Distinguished Depravity

Being night security for Omeghis was a damn good position for someone with ulterior motives. As much as the Omeghis Corporation was known for their manpower rather than automated hardware or impressive gear, the culmination of what they did have in these departments was what they had outside their main branch in Vale, and these were nothing to laugh at. The sentry guns with targeting and night vision, electrical and barbed-wire fences, hidden turrets, and sheer number of other patrolmen such as he would dissuade anyone with half a brain. The big seed-shaped building was also covered by a pentagon of enormous anti-air towers, all of which could snipe out a fighter jet coming from over the country border. Well, that may have been an exaggeration, but from looks alone the weapons jutting off the tops of these spires gave Doug such an impression.

As such, he was finding it much easier to do this job without attracting undue attention as well as maintain a lack of enemies. While he'd been a goon for Junior, those he had to work with swiftly grew disdain for him when he was the first to avoid getting nailed by the authorities even at their expense, more so when he made blunders that directly led to such situations and was still the one to make it out first –foresight came with being the cause, and warning the others at his own risk was never the decision he made. Here, all that was expected of him was to keep a watchful eye out for a highly unlikely intruder, and after that came sports opinions, smalltalk, grabbing drinks from the break room and the occasional card game when there for an actual break. It was a better way to spend his nights than he'd had up until now, and he was getting paid to do it, on top of the fact that the nature of all this would let him do what Khiver may want with relative ease. He was usually in a good mood any time he haunted the company grounds, needless to say, but there had only been one thing that would dampen his shifts of late laps around the branch; when Lt. Wyser found the time to check up on them after working overtime...

As he set his hand down in front of two coworkers –a three-of-a-kind beaten out by a straight flush –the woman in mention stepped off the elevator and through the hall, peering inside to see who was present. His attempts at staying anonymous gave him away, and she walked in to visit with them. "Hello, boys. Poker again?"

"Yes, ma'am." They unanimously mumbled, trying to act natural. She smugly drew up a chair from another table and sat in it, legs crossed.

"Not strip poker, I assume? That would be highly indecent."

"We're all fully clothed, Ma'am." Doug said, earning a look from the Lieutenant.

"Well, that just means you haven't really gotten started yet, have you?" she said, shifting her glasses. "Don't mind me; carry on."

As the game went on, the loser of each hand froze as Wyser reached out and took something off of them; vest, jacket, gloves, even Doug's boots were cast off. He knew his pants would be next, and she developed a devilish smirk when he began to sweat. It was strange for sexual harassment to be done by a woman like this, let alone frequently, but no one fought her on it due to the legends of those that had. Apparently, some of the night watch were no longer here because they had been mangled to the point of permanent injury after having stood up for themselves. Not by Lt. Wyser, but it had to be someone under her thumb, and the wildest rumors claimed it was done by some pair of illegal experiments kept on a leash somewhere in the building. Somehow, having Wyser a lecher for all men and not gunning for his drawers specifically was a relief.

She frowned as miraculously, there was no final winner but the deck ran out; it seemed the deck wasn't complete, missing quite a few cards up Doug's remaining sleeves. Wyser stood and kicked over her chair with all of her confiscated items scattering. Even still, she gave them a forced smile and continued the act. "My, My, if that wasn't fun. Enjoy the rest of the night, you three."

The collective sigh waited until she was gone a minute more, and the three gathered their garments in shame. Doug was last, as he had been on a losing streak of course –who else had that kind of luck? The uniform was heavy, primarily because he was fully equipped like a soldier rather than the type of blue-suited guard one would see keeping the paintings in a museum safe at this time. He felt it was to add to the intimidation factor they had to begin with, but it was also reassuring that the gear wasn't a legitimate bluff, the C-920 assault rifle that would occupy his hands carrying a fully loaded weight of a twenty-four round magazine. It had been harder to maintain at first than the types of arms he'd had before now, but routine would remedy that in time.

"Pulled yourself together yet, Brightsnap?"

Doug sighed again upon hearing the voice of Joseph Zari, Someone he'd been expecting to participate in the game well before it was ruined. He was slightly taller than Doug, built more athletically, his face wearing features that seemed to reflect his easygoing nature in how relaxed and upturned they were. He had a boney nose, rimmed eyes and sunken cheeks that came with mornings of hitting diners after the late hours of work; he shared the same set of weekly shifts as Doug himself, so it was likely these details would imprint themselves on him next.

Doug nodded, slinging the shoulder strap of his weapon. "Just about. Bitch ran off with my shirt again."

"You ought to pump up those arms, seeing as you're sleeveless more often than not." As Doug walked past, Joe fell in step beside him, frizzy black hair making an airy mop atop his head that liked to bounce with his stride. "Actually, forget bodybuilding, you ought to just get boinkin' Wyser already."

Doug shot him an annoyed glance that triggered a beaming smile in the man. "Are you ever gonna have any shame? Come on, you know I can't do that."

"You come on. Haven't you ever heard of 'taking one for the team'? I'd've taken one through fifty by now if she gave half a damn about me." Joe paused. "Then again, maybe that's why she doesn't in the first place."

Doug chuckled, pressing the call button for the elevator. They would take it down to ground floor from the fifth. "Look, it's not like giving in and doing what she wants would drive the crazy out. It'd probably even raise her appetite. Besides, I make it a point not to throw myself under the bus for other people –that just makes them expect you to do it again when something else goes wrong."

"Wyser's about a buck ten soaking wet, Brightsnap –a bus that size ain't gonna kill you." Joe paused again. "Although there's no telling how long she's been outta practice. Might be sandpapery or some'm."

"Dude!"

Doug perished the thought and punched Joe, both having a laugh about it as they returned to their post. Joe reviving the horrid idea among the others and making it even worse as they all spun absurd hypotheticals, and this was eventually interrupted by their chest-clipped radios squawking to life;

"West-Five, this is East-Four. You seen Dotlan? He should be back by now."

