[center][img]http://www.baku-panda.org/bounce/logan+tag.png[/img]
[color=gray]"[b]From Qurac With Love[/b]"  Part 1[/color][/center]
[b]S.H.I.E.L.D. CENTRAL[/b]
[color=lime]The Global Operations Center
Metropolis, DE, USA[/color]

Steve Dayton was a man in the middle of a storm.

Monitors bathed the dimly lit room in a sea of colors. Holographic models shone in tucked away corners where armchair generals and analysts carefully picked over developments in all parts of the world. Idly fiddling with the sterling cufflinks, the seasoned agent in the exquisitely tailored Armani suit was watching a giant track of the Middle East. Without looking, the man raised his voice as he called out, "Larry, where's my update on those Russian bombers?" 

"Just waiting for sat-link coverage to come back up over the peninsula."

Ice blue eyes swept with the slightly turn of his head, leveling a chilling glare over at the pilot at the computer terminal a level below him. "Take your time. We're not trying to stop [b]World War Three[/b] or anything," Steve barked impatiently. When silence lingered for longer than a second, he rapt two fingers against the watch on his wrist. "No, seriously, no rush. When you get to it."

"They're twelve kilometers outside Turkish airspace, en route toward Syria."

[sub]"Was that so god damn hard,"[/sub] the man muttered, pivoting to look back over the opposite shoulder at a brunette who was a knock-out at any age. "Rita, talk to me about Turkey."

"They're issuing warnings about entering their airspace."

No shit. But that wasn't the question he'd asked. "Will they fire?" Steve uttered, making his area of concern more clear.

"I don't think so, no," the woman answered, rather brusque but to the point. "They don't want another incident like in November."

With a nod, Steve acknowledged the report and was already moving on to the next part. Leaning over the panel in front of him, he peered down into the workstation of the transportation action officer. "Cliff, how's that evac coming?"

Rita's voice cut in from behind him. "We don't know for sure that the Russians are targeting..."

With a loud snap, Steve Dayton silenced the room. Leveling a finger over at the pilot, Steve asked, "Larry, is the [b]Op Area[/b] in the Russian flight path?"

"If they maintain heading..."

Another snap, followed by a look back at Rita. That ought to be answer enough. If the Russians were flying bombers into Syria, Steve wasn't taking the chance of SG-5 getting caught in some bullshit Kremlin crossfire. "Garfield!" the man shouted.

The rapid sound of flat rubber soles slapping against the floor alerted Steve to the approach of his new secretary. Or 'administrative operations specialist.' Whatever the fuck bitches were calling themselves these days. The kid looked like he belonged in high school. A shaggy mop of hair and a suit that was obviously bought off the rack at Men's Wearhouse. With a pair of Vans, which were probably the nicest shoes he owned. [color=lime]"Sir?"[/color]

Sizing the young man up, Steve leveled with the kid. "This is the most crucial piece of this entire operation, Garfield. You're [i]certain[/i] everything is right?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. [color=lime]"Y-yes, sir,"[/color] Garfield stammered, holding it out for Agent Dayton to take.

Steve didn't reach for it yet. "I'm counting on you, Garfield," the agent-in-charge uttered, looking at the object in the boy's hands and then raising his eyes to look the kid in the face. He looked like fear, smelled like Aquavelva, and shook with more nerves than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. "[b]Lives[/b] are counting on you," Steve dropped ominously, before he finally stretched out his hand. "Let's see what you've got."

In a moment of baited breath, the green-skinned young college student passed the white cup with its trademark green logo of a two-tailed mermaid into the waiting arms of the veteran spy. Holding the sacred chalice of overpriced caffeinated beverages aloft, Agent Dayton tipped the drink back for a tender kiss of the hot coffee against his lips.

Then he lowered the cup back down.

"Garfield?"

The boy might well have shit himself. His throat bobbed as he audibly swallowed at hearing his name spoken in that tone. [color=lime]"Yes, sir?"[/color] His voice might have gone up an octave on that one.

"All I asked for was a triple, venti, soy, no-foam latte."

[color=lime]"Y-yes, sir?"[/color]

"Is [u]this[/u] a triple, venti, soy, no-foam latte?"

