Bureaucracy, despite all of its flaws, was a necessary evil in some instances. It was a process which Peter had understood well, but regardlessly was also righteously crossed at, prompted by the failure of invoking an authority personnel to clarify the misunderstanding that had arisen. He had arrived via cruise boat as per the rest of the new/returning student population, a means which in itself was a curious happening - but those that were obviously faculty of the two-eighteen facility that were acting as chaperons put to rest his initial doubts. Not through form of communication, of course, he never actually talked to them. He derived that if they were here then perhaps it wasn't peculiar that he himself would arrive to the jungle island with students. He had packed simple necessities and later scheduled his other equipment to be shipped to the island a few days after. His research, safe, desktop, documents, most of his library - his library was nigh useless to him at this point, but he assumed he would have assistants or other doctors aiding him in his endeavors, then perhaps it wouldn't hurt bringing some of those resources. 

But all of his hard work and the work in getting here and the time spent in packing away and getting here - it was all wasted by a system error? It was the most logical conclusion he could come to. He had argued with the receptionist in the office for the longest time during the student get-together at the banquet, and of all things, she insisted that the computers said that his name was "Richard Cox" and that he was a new student enrolling into the school. Peter was a difficult man to anger, but it was needless to say that while his work was put into jeopardy, he became abnormally irate. And the name was so far off from his legal name, Peter Brooke - someone must have tampered with the files as a joke. Richard Cox? They basically changed his name to Dick Cox, so it had to have been a student. Only primate with disconnected brain lobes could have named him something so immature, and that meant only someone under the age of twenty-five could have done it. A harmless prank? Perhaps it would have been in any other case, but not this one. Whoever did this has no idea of the damage they caused.

So when he began raising his voice and sounded panicked, it was only natural for the receptionist to call security and escort him out of the office. He couldn't believe they didn't realize he was Peter Brooke, an applying faculty. Peter Brooke wasn't even in the system, they said. He was a forty-one year old man who has worked as a doctor for over a decade obsessively pursing an answer to one of mankind's greatest problems, and now he was stuck at a roadblock. As soon as he got his items, he'd show it to them straight and expect compensation for the trouble he was put through. But now he was here expected to take classes as though he were a student again. Hardly. These classes weren't worth his time. Socializing with kids? Not within his repertoire of expertise, nor within his realm of interest. Static energy was crawling all over his body and Peters dispelled it by sending it crawling over the floor outwards in every direction. The circumference did extend to the walls, and Peter got a good sense of his environment: aside from all the sound waves from the voices echoing and bouncing off his body, the static allowed him a good glimpse of what was around. There were kids [i]everywhere[/i]. Perhaps some of the more receptive ones would be able to feel trace amounts of static crawling up their bodies, but it would otherwise be outside human perception. He didn't exude very much. 

The sound waves that interacted with the static allowed him to make out words and some segments of conversation. Nothing interesting. Timmy liked Sandra. Some boy forgot Vera's name. Inconsistent biochemistry teachers. As high-tech, and well off, and well funded this academy was, nothing did seem to escape the standard drama or even the most mundane problems such as schedules and... personnel files. Not many teenagers stood his height and wore his out fit - a white button-up tucked into dress pants with a belt and dress shoes - unless of course they were intending to pass themselves off as someone else. He reckoned a lot of them did that. Whichever one of them who decided to pull his leg will be dealt with accordingly. As for the time being, he just had to play along and wait for his shipment. On the bright side, he did learn a couple things with the wrongfully condescending receptionist that couldn't get off her script - she did direct him to where he could get a room and stay put, where he could wait for his shipment and perhaps he could get it then. The only problem is that it wouldn't be shipped to Richard Cox's room. It would be in storage, waiting for Peter Brooke. He just needed to find somebody that could get in there for him.

He didn't know anybody yet, and he doubted anybody he could get to know wouldn't have the proper skill-set a trained infiltrator would have. If one of these kids did, he doubted they would be the kind of person to do it out of the goodness of their heart. Things were getting complicated. Still, he wasn't going to get the train rolling by just standing there doing nothing. So Peter proceeded, with each step he took, pulses of static from his feet radiated outward from him. To those he was nearby perhaps by just feel their hair stand on end or their skin tingle ever-so-subtly as he passed. Even his dress shoes couldn't completely hide the noise of his heavy footsteps. But it was through those steps he saw a couple of interesting things. He was pretty new to the world of powers, and was pretty isolated to his own little corner. So when he saw a massive lizard man, he didn't stop in his tracks, but neither did he stop staring. Watching Peter in return would be a little odd, since it appeared that, despite not looking where he was going, had three-sixty degree vision and was carefully about walking into people. But most of his attention was focused solely on the strange appearance of the one meta-boy. Was he a boy? He was massive and alien. It was strange to think that there might be a boy underneath all that. But given how he himself had one arm, was made of a unique metal allow, and had few facial features to speak of, Peter admitted he was pretty strange too. At least, he considered strange enough that he didn't freak out at the sight of the lizard boy. In fact, he was actually kind of fascinating. Despite the immorality of it, Peter did wonder what it would look like dissecting him. Not that he'd ever act upon that curiosity. But it really was fascinating.

"Hello, your name?" Said the secretary. Peter's head turned immediately to face them. Judging by their unchanging expression, she must have seen a lot during her time working here - he didn't even faze her. Everything within Peter screamed at him to say "Peter Brooke" - that was his identity after all. But it was a lost cause, he learned that from the receptionist in the office. If he still had a typical respiratory system, he would've sighed. Instead, he groaned. A sound of warping metal.

"...Richard Cox." Peter replied. His voice sounded hollow, like an echo, as though it were muffled by something. Slightly high pitched, as the bending of metal usually would sound. He saw the secretary expertly hold back a smile - he wouldn't have caught if the if he hadn't learned how to read faces. That electric field picked up on subtle changes pretty well.

"Here." She said, handing him a slip. That was one thing Peter wouldn't be able to read so well. "Your room mate will be Samuel Clarke. And there on your slip is your room number."

Peter didn't even glance at it - it was a waste of effort. He ungraciously slid it in his pocket and merely said in a low drone, "I cannot see very well. I will wait for Samuel. If you would, please forward the message to him that I will need a guide."

The secretary nodded, and perhaps was somewhat curious. Pretty formal if he was to masquerade as a student, yes, but Peter wasn't a student. The sooner he could get somebody to believe him, the better. Now he just had to wait for Samuel Clarke and hope for the best he wasn't a libertine ne'er-do-well. But truly, if that's what he had to put up with in order to continue his work, then so be it. He wasn't going to let kids interrupt his research. He didn't come here for games after all. He took a couple steps away from the desk and stood off to the side. With each step, he got more views of his surrounding. He hoped nobody was using electronics right now. Sure, sometimes they could handle it. Sometimes they went faster, more efficient. But not always. He shorted somebody's phone one time, some other times they were library computers. He tried to control the charge a bit more, at the trade off of less vivid sight and hearing. 

But sometimes he still overloads circuits, and that's not something he can help without totally blinding himself. His desktop? Fortunately, it's high-grade. Rubber blockers and all, and the channels were of higher grade and could take higher charges. Only the best for his research. What would he be without it? A one-armed freak with nothing to lose and nothing to give. That isn't what he wanted to be. The radiance of the static stretched far enough to allow him another glance at the lizard man. He was a freak, too. At least he had arms. Peter wondered if he had something to lose, or something worth protecting. But if he really was just the boy, then perhaps that time hasn't come yet. He felt a twinge of regret that extended out to the students. Getting by in the modern world is tough. There's so much at stake. Their powers were just even more responsibilities to stack upon them.