The More Things Change
Author: RoguesKnight
Chapter 4: Still Rivers run deep
Disclaimer: Not mine. Despite the fact that they've been trying to hide under my bed, I can't claim to own any of the characters except Rivers ( yes, we'll be seeing more of him). Everyone else belongs to Marvel, Fox, Mutant Enemy, and Joss Whedon.
Author's note: The views expressed by Rivers and the Friends of Humanity do not reflect those of the author. I am definitely pro-Mutant.
Dedication: To my beautiful fiancée, I love you! To my awesome readers and reviewers Thank You soo very much!!
The shiny black luxury car pulled to a sharp stop in front of the L.A. Headquarters of The Friends of Humanity, the tires screaming in protest and leaving a short trail of rubber in their wake. The driver's door slammed open, shaking the frame with the force and out stepped a very pissed off John Rivers. Around the edges of his dark sunglasses, a deep bruise could be detected forming around his right eye. Ignoring the pain, he sent a glare in the general direction of passerby on the street, almost daring them to stop and stare. Perfunctorily, he straightened his tie and suit jacket before shutting the door with almost as much force as he'd opened it. The car rocked on its frame. * Fools * he groused, heading angrily towards the door * Comparing us to the Nazi regime. Hitler was a genocidal maniac. All we want to do is ensure man's continued dominance over the planet and protect the species from inferior life forms. Our cause is pure! * Careful to avoid any obvious displays of his frustration, he opened the door and stalked slowly through the corridors of the building towards the elevator that would lead to his basement command center. Although he kept his facial expression completely neutral, underlings scurried out of his path in fear. He'd have preferred respect, but as long as they obeyed his orders without question, fear would be just fine. Arriving at the elevator he placed his right hand on the palm scanner, unlocking the doors and causing them to open with an almost silent hiss. * At least I don't have to put up with any god awful elevator music * he thought as he stepped inside and slapped the control that would take him to his destination. A sudden, twisted, thought occurred to him * Wonder how long it'd take before a piece of mutie scum would snap if we strapped it down and forced it to listen to that crap non-stop. I should make a note to research and development that that will be the next experiment to be performed on the subjects. Those who've survived the latest round of testing that is.* A feral grin spread across his strong features.
As the elevator came to a stop the grin vanished almost immediately. It wouldn't do any good to let the men think that he was some sort of slave to his passions like those mutant freaks were. Exiting, he noted with some pleasure that everyone seemed to be on task. Soldiers of all races milled around the large underground room, filing reports, checking weapons, some even worked the phones trying to procure more donations from concerned citizens who couldn't stomach the thought of their children going to school with mutants. * Ah, concern over children. Whoever first thought of exploiting mindless masses who actually care about their mewling brats must have been a genius * he thought. A sudden, high pitched, inhuman scream drew his, and nearly everyone else's attention to the series of doors at the far end of the room. The occupants of each were undergoing a battery of physical, psychological, and emotional tests in order to find a cure for the "mutant problem". If the research could prove that mutation was a disease, especially a communicable one, and then provide a cure, Friends of Humanity would no longer be depicted as a borderline political group but as the saviors of the species. Of course, research was also being conducted into how to better control the mutant subjects that had been captured and harness their bizarre abilities to further the Friends of Humanity's ends by other means. As suddenly as the scream had begun, it was over. Whether the mutant had died or simply passed out from exhaustion made little difference, there were always more where it had come from, which was precisely the problem.
Rivers turned his attention back to surveying his men, a sort of fatherly pride filling his chest. Men who normally wouldn't have dreamed of speaking to each other now worked, ate, and slept soundly side by side, united in their passion to preserve the purity of the species. It was amazing what the presence of a common enemy could do. There was however, no more time to simply bask in the glory of what he'd accomplished so far, the day was still young and there was business to be done. Even if those visionless imbeciles at Angel Investigations wouldn't help to ferret out the mutant menace in the city, there were always others. Others whose morals weren't so high, and for whom the only thing that mattered was how much someone was willing to pay to have the job done. Such people weren't difficult to find either if one knew where to look. Rivers approached his office, trying to decide whether to contact people to hunt out the freaks hiding spots himself or to give it to one of his underlings as a special assignment. * I'll let someone else do it * he decided, as he entered his air conditioned, sound-proof office * After all, those who have the stomach to contact people ruthless enough to do the job, and more importantly smart enough to survive such contact themselves should be given the opportunity for advancement. * Rounding the edge of his mahogany desk, he pushed back the plain, straight-backed, wooden chair and sat down in front of his computer to find the perfect agent for the job. Like the man who occupied it, the office was hard and harsh, almost sterile. The only other chair in the room was a duplicate of the one behind the desk, no photos or awards decorated the space. The sole exception was a Friends of Humanity poster, hung at eye level if one were seated, just to the right of the entrance for motivation. It depicted a series of dead freaks, with a pure human family standing above them and simply read : The final solution is not evolution.
