And to think it all started as a perfectly normal workday you muse, as two armed to the teeth guards leards you along a narrow corridor. The place looks tidy but out of shape, with patches of peeling, faded white paint over the walls. The piercing smell of detergent is midly annoying too, but you're used to it. Working in a research institute for so long made your nose almost insufferent towards these kinds of attacks.
You adjust your glasses, thinking. These guards are unnerving. Not that you are scared, they have been well mannered towards you until now. But having two rifles this close still makes you uncomfortable.
You turn a corner at the end of said corridor, where another guard stands in front of a slightly rusty, but strong-looking steel door. The guards exchange some brief looks, then the one standing in front of us takes a step to the right, letting us free access. The soldier on my left steps before me and keeps the door open as we enter.
Behind the door lies a small, cellar-like room. The space itself is almost empty, save from a writing desk, a couple of shelves full of dusty books, and two wooden chairs. Everything looks old here too, and not as well kept as the rest of the facility you saw. Perhaps this is just a spare room for occasional needs, who knows. It surely looks like that.
Seated on one of said chairs, behind the desk, a black-haired scientist eyes you. At least he seems one, judging from the white coat and the typewritten badge pinned on it. "Dr. Gears" is this man's name, apparently.
As you sit down he gestures the guards, who promptly exit the room, leaving you two alone.
The assumed-scientist's brown eyes keep staring at you for a couple of seconds. Then he speaks up, the boredom evident in his tone.
"So you are the researcher who asked to become part of our Foundation."