You'll Fit Right In


atticus_icon.gif richard3_icon.gif

Scene Title You'll Fit Right In
Synopsis A new applicant shows up for an interview at Raytech… with a surprising connection to the CEO's past.
Date August 27, 2018

Raytech NYCSZ Branch Office

Jackson Heights. It's one of the most heavily damaged parts of occupied New York City; crumbling brick facades stained by the smoke of war line the streets, fallen power lines resting here and there with no current to be carried through them, and everywhere one can see crawling ivy or tangles of weeds where nature is attempting to reclaim a land of concrete and glass. As one passes through the district, they can often pass construction equipment and teams of men in hard-hats with a heavy security presence nearby, only to find themselves eyed by a group all in matching colors staring at them from a stoop on the next block as if considering their role as either predator or prey.

The Safe Zone isn't always so safe.

The motto of Raytech Industries, splashed over all their media, is 'Building a Brighter Future'. Their work can be seen as one gets closer to the facility, brick and mortar warehouses and office buildings taking up a city block with windows of gleaming reinforced glass, well-tended greenery in the area, and a feeling of clean that the surrounding area doesn't match. The constant security presence helps as well, the crimson bird-logo of Raytech's security forces everpresent in the area of the facility itself. It's almost a shocking contrast to the rest of the district, and the surrounding blocks have begun to benefit from its presence as well.

Security is clearly heavy; Atticus's identification is checked at the gate, and he's buzzed in past heavy glass doors and into a lobby with a high ceiling and a luminous Raytech logo on the wall directly across from the doors, above the secretary's desk. Above, in the vaulted glass-paned ceiling, what at first seem like butterflies flutter about continually - until one realizes they're all moving in a pattern that repeats. Robotic butterflies?

"Mister McCallan," greets a man beside the desk, dressed in a black suit with a red tie, five o'clock shadow taking away from his clean-cut look, stepping forward to offer his hand, "I hope you found the place easily enough. Richard Ray, CEO."

Atticus makes his way through the progression of city under repair/reclamation to corporate headquarters and its various tiers of security and evaluation with the air of a man well used to being under such scrutiny. There's no outward reaction to the men at each checkpoint, no time spent studying them beyond what would be 'normal' for someone being stopped by security, and nothing in general about the overly tall and well built man that says anything other than: 'This one has his shit together'.

A more careful look, or a look by those with senses beyond the normal, might note the way his gaze does not stop moving - though with a care to ensure that it doesn't dart around or appear otherwise 'manic'. They may note the way he carries himself, the air of a man with physical power held on a well controlled leash. Most, however, will simply see the smile that is cordial enough, doesn't have an echo in his bright blue eyes.

Dressed today for the interview with both his potential boss and protectee, Atticus is in a suit that clearly wasn't from 'off the rack' prior to the war, but also is not of any particularly famous named tailor. His dress shoes look a bit different though, .. apparently not shoes at all ,but low boots with a nice tread on them. The tie tries to match his eyes, and his grip, when he takes Richard's hand, is firm and calloused, but without challenge. "Mister Ray, Atticus McCallan, as you obviously know. It wasn't too bad a place to find, but then I arrived in the area a bit early - trying to get the feel of the place before today, anyway."

The observant might notice a few details about Richard as well, as he clasps the other man's hand; too calloused as well for your average executive, his stance and gaze meant to keep situationally aware, his own 'dress shoes' bearing more reasonable soles as well for running as necessary. He hasn't always been an executive officer riding a desk, it appears. In some ways, there are similarities between the two men.

"Not a bad idea," he admits, releasing Atticus's hand and turning to the desk, picking up a lanyard from the surface of it and offering it out - not too dissimilar to the ID card that he's wearing at his belt himself, although this one reads 'GUEST'. "Here, wear this so our security doesn't freak out. I'm honestly not sure what'll happen, but my Head of Security has been really insistent."

Once it's taken, he motions with one hand towards one of the hallways leading to the side off the lobby, "Normally my sister does interviews, but she's out today, so we'll use my office."

He takes the badge, loops the lanyard around over his neck, and makes sure it doesn't get hidden by his jacket. Atticus quirks just a bit of a smile at the unknowing of what will happen and says, "Hopefully your security goons would tackle me and make my life uncomfortable until someone could vouch for me." He nods though, moving to lead the way in the indicated direction, his head on a swivel now as he does his best to ensure that he keeps Richard mostly in sight and moves down the hallway towards where he thinks the office is likely to be.

"I don't know, he mentioned something about glue guns and I have no idea if he was being hyperbolic or not," Richard admits, "I should probably have been more specific when I asked him to upgrade our security systems." They reach an elevator door, and he touches the panel on the side, leading the doors to slide open smoothly. Stepping inside, he chats casually pre-interview, "So what brought you to the Safe Zone, anyway? God knows there're nicer places around to live."