Rivers poured over the personnel records methodically as he looked for the perfect agent to give the task of making sure someone was hired to find each and every freak in the city. * This is going to be harder than I thought * Rivers frowned, not in disappointment but because of the surprising difficulty of the task before him. It had been ages since he had personally handled recruitment or looked over the personnel records and while it was heartening to see that so many who worked for him were more than qualified for the task, it irked him that he had grown so lax in his own duties as not to keep up on who was being recruited and what their specialties were. * Lazy, John. * he berated himself * You can't afford to get comfortable. You know what could happen if you let your guard down too far. * A sharp rapping at the door broke him out of his thoughts. " Enter." He commanded. The door opened, and a deeply tanned older man walked into the room, standing beside the empty chair until further acknowledged. He work a white lab coat over dark dress slacks, with a white shirt and black tie. His once dark hair had begun to grey, and there were red flecks of something in it, flecks that matched the red stains that covered the front of the lab coat. A security badge clipped to the coat's front pocket identified the man as the head of mutant research, Travis McManis. " No need to stand on ceremony Travis," Rivers said with an almost friendly smile, " You've been involved in this fight longer than I have. It's me who should be standing for you and we both know it. Now, take a seat and tell me what you've got."
Travis pulled the room's only other chair to the front of the desk and sat, resting his hands on his lap. " John, you know damn well that's not true. Polite, but not true. You somehow seem to understand how those freaks think better than anyone I've ever met which is why you've advanced so quickly." He reached under his lab coat and pulled out a thick manila folder " Which brings me to today's business." He continued, sliding it across the desk for Rivers' inspection, " The results of the latest round of testing on our subjects. Regrettably subjects two and eleven did not survive the latest battery of physical examination. Post mortem analysis of subject two has discovered the cause of death to be complete cellular disintegration in the vital organs. All that's left is a slimy, yellow, husk of a body. It is interesting to note however that the skin continues to lubricate itself despite lack of internal organs or control from the central nervous system. We're not sure how long it will continue, but we now theorize that the mutation's source is somewhere in the actual skin cells and cultures have been taken from the subject post mortem to compare to the original samples to see if there is any change in their make-up."
Rivers nodded, " Of course the slimy bastard would continue to make a mess even after death. As soon as you've conducted your analysis, I want the body destroyed. Unless you've discovered any useful properties to the slime it produced?" McManis shook his head negatively. " A shame, every time we have to fire up the furnace to get rid of one of these monstrosities our gas bill goes through the roof," Rivers quipped, " Is there any indication of what the cause of the cellular disintegration was? And what was the cause of death for subject eleven?"
McManis straightened his tie self-consciously. " Subject two was part of the group on whom we've been testing possible cures for mutation. Subjects one through four were also in this group and all survived the latest test. Unfortunately, they're no closer to being human than subject two is at this point. We speculate that something in the injected serum reacted badly with the subject's abnormal physiology causing the internal organs and brain to disintegrate. As the remaining three subjects in this group have shown no ill effects we feel it is safe to conclude that subject two was an anomaly. Subject eleven was being subjected to ultrasonic frequencies when it died. An autopsy is being performed as we speak, so the definite cause of it's death is not known at the present time. However, speculation based on the creature's known attributes and abilities suggests that it's bat-like attributes went beyond those grotesque wings sprouting from its back and the frequencies it was exposed to was too much for its brain to handle. However, we do have some positive news as well."
"Oh? And what might that be?" Rivers asked, flipping idly through the report and raising an eyebrow. He'd read through for the fine details later.
" We've finally discovered the nature of subject five's ability to reduce its body to a gel like substance and can counter act it, which means it can finally be included in further testing", off Rivers' interested look Travis continued, " Through some mechanism, at the present time unknown, subject five is able to dissolve the phospholipid bi-layer that surrounds each and every cell in its body. The result is that it becomes something akin to a one celled organism, similar to an amoeba, only possessing multiple nucleuses and the ability to re-solidify. However, we can hold it in a solid state by continuously running a mild electric current through its body."
