[hr][hr][center][h1][b][i][color=orangered]Caesar[/color] & [color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[hr][b] [color=dimgray]Location:[/color][/b] Queensguard R&D Complex
[b][color=orangered]Skills:[/color][/b] N/A 
[b][color=b8860b]Skills:[/color][/b] Stamina [hr][hr][/center]

	Keystone couldn't say much about what did or did not come from his side of the family. He was a bastard. It's how that worked. Oh, he knew [i]who[/i] his father was. Boy did he ever. But if the option was being born with parents out of wedlock or having that man raise him, he'd have gone with bastard every single time. The only things the son of a bitch gave him, ever, was his broad frame (that Keystone turned into something epicly powerful) and a knife scar in his side that came near to killing him. [i]Near[/i]. The end of that altercation resulted in some very mixed feelings for Keystone. 

	Still, the shock and horror of that event paled in comparison to the awful depths of Lovecraftian madness that his own baby boy had let slip onto this Earth. Both rocked the foundations of self worth and dedication to a belief structure in the big man, and both served to shape him into a stronger, better equipped man when dealing with abuse, pressure or danger. The sarcastic sneer that he gave to Maria belied the simultaneous fracturing and resolidification of his psyche, and onward crept his sense of determination until finally, finally the showdown between Man and Diaper came to a conclusion. 

	Elsewhere, but still nearby in the establishment, Caesar was busy placing phone calls and setting electronic reminders for staff and contractees. Mostly this was to ensure that business as usual kept rolling along, but also for smooth transition from one administration to another. Among them was a request from his company to Queensguard's to set up a meet & greet, now that a new, permanent Director had been chosen. It was labeled as priority business, to be attended at first convenience. He could not order the contract holder to do anything, really, so it took the form of a polite but urgent request for a close and personal sit-down between women of power and influence. And his Associate Director. Hell, he might even get an invite, too. Such was business. 

	Meanwhile, Angel had slipped a Turtleskin ballistic garment on underneath her usual apparel and altered her equipment slightly to account for the fact that she was now a Tech Director, working for a security company. It was very much like her old job in Boston, made easier by the fact that many of the apps used by the company for ease of technological utilization and general convenience were created by her or were derivations of programming from which she had written initial coding. Life did not suck so far as that was concerned, and before long, with the help of her new Tech Team (ok, Alicia's, but she had inherited a talented group of people) she was good to go within minutes. The moment that she heard the delivery guy was at the gates, getting the business from the ground people there, she gave a tiny cackle and forced herself NOT to go running out that way with guns and/or blade drawn, intent upon scaring the hell out of the poor bastard and trying to score free eats out of the ordeal. She was a professional. Time to act like it. But damnit, she was going to establish an office for herself in this place somehow, hopefully before her living situation was sussed out. Hopefully.