Atticus lifts an eyebrow slightly, "Glue guns? Sounds like an interesting twist on a tazer," he notes with a low chuckle. Once in the elevator he waits, as most do, off to one side, though he chooses a spot nearer the door. "Things appear to be happening here, and by that I mean.. a recovery of sorts. Someone, you..Raytech…anyway, trying to get past the war and move on." He quirks a hint of a wry sort of smile, "Nicer places, likely, but it's .. really just not very good anywhere out there. Felt like it was time to see what was going on outside of where I was prior to heading here."

"There's Yamagato as well, of course," Richard admits as the elevator goes up, hands spreading a little as he looks to Atticus, "We work with them closely, but— a lot of people prefer to see more local companies. I'm a New Yorker myself, so're my siblings— for us, this isn't so much a business venture as it is working to restore our home. The Big Apple never stays down."

The doors open and he steps out, leading the way down a clean grey-walled hallway, "It's going to take time, though."

There's a touch of a nod from Atticus, "Local is good, while I'm not a native, it's just better to have those folks that know a place best .. and have shown tolerance for some of the causes of what ripped the place apart in the first place." His Aussie accent is noticable, he's clearly not ever really made an effort to hide it, as he speaks and he continues to glance around as they walk. "Given the .. state of things, time's gonna be needed in plenty all around."

"Oh? And what would you say those causes were, Mister McCallan?" Richard slants a glance over, and then he stops at a door; pulling the pull-cord ID card from his belt and touching it to a black panel beside the door, then letting it snap back. The door unlocks with an audible click, and he pushes the oak door open, waving the other man in.

A large double-window along one wall of Richard Ray's office allows natural light to spill in throughout the office and provides an excellent view of the green roof on the lower floor of the building, the flowered garden spreading out between rows of solar panels.

The walls of the office are in slate grey, the carpeting on the floor matching, and the furniture is all in black glass, metal, and leather - but the modern starkness is offset by the tall potted plants that grow along the side of the room opposite the window. The CEO's desk is a broad affair in black glass with a video feed and touch-screen built into the surface of the desk itself, the non-interactive portions of the desk decorated sparsely with a plastic 'in' and 'out' box, a framed picture of Elisabeth Harrison, and an old onyx chess king set beside it like reminders of times long past. Off to one side of the desk is a box lined with soft and resilient fabric and scattered with cat toys.

"Atticus, or McCallan, please. 'Mister' just has me lookin' around for my Dad..even at my age." Atticus notes with a flick of a smile, a hint of .. the sense of separation there. As he steps into the room and proceeds in far enough to allow Richard to follow, he then pauses and glances around. The first pass of his gaze is a quick and habitual sweep to note entries/exits/sight lines and potential threats. Then another as he turns slightly to allow Richard past him, roves the room to take in more specific details and pauses to linger for a few moments on Elisabeth's picture. There he pauses, hmms a moment, "Seems the world's a lot smaller than I'd thought. You knew Elisabeth?"

The door they just came through, a door off to one side that's secured with a locking panel, the windows. Those seem to be the obvious points of entry or egress from the office. Subtle cameras, the corners of the room, subtle enough to be difficult to spot.

Richard steps around the desk with a chuckle, "Atticus it is. I don't usually stand on ceremony myself— "

Then there's the question, and he stops before sitting— glancing to the picture, then back to the other man, a single brow lifting. "I… you can say that, yes. You know her?"

"I..did. Worked with her a bit when I was on HRT. Did an eval of FRONTLINE for HRT and back home, in so far as how things were set up, how the .. well, the expected stupid bullshit." Atticus says, pausing for a moment, and then continuing a moment later. "She was good people and one hell of a fucking loss." Another pause a wry smile, "My apologies, I'm an enlisted military man at heart and the foul language is rather.. natural. To answer your earlier question: I think that this country had a serious case of losing it's fu.. it's god.. it's way. People are people, no matter what makes them special in their particular way."

"I'm not a stickler for language, McCallan…" Richard drops himself down into the high-backed leather chair, leaning back and folding both hands over his chest as he offers her a faint, rueful smile, "…so no need to worry about that. FRONTLINE. That makes a lot of sense." His gaze drifts to the picture, then back, "And you won't get any argument there. She proved herself time and again, in every way possible. No surprise I fell in love with her, I suppose."

Atticus settles down into a chair opposite Richard, shifting his gaze from Liz's picture to the other man. He quirks a bit of a smile that, this time, reaches those blue eyes of his. "Damned small world, no not a surprise. Like I said, she was one hell of a woman and I really only was just getting to know her before I had to head back to DC. Only a couple of weeks or so." A pause, "I'm sorry to drag up painful memories..but glad to meet another friend of hers."

"We all knew the risks, going to Alaska…" Richard's hazel eyes linger on the picture, and then back to the other man, and he crooks a more genuine smile, "Well, if you knew Liz, that's a good character reference at least. So, McCallan—" He leans forward, resting folded hands on the black glass of the desk, brows raising, "Tell me about yourself, then. I know your resume, of course, but paper never tells the whole story."

