Sylus was... unremarkable. Even reviewing the footage, there was nothing about the man that said to Hob that he was a killer. No glasses, short brown hair, brown eyes, scruff on his chin and cheeks - He was decent looking, average build if a bit stocky. The man's nose had been broken at some point, but that was hardly an indicator of criminal or violent behavior so far as Hob knew. The face wasn't even a bland one! No one could say that Sylus was nondescript or blended into the background, that he was one of God's extras in life. While his features were common enough in their parts, the sum was uniquely Sylus. All the same, it gave the impression of just a normal guy. Hob could easily picture him sitting besides him at a bar or listening to his music on a street corner.

What did stand out to Hob was what Sylus was dressed in: rust covered overalls.

Hob felt his jaw clench as the footage continued to play in reverse. That they should put a convicted killed in the same 'uniform' issues to the NI-techs was galling. Perhaps it was because they had an excess of such overalls? Stores on the ship were limited. Yet the NI-tech could not help but feel it sent a completely different sort of message. He let it slide for now, and filed it away to see if he could follow it up later; were the rust colored overalls (the only clothes most of the NI-techs owned) marking them out as more than just NI-techs? Were there other prisoners on board who wore them? Granted, they didn't stick out as brightly as prison-orange overalls might back on Earth, but...

OLGA was speaking, he realized guiltily, and he tilted his head to indicate that he was listened to her. "Already going to reverse anyway," he shrugged, "but if you just want from the time he was captured onwards, then I can slow it down. That'll make it a bit easier, actually."

A flick of his mind and a green felt board appeared on one wall of the barn, crew ID photos appeared with numbers besides each. The numbers began to incrementally increase. "There, I've linked up a separate database. It'll keep track of who visited him, when, and how often. We can see if anyone unusual stands out so we-"

Hob came to a dead stop. Even playing backwards, he recognized the face of one of Sylus' visitors, a face that had no reason to be there in any way that Hob could even think of. "What the fuck is [i]he[/i] doing there?!"

The vehemence was not lost in his voice, and the expression upon his face was one of distinct hatred at the sight of the man in a blue military uniform sitting across from Sylus at an interrogation table. In the NI-tube, another universe compared to the agricultural setting he was in now, Hob's fists balled. The officer, a colonel, was well into his fifties with iron grey hair cut neatly short. His eyes were not merely intelligent but outright shrewd as the regarded the prisoner, a stack of paper between them. There was nothing sinister about the colonel. Quite the contrary, he looked like someone's elderly favorite uncle! The two of them were talking, clear and calm for the colonel's part and anxious for Sylus'. The scene had started with the officer shaking his head and leaving, Sylus bowing his head as though in defeat, but as it continued to play out in reverse Hob began to become aware that the scene was all too familiar.

"I don't believe it," Hob finally growled. "I don't fucking believe it. He's giving Sylus the test! He's giving him the fucking test! That asshole wanted to see of they could turn him into one of us before they spaced him! They were going to make a goddamn murder an NI-tech if he passed the fucking test!"

With the rising crescendo of his voice, Hob rose up to his full six foot height as though he were ready to assault the projection that played out in front of him and OLGA. The files on his lap fell and scattered upon the barn floor. "God damn, Grissom! You fucking asshole! You puking, shit-sucking, cock-blowing, mother-[i]fucker[/i]!" It was clear that Sylus failed the tests. He didn't have whatever special spark was needed to make a potential NI-tech, that much was clear by the disappointment on both men's faces. It didn't matter. That didn't change the fact that Colonel Elijah Grissom had tried to circumvent justice [i]and[/i] had been willing to use the NI-tech program as a means of someone serving out a criminal sentence. 

Hob's was angry enough that within the virtual reality of the computer system parts of him seemed to peel off without his noticing. They were like faint shadows stepping away from the core of his computer generated identity and fading away into nothingness before OLGA's eyes. Each of them bore rage and sadness and hatred. They were the barest wisps of what Hob really was, and yet each contained terrible power and fury in their eyes. The tech was emotional enough that he was throwing off Ghosts and didn't even realize it. The whole of the barn shuddered and waved from the force of his ranting, the matrix unable to keep up with the sudden flow of powerful emotion that flooded Hob's brain.

"You dickhead! You pickle-dicked, Goering wanna-be! I hope you get strapped down to your own goddamn surgical table and vivisected, you festering-"

He bit his lip. Hard. With a great deal of willpower, Hob reigned himself in. The structure of reality about them stabilized after a cycle or two, though Hob himself stood rigid and vibrating with anger. It was only with a glance at the green felt board with its pictures that he confirmed what he wanted to know. The man in charge of the NI program, the head honcho who had headed the whole thing up, had only visited Sylus twice: once to administer the test and once to turn him down. As much as he wanted Grissom to be connected with the murders, it seemed unlikely. Besides, the bastard had other crimes to be laid at his feet. 

Casting his eyes down, Hob mumbled an apology through clenched teeth. "Sorry, OLGA. I just... wasn't expecting..."