Aggro 4.13

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"Ughhhh."

He was alone, finally.

Well, not really alone-alone.

Still, close enough.

His mother was in another room somewhere close by, led away by a woman in a pantsuit under the excuse of "filling out some forms", leaving her son all by himself with no parental supervision. Of course, he was left with a receptionist and a a smug-smiling PRT agent, so there was nothing to get all excited over. Still, he wasn't exactly happy with his mom, considering she basically made him come down to the PRT headquarters despite how he felt about it.

It wasn't like Greg was enjoying himself, being required to wait inside a drab, boring waiting room, his body wedged into the slightly uncomfortable chairs that seemed to be the item of choice for all waiting rooms in existence. It was almost torture, really. Boredom writ large was an unusual cause of death but Greg was sure he could pull it off, forced to remain where he was with nothing bright, colorful or noisy to draw his attention.

What else could he do but sit and wait?

Where else could he go?

As the pass around his neck visibly displayed, he was a visitor to the PRT building and like all visitors, he wasn't allowed to go anywhere without a PRT agent escorting him. Ergo, he was stuck milling around the small, windowless waiting room Agent Cutler had brought them into, several floors up in the PRT building itself.

Shaking his head, Greg focused his attention on the PRT special agent standing opposite him, the suited man engaged in conversation with the brown-haired woman behind the desk and partition. The woman had spoken to Greg when he had entered the waiting room area, offering him both a snack-sized bag of chips or a drink. Stomach roiling with nervousness, the young blond had politely declined.

Strangely, the woman's smile had dimmed at that refusal and the conversation just cut off there, almost as if she had nothing to say after that. It had all been a little odd, but Greg had shrugged, thinking she was probably busy anyway.

As Greg sighed again in his seat, Agent Cutler turned away from the receptionist and moved over to the chairs, taking the seat directly opposite Greg. He turned his gaze over to the teen, the young blond letting out another "Huh" as he scoped out the waiting room for the bajillionth time.

"Something wrong?"

Greg blinked, glancing upwards at the agent as he pointed a finger at himself. "You talkin' to me?" The bad Brooklyn accent wasn't entirely intentional but Greg couldn't help it, bored enough to launch into a whole bit. "You talkin' to me?"

Cutler didn't blink at the reference, almost used to Greg's slight attempts to get a rise out of him in the short time they'd been acquainted with each other. Rather than take the bait, he only smiled. "I am, yes. It just seemed like you were a little put off by something."

"Well, yeah," Greg frowned slightly, easing back in his seat. "I'm getting tired of waiting. What am I waiting for exactly, again?"

"That's a good question." Agent Cutler settled into his seat, pausing a moment to brush some nonexistent lint off his shoulder. "I'm not exactly sure who we're waiting for. Most likely, it'll be some doctor or technician to run the short little test we have for you."

The blond teen winced at the mention of the test again and turned away, his sense of nervousness spiking slightly as he tried to ignore the fact that he was probably going to be outed soon. Just deny, deny, deny. Letting out a shaky sigh, Greg glanced back up at the PRT agent only to realize that the man had been staring at him carefully the entire time, a curious look in his eye.

"Are you sure something's not wrong, Mr. Veder?" Cutler asked, raising a single eyebrow slowly. "You seem a little nervous."

"Nervous?" Greg snorted, his sneakered foot tapping away on the drab carpet that Greg had probably seen a hundred times in a hundred different waiting rooms. "Me? I don't do nervous," he continued, lying with a crooked smile. "Smooth, calm and confident. That's the Veder way." Should I do the finger guns? Should I do the finger guns? Okay, maybe I shouldn't do the finger guns.

He did the finger guns, concluding his confident statement by shooting off several times before blowing out both barrels. Ugh, I did the finger guns. That was too much, wasn't it? No, he assured himself, nodding his head slightly, it was perfect, Greg. Smooth, calm, confident.

"Well, if you are," Cutler continued, choosing not to address the finger guns, "Nervous, that is. You don't have to be. At all. You're not the only young person here today, even. We've got one brand new Ward already, and someone else who's about to join right now. The PRT exists to aid parahumans and regular citizens, not hurt them."

