NOVEL NEXT Aggro 4.14
Aggro 4.14
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"Observe." His lips barely even moved, the word leaving his mouth without much of a sound at all.
Cameron Wells" Lv 55
PRT- "Doctor"
HP: 480/480
A "doctor" working with close ties to the PRT since his youth, Cameron Wells takes care of a great many duties that the PRT has for him, often taking direct orders from Director Piggot herself. Likes working on his motorcycle and studying medieval weaponry as a hobby. Sense of humor is very underdeveloped. Has a low tolerance for people mocking him.
Blue eyes narrowed at the bearded man, his large muscles visible even through the baggy lab coat he had on. Rather than sit down like the doctor had requested just seconds ago, Greg remained standing.
Several things about this situation screamed that there was something wrong to Greg and he wasn't going to ignore them. The fact that the doctor looked and sounded like a mixed-martial arts fighter, the fact that this guy apparently took orders from the PRT Director herself, and the fact that "doctor" kept showing up with quotes around it.
All of that was suspicious as all hell.
But, the thing that really got his hackles raised was the "doctor's" insanely high level, because... What the actual fuck? Greg struggled to prevent his eye from twitching as he stared at the man, giving him a once-over once more. Fifty-five? Fifty-fucking five? How do these fucking levels work? Seriously! I fought Lung. Lung! And I'm not even Level Twenty yet! What is this guy doing in his spare time? How many push-ups? How many sit-ups? What kind of juice does he drink?
As he continued ranting inside his own head at how much things didn't make sense, the man across from him simply raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "Mr. Veder?"
Motherf- Blinking, Greg paused his internal commentary and focused his attention on the "doctor" once more. Eyes still narrowed in suspicion, he replied with a dull, atonal "What?"
The level of annoyance he could tolerate was surprisingly low today. First with Cutler and now this doctor who looked like the model for Brawny Paper towels, but manlier somehow. It's like they both just got on his nerves without even having to do anything, really, and he felt like punching them in the jaw. Yeesh, do I just have a problem with male authority figures or something?
You have gained 1 WIS.
You know what? That's… that's fair, I guess. Greg thought with a mental sigh. After shaking his head slightly, he glanced up at the doctor again. "What did you want me to do again? I wasn't really paying attention. I was thinking about something more important."
The "doctor" didn't seem to take offense at the tone in which Greg replied him, simply gesturing to the examination bed. "Please, have a seat so that we can begin."
Shrugging, Greg decided to do just that. As he sat up on the examination table, his head leaned back enough to touch the wall and he gave the "doctor" a smile, albeit one that was rather insincere. "So, eh, what's up, Doc?"
Simply taking Greg's statement at face value, the man in the doctor's coat just nodded and replied, "Nothing much. I feel rather pleasant. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions before we proceed with the actual testing?"
Nothing. Not even so much as a raised eyebrow. The "doctor" had just breezed right past it as if he hadn't said a thing. On the inside, Greg felt a smirk growing. You want to ignore me, huh? Let's see how much you can take, old man.
"Do I mind?" Greg asked disbelievingly, blue eyes wide. "Of course I mind."
"Very well." The bearded physician slowly nodded before continuing. "To clarify, you don't wish to continue the questions?"
"Hmm, I didn't say that," the blond replied with a click of his tongue. "How about I make you a deal? You ever heard of Twenty Questions?" Without giving Wells a chance to answer, Greg barreled on, waving his hand in the air as if to brush away anything he would have said. "Of course you have, what am I talking about?"
Greg snorted and shook his head, accompanying the action with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway, you ask a question, I get to ask a question. Back and forth like that. Seem fair, doc?" The blond smirked at the burly man in the lab coat, slightly hoping the man would agree to his deal just so he could ask him whatever random thought popped into his head.
"I don't suppose you'll answer without reciprocation?"
"Nope," he replied, popping the "p" as loudly as he could.
