[@Eklispe]
[center][h1][b]PRILIPALA - PHQ[/b][/h1][/center]
[Hider=September 18, 2005. Transcript of events, camera recordings, 13:11 - 14:23] 
Earl was pleased to find the dangerous looking man in front of him did not seem to be overly intent on becoming violent, appearances somewhat to the contrary. "[b]Yes sir, I'll see if he's ready. Um, the nature of your visit?"[/b] Earl asked in reply, with a tinge of confusion. Did this man think you could just talk to whoever you wanted in the PRT with no reason at all? Perhaps if you found them on the street but bureaucracy was rarely so simple. Meanwhile he had picked up a phone and quickly dialed a number. [b]"Ah yes, I have a parahuman who wants to talk to someone about..."[/b] Earl paused a moment and looked up at his visitor expectantly. 
 
"Recruitment possibilities and an explanation of Protectorate's agenda, methods and ethics and morals," The man spat out surprisingly quickly and eloquently, clearly very satisfied with himself - he prepared that one ahead of time. "I am looking for a... cause."
 
[b]"- a job."[/b] Earl finished and waited a moment for the reply. [b]"Yes sir, I'll send him right over."[/b] Earl replied, and placed the phone back. [b]"There'll be someone to see you shortly, if you could simply move into the hallway to my right and enter the first room on your left he'll be right along."[/b]
 
 
"A job." The man repeated quietly, slowly inclining his head forward, no more than for a quarter of an inch and scowling a little bit more than he usually did. "That is one way to put it. Thank you."
 
Thusly spoken, he finally ceased oppressing the desk with his considerable weight, sharply turned away on his heels and proceeded into the hallway, following the receptionist's directions.
 
Earl waited until the strange man was out of sight before giving out a sigh of relief. He'd been a bit concerened for a moment there but it looked like it wasn't going to a problem. The strange man in question would find himself heading down a hallway that had the same simple style the lobby had for a few steps before turing into a room that appeared to be a fairly standard interrogation room. That is to say, two chairs, one table, one pane of one-way glass.
 
The visitor walked inside without fear or hesitation. He had little in the way of choices, and was not going to violate the local customs. After all, any official institution would want for its subjects to behave, to know who is in the position of authority. Stepping up to the mirror-glass, he decided to spend the time until the official's arrival examining his face for signs of uncleanliness that might've put his interrogator off and made a bad first impression - not like there was anything better to do. Thick, callused fingers carefully brushed over the graying hair, pulled down the eyelids to check for bloodshot vessels, scrubbed off a little bit of grime from the corner of his lip. Turning away from the mirror in order to ensure that he would not embarrass himself before whoever was observing him from the other side, the man blew his nose into a tasteful blue handkerchief before bunching it up in the pocket of his business suit.
 
In a surprisngly short period of time, considering how these things normally went, the strange man was joined by a rather average looking fellow. A somewhat elderly looking man with a nice blue button-up shirt and black pants. Gray and receding hair with a friendly face and glasses. [i]"Ah hello there, you must be the one looking for a job. I'm Jackson, what should I call you?"[/i] He asked cordially as he steppped up and offered and a handshake. 
 
The handshake was accepted - though it was clear that just in case, the man was exceptionally careful in application of force.
 
"In english, I think, my calling would be... Remora." He said, after a brief deliberation. "Yes, that. Are you part of the Protectorate?" 
 
Jackson nodded at Remora matching his force and walked to the seat across from him. [i]"Remora, like the fish?"[/i] Jackson asked as he carefully took a seat. [i]"Not that it really matters, yes I'm part of the Protectorate. I'm a handyman of sorts. What specifically were you interested in?"[/i] Jackson looked as though he was pondering saying something more but shrugged and remained silent. 
 
"I am interested in the Protectorate." Remora replied, falling into the remaining seat and leaning back as much as the rigidity of the chair allowed. "I know what everyone knows. Anything else, I do not know."
 
He fell silent for a couple more seconds, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts and form them into a cohesive sentence.
 
"I want to know if it is the work worth dying for. You understand what i mean, yes?"
 
"A company. Or a cult leader. Or a family head. They say what they do is for greater good, even if they really do it for money, or for power. Maybe because they are sick in the head. Everyone finds a reason to do what they do, yes? Protectorate helps. Protects. Does everything to protect, I hear. Even children are soldiers in Protectorate. I respect that. But is there really no..."
 
Remora hesitated. He was at loss.
 