" Excellent," Rivers said, extending a hand which McManis took, " As usual Travis, your department has made wonderful advances in understanding the mutant phenomena. You and your staff should be proud, and I'll be sure to pass this information on to the national level."
McManis nodded, releasing Rivers' hand, no traces of any emotion on his face and stood to leave. As he reached the door, he paused. " Permission to speak freely sir?" Rivers nodded silently. " John, I couldn't help but notice your eye. You haven't been out trying to hunt down subjects without a back up team have you?"
Rivers smiled grimly, " No, I was attempting to contact others who would locate mutant scum for us so our organization's image wouldn't be tarnished any more than it already has been by the liberal mutant loving media. Unfortunately, the individuals I spoke to seem to hold deep sympathies for the mutant scum. One of them caught me off guard and got a decent punch in, punk."
" Do you intend to have one of our "education squads" talk to him and see if they can change his mind on the mutant problem?" McManis asked with a wry smile.
" No" Rivers said, " We don't have the time or man power to waste on some mutie lover. He'll get his in due time, but I do want an agent assigned to tail him. Perhaps he'll lead us to mutant scum anyway." McManis nodded and once again reached for the door. " One more thing Travis," Rivers called, stopping the other man in his tracks, " Has any progress been made in that other special assignment I gave you?"
" Unfortunately not John. We haven't heard of any mutant from our informants that matches the description you provided of the one that massacred your squad , nor have we found one ourselves whose DNA matches the scales that were left on the victims' clothing. It'll only be a matter of time though I'm sure. It can't hide from us forever. Don't worry John, we'll have our revenge." With that, McManis left the room, presumably headed back to the labs to continue his work.
Rivers set the report down on the desk with a sigh and pushed back from his desk. Pacing his windowless office, his mind was taken back to that fateful day when his world changed. It was supposed to have been a simple mission, take out a mutant stronghold rumored to have more than twenty mutants in residence. Superficially the building appeared to be a deserted warehouse near the docks but surveillance had recorded mutants of all ages and descriptions going in and out at regular intervals. His team had been sent to collect as many subjects as they could and to kill only if absolutely necessary. All was ready when he'd been dropped to the ground by a searing pain in his head. It had felt like a vice had been clamped onto his brain and gradually tightened and he'd had the distinct feeling that he was going to die. He heard shouts of "mutant" from his teammates and the order from the squad leader to "kill the freak" when suddenly the pressure stopped in his mind and his team fell to the ground in agony clutching their heads just as he had. It was only when he reached out to try and help the squad leader that he realized something was wrong. His hand looked distorted somehow. The fingers had lengthened and turned a vile dark green, coated in scales and ending in sharp black talons. A quick glance at the surrounding area confirmed that he was indeed the freak the squad leader had ordered killed and none of the scum had exited the warehouse. He had briefly considered trying to explain, to reason with the others that he had been somehow infected by the mutants and needed medical attention but even through the agony on his teammates' faces he could recognize disgust, hatred and rage. There'd be no time for explanation, no pity or medical attention, once they recovered enough to aim their weapons, he'd be dead. Just another dead freak.
It was all the incentive he'd needed to act. With a strength borne of mutated genes that had finally awakened from dormancy and a sense of desperation, he had used his talons to tear out the throats of his teammates before they recovered. The stress of the transformation had taken a heavy toll on him however, and he had passed out among the dead bodies of the men he had called friends. The next thing he remembered was being retrieved by a back up squad, dispatched as was standard operating procedure, when his squad had not reported back in. Aside from being covered completely in the drying blood of his comrades, he'd looked completely human again. He'd cooked up a story about the assault, adding that the mutant hadn't carefully checked the dead as the reason for his survival when the others had died, and he'd been hailed as a heroic example of the species. Careful, private, experimentation in the confines of his office had revealed that the mutation could be controlled, allowing him to pass as human instead of the reptilian freak that hid in his genetic code.
The feeling of his hands beginning to shift as he paced the office broke him out of his reverie and he focused, forcing them back into their proper human form. Refocused on the important things he had to do, Rivers reseated himself behind the desk to finish his computer search through the personnel files.
