Looking around the room, Geoffrey started identifying the guards while he still could. He made it a habit of learning names and faces, especially of security staff. Not all of them were in the building, or even in the room, so it was important to start identifying who was on duty for this ordeal.

There was David Roskins, of course. Like many of the soldiers, he was a white man of slightly above average height, and an athletic build. The man had a young son, and was desperate to spend time with him. As much as this job kept his family living comfortably, it also kept him on duty eighty hours a week. It would be easy enough to barter with the man, if the worst should happen. After all, a lost limb was far from fatal these days, and it meant paid time off to spend with his family. A much better deal than dying for money he would never see.

One of the senior officers in the room, the one who had begun to speak when Geoffrey gave his orders, was Thomas Stout. If there were a better contrast to Roskins in the room, Geoffrey had not met them. He was the only security officer who wore facial hair, with a bald head likely to blame. The doctor knew more than a few men who tried to make up for losing hair from one spot by growing more elsewhere. His appearance, though, was as normal as the man got. According to rumors, he was actually an ex-con, which would explain a number of scars clearly made by jagged-edged weapons. He was also one of the few with enhancements, in the form of a bionic left eye, capable of seeing light across the full spectrum. Going by what the other guards said, his only redeeming quality was a willingness to always be at the front of the line when things went bad, though realistically he was just the type to want the first chance to kill someone.