John Reidenbach/Spectre
April 3, 2018 | afternoon | Brooklyn, NYC—warehouse yard
Twiggy (
@LuckycoolHawk9), Emerald Dream (
@Gands), Ian Booker (
@LuckycoolHawk9)
Agent Fury (@Astroblaze)
"I don't suppose you considered where you're going to put all of your purchases when we're working," Spectre remarked wryly in response to Twiggy's explanation, after a murmured word of thanks to Dream for clearing the area—though he already knew from previous investigations that all security measures about the lot had been taken down a long time ago.
'Or perhaps,' he internally added,
'that we are on the clock and your little side-quest could have been delayed rather than making us wait.' He remained silent on that matter, however; there was no need to start an argument, especially when they needed to work together.
Scanning the warehouses on either side as the group progressed into the lot, Spectre finally halted in front of one a little ways in, lifting his eyes to the bold black F painted at the apex of the shallowly slanted roof, matching the E and G of the warehouses on either side.
"F for Fury," he murmured,
"probably his second favorite four-letter f-word." Cracking a wry smile, he approached the smaller door tucked in beside the hangar door.
"I do have to admit, though," he commented to the others,
"it's somewhat impressive how he's been able to hide in plain sight all this time, and while not even trying to hide."
He tested the knob and, finding it locked, turned back to the others.
"Keep an eye out. I'll be right back."
He released a breath through his nose, relaxing his body as a numbing chill swept through him, and stepped forward, stretching out his hand toward the door. As his hand met the metal surface, it vanished into the door, followed by the rest of him as he stepped through.
Brilliant green eyes surveyed the windowless room he had entered, nocturnal senses cutting easily through the black. Seeing no initial danger, he flipped on the switch beside the door, squinting for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the bright light from overhead strips. Agent Fury's office remained much as he remembered it: a small, Spartan waiting room with a clean concrete floor and chairs lining the corrugated walls on either side, leading down to the closed and presumably locked door of his actual office-space. A simple black clock was hung on the wall near the office door, with a matching on the wall beside the front entrance.
Spectre stepped carefully around the room, glancing over each element though he didn't expect to find much suspect. This was an office, not a death trap—and those weren't Fury's style, anyway. The locked box with a paper slit across the lid, set on a small table by the office door near a small stack of miniature forms seemed new, though. Bending down, he read the inscription taped to the front of the box:
I don't have hours and I usually don't drop by my office that often unless I already have a reason for being here, so unless you've already made an appointment, leave your contact info in the box and I'll get back to ya.
Well, this was technically a business he was running, after all.
A framed sign hung under the clock on the wall as well. It didn't seem familiar, but then he hadn't been paying much attention to the decorations last time he was here.
Remember:
1. You want to fight: stay standing. You want to pretend you don't want to fight: find a chair. Anyone not sitting or moving as if to do so when I come in is getting attacked.
2. If you find yourself sharing my waiting room with somebody you don't like, go ahead and duke it out, I don't fucking care—just be warned that 1) if I come in to find you fighting, I might join in, and 2) if you damage any of my stuff, you get decked and you pay for it. No exceptions. Trust me, if you so much as scratch a table or dent a chair, I will know, and there will be no mercy.
3. You try and turn on me and you won't like how it ends. I can and will sue your ass until whatever reputation you have is fucking obliterated, as is your financial status. No promises I won't beat your ass first, either.
Spectre smirked, shaking his head.
'Of course.' Now that was more Fury's style.
He checked the office door and, finding it locked as he had predicted, intangibly stuck his head through the door. Again unsurprisingly, Fury was not in yet, his desk sitting quietly in the middle of the small room with his chair behind and a few chairs for clients scattered in front, locked filing cabinets and other small items lining the walls.
Crossing the room back to the front entrance, he unlocked and opened the door, stepping back to allow the others in.
"All clear, for now at least. He isn't here yet, either."
He gestured to the chairs around them as he took one himself.
"Take a seat. He's more likely than not to attack you if you're standing when he walks in."