There was a tense silence as the doctor simply stared at Greg, the young blond staring back at him with a closed-mouth smile that was becoming less and less forced by the second. Then, the man took a breath and glanced back down at his clipboard. "Alright, then, that seems reasonable."
Greg made a satisfied noise, humming from the back of his throat. "I thought so too."
Wells didn't respond, choosing instead to lift a pen from his breast pocket and click it. "First question; How is your relationship with your father?"
Greg's smile froze on his face, the jovial expression dissipating slightly as he processed the question. What the hell kinda question is that? His eyes narrowed again as he nearly bit out his reply. "Terrible. How's your sex life?"
Wells paused his notetaking and raised his gaze, brown eyes meeting Greg's blues. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, threatening to move up and after a moment, he replied in a calm voice, "Nonexistent."
Well, dang.
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Twenty-two Questions Later
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"How often do you engage in strenuous exercise?"
"A couple hours every day, every single day," Greg replied, smiling for the physician as he flexed his muscles like a bodybuilder. "How else do you think I got this stronk?"
"Pardon me,"The doctor raised his gaze again, one hand moving to his head to scratch at the point where his thick black hair and beard grew into each other. " 'Stronk?'"
"Modern lingo, doc."
"Ah."
"But, yeah, I do crunches, push-ups and drink plenty of milk."
"That's good to hear," Pen met paper again, the sound of scribbling filling the room for a few seconds." As a follow-up to the previous question, what would you say your diet is on an average day?"
"Hmm, that's a toughie." Greg put a hand to his chin, eyes gazing upwards as if he was trying to remember. "I'm gonna say anywhere between three to five sports drinks, preferably Gatorade, six to eight protein bars, an orange soda, some spoonfuls of sugar for an energy boost every now and again, a handful of beef jerky twice a day, two bags of snack-size chips, some Pixie Stix to wash that down and a cupful of dry Frosted Flakes before I go to bed." The blond nodded slowly, as he finished counting off his fingers. "Whole milk, of course."
"...A-are you being serious?"
Greg's smile grew slightly at Well's slight stammer, his expression shifting from the forceful blank that he had kept it as. Of course, he didn't eat that much every day. Only special occasions… So, about twice a week, "Serious as a heart attack."
The doctor shook his head, his eyes slightly wide as he continued to write down what Greg had said. "Funny you'd mention heart attacks," the man muttered under his breath. "You are aware that this type of diet is terrible for your long-term health, completely unsustainable, and entirely inefficient when it comes to providing you all your recommended nutrients?"
"Yes but all that's future Greg's problem," the blond said, smile growing again. "If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me."
The look that Wells gave him was one that Greg was intimately familiar with, having received it from several different people. Most recently, Sophia. "Okay, my turn!" Greg chimed in, kicking his legs as they dangled off the examination table. "Who do you think the hottest girl cape is?" he queried. After a moment, he waggled a finger warningly. "And you can't say Narwhal, 'cause that's just cheating."
The burly doctor blinked rapidly at the mention of the Canadian cape, only to shake his head. "... I honestly haven't given it much thought."
Greg pursed up his lips and said with a shrug of his shoulders. "Then, I guess we're done with the questions, then."
This time, Greg was sure he saw the man flinch. "Fine, then. How would you classify 'hot'?" Wells replied suddenly, confusing Greg. "Is there a way to objectively quantify a measure of 'hotness'?"
"I… I don't know," Greg stuttered. "At least, I don't… I don't think so. If there was, I guess it'd be like… like a mix of what makes someone desirable, I guess."
"Succinct answer," was Well's response, the man nodding along. "There would be certain important factors to consider; costume design, physical fitness, development of secondary sexual characteristics, inherent facial symmetry…"
Is this guy for real? Greg blinked unbelievingly. As the doctor continued to drone on, Greg echoed his thoughts out loud a moment later: "Are you for real?"
