Sixsmith — Roleplayer Guild

Paranatural Countermeasures Conglomerate Headquarters — Onsite Gym

People knew who Sean Adams was.

Not because of his exceptional talents—PCMC agents were all technically on par with each other, with a few outstanding skills that landed them their favorable jobs—but because of his draconian sense of social ineptitude. In other words, he didn't like people and people didn't like him. Not to the extent where he was misanthropic, but more or less, standoffish in the way that he interacted with people. Sean in a good mood was silent and attentive; an irritable Sean was a maelstrom of dirty glares and huffs. Oddly enough, Sean had zero records of any serious misdemeanors and was among the many with cleaner slates, save the odd complaint. Being a total douchebag didn't warrant enough concern and he obviously didn't act beyond the rigid barriers he put up. But, you often made a name for yourself through enough missions and your general interactions with other coworkers. It all depended on one's personality and if you had a particular one, then you tended to stand out a lot more. Whether that was for notoriety or fame laid in the hands of how dependable you were on the field and whether you had a knack for getting all your coworkers killed or not.

People avoided Sean, but they knew how much of an asset he was. He was good at what he did, made a name for himself in his niche of investigative work, but then again everyone was good at what they did. It's how they landed a job as a PCMC agent.

However, and lucky for Jade, he was on the thin line between content and belligerent: right in the middle. Just there. So, when she asked how he was, he turned toward her after having finished stretching and simply nodded.

"Fine," he said and turned away.

Limber and ready, Sean bent toward the two dumbbells situated on the ground, propped his feet up on the stool he'd grabbed and lowered himself into his push-ups. He'd not gotten half-way down before his personal terminal sounded its double beeps incessantly from his pocket. What better time? Of course, he was obliged to acknowledge it immediately and simply stood with a half-hearted sigh. Upon finishing reading the necessary info, he returned the equipment back to its designated spots and marched into the locker room where he promptly changed into his PCMC issued fatigues and left.

Paranatural Countermeasures Conglomerate Headquarters — Hallway: Intel Block G14

Tap. Tap. Tap

Boots clicking on the surface of checkered tile, eyes staring forward and features never wavered from a blank expression as they faced the ends of the labyrinthine corridors he found himself winding through. The tick of clockwork rolling through his mind, of thoughts, of ideas, of emotions he'd never be willing to give word or expression to came as fervently as they usually did. It never mattered what he thought a mission would entail until it became necessary; he'd find out regardless. However, to question the unknown, whether in curiosity or stupidity, was both the error in humans and the brilliance. Curiosity would always come naturally and without warning to those whose minds had a proclivity to wander, and until he found himself facing a gaping maw, the essence of the absence of everything, he'd always thought that questions, his own questions, for the wild and imaginary were always for naught. Just to please the whirling cogs in his mind before the stress of work and life became too daunting. It was a way to give tangible meaning to one's life beyond the measure of wealth or happiness. It was necessary to vacate from reality for a fleeting moment, to imagine the surreal, lest one succumb to the madness waiting to pulverize the infinitely burdened.

It soon became apparent that questioning what lay in the dark, or what sat dormant in the void between stars was that natural foresight that sentient beings had always possessed—a world beyond their own that worked in ways inconceivable. But, it was astonishing to find that wonder came at a cost and that evolution hadn't the slightest idea the meaning of nepotism. Humanity really was just a random occurrence, just waiting to become wiped out by an equally spontaneous event. Maybe Bertrand Russell was right: in the grand scheme of things we, as human beings, are only obliged to survive and are solely responsible for the gathering of each other to trudge to our inevitable doom, and in doing so make those seconds of life bearable and those seconds of death less frightening. Whether we further our legacy or become star dust in the milliseconds of life the universe generously granted us, has little significance in the grand scheme of things.

Sybil's brows furrowed, stopping directly in front of the section head office. The thoughts, as soon as flesh touched metal, vanished within an instant and Sean once again succumbed to the pull of reality.

And he stepped in.

And he sat down.

And he waited.

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Left half of Lancelot (It's the better half)

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