Author: RoguesKnight
Chapter 4: Still Rivers run deep
Disclaimer: Not mine. Despite the fact that they've been trying to hide under my bed, I can't claim to own any of the characters except Rivers ( yes, we'll be seeing more of him). Everyone else belongs to Marvel, Fox, Mutant Enemy, and Joss Whedon.
Author's note: The views expressed by Rivers and the Friends of Humanity do not reflect those of the author. I am definitely pro-Mutant.
Dedication: To my beautiful fiancée, I love you! To my awesome readers and reviewers Thank You soo very much!!
The shiny black luxury car pulled to a sharp stop in front of the L.A. Headquarters of The Friends of Humanity, the tires screaming in protest and leaving a short trail of rubber in their wake. The driver's door slammed open, shaking the frame with the force and out stepped a very pissed off John Rivers. Around the edges of his dark sunglasses, a deep bruise could be detected forming around his right eye. Ignoring the pain, he sent a glare in the general direction of passerby on the street, almost daring them to stop and stare. Perfunctorily, he straightened his tie and suit jacket before shutting the door with almost as much force as he'd opened it. The car rocked on its frame. * Fools * he groused, heading angrily towards the door * Comparing us to the Nazi regime. Hitler was a genocidal maniac. All we want to do is ensure man's continued dominance over the planet and protect the species from inferior life forms. Our cause is pure! * Careful to avoid any obvious displays of his frustration, he opened the door and stalked slowly through the corridors of the building towards the elevator that would lead to his basement command center. Although he kept his facial expression completely neutral, underlings scurried out of his path in fear. He'd have preferred respect, but as long as they obeyed his orders without question, fear would be just fine. Arriving at the elevator he placed his right hand on the palm scanner, unlocking the doors and causing them to open with an almost silent hiss. * At least I don't have to put up with any god awful elevator music * he thought as he stepped inside and slapped the control that would take him to his destination. A sudden, twisted, thought occurred to him * Wonder how long it'd take before a piece of mutie scum would snap if we strapped it down and forced it to listen to that crap non-stop. I should make a note to research and development that that will be the next experiment to be performed on the subjects. Those who've survived the latest round of testing that is.* A feral grin spread across his strong features.
As the elevator came to a stop the grin vanished almost immediately. It wouldn't do any good to let the men think that he was some sort of slave to his passions like those mutant freaks were. Exiting, he noted with some pleasure that everyone seemed to be on task. Soldiers of all races milled around the large underground room, filing reports, checking weapons, some even worked the phones trying to procure more donations from concerned citizens who couldn't stomach the thought of their children going to school with mutants. * Ah, concern over children. Whoever first thought of exploiting mindless masses who actually care about their mewling brats must have been a genius * he thought. A sudden, high pitched, inhuman scream drew his, and nearly everyone else's attention to the series of doors at the far end of the room. The occupants of each were undergoing a battery of physical, psychological, and emotional tests in order to find a cure for the "mutant problem". If the research could prove that mutation was a disease, especially a communicable one, and then provide a cure, Friends of Humanity would no longer be depicted as a borderline political group but as the saviors of the species. Of course, research was also being conducted into how to better control the mutant subjects that had been captured and harness their bizarre abilities to further the Friends of Humanity's ends by other means. As suddenly as the scream had begun, it was over. Whether the mutant had died or simply passed out from exhaustion made little difference, there were always more where it had come from, which was precisely the problem.
Rivers turned his attention back to surveying his men, a sort of fatherly pride filling his chest. Men who normally wouldn't have dreamed of speaking to each other now worked, ate, and slept soundly side by side, united in their passion to preserve the purity of the species. It was amazing what the presence of a common enemy could do. There was however, no more time to simply bask in the glory of what he'd accomplished so far, the day was still young and there was business to be done. Even if those visionless imbeciles at Angel Investigations wouldn't help to ferret out the mutant menace in the city, there were always others. Others whose morals weren't so high, and for whom the only thing that mattered was how much someone was willing to pay to have the job done. Such people weren't difficult to find either if one knew where to look. Rivers approached his office, trying to decide whether to contact people to hunt out the freaks hiding spots himself or to give it to one of his underlings as a special assignment. * I'll let someone else do it * he decided, as he entered his air conditioned, sound-proof office * After all, those who have the stomach to contact people ruthless enough to do the job, and more importantly smart enough to survive such contact themselves should be given the opportunity for advancement. * Rounding the edge of his mahogany desk, he pushed back the plain, straight-backed, wooden chair and sat down in front of his computer to find the perfect agent for the job. Like the man who occupied it, the office was hard and harsh, almost sterile. The only other chair in the room was a duplicate of the one behind the desk, no photos or awards decorated the space. The sole exception was a Friends of Humanity poster, hung at eye level if one were seated, just to the right of the entrance for motivation. It depicted a series of dead freaks, with a pure human family standing above them and simply read : The final solution is not evolution.