"Yes." Wells nodded again, taking Greg's statement at face value. The man stretched a large hand back and grabbed a few sheets of paper from the desk behind him and layered it over the notes he was currently taking on the clipboard. "Allow me to think over this."
Greg's mouth snapped shut as he did his best to repress a laugh. "You do that."
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5 Minutes Later
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"... In this case, if you examine conventional attractiveness, sexual display, and unavailability as the criteria which lead to most popular conceptions of 'hotness,' the forbidden nature of the Simurgh would perhaps put her surprisingly high on the list. However, considering the Simurgh can't be considered by any means a traditional 'cape', in the sense that her humanity is suspect and any true appeal she might have once had is now relegated to the fetishistic and deviant, the prime option would have to be," Wells let out a soft breath, and clicked his pen once more, "The Library of Alexandria."
Greg just sat and stared at the doctor who was apparently supposed to be questioning him.
As he realized that the doctor had concluded his speech, Greg blinked a few times and let out a low whistle. "Wow, I just made you go into a lengthy analysis of "what makes a female cape hot?" and I just feel terrible about the whole thing. Mainly, because I didn't take any notes. Mucho cred, doc."
At that point, Wells eased up on the questions, announcing that it was time to move on to other things. And move on, they did.
The burly doctor began putting Greg through a series of tests that involved much less verbosity and actual testing of… things. Things like grip strength, testing his reflexes with that lame rubber hammer thing, a series of hearing and eye tests, and for some insane reason, a few minutes to play with a Rubik's Cube.
Greg wasn't even sure what the last one had to do with anything, but he decided to play along and humor the doctor by just messing around with the cube anyway. After all, it wasn't like he ever had any luck with the thing before, so what was the harm in playing with it now?
At least, that's what he thought before he got started. The one in his room was permanently solved on one side - the white face - because he'd read online somewhere that that was the one to start with. May as well get it there; this one was almost set up for it, and he could see the steps to rotate it into position. This is where he always got stuck, though. Moving to solve any of the other sides always messed up the white side. But turning it over in his hand, he was able to see how he might be able to get it done from a top-down sort of way, rather than one side at a time.
He needed to solve the four sides touching the white one simultaneously, making sure to restore the white one with each pair of rotations. This was actually easier than he thought. He got a little lost in the process, trying not to let any of the moves get away from him, lest he wind up losing more ground than he was gaining. And then, all of a sudden, he'd made the last turn, and he was done.
Greg blinked, suddenly aghast. He looked at the clock, then back at the perfectly-solved Rubik's cube in the palm of his shaking hand. Four minutes and fifteen seconds. He'd never solved one of these before. Was this one set up to be easier? He glanced up at Dr. Wells. The man looked like he expected Greg to say something.
The young blond forced a smile onto his face. He hadn't realized just what his 50 INT had really meant. Until now, at least. He'd just... he had to cover for this. Greg pushed the first excuse that came to mind through his artificially smiling teeth. "Man, I just love these things. Could solve one in my sleep, you know? I'm awes…" He swallowed nervously, "Awesome like that."
Wells didn't say anything in response and simply offered the teen a slight nod and a knowing look, which Greg took as all kinds of bad news. The doctor reached over and gently palmed the Rubik's Cube from Greg, before leaning back and placing it back on a tray sitting atop a cart full of other testing implements.
Immediately after, the doctor stood up and Greg was left with the realization that his Brawny Man comparison was a lot of closer to the mark than he was comfortable with. The man had to be six feet even and his built body only made him more imposing. "Please follow me." With that said, he began to move, heading towards a door on the other side of the examination room.
Did I just screw myself? The blond thought as he followed behind Wells, hands fidgeting with the loss of the cube to play with. 'Cause I feel like I just royally screwed myself.
The doctor opened the door, making way for Greg to pass through first. When he did, his eyes widened again as he stepped forward into a space that seemed less like a separate room and more like an extension of the previous one. They both possess the same quality of stark-white walls and bright fluorescent lighting that shone right down into your eyes and seemed to reflect and make the walls an eyesore to focus on, making it a little hard to keep your thoughts straight.