"Hmmm..that's a tough question. Resume's always tell too little. Can't even really show you my service file, or my HRT file. Hell, techincally I'm .. AWOL there, or with both them and my country." Atticus says after a few moments. "To put it bluntly, I suppose, I'm an ex special forces grunt that has had enough of being the guy in charge of everyone. Spent the war and until just a few months ago keeping my home and those around them safe. Now that they're settled, well, I think it's a combination of 'idle hands' and a need to see if there's something that can be done to put this country that I've adopted back together."

"That wasn't tough to answer at all, see?" Richard flashes a grin briefly, then leans back again, "I can empathize. Why'd you leave your country, go AWOL? You could've gone home, probably— God knows nobody would blame you for abandoning what was left of the States."

Atticus considers the question for a moment, eyes going distant for a bit, "I was SASR with the Austrailian Defense Forces, on what amounted to 'exchange' duty with the FBI HRT. Then the shit hit the fan here, and while I probably could've gotten home.. well, it wouldn't have been easy and I had folks here depending on me as well. Then.. six years went by. Not much at home, I certainly fell off the FBI's radar, not even sure they're aware I'm alive .. or if I should be. The regiment likely considers me dead, as I've not been able to get any word back to them, really."

Richard brings one of his hands up, fingers rubbing against his jawline. "Fair enough," he allows, "A lot of people who fought in the war, well— they feel a responsibility to help rebuild. God knows I do." His hand sweeps back towards the other man indicatively, "So. Ex-Special-Forces; you have a specialty at all?"

"Counter Terror. I spent a lot of time in various deserts before that." Atticus says with a bit of a smile, "As part of joining the FBI I picked up a degree in criminology." A bit of a shrug, "Paring everything down: I'm a professionally paranoid guy with a prefernce to put a rapid stop to threats, rather than pussyfoot around with being nice." A pause, "And while the FBI prior to the war knew, Liz knew, I'm not currently registered anywhere. I /was/ a registered evolved class-a, b and c Teleporter."

At that, Richard's brows go up a little. "We can certainly always use that sort of ability," he admits, "Travel being what it is, these days…" A faint chuckle, "Rapid response is a necessity when it comes to security work as well. And when you're dealing with threats, you rarely get anywhere by being nice."

Atticus chuckles, "Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to be able to ferry busses of people around the globe. " He says from his seat, but continues, standing near one window. "I can make sure.." Standing by the desk, "…that what I can carry…" the other side of the desk, "…gets where it needs to go, within a moderate…" and finally back at his chair, "..range or so."

"I'm not about to complain about any distance," Richard observes wryly as the man moves around the room without any obvious effort, chin dipping in an easy nod of appreciation, "Spatiotemporal abilities are the rarest sort, after all. That combined with your other skills, well— " Hands spread, "— I can see your effectiveness. Alright. I'll need you to meet with our Head of Security for final clearance, but I think we can absolutely use you, McCallan. Salary's quite generous, you'll find, we have excellent benefits, on-facility housing— given the state of infrastructure around the Safe Zone, it's better than what you'll find anywhere else."

He quirks a smile at the other man's reaction, and if there was someone that knew him well they might notice just a hint of sign of exertion - a man walking fast just starting to notice it sort of thing, but he hides it well enough…or just doesn't let it get to him. "Sounds good to me, all around. Does seem like you've got a handle on most of the basics here at the very least." Atticus notes the last there with a bit of a glance 'round the office once more.

"We try." Richard's lips twitch in a wry smile, as if at some private joke, and he notes, "There'll be confidentiality agreements and such, of course, because there's a lot of… proprietary work we do here at Raytech. While there's nothing terribly romantic about hydroponics technology for instance, we'd really rather be the ones setting it up in the Safe Zone and not a more— predatory competitor."

"I'm more than a bit used to secrets, Mr Ray. I don't imagine that'll be a problem." Atticus says with a wry smile of his own. He gives a bit more wolfish of a smile a moment later, "And hopefully it'll soon be at least part of my job to help ensure those secrets remain wholly the purvue of Raytech and Raytech alone."

"I'm glad to hear that, Atticus…" Richard's brows both raise ever so slightly, "…I'm very glad to hear that."

He smiles, then, leaning forward to offer a hand, "So, aside from the formalities… welcome to Raytech."

Atticus leans forward in turn, to take the other man's hand, his grip once more that same firm and obviously specifically non-challening grip, "Thank you, sir, thank you."

This time, without the distraction of the lobby, the markings on his hand might be seen; black and seemingly dyed into the very skin in the pattern of another hand clasping his own. Maybe a particularly strange tattoo. Richard grins broadly, "Bellamy will like you, he fought through the war himself. I have a feeling you'll fit right in around here."

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