Hob's smirk faded as he heard the sound of an older man's voice. Glancing up without moving his head, the NI-tech suppressed a groan. By the description he had of the man and by the man's reference to doctors, Hob quickly deduced exactly who it was that was sitting down with them. His eyes flickered back and forth between the two doctors as though debating the validity of the whole flight or fight response thing and which option might be called for in this situation. Grimacing, he set the sandwich down and gestured disgustedly towards the one of the two remaining chairs at the table, bitingly replying with, "A 'lasting' sentiment? No, not at all! After all, I have to die someday, so hardly lasting. Unless, of course, doctors find a way to keep me alive and conscious indefinitely against my will to power experimental technology. An infinite existence of migraines, nightmares, and sleep paralysis might make that sentiment 'lasting', I think."

Pausing to rub at his face and eyes, Hob clenched his jaw as he debated the likelihood that both the doctors he had been avoiding should just happen to show up in the cafeteria as he was sitting down to lunch. His brain gave him an answer that he didn't care for: not bloody likely. True, it was around lunch time and there was only one cafeteria. Only for both Brock and Park to come in less than a minute apart? [i]And[/i] decide to sit down with the NI-tech who had been dodging his appointments with them? It was too much.

"Look," he sighed as he dropped his hands away from his face, "I'm sure you're a great guy, Doctor... Reverend... Park. You probably feed stray kittens and knit mittens for orphans in your spare time and everything. And, Doc, you're OLGA's father, so I'll give you some grace even if you've ignored her since waking up. But right now? I'm not in the mood to have my head scanned, my nervous system mapped, my thoughts analyzed, or my feelings explored! Bad enough my urine is sampled, my stool is scrutinized, my blood filtered, my flesh stuck about with sugar gel for monitoring leads, my schedule fucked with, my humanity ignored, and my personal wishes disregarded in the favor of making everyone else happy and justified in their jobs. I know my job is necessary, thank you, I know that my contribution and those of my fellow NI-techs are critical to the survival of the human race and that it is only because of our unique talents and, dare I say, God given gifts that we can do the things we do. That doesn't change the fact that-"

Motion behind Gavin Brock's back suddenly caught his attention, causing Hob to instantly stop and clamp his mouth shut with lips pressed firmly closed. Abigail Larson, chief of security for this Shift and with giant balls of brass. She was no bully like Harris, he felt, but nor did he for one moment believe that Larson would hesitate to do what she regarded as her duty. Despite her pleasant greetings, Hob sensed there was some tension behind her words, as though there was some minor unpleasant consideration that had escaped her notice and that she now had to deal with. Brock and Park choosing to sit with him out of nowhere might be chalked up to coincidence. [i]Might[/i] Now that she was there, it was all too credulous a thing to assume they had purposely come for him all at once.

"Hob," he replied flatly. "My name is Hob. No one calls me 'Mr. Bach' or... 'Robert'." The distaste of the names nearly dripped off of the tongue. 

"I'm sorry, I seem to have lost my appetite." And he had. As much as Hob had been looking forward to devouring the masterpiece that Penny had conjured up for him, the idea of remaining in the cafeteria any longer simply did not appeal to him. His stomach felt queasy, and he swore that he could feel each and every one of the thousands of near microscopic wires that had been threaded through his skull and brain. Sliding the sandwich with all of its trimmings towards Park, the NI-tech rose frostily. "You'll forgive me, I'm sure. I have to be on duty shortly." 

With that, he rose and slowly left with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed. Running was out. Not because it wasn't dignified or because it could be seen as submissive, but because running attracted attention. If he ran, they might follow. Or send someone after him. Or worse. Hob knew it was rude to not really let either Brock or Park have their say to him, only he found that he really didn't care! He needed to be away from authority figures as quickly as possible. Hob wanted to be alone for a while, or at least in the company of people like Penny or that Jack fellow she went off with or Deli; they were folks who were normal, for a given value of normal anyways, and not people who had control over his life and body. 

He paused in the hallway to examine his handheld, seeing he still had a little less than an hour before he had to report for duty. Feeling that it was pointless to try and get a nap, Hob trudged slowly towards his assigned NI-chamber by the most meandering route he could find.