"Ah, the word. I can't find the word," He snapped his fingers a couple times, wincing in irritation. "When you say you will do something, but do not do it. When you don't believe what you say. Starts with... with an 'H' sound." He produces a somewhat startling hiss with his throat. "Help me."
 
[i]"Hypocrisy."[/i] Jackson prompted helpfully. [i]"Or Hypocrits if you're referring the people."[/i]
 
"Yes." Remora nodded. "This is the word. Is there no hypocrisy in Protectorate? Is the Protectorate ready to do anything to protect? When you must do terrible things to help, will you do it? Take responsibility? Or will you find a scapegoat to do the things? Make him take the blame then?"
 
 
Jackson reminded silent for a moment, pondering Remora's questions. "[i]You must know there's no easy answer for the things you ask. As I noted, I am perhaps not the most important person in the Protectorate. Hypocrisy exsists everywhere in one form or another, but the Protectorate hold to our mission statement. We do our best to help and while I can give you no promises, I believe the Protectorate is above using scapegoats, even if they forced to do something more... unsavory."[/i]
 
Remora sighed and brought his hand up to his mouth, gnawing absent-mindedly on the thumbnail. 
 
"I see. I understand. I also understand that you can give no promises. Tell me then. Who can give me promises? And also, what promises must I make to you? If I want to be on your side?"
 
Jackson shook his head. [i]"I suppose you'd have talk to the Director about that. As for your promises. Well there's a bit of paperwork involved, but it more or less boils down to: You play by our rules, don't sue us, and we help you help us. Sounds simple enough, even if the papertrail is a bit more intense than that."[/i] Jackson said with a rueful smile.
 
"I see." He repeated. "I understand. When can I talk to the Director? Should I disarm for that? A sign of good will." A slight, but earnest smile grew on his face. 
 
Jackson laughed a bit. [i]"Well that's certainly the first step. I don't know when he'll be available for something like this. I can try to make something happen but... You understand I don't have a lot to make your case."[/i]
 
"Listen to me, Jackson." Remora leaned forward and over the table, bringing his face that much closer to his interlocutor's. The smile was gone. In it's place, the usual, inscrutable and stoic expression, lips barely moving - like he was carved out of stone.  "I understand that you are just a person. I understand that there are protocols and papers and other things to work through. But I want you to understand something too. I know you might not give two tugs of a dead dog's cock if I join the Protectorate or just leave your sight. But if you care, I want to ask you. Can you make me speak with a man that can speak for all of the Protectorate, complete and honest, quickly? Or should I go away? Find him myself instead?"
 
Another short pause, several heavy, rasping breaths. On the man's temple, a bulging vein pulsed evenly in a fast rhytm. 
 
"I have only few questions to ask. But the one that answers must be the man that can speak for the entire Protectorate. Traitors notwithstanding. Do you understand? I need this much. If you can't give that, I am not sad. I am not angry. It is not your duty."
 
Jackson's cheerful expression remained, undaunted by the man in front of him. [i]"I suppose I must appreciate your forwardness if nothing else. Still, hasn't anyone told you to respect your elders? If I feel it is necessary I can direct you to the Director. However I will not do so without sufficent reason. So tell me why you want this and I'll help you in return. You must understand that I'm all for new members of the Protectorate, but you're not making a very good first impression."[/i] Jackson's tone was nothing short of friendly, as though he were simply giving advice to a young boy and he was relaxed, eyes calmly peering at Remora. 
 
The answer followed exceptionally quickly, considering the usual pace at which Remora expressed himself.
 
"I want this because I have to know... if this is a cause for which... I am ready to sacrifice. Not hard to understand, right? Any scum can join. Friend pressure, high ideals. Maybe to cut a deal. Then when scum is in hard situation, he thinks again and deserts. I do not join Protectorate unless I know I will be ready to serve like a dog. Until the end, yes?"
 
Jackson nodded. [i]"Very well then. If you'll wait here for a bit, I'll set up your meeting."[/i] He said simply and left the room. This time it took a little bit longer before he came back, more around the time frame of thirty minutes. Jackson opened the door and said quietly, [i]"Director Kens will see you if you'll just follow me." [/i]

Remora nodded, hoisted himself up on his feet and moved out, keeping a short distance behind Jackson.

The pair walked down the corridor further, entering an elevator and ascending in relative silence. Another short walk after the doors opened lead them to a door helpfully labelled, 'Director Kens'. Jackson spoke up once more. "[i]Here we are, if you'd be so cordial as to hand me any weapons you on you at the moment, you may enter."[/i]

"Yes. Sure."