Green eyes just blinked. The boy was utterly baffled, as though he'd just been posed a trick question. [color=lime]"Uhhh..."[/color]

Popping the top off the white cup, Steve held the container out for the youth to inspect for himself. A head of foamed milk swirled at the top. "What's this look like to you, Garfield?"

The boy looked at Steve, then down at the cup, then back at Steve. [color=lime]"Foam, sir,"[/color] he answered, sheepishly.

"It's [b]foam[/b], Garfield," Steve echoed, replacing the top and then holding the cup over the trash can before dropping the entire thing down into the bin. "I mean, I'm only defending the fucking free world here! Is it too much that I ask for a triple, venti, soy, NO-FOAM latte, Garfield?"

The kid took two steps back. Honestly, Steve was impressed it hadn't been more. [color=lime]"No, sir."[/color]

"[i]No, sir,[/i]" Steve echoed, holding his tongue before he said something about apologies and a quarter still not adding up to a cup of coffee.

[color=lime]"Sorry, sir."[/color]

"Is there anything [i]else[/i], Mister Logan?" Steve asked pointedly.

[color=lime]"Uhhh..."[/color] When the boy didn't appear to get the gist, Steve snapped his fingers and jerked a thumb toward the exit. [color=lime]"Yes, sir,"[/color] Garfield uttered, shoulders slumped as he shuffled his way back out.

He'd made it three steps out into the hall before a voice called after him. 

Pausing, the teen looked up to see a young woman with dark hair and glasses ambling down his way. She was the graduate student interning in HR. Donna? Deanna? D-something... [color=lime]"Oh, [i]uh[/i], h-hi, [i]uh[/i], Debbie, ri--"[/color]

Yeah, he got [i]the look[/i]. "[b]Dorothy[/b]."

[color=lime]"Dorothy, right, yeah,"[/color] Garfield amended quickly. Then stood there. And what were they talking about? [color=lime]"So, [i]uhh...[/i]"[/color]

"I was just wanting to chat with ya," the young woman said, holding her clipboard up against her chest as she smiled and added, "I mean, it's not like Human Resources needs a [b]reason[/b] to just chat with folks, right?"

Garfield feigned a laugh, which came out rather weak as he flinched back at that remark. [color=lime]"Right, yeah,"[/color] he agreed, albeit hesitantly.

"Actually, there's a reason."

Of course there was. 

"Ya know, the other day, when ya fixed the copier?"

[color=lime]"...yeah?"[/color] 

"And ya did that fist thing and said 'Go Green'..."

[color=lime]"Green Powah,"[/color] the boy said, correcting her without so much as missing a beat. Then everything got quiet again. [color=lime]"Er, something like that."[/color]

"Yeah, that's not okay."

Wait, what? [color=lime]"Not... okay?"[/color] Garfield repeated, almost just to see if he'd heard her right.

"Yeah, you can't be doing that here."

Truthfully, at this point, Garfield wasn't certain if he was lost, dazed, or just confused. [color=lime]"Huh?"[/color]

"See, some people feel that you're focusing on your color, to the exclusion of others," Dorothy said, holding out her clipboard as she started to go through her notes. "And then the [i]obvious[/i] reference to the Black Panthers, when you marked 'Caucasian' for race/ethnicity on your application forms... Well, I don't need to tell you, [b]that's[/b] got some people saying you're committing [b]cultural appropriation[/b]. You know, from [i]real[/i] colored people."

Make that dazed, confused, or starting to get pissed off. [color=lime]"Real..."[/color] Gar began, finding himself flustered and speechless at the suggestion. Holding out both arms, the teen looked at the older girl and answered, [color=lime]"I'm GREEN!"[/color]

Seriously. Colored people? Was that even PC in this day and age?

[color=lime]"...and, [b]wait[/b], how would anybody know what I put for race on my..."[/color]

"That's not what we're talking about, Mister Logan," Dorothy snapped, interrupting before he could finish that thought. "And I [i]trust[/i] we won't need to have this talk again."

With that, she held up two fingers as she made the universal 'eye on you' gesture and stormed off.

[color=lime]"Ugghhhh..."[/color] As he slumped forward, the teen planted his head firmly against the wall.