Meanwhile, in the SPARTA office...
A lean and slovenly figure activated the harsh light of the corridor with a curt word. Before the lights had all fully activated, he had marched down the way, slipping into yet another room. Unlike most of the other empty spaces in this cold, hard, dead building, his office still retained the trappings of use. He slipped behind his desk, set off his comm unit and opened his case files...
And waited.
Pausing to light a crushed cigarette, he flicked through a resolved case file, dumped it, and sat before his terminal, watching the activity of the Rome Branch of Omni-Pol.
Quinn was bored. And tired. And alone. The wind moaned through the cheap boards of his office cubicle and his mind wandered to the shattered remnants of Raquel's office (gee, she must have been pissed over something!). They hadn't even bothered to clean up the mess...
"Are we all just dumped now? Without even the offer of a transfer?" He mused aloud, glaring to where a security camera looked on dispassionately. He lit another cigarette angrilly, tossing the butt onto the floor with an uncaring smirk.
It was then he noticed the set of comm transmissions. An interesting story. True, it wasn't exactly under the SPARTA mandate, but then, nothing was nowadays... still, another Bot gone bad did sound like something those NLM freaks would try...
Idley, almost apathetically, he began to move in on the transmissions, calling up the relevant data.
The smoke of his cigarette hung thickly in the air. The wind moaned.
A lone figure at a lone desk in an empty office.