Joe glanced between the other four members of his night guards covering the west half of the building tonight, each without a clue. He thumbed the speaker; "Nothin', East-Four. He was playing Poker with Brightsnap a few minutes ago, one of Wyser's specials. Brightsnap was last to leave, though."

"Shit. He might've ditched work after that, guy was kind of new... "

Joe frowned. "You're already short a hand, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Corice's wedding was last night, he's still on his honeymoon. Think you could cut off a finger, have 'em do Dotlan's rounds? He was supposed to give Med-Res a walkthrough."

At this, Joe looked up at Doug. "Have you been to the Medical Research wing before?"

"No, not really. It's on the twenty-first floor, right?"

Joe nodded, pointing him back toward the side entrance they'd used. "Time to get acquainted then. Professor A'Reyons should still be there, so you can have him give you a tour if you need it." Joe reported this to East-Four with the radio, and Doug marched back to the building, hopping back inside the elevator and taking it up further than he normally had to.

The Medical Research wing, or Med-Res, was a spacious-looking ward but those looks were deceiving; all of the compartments to this floor had glass walls. The number of light fixtures actually needed to be fewer than other floors or it would be blinding here, the tiles tightly knit in a diagonal color pattern of blue and black. He could clearly see who was occupying what stretcher in the rooms without having to turn and pass through the doorless openings, and the machines hooked up to them. Besides sleeping patrons and less than a handful of personnel, the floor was mostly deserted.

As it turned out, mostly deserted wasn't quite deserted enough, as one of the first people Doug actually ran into in the halls of glass was a stocky researcher with a flat moustache. pressed so hard to the glass that he looked like he was trying to become one with it. Once close enough, he could see that the individual was staring through at two young girls –teenagers at least –changing into hospital gowns. The brunette of the two had gotten her shirt up, pushing out her chest as she raised the cloth, and the researcher had literally begun to drool... at least Lt. Wyser's was a more distinguished depravity –this guy was just plain gross.

The peep show was cut short once Doug struck the creep up the side of the head with the butt of his rifle. "If I need to tell you why you just got a stock to the head, the next'll be lower." The voyeur let out a yowl of pain that came from anyone who made a bigger deal out of something than it actually was, but he didn't have long enough to start complaining as Doug grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet, 'escorting' him to his proper station. He sat the man down and spun him towards his desk to eye the work splayed out on it. Doug stood by with oone of his classic expressions; the look maintained by movie henchmen that stand by at the button or crank that drops the hero or hostage into a murder device. It got the job done, as the man forgot trying to argue or stand off against him, instead returning to what he was doing.

With that done and over with, now was time to get back to his own work, though it seemed that wasn't destined to happen quite yet. A tap on his shoulder got his attention not a few steps from the pervert's office, and another researcher stood near at hand. Professor A'Reyons, as his coat had stitched in the breast pocket, was the one Joe had mentioned, smiling with oh-so-slightly crooked teeth. "I appreciate what you just did there. I... hate to ask, but would you mind doing me a favor?"

Doug merely nodded as he was meant to do in his position, following the Professor back to the same medical bay from which he had just pulled the other, less respectful and less respected, researcher. The girls were wearing their gowns now, but Doug still refrained from focusing on any but the Professor. Alastor turned to look at him with very light coral-colored eyes; "As you just saw, the girls get rather untoward attention during these procedures. Would you mind being a lookout for now?"

"Dirty birds are a pretty big problem around here, huh?" Doug spoke sarcastically, but with prior knowledge rather than disbelief.

"I'm afraid so." Alastor scratched at the dark and light brown patchy hair atop his head with embarrassment, thanking Doug and going back into the bay. He stood with his rifle in hand, feeling that guarding things was surprisingly gratifying despite how boring it could be. It was about twenty minutes before anything took place, and it wasn't what he expected.

"Brightsnap, do you read? It's West-Five. Have you wrapped things up in there?"

After having walked most of the place over before now, and scanning it peripherally through the glass, he had a pretty good idea of the layout and how few people were in here. All of them were supposed to be here, so Doug's job should have been done. Still, he felt the need to do as he'd been requested; "Yeah, I gotcha. Found this oompa-loompa lookin' square checking out some nudes, just gotta put him where he belongs and I'll come right back."

There was laughter over the other end. "Copy that."

Doug looked over his shoulder upon hearing A'Reyons join in, and though he caught himself before seeing the other tenants of the room they were already back in their normal clothes; the brunette with double braids was giving him an appraising look, while the yellow-eyed girl to the side of her was stoic. Oddly, it was the second that was making him feel self-conscious and uneasy.

"Thanks. Thanks for watching out for us like that..." She trailed off, not finding anything else to say as Doug accepted her words. A'Reyons introduced Xi, the brunette, as well as Rita; high-ranking soldiers that were extremely talented to the point that they needed to be monitored. Doug made a face saying that he'd been fed more filling lies than that before, but waved anyways.

The Professor sent the two on their way, holding a series of recorded test results. They both carried the stiff demeanor of a soldier, at least. "I can't express enough gratitude, really. It's rare that the guards enforce their privacy like that."

Doug shrugged. "I know how it feels, having people stare when you're vulnerable." They had a long-shared silence.

"Wyser?"

"I've gone through three uniforms, piece by piece." Doug sighed at the confession, Alastor patting his shoulder. The conversation might have continued had the radio not expressed a great deal of impatience on the west side, so Doug parted ways hastily and made for the elevator at a jog.

The Professor's request to have a slight edit done to the night shift's schedule was small enough to be accepted, as a solitary member of West-Five would merely have to spare a half-hour or so for the Medical research wing each week.