Rivers poured over the personnel records methodically as he looked for the perfect agent to give the task of making sure someone was hired to find each and every freak in the city. * This is going to be harder than I thought * Rivers frowned, not in disappointment but because of the surprising difficulty of the task before him. It had been ages since he had personally handled recruitment or looked over the personnel records and while it was heartening to see that so many who worked for him were more than qualified for the task, it irked him that he had grown so lax in his own duties as not to keep up on who was being recruited and what their specialties were. * Lazy, John. * he berated himself * You can't afford to get comfortable. You know what could happen if you let your guard down too far. * A sharp rapping at the door broke him out of his thoughts. " Enter." He commanded. The door opened, and a deeply tanned older man walked into the room, standing beside the empty chair until further acknowledged. He work a white lab coat over dark dress slacks, with a white shirt and black tie. His once dark hair had begun to grey, and there were red flecks of something in it, flecks that matched the red stains that covered the front of the lab coat. A security badge clipped to the coat's front pocket identified the man as the head of mutant research, Travis McManis. " No need to stand on ceremony Travis," Rivers said with an almost friendly smile, " You've been involved in this fight longer than I have. It's me who should be standing for you and we both know it. Now, take a seat and tell me what you've got."
Travis pulled the room's only other chair to the front of the desk and sat, resting his hands on his lap. " John, you know damn well that's not true. Polite, but not true. You somehow seem to understand how those freaks think better than anyone I've ever met which is why you've advanced so quickly." He reached under his lab coat and pulled out a thick manila folder " Which brings me to today's business." He continued, sliding it across the desk for Rivers' inspection, " The results of the latest round of testing on our subjects. Regrettably subjects two and eleven did not survive the latest battery of physical examination. Post mortem analysis of subject two has discovered the cause of death to be complete cellular disintegration in the vital organs. All that's left is a slimy, yellow, husk of a body. It is interesting to note however that the skin continues to lubricate itself despite lack of internal organs or control from the central nervous system. We're not sure how long it will continue, but we now theorize that the mutation's source is somewhere in the actual skin cells and cultures have been taken from the subject post mortem to compare to the original samples to see if there is any change in their make-up."
Rivers nodded, " Of course the slimy bastard would continue to make a mess even after death. As soon as you've conducted your analysis, I want the body destroyed. Unless you've discovered any useful properties to the slime it produced?" McManis shook his head negatively. " A shame, every time we have to fire up the furnace to get rid of one of these monstrosities our gas bill goes through the roof," Rivers quipped, " Is there any indication of what the cause of the cellular disintegration was? And what was the cause of death for subject eleven?"
McManis straightened his tie self-consciously. " Subject two was part of the group on whom we've been testing possible cures for mutation. Subjects one through four were also in this group and all survived the latest test. Unfortunately, they're no closer to being human than subject two is at this point. We speculate that something in the injected serum reacted badly with the subject's abnormal physiology causing the internal organs and brain to disintegrate. As the remaining three subjects in this group have shown no ill effects we feel it is safe to conclude that subject two was an anomaly. Subject eleven was being subjected to ultrasonic frequencies when it died. An autopsy is being performed as we speak, so the definite cause of it's death is not known at the present time. However, speculation based on the creature's known attributes and abilities suggests that it's bat-like attributes went beyond those grotesque wings sprouting from its back and the frequencies it was exposed to was too much for its brain to handle. However, we do have some positive news as well."
"Oh? And what might that be?" Rivers asked, flipping idly through the report and raising an eyebrow. He'd read through for the fine details later.
" We've finally discovered the nature of subject five's ability to reduce its body to a gel like substance and can counter act it, which means it can finally be included in further testing", off Rivers' interested look Travis continued, " Through some mechanism, at the present time unknown, subject five is able to dissolve the phospholipid bi-layer that surrounds each and every cell in its body. The result is that it becomes something akin to a one celled organism, similar to an amoeba, only possessing multiple nucleuses and the ability to re-solidify. However, we can hold it in a solid state by continuously running a mild electric current through its body."