The important difference for this room was that it contained nothing at all but a single object in the center of the room and what appeared to be a control panel just a few feet away from it. The object itself appeared to be another exam table, only with no thin paper cloth covering the polished metal that this device seemed to be made of. Attached to the table looked like four arms, each one sticking out from the table and hanging over it in a manner reminiscent of a rectangular street lamp sans bulb.
"Just lie down on the table and try not to move. We should be done within a few minutes," Dr. Well's voice rang out, the door shutting behind him with a sound that seemed to echo around the mostly empty room.
Greg glanced over at the ebony-haired doctor as the man walked past him, only pausing once he reached the control panel to the odd-looking device. Greg swallowed a mouthful of air again, and said, "So, do I strip or what?"
Wells didn't even look up as he replied, "No, that wouldn't be necessary. This is a Tinker-derived H.I.I.D, a Human Internal Imaging Device, provided to us by Dragon. It can see perfectly through clothes, and even through the skin of some of the most durable capes in existence." The man paused for a moment before adding, "I'd request that you remove your shoes and socks, though, but that's purely for hygienic purposes."
Greg nodded slowly and began to pull off his shoes, slight beads of nervous sweat rolling down his forehead. Fuck this. Fuck this. Fuck everything. I should have just run when I was at home. I should have fought more. I should have drop-kicked Secret Agent McSmugman out the living room window. I should hav-
"Mr. Veder?"
Greg glanced up as he balled his socks together, deftly dropping the wad of cloth into one of his shoes. "Mmhmm?"
"If you're ready," Wells gestured to the exam table, "we can begin."
Fuck. "Awesome."
Greg laid himself down on the exam table, staring up at 4 rectangular metallic arms that seemed to serve no real purpose. At least, as far as he could tell. Well, moment of truth. The blond sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for the machine to start doing… whatever it did so he could get this whole day over with.
After a moment, he opened his eyes again, turning his head to stare at the taciturn doctor operating the control panel to his left. "Hey, Doc?"
"Yes?"
"You wanna hang out sometime?"
"W… what?" Greg held back a slight smirk as Wells blinked, the taciturn man's attention torn from whatever he had been doing on the panel by Greg's odd question.
"You know, go to an arcade? Fix a car?" The expression on the blond's face grew oddly wistful, his eyes not really looking at the doctor at this point. "Go duck hunting or something?"
"Excuse me?"
"Just throwing out ideas." Greg shrugged. "I don't know what older men do to pass the time. Golf?"
"No, you're mistaken," Wells shook his head slowly. "I wasn't judging your statements. I'm just confused as to how we reached this point in conversation."
"Just trying to make friends. I've kinda been a dick this whole time, for no reason. Well, there was a reason but it's not important," Greg added with a slight tilt of his head. "Either way, I'm always hungry for more friends."
There was a pause in the conversation, Dr. Wells just staring at the smiling blond, a befuddled expression on his face.
"Hungry probably wasn't the right word but I'm not gonna change it," Greg continued as the doctor remained silent. "But yeah, I kinda felt bad for messing with you this whole time. You're just doing your job, right?"
"... I assume you're messing with me right now?"
Greg tilted his head to the other side and bit his lip. "...Would you hate me if I said yes?"
Doctor Wells simply shook his head and turned his attention back to the panel. "I'd recommend that you keep your eyes closed until I ask you to open them. The scanners are very bright and I'd rather you not risk temporary damage to your retinas."
Greg did as he asked, shutting his eyelids tight.
"In exactly eighty-eight seconds, your results will be ready. Understood?"
Fuck. Everything. Greg nodded slowly, the reality of the situation beginning to hit him. "I understand, yeah."
"Good."
There was a loud beeping sound, and even through his tightly closed eyelids, a bright flash of light filled his vision.
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Spoiler: STATUS