#loched.actone

[lochblocknroll]

"𝚃𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜." - 𝖣𝗈𝖼𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖩𝗈𝖺𝗇𝗇 𝖥𝗈𝗅𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗌, 𝖫𝗈𝖼𝗁'𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖽𝗎𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋

Introductions were not what Loch would list as one of his strengths. Communication in general was perhaps not on that list at all. He certainly wasn't in the habit of throwing 'able to talk to sentient bags of meat' onto his resume, not when his ability to talk to the incomprehensible vastness of cyberspace was there instead.

Of course, putting off the introduction was not going to make it go away, much to Loch's chagrin. He let anyone go before him that seemed eager enough to get their name out and their foot into whatever doors they were trying to force open. It was like sitting in the middle of The Thing, waiting to see which test might drag the impossible creature forward. Though, if any of these people were a cryptid, Loch knew, it would make this entire horse and pony show mean something. He had had his hopes set on that particularly sour-faced man being some kind of Roswell Grey, but that hope was dashed the longer this took and the other remained exactly as stone-faced as he had when they had gotten there.

That woman, Loch thought with a glance, could be a Flatwoods Monster, though she certainly was lacking that impressive collar that so defined her kind. He'd have to see if it was misplaced or, as one of his friends had claimed, it was actually a biological defense mechanism, like the frills of Dilophosaurus. It didn't seem practical, but neither did a horse with bat-wings and that certainly seemed common enough... Gods he was bored. Perhaps—

The sudden tug of all eyes on him pulled Loch from his thoughts and he cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling in his seat and crossing one leg before uncrossing them and crossing it the other way. Why, in the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster did he decide to sit in what amounted to the center of the room? He hadn't felt the urge to stand and brood in a corner like some of the others, but now Loch swore every hair on his body was standing upright as an unpleasantly large number of eyeballs fixed themselves upon him.

"Well, going off of this very unpleasant attention," Loch starts, going to stand before aborting the motion halfway through and sitting back down, "it's probably my turn. My name's Loch, Doctor Loch if you want to be an ass. If you're my abuelita, I'm Doctor Matias Rojas, but I don't see her here so I'm just going to stick with Loch. I really wasn't listening to the format here, so fuck it! I'll freeball it."

He paused, taking a breath and holding it for a few seconds before letting it out. This was already a disaster, but the only way out was through and he wasn't about to end up a red shirt this early in his job. "Like I said, I'm Loch. I got hired by the Foundation and their Sincere Comrades and Partners probably... A month ago? Time's been weird lately, which I blame completely on those interdimensional Bigfoots that have to be around here somewhere. I work predominantly in tech, mainly computers and software, but given the state of this place, the details will probably go over your heads, so I'll stick to that."

He paused, thinking for a moment as his hands tapped out a one-two rhythm on his legs. "I've got a cannibalistic fish named Hannibal the muscle heads made me leave behind and a severe tech withdrawal. If anyone ends up needing me, I'll be handwriting the most pointless codes I can. But, I'm sure we're all going to get along great! Oh, also, cryptid stories. Please regale me with your best ones. I might end up writing a book or some shit about them one day when I run out of code ideas."

[lochblocknroll]

There was a bagel looking at him. He swore the blasted thing had gained an invisible eye, located exactly in the center of the thing where the hole usually was. He couldn't see the eye, of course, but he could feel it looking at him. He wasn't about to be deceived by the thing that turned his stomach and set his teeth with the feeling of Plaster of Paris swimming past them like a particularly terrible cream cheese. Nope. He was not about to be betrayed by what he saw and what he knew because what he knew was...

Don't think about it Loch, he reminded himself sternly. Don't even consider it. There might be someone with Cerebro around here and they could be watching you to see how you react. Don't worry. It's fine. You made the needed arrangements before you left, set up funds and vetted everyone as meticulously as you could. How he'd ended up working here, he didn't know but that didn't matter. Loch had done his job. He knew he had. The bags that remained under his eyes were proof enough of that.

But...

But.

How could he be sure █████ hadn't ended up here with him? He'd worked so hard to ensure his sister would be safe and he'd arrived on that helicopter alone, but then hadn't everyone? What if she was here, beneath his feet in some cell too thick even for her to dig through. How could he know, without access to the cameras, the card swipes, the electronic fingerprints everyone leaves behind? How could he know, when he was running blind into a wall?

Loch tried again to empty his mind and fixed that bagel with a death stare he hoped would incinerate it like it was Alderaan. He looked, and tried not to think.

[lochblocknroll]

who: an open starter for anyone interested! what: the defense seminar

Forgive him for not having a background in these things, but it was Loch's esteemed opinion that anytime weapons were needed, he'd already failed in whatever job he was supposed to be doing and he may as well accept his fate as the red shirt of the group. Sure, he played enough video games to have half-way decent hand-eye coordination and could at least hold his own when it came to hand-to-hand and self-defense, but picking up a gun? It put a sour taste in the back of Loch's throat, like the tingling promise of bile. He was not going to enjoy this.

The person next to him likely, in his mind, didn't expect to be addressed with how quiet the room was, but the few cares Loch gave for social convention had long-since decided to abandon ship when this requirement came through. "Is this really necessary," he demanded, hand shoved so deeply into pockets it was a question on whether or not they'd reappear at all. "I'm a techy. Support class. Unspoken genius of the electronic variety, whatever you care for. Is it seriously so important I know how to shoot?"