" Excellent," Rivers said, extending a hand which McManis took, " As usual Travis, your department has made wonderful advances in understanding the mutant phenomena. You and your staff should be proud, and I'll be sure to pass this information on to the national level."
McManis nodded, releasing Rivers' hand, no traces of any emotion on his face and stood to leave. As he reached the door, he paused. " Permission to speak freely sir?" Rivers nodded silently. " John, I couldn't help but notice your eye. You haven't been out trying to hunt down subjects without a back up team have you?"
Rivers smiled grimly, " No, I was attempting to contact others who would locate mutant scum for us so our organization's image wouldn't be tarnished any more than it already has been by the liberal mutant loving media. Unfortunately, the individuals I spoke to seem to hold deep sympathies for the mutant scum. One of them caught me off guard and got a decent punch in, punk."
" Do you intend to have one of our "education squads" talk to him and see if they can change his mind on the mutant problem?" McManis asked with a wry smile.
" No" Rivers said, " We don't have the time or man power to waste on some mutie lover. He'll get his in due time, but I do want an agent assigned to tail him. Perhaps he'll lead us to mutant scum anyway." McManis nodded and once again reached for the door. " One more thing Travis," Rivers called, stopping the other man in his tracks, " Has any progress been made in that other special assignment I gave you?"
" Unfortunately not John. We haven't heard of any mutant from our informants that matches the description you provided of the one that massacred your squad , nor have we found one ourselves whose DNA matches the scales that were left on the victims' clothing. It'll only be a matter of time though I'm sure. It can't hide from us forever. Don't worry John, we'll have our revenge." With that, McManis left the room, presumably headed back to the labs to continue his work.
Rivers set the report down on the desk with a sigh and pushed back from his desk. Pacing his windowless office, his mind was taken back to that fateful day when his world changed. It was supposed to have been a simple mission, take out a mutant stronghold rumored to have more than twenty mutants in residence. Superficially the building appeared to be a deserted warehouse near the docks but surveillance had recorded mutants of all ages and descriptions going in and out at regular intervals. His team had been sent to collect as many subjects as they could and to kill only if absolutely necessary. All was ready when he'd been dropped to the ground by a searing pain in his head. It had felt like a vice had been clamped onto his brain and gradually tightened and he'd had the distinct feeling that he was going to die. He heard shouts of "mutant" from his teammates and the order from the squad leader to "kill the freak" when suddenly the pressure stopped in his mind and his team fell to the ground in agony clutching their heads just as he had. It was only when he reached out to try and help the squad leader that he realized something was wrong. His hand looked distorted somehow. The fingers had lengthened and turned a vile dark green, coated in scales and ending in sharp black talons. A quick glance at the surrounding area confirmed that he was indeed the freak the squad leader had ordered killed and none of the scum had exited the warehouse. He had briefly considered trying to explain, to reason with the others that he had been somehow infected by the mutants and needed medical attention but even through the agony on his teammates' faces he could recognize disgust, hatred and rage. There'd be no time for explanation, no pity or medical attention, once they recovered enough to aim their weapons, he'd be dead. Just another dead freak.
It was all the incentive he'd needed to act. With a strength borne of mutated genes that had finally awakened from dormancy and a sense of desperation, he had used his talons to tear out the throats of his teammates before they recovered. The stress of the transformation had taken a heavy toll on him however, and he had passed out among the dead bodies of the men he had called friends. The next thing he remembered was being retrieved by a back up squad, dispatched as was standard operating procedure, when his squad had not reported back in. Aside from being covered completely in the drying blood of his comrades, he'd looked completely human again. He'd cooked up a story about the assault, adding that the mutant hadn't carefully checked the dead as the reason for his survival when the others had died, and he'd been hailed as a heroic example of the species. Careful, private, experimentation in the confines of his office had revealed that the mutation could be controlled, allowing him to pass as human instead of the reptilian freak that hid in his genetic code.
The feeling of his hands beginning to shift as he paced the office broke him out of his reverie and he focused, forcing them back into their proper human form. Refocused on the important things he had to do, Rivers reseated himself behind the desk to finish his computer search through the personnel files.