Doctor Lanheim was just not having a good day. First his car refused to start and he had to take the subway, then the coffee machine in the break room broke down. Could things get any worse?
"Alert, containment breach in Sectors 1 through 5."
Of course, you idiot, you had to ask, he thought as he rushed to the elevator. If there was a containment breach on the surface, they might lose a few subjects, but the real gems were in the sublevels. He had to make sure they were still secure.
Despite the flashing red alert bathing the room in its crimson strobe, Sublevel Control was composed, almost unnaturally so. But then, they knew their job was not to worry about what happened up above. And besides, what moron would try to escape by going down? A quick survey of the monitors confirmed Doctor Lanheim's suspicions: his sublevels were secure. His com badge crackled to life.
"Doctor Lanheim, we've got the breach contained," Lanheim identified the voice as that belonging to Luke Harold, the chief of security. If he said the breach was contained, the breach was very, very contained.
"Very good, Harry. Care to venture a guess as to the cause of our lapse?"
"We've got her now," Lanheim could hear the satisfied grin creeping across Harold's face. The security chief was known as Hardass Harry. What he wasn't known for was smiling. If Harry was smiling, someone he didn't like was in distress. It was one reason Lanheim appreciated their security chief. He was predictable. You never had to worry about how he felt about something. If he didn't tell you, he didn't mind. If he did tell you, it was because he was protective of his men to a fault.
"Bring her down." Doctor Lanheim allowed himself a momentary smirk before regaining composure. If only one girl triggered the breach, then she had to be a powerful meta indeed. He looked forward to meeting his new guest.
Minutes later, the elevator dinged. One of the quirks Doctor Lanheim permitted in his staff was the humor that a surprising amount found in the innocent ding of the elevator. It also served to alert the control staff that something worth listening to was happening, which meant that Lanheim had to conduct certain conversations in the privacy of his own office. For the most part, however, his control staff knew every going-on in the facility. They managed it better that way.
This time, the bell brought gifts. Luke Harold stepped out of the elevator, a satisfied smirk on his face as he beckoned his men forward. They held between them some creature, more a twisted shape than anything. It was white and bony, with long arms and a thick neck. It seemed almost bat-like in silhouette, but it was much larger. It seemed disturbed, even scared of the scrutiny with which the doctor examined it.
"What present have you brought me?" he asked, circling it.
"The new psi-scramblers work well," Harry chuckled. "You'll never believe who we've got here."
"Try me," Lanheim began furiously scribbling notes as he approached it, staring into its eyes.
"Miss Martian." At the name, the creature flinched and whimpered.
"Isn't she green?" Lanheim's pencil froze.
"That's what I thought. Turns out that's a disguise for… this thing." Harry nudged her with his foot. "Psi-scramblers knocked out her defenses I guess."
Lanheim looked at his prize with new-found enthusiasm. "Do you suppose her teammates know?"
The Martian snarled and whipped out a long claw, but a swift kick from Harry doubled her over. She lay there, whimpering and growling, a crushed white heap on the pristine floor.
"That wasn't terribly kind of you," Lanheim knelt beside her. "Take her to 52. See what they do about each other."
"Yes, Doctor." Harry nodded to his men, and they dragged her off.