The Shape of Love(TG/TS, BE, AE)

Friday, October 6- 16:48:13

Undisclosed A.C.E.D. Research Facility

Rhythmic tapping on pristine tile floors and a *whoosh* of negative air pressure from the sliding door signaled the dreaded arrival of The Head of Macroscopic Evaluation, Dr. Richard Scheissle.

Three bespectacled heads turned as the doctor walked into Hot Lab 2, all three thinking the exact same thing. “He never comes down here unless someone fucked up royally.”

The lanky grim faced man stops in front of the three scientists and points to a short Hispanic woman in her mid 40s. “Dr. Sanchez, you just recently transferred from the C-22 Project to this Lab, yes?”

“Uh, yes sir. Did I make an error in the transfer paperwork? Internal said everything was nominal.”

“No, Doctor. There was no error on your end, however, you have been seconded to CTF-Theta as of-” He glances at his timepiece. “16:50 hours. Grab your things and come with me. I'll need to brief you, in private. Carry on Davidson, Carter. Have a...good weekend.”

With that, he turns and walks back out of the lab.

Dr. Sanchez strips her gloves and lab coat, throwing them in the Sterilization & Processing basket. Attempting to rush as quickly as heels will allow, she grabs her work phone and purse from the lockers near the door before following Dr. Scheissle down the corridor.

_“Creepy, that one Well, at least we got away clean. Glad it ain't us under the block.” _Carter stated and Davidson glanced at him, shrugged and went to the samples.

Scheissle turns to a slightly red-faced Sanchez. “Thank you for being prompt. We have little time to waste. You’ve been on the C-22 Project since its discovery and due to the current circumstances, you are now the field SME on C-22 until clearance has been given to return to HL-2. We’ve taken the liberty of transferring your personal effects down to Theta’s Ready Rooms.”

Sanchez looked puzzled, “Sir, what circumstances? Why can't you get anyone from Dr. Howards’ team? C-22 has been a dead-end for nearly 2 years, that's why I transferred to HL-2 in the first place…”

Stepping into the elevator, Scheissle turns to Sanchez and a strange expression crosses the stern man’s visage. Punching in the floor code, he looks concerned. “Listen, Rita, the circumstances are that C-22 is missing and all of Dr. Howards' team are *gone*. Something or someone triggered the Halon extinguisher system and sealed the doors in their Lab complex…every one of them was dead in less than two minutes. You're the Subject Matter Expert, because there's no one else.

As the doors close, Rita looks horrified for a moment before epiphany strikes. “Ay Dios! It’s Bananas!”

Scheissle carries on. “I agree, this whole situation is bananas. The fire containment system clearly malfunctioned.”

Sanchez looks sheepish. “Oh yes, but not that, sir. Bananas, as in the fruit. C-22’s excretions are water, carbon dioxide and several acetate esters…smells like bananas. That's why our Project nickname was, um, ‘Chiquita’-22.”

Scheissle looks at the embarrassed scientist with renewed respect. “I see, that's excellent news. We can calibrate our particulate samplers to detect these compounds. A heavy concentration that isn't a banana stand or produce truck should lead us to it.”

“I’ll give the list to Surveillance, sir. Thank you. There’s just one other problem, sir. C-22 isn’t particularly hostile but it is *smart*, capricious , and learns quickly."

The elevator doors open to S-2(Sub-Basement 2), and the two step out into a cavernous room filled with cubicles, equipment and weapons racks.

“Well that's why you’ll be assisting Agent Williams here with the search. There's no telling what kind of havoc C-22 will get up to out in the world.”

A tall dark-haired man in a plain charcoal-colored suit sitting at the closest cubicle stands up and walks over to the scientists shaking hands with each in turn.

“Doctor. Doctor. I’m Agent Williams. They tell me you're the Egghead who found this thing 10 years ago, what do I need to know?”

Dr. Sanchez looks nervous for a moment then places her hands behind her back as if to give a lecture.

“C-22 is our designation for a small Metamorphic Anomaly discovered in a Glacier Ice Core Sample in Alaska. The sample taken was nearly 200,000 years old. We originally thought it was some kind of ancient algae or lichen until it was thawed and ‘revived’ by a none-too-careful Junior Researcher. After close examination and testing, it appears to be a collective Hive-Mind of unicellular organisms capable of hyper-adaptive camouflage and mimicry. It can disguise itself as any animate or inanimate object it comes into contact with, though after live animal testing, we discovered it can partially replicate anything it has seen as well. As it does not have the same hardened cell walls of plants, anything more durable than animal tissues is simply an illusion. “

Agent Williams looks skeptical yet relieved “So it can look like anything or anyone, but no at least no Liquid Metal Robots with knives for hands, yeah? If I didn't work here, I'd find this hard to believe, Doc.”

The doctor cracks a grin, but quickly suppresses it. “No, Mr. Williams, but it could make bone or keratinous knives for hands, if it was so inclined, but it never demonstrated any hostility to anything we introduced it to. In fact, it seems damn near indestructible to anything other than total cellular disintegration, each cell is its own ‘animal’, if you will. It's real danger, to my mind, is that the more mass it absorbs the smarter it gets, it eats any type of non-living organic tissue, and it is capricious. When I left the C-22 Project, the Entity was roughly the size of a small house pet. We don't even know if it's native to Earth. Honestly, it could have probably broken containment already if it wanted to.”

The dark-haired man pulls a small case from his pocket, slides out a cigarette and lights it. “Fuck Doc, so unless we use a flamethrower or a coupla 40 Mike-Mikes, once we find it, we have to ask it nicely to come back?”

Scheissle coughs snidely. “Listen to me, you two, I don't care if you use sweet words or a rocket launcher, but this thing needs to be found and either destroyed or returned. The last thing we need is the organic equivalent of a Supercomputer that can be anywhere suddenly deciding it doesn't like us very much. Take what you need, but keep it quiet if you can. We can't afford public scrutiny, understood?”

“Understood.”

“Understood, sir.”

He turns towards the elevator. “Then get it done. Update me when you’ve made progress."