A lone rugged man can be seen walking down the turn of a long hallway lit up by bright white orbs within sockets in the ceiling. It looked a lot like the interior of a hospital, but it lacked one crucial thing. The presence of people. One would expect patients or staff pacing around, but from front to end, he was alone.
In one hand, he was carrying a small metal container with a small insignia on the side. Passing by metal door after door, he actually looked a little lost. Secretly, he was kind of unsure he was going to go about this whole incident, but as a senior it was his job. He casually scratching his chin, until he realized there was no beard there, stopping with a slight frown.
What's a man without facial hair?!
He thought pitifully while a depressed heave flowed from his chest. It's one of the physical shames that he can't seem to cover or hide from. "Poor genes" was his excuse despite the fact that such things had no meaning to the new bodies of agents.
Corwin found himself unconsciously glancing down at the metal box in his hands. The feeling coming from it was warm, almost humid. Cursed artifacts were something he's had poor experiences with, glad that he only has to be with it a while longer. It was a little strange how this particular individual made it so long without being detected by one of the agents or sensors. Maybe it was a new kind of cloaking magic? He wouldn't know, nor did he care, the whole magical technicalities stuff just wasn't his sort of deal.
His eyes caught the number "413" on the door, pausing his footsteps.
Raising his hand, he was about to knock before realizing that it was pretty unnecessary.
"I'm coming in." He said before turning the knob and pushing the door in slightly.
In one hand, he was carrying a small metal container with a small insignia on the side. Passing by metal door after door, he actually looked a little lost. Secretly, he was kind of unsure he was going to go about this whole incident, but as a senior it was his job. He casually scratching his chin, until he realized there was no beard there, stopping with a slight frown.
What's a man without facial hair?!
He thought pitifully while a depressed heave flowed from his chest. It's one of the physical shames that he can't seem to cover or hide from. "Poor genes" was his excuse despite the fact that such things had no meaning to the new bodies of agents.
Corwin found himself unconsciously glancing down at the metal box in his hands. The feeling coming from it was warm, almost humid. Cursed artifacts were something he's had poor experiences with, glad that he only has to be with it a while longer. It was a little strange how this particular individual made it so long without being detected by one of the agents or sensors. Maybe it was a new kind of cloaking magic? He wouldn't know, nor did he care, the whole magical technicalities stuff just wasn't his sort of deal.
His eyes caught the number "413" on the door, pausing his footsteps.
Raising his hand, he was about to knock before realizing that it was pretty unnecessary.
"I'm coming in." He said before turning the knob and pushing the door in slightly.