"Again, not a cape," Greg replied, voice tight as he spoke through a slightly strained grin. This guy thinks he's smooth.

Cutler smiled back, his teeth hidden behind his lips. "I didn't say you were, Mr. Veder."

Okay, maybe he is kinda smooth.

"I dunno," The teenager shrugged, turning his head to the side for a moment to stare at an inspirational poster with Legend's smiling mug centered on it. "Felt like you were implying it, though."

"Well, I wasn't implying anything. You just seemed somewhat nervous. All I was doing was trying to make sure you were okay."

"Nervous? In a government building filled with secrets, weaponry and amoral government agents?" Greg blew air out of his mouth, approaching a sound that was nearly a whistle. "Why would anyone be nervous?"

"Come on, now," Agent Cutler said with a chuckle. "That's a little much, don't you think? This isn't a spy film or something. The government isn't full of secrets and conspiracy theories. We're up to our ears in paperwork here as it is."

"I dunno, Mr. Secret Agent Man," Greg replied in a sing-song tone. "You sure you know your own country all that well?"

"I think I do, Mr. Veder."

"Alrighty, then," Greg continued tapping out an unsteady beat on the carpet, his eyes gazing into Cutler's. "You heard about the MK Ultra program?"

"I might have." Cutler nodded hesitantly. "It sounds somewhat familiar, yes."

"Yeah," Greg hummed, wiggling both eyebrows playfully, "It was this little thing in the 60s where the government gave people acid without telling them and put them in a chemically induced coma for a few months to see if they'd get superpowers."

"That sounds... terrible." Cutler closed his eyes and nodded, clearly regretting this line of conversation already.

"Mmmhmm," Greg smirked, recalling knowledge gained from hours and hours trawling PHO and the larger internet, "there's also the Tuskegee experiments, the time that the CIA released a bioweapon in Tampa Bay because they wanted to see what would happen, the other couple of times they released mosquitos filled with Yellow Fever just to see what it did to people, the time they literally released a virus in New York City just 'cause, and all the other human experimentation the US has ever done without telling people."

"Okay," Cutler raised a palm in the air, his other hand resting on the bridge of his nose, "you've made your point."

"I know." A smug look on his face, Greg settled back in his seat. Thank you, weirdos on the internet. Your teachings have won me this battle.

"All of those … are," Cutler's mouth twitched slightly, the man rubbing the top of his lip with a curled finger as he paused to gather his thoughts. "... are all very interesting points. Still, don't you think the Triumvirate would have a problem working with the PRT if we weren't on the up and up?"

Greg shrugged, letting out a muffled sound that was easily translated as 'I dunno.' He opened his mouth to bring up another point only to be interrupted by the sound of a heavy door slamming shut.

The blond glanced up, his gaze following the receptionist as she made her way back into the room from behind the partition. The elfin woman didn't bother sitting down as she walked forward. Instead, she leaned over the partition and gestured towards the wooden door entitled 'Examination Room'. "The doctor is ready for you. Right through there."

Fuck. Ignoring the slight tremble in his hands, Greg nodded at her and glanced back at Cutler, the agent staring expectantly at the young blond. "Well, Cuts, moment of truth, huh?"

Greg wasn't sure if he was imagining it but he felt like the smile the agent gave him in response was far too smug to be just a normal smile, the expression bearing a little too much similarity to a smirk. "I guess so, Mr. Veder."

Nodding at the man, Greg got up from his chair and walked over to the door in question. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the doorknob, only steadying once he gripped the cold metal and stepped forward into the all-white room that bore far more resemblance to a laboratory than a doctor's office.

The first thing he saw upon entering the room was a tall, well-built man in a buttoned up doctor's coat sitting in a chair. The man glanced up from the clipboard he held in his hand, allowing Greg to see the man's face, the young man blinking as he spotted the doctor's thick head of black hair as well as a beard that looked like it belonged more on a lumberjack than a medical practitioner.

"Hello, Mr. Veder. My name is Doctor Wells. If you'll take a seat, we can get started."