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<span style="font-size: 12px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><br/>
<b><s> <s> <s>  //</s></s></s></b><br/>
<b>ACCESS LOG</b></span> --&gt; <i><b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">DOSSIER</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">LOOKUP</span>.</b></i></span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><span style="font-size: 15px"><b>CDR. CANAAN DRENNEN</b></span></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 12px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><i><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'">CURRENT STATUS --&gt; ACTIVE.</span></i></span></span><br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(51, 102, 0)"><span style="font-family: 'Courier New'"><span style="font-size: 9px">access to subject records: denied.<br/>
<br/>
<s> <s> <s> <s>//</s></s></s></s></span></span></span>​</div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">Avielle's acknowledgement of his presence and positive affirmation was something of a relief. Ordering Weiss back to the armory to dig through the uniforms for a larger size would've been no problem, of course, but it would've meant more time standing around in the presence of something that made it a point to analyze just about every move he made. He could see it in the Avoxxis' pale eyes back at SSAG. The gaze wasn't of somebody that was <i>attempting</i> to read him, it was of something that <i>could </i>read him with an efficiency only present in AI/VI programs. It was a very calculated decision, and the worst part was he didn't have a clue what motivations spurred the actions. A grizzled mercenary may watch for signs of fear to exploit for more cash as he stares his mark down through the sight of a handgun. A secret agent might look for signs of deception as he questions a suspected cyberterrorist with cloak-and dagger allusions to an easy out. But with her (<i>her</i>?) there wasn't a method to the madness. The cybernetic parts of her DNA seemed to act like a machine, constantly seeking the knowledge and experience of it all only to store it away for later usage.<br/>
<br/>
His greeting isn't nearly as formal as hers.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)"><span style="font-size: 10px">"Avielle."</span></span></span>​</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><br/>
The alcohol began to run its course with the ruminations. The Commanders' demeanor numbed to a lackadaisical sense of repose in a matter of minutes. He wasn't drunk, not really, he couldn't afford to suffer the hangover. A slight buzz served him well for the coming display Avielle would put on. <i>Have you come to scan me? </i></span></span></span><span style="font-size: 10px"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)">It really should have been as simple as that - just brush aside her hair and put the device to the barcode, and then he'd be able to retire for the night before routine training with his squad in the early hours of the morning. Drennen shifted his weight, dropped his arms, and reached for the black device that would mark the Avoxxis as just another weapon at the disposal of the Corps. His attention had left Avielle for just a moment - but when it'd returned he wasn't really prepared to see... <i>her</i>. Not how she was. What <i>he</i> was about to say escaped him as his jaw locked in perplexity.<br/>
<br/>
She had approached him. With the physical closeness between them palpable, Avielle had taken the initiative to peel back the material of her bodysuit to expose what appeared to be a snaking trail of effervescent circuitry amidst her pale complexion. The Commander didn't stare at her as she continued to look toward him with an indecipherable expression, however he <i>did </i>watch. It'd been too long since he'd been in the presence of a woman undressing before him. Standing before something with a body engineered to be perfect, well, that was <i>completely</i> new to the battle-scarred soldier. Beside the fact that his senses were dulled by the effects of slight intoxication, the motions of her stripping down seemed to linger for longer than the couple of minutes the event actually took place. He couldn't tell whether it was because there was so much to see about the patterns on her skin or because it'd all happened so suddenly but for a moment he was ensnared by her.<br/>
<br/>
But there they were and there she was, and the bodysuit that'd left so little to the imagination was coming undone. His grip tightened on the little black device in his hand.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(128, 128, 128)"><span style="font-size: 10px">The Commander swallowed the moisture building in his mouth as her breasts came loose from the tight fabric. He found himself considering the definition of "perfection" and what the scