by Chewy Walrus
Dr. Charles Walker:
Well, this day's shaping up just fine, I think, sliding into a nearby chair. First, I find out I'm a frickin' meta, and next I get stuck in an underground hell-hole in Chicago rounding up the very freaks and rejects and necessary recluses that I hate. And I am one. My life can't get much worse.
Spinning around in my chair, I take in the underground center that is my new lab. The technology is more advanced than anything at TriVext's disposal. "Geez, I wish I knew how to work this stuff," I mutter under my breath, stopping my spinning and pull up to a nearby workstation. As I focus my attention on a scanning device and its accompanying monitor, I see a movement out of the corner of my eye.
"What the...?!" I yell, scooting back in my chair, realizing only too late that my chair doesn't have wheels. I tumble backward onto the floor, knocking my head against the hard tiled floor.
As I close my eyes and wince in pain, I hear a bizarre voice ringing out above me.
"Dr. Walker? Is that you?"
"Wha...?" I mutter, blinking my eyes as a blinding light greets me. "What's with the lights? Geez, what the hell...?"
"Ah, forgive me, Dr. Walker..."
The light subsides as I slowly begin to make out a shape. After a few seconds, the figure before me became quite clear. A small metallic sphere, with two small, blue eyes protruding from its surface. It hung in the air, flying, hovering... I'm not sure what.
"Wha...?" I murmur out. "What the hell are you?"
"Ah, forgive me, Dr. Walker!" the sphere seems to say. "My name is I.G.O.R., and I am your laboratory assistant."
"Heh," I mumble, rising to my feet, rubbing my head. "I.G.O.R.... lab assistant. Funny..."
"Excuse me, sir, but I fail to see the humor in that."
"Y'know..." I begin. "Frankenstein...?" The sphere continues to hover inches from my face, not making any movement to show that it comprehends. "Never mind," I say, lifting my chair from the ground and taking a seat.
"Once again, I am I.G.O.R. -- the Interactive Genetic Organization Regulator. My primary objective is to aid and assist you in whatever you may need in your assignment."
"You know about my assignment?" I ask, placing my fingers on my forehead.
"Of course, Dr. Walker. Your primary objective is to capture and assemble a metahuman team to greater enhance your own research and your ability to capture even more metahumans."
"Wow..." I say, blowing out a low whistle. "Is there anything you don't know?"
"Uncertain, Dr. Walker. I currently have access to all files at the disposal of both the MCCA and TriVext. I suppose you could say that everything I know is known by them as well."
"Fair enough," I say, sitting back in my seat. "Now... how do we get started?"
"I am glad you asked, Dr. Walker." I.G.O.R. says, floating into a sort of hook-up or adaptor in a nearby bulkhead. Instantly, all the computer monitors in the room light up, an image of a faceless head on the screen.
"Whoa..." I say, standing back as everything seems now to hum with life. "What's with the face, I.G.O.R.?"
"This is my digital self," the image on the screen said. "It is the image I take to more easily assist you in finding files, research, and metahumans."
"Whoa, whoa... hold on there, pal," I interject, rising from my seat and leaning on my desk, looking at I.G.O.R.'s image on a nearby monitor. "Find... metahumans?"
"Correct," came I.G.O.R.'s reply.
"We have the technology to actually track and find metahumans?" I say, utterly in disbelief.
"Yes. But do not worry, Dr. Walker -- the official word by the MCCA is that metahumans are a threat to our civilization and must be kept a close eye on at all times. It is highly--"
"That being the case," I begin my argument, putting my hands behind my back, beginning to pace the room, "why would the MCCA, known metahuman oppressors and haters, take on a metahuman to lead their retrieval operation, this Enhanced Procurement Sanction? Could it be that the all-knowing MCCA didn't know whom they were hiring?"
"No."
I freeze, not knowing what to say next. After a moment of awkward silence, I speak: "What do you mean?"
"The MCCA knew very well whom they were hiring. Your form was scanned and approved positive for early stages of the metagene on July 18, 1998."
"Ninety-eight?!" I scream, slamming my fist on my desk. "Y-you knew?"
"It was my business to know..."
"Who else has this kind of technology?" I ask, trying desperately to regain my composure.
"Only ourselves, the Joint Chiefs, NASA, and the United States President," I.G.O.R. replies, the voice on the screen sounding much more tinny and lifeless than it had before.
"All right, I.G.O.R., here's the deal," I command, falling back into my chair. "Run a scan of all metahumans in the Chicago metropolitan area, specifically those with a rap sheet. I want known cat burglars, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and fugitives. The more notorious, the better..."
"Search complete, Dr. Walker," the computer screen said, the face vanishing to reveal a long list of names and current locations.
"All right," I say, a large smile spreading across my face, "now what?"