With another nod, the visitor proceeded to disarm. His arsenal was considerable, but not too impressive, as far as capes go. From underneath a rolled-up sleeve, he produced a sheath with a short knife in it. Another one came from a similar contraption strapped to his ankle. On his belt, concealed by the hem of his suit, hung a can of pepper spray and a telescopic baton - presumably for situations where both reach and the lack of lethality were more preferrable than the expediency of a sharp edge. Finally, Remora parted with a taser, produced from within the pocket of his suit.

"That is all. No guns." He spoke whilst spreading his arms, as if inviting his escort to pat him down.

Jackson didn't seem surprised by the weaponry on hand, merely adding each one carefully to the cart placed outside the office, seemingly for this exact purpose. [i]"I'll take your word for it, go on ahead."[/i] Jackson said cordially.

Upon Remora entering the room he'd be faced with the man himself, a strict looking fellow who gave Remora a critical examination upon his entry. He gave off the air of someone very serious and very busy. [color=brown]"Jackson says you need to talk with me. Let's talk."[/color] He said curtly.

Remora walked up to the Director and looked him in the eye.

"I have some questions. Before I ask them, I will give things perspective. Won't take long."

"I have a family. They lived a bad life. I power through, they do not. But there was nothing my mother and my sister did not do for us. So when I could, I did for them everything too. No hesitation. No regret. It is not about what they needed. Was about what they deserved. They deserved the world on a gold platter. When they never want to see me again, I leave them. Leave their better life. No hesitation. No regret. Whenever I know they need something, anything, I do it. Nothing exists that I will not do for them. Nothing at all."

Remora paused for a long while. The tirade of such length and complexity temporarily left him struggling to regain calmness of mind.

"My question one, now. Can you promise me, that Protectorate is doing everything for what it protects? No hypocrisies? No hesitation? No remorse? To the very end, no matter what must be done? This is what I must know."

Kens seemed skeptical, almost scornful even of Remora. [color=brown]"Many people have bad lives, parahumans more so. The Protectorate does what it can to help and protect everyone. Now what about this gives you the need or the right to come directly to me about this?"[/color]

"The fact that you are the man that can speak for all of PRT." Remora stated as a matter of fact. "Unless I was lied to. This is what I see, from how you evade the question."

[color=brown]"No one can speak for everyone. That's not how a democracy works, though I doubt you'll talk to anyone more qualified than me to find the answers you're looking for. Now as your host I think my question needs to be answered as well. What about this gives you the need or the right to come directly to me about this?"[/color] Kens's voice was just short of harsh, curt, with little wasted effort in phrasing or playing nice.

"The fact that you are the man that speaks for all of PRT." Remora repeated without even a hint of unease or worry. "I must have the answer that you give. Not someone else. Give me the answer. Say what I must do to get the answer."

[color=brown]"Say why you deserve it."[/color]

"I deserve this answer," Grigori slowly began, choosing his words with exceptional care. "Because it determines if I give my life to your cause or I do not. There are right things in the world. There are wrong things. To give less than all you have for a right thing is sin. To give up anything for a thing you know is wrong is sin. This is why I deserve this answer."

[color=brown]"I do my best to ensure the Protectorate does it's job to the fullest of my ability. That is the best answer you'll get from me. Take it as you will."[/color]

"To the best of your ability means... You do all that you can possibly do, yes?" Remora inquired carefully. He was not familiar with some of the turns of English phrase.

[color=brown]"Yes."[/color]

"Thank you for answering my questions. You are a careful man. A busy man, also. I will leave your office now, if you permit."

Kens gestured at the door and folded his hands, waiting for the visitor to leave. 

[color=brown]"By all means.[/color] 

Remora walked out of the door, immediately scanning the antechamber for any signs of Jackson. The handyman had, expectantly enough, been waiting outside making sure no one ran off with the surrendered weapons.

[i]"Well, how did it go?"[/i] He asked cheerfully.

"The man is a busy man." Remora answered grimly. "Careful. Will not speak for anyone but himself. But I will learn all truth eventually. Thank you, Jackson. Can you tell me how a man applies to be a Protectorate man?"

Jackson nodded in reponse to Remora's asessment. [i]"As I mentioned before, paperwork!"[/i]

"How much? What must I do? Will there be tests?"

Jackson grinned genially - but there was pain in that smile. [i]"Lots."[/i]
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