything to compare it to, having only worked at the Foundation. But it had always reminded her, a little, of the portal at Northwestern. "I dunno what Windows 84 is, but I knew some really head-full-of-rocks trype who managed to figure it out. So it can't be too hard."

As Loch got into software and hardware and WiFi and whatever the fuck Andromeda was (wherever?), Nadia felt her mind drifting. "Didn't you already hack into it? Assumed that's how we...acquired you, honestly." Made the most sense, to her, from his introduction. Some hacker that the Foundation had bought out and brought in to neutralize any potential threat of exposure, or repeat attack.

"I only ever used it to read my briefings and submit my reports, anyway." A shrug rolled through Nadia's shoulders. "You're better off asking one of the desk jockeys." Research nerds would have had a lot more contact with the network. Or, at least, could understand it and explain it. Unlike Nadia.

[lochblocknroll]

Loch, for all his love of words and picking the minds of other people was never much of a team player and certainly was never a team leader. He far preferred to lead himself to the various successes of the world and let other people make their own way. As long as they didn't hamstring him into uselessness, of course, though this didn't seem much like a group of people Loch could easily be rid of, no matter how clingy they got. Jubilex spawns, the lot of them.

Which was all to say, of course, he was no Q and that was for the best. Unless the Foundation in their endless 'wisdom' wanted this entire experiment to implode faster than a TARDIS in a white hole, they ought to keep it that way and no Loch did absolutely nothing to hide the roll of his eyes as Smooth Operator started talking. Smooth Operator his ass, Loch thought. He's about as pleasant as sandpaper would be on one of Loch's keyboards.

"Just because tradition communication isn't exhibited," Loch shot back, making no move to take the weapon offered him just yet, "doesn't mean a near-human intelligence isn't present. In order to have remained successfully hidden for as long as they have, especially in the case of Bigfoot or the Jersey Devil, given their long-recorded history in both international and American records, depending on the cryptid. Haven't you seen Close Encounters of the Third Kind?"

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of this conversation just by rambling on his favorite topic, he nodded at the weaponry. "What makes it what it is? What does a double action semi-automatic even mean?" If Loch was going to use this thing at all, he was damn well going to know what the hell he was holding. "And why are all members required to use this instead of something else? Surely something else might better suit the masses like myself."

Taking the gun at last, Loch weighed it in his hands and moving it back and forth as if startled by the weight of it. "You don't even need to use this," he muttered, looking at it as if trying to find lines of code that would whisper secrets into his ear, "just whack someone with this and you'll be golden. Like a brick in a sock or some shit."

Gael shifted his gaze from the target in front of him to Quote Unquote, a single eyebrow quirked at the huffy—almost bratty—tone of voice the other man had addressed him with. Rotating on his heels to face his teammate, he regarded Loch’s posture for a second—taking note of the discomfort in his body language—and scoffed in disbelief. This one really didn't know when to quit while he was ahead.

But, this was a hurtle he knew he'd have to drag Loch across even if he kicked and screamed the entire time.

“Look, Q, I understand that the internet has memeified anomalies to the point where people like you think SCP-2901 and SCP-4059 are fucking dateable—but the Mothmen and the Jersey Devils? Those things are basically animals. Dangerous ones at that. And they certainly don't feel the same goodwill towards you that you do towards them. I can promise you that,” Gael muttered, turning back to the shooting booth and lifting up the handgun resting on the stainless steel table separating them from the gallery. The firearm felt cool to the touch even through the shooting gloves that covered his hands.

"This is a double-action semi-automatic," he said, nodding towards Loch. He then dropped the magazine and placed it down on the table before pulling back the chamber to show that it was empty.

"Everyone on MTF Chi-00 is expected to know how to use one, even the techs," He continued, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully at his fellow operative before putting the gun down on the table and reaching for the magazine. Methodically, he filled it with bullets from a box that had been sitting at the booth when he had arrived. “And, yeah, there’s a chance that we might never get into a situation where you’ll need to use one of these, but you should learn now instead of ending up wishing that you had later."

After popping the magazine back into the chamber, Gael presented the loaded pistol to Loch. "Trust me on this one."

[lochblocknroll]

Did Loch enjoy doctor's appointments? No, he did not. That was all there really was to it. The man had no great love for the profession, and the sheer noise of the lights that every office he had had the displeasure of visiting always seemed to have didn't do much to appeal them to him. He equally despised their habit of sticking him with pointy metal things like he was an alien recently crashed from a comet and taken to Area 51.

Oh, this was the perfect group to ask about the site. If anyone would know, it would be this collection of misfits, oddballs, and grumps. That was a job for the Loch of the future though, as now he had to survive an appointment he'd managed to push off for years. Leave it to Seriously Cruel Professionals to require such things.

"Hi," Loch said as he opened the door in response to Vera's greeting, the flash of the coin being pocketed briefly distracting him. Her question swung out of left field and hit him across the face like a stray outfield ball and Loch blinked a few times before answering. "No? I don't think so? I like poetry plenty, but I haven't heard anyone quoting Poe at me and I've not my ear to the ground like I'm trying to find sandworms."

"So Doc," Loch immediately pivoted from poetry as his brain returned to the main reason they were talking at all. "What's the damage? Do I need to jump out the nearest window now or later?"

She’d nearly made it through the second day of physical exams. One final patient, the proud owner of Hannibal the Cannibal, and she’d be free to pursue the afternoon. Someone had mentioned a library. That was first on the list, of course. Then she had to unpack. The violin needed a few hours of delicate attention. Vera’s fingers were begging for it. 

So much, in fact, that she put the chart onto the counter and pulled out her 1978 half dollar, polished to perfection, and began to coinwalk it over her knuckles and back again. Vera was still walking the half dollar over her left hand when she opened the door with her right. “Hello, there,” she said with a half grin to match her half dollar. “Please, come in.” Vera palmed and pocketed. “Not medical, but I wanted to ask you exactly how many people hear your codename and go, ‘Quoth Unquoth the Raven, 'Nevermore?'’”

@lochblocknroll