Lambda — Roleplayer Guild

“Oscar… Oscar, can you hear me?” Nathan was sitting at a desk, behind glass, gauging the electric probe he’d put in Oscars brain. Oscar consented, of course. Nathan usually wouldn’t do anything that broke ethic codes, though usually he could do what he wanted with written consent. He’d had a neurosurgeon install the probe in the Limbic System, so he could re-visit the experiment conducted by James Olds in the fifties.

He heard the door open behind him, looking at the reflection in the glass, he saw that it was a student. His hand shot backward to silence her before she began to speak. “Oscar, can you hear me?” The boy nodded. “What do you feel? Nod once for pain, twice for no difference, and three times if it feels really good.” He put it in simple terms so Oscar would understand him. He nodded three times and Nathan switched off the power.

He turned around in his chair, “Yes?” He was looking at the student now.

“You have a letter Mr. McCoy.” She took a few steps forward and handed him the letter.

“It’s Doctor McCoy if you don’t mind,” He took a look at the letter, “Who’s this from?” She had already left, no doubt to give other professors their mail. Bureau of Unconventional Crime? “What?” The letter was apparently from an organization that answered to no governing body and wanted Nathan to tie-up his affairs because his flight left in forty-eight hours.

He set the letter on his desk and returned to his work, “Oscar, you may leave, we’ll schedule you to have the probe removed.” He booted up his computer and began documenting the experiment. He then opened a word processor and titled the document, “The Olds Experiment Revisited.”

Later, at home, Nathan made a phone call to the NYPD, he had a few contacts there. He’d asked about the BUC, they’d heard of the organization, that’s all that Nathan needed. He began drafting his resignation letter.

--

“Taxi!” Nathan waved his hand outside of Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport. A yellow painted car with the distinguishing ‘Taxi’ sign on the roof stopped for him. Nathan opened the back door and climbed in, bringing his one carry-on with him. He gave the driver the address specified in the letter.

The car came to a high-rise building and stopped. Nathan paid the man and climbed out, he extended the bag so it rolled behind him as he walked. Torrents of rain fell in sheets, it seemed to be night, McCoy quickly made his way into the building. The glass doors slide open for him. "Ah, Mister McCoy, is it?" The woman at the reception desk greeted him.

"Doctor McCoy if you don't mind." He presented his letter and she informed him that his apartment was on the twenty-fourth floor.

--

You'll be meeting you fellow team members at eight-thirty pm, Nathan remembered the receptionist telling him. He glanced at his watch, 8:16pm. He made sure he was dressed in the same clothes he'd worn to work - slacks, sneakers, collard shirt and a blazer. He made his way down to board room #703 and took a seat at the long black table, ignoring the laptop in front of him. Mr. Smith told everyone to introduce themselves, Nathan ignored everyone until it was his turn and he noticed the rest of the people in the room looking at him.

"Hmm. My name is Nathan McCoy, you may call me Dr. McCoy. I'm a psychologist," He clicked his tongue against his teeth, "Before this, I was the head of the department of psychology in New York University. Though, to be fair, I hardly ever directed it. I spent most of my time there revisiting old psychological experiments." He shifted in his seat, wondering how much detail he should go into, having decided that some may be skeptical of the ethics of some of his experiments, he figured that he'd cover something else. "I've been asked by the NYPD to help them solve cases in the past, I guess that the BUC saw that and wanted me." He thought that that was enough. He gestured to the next person and everyone redirected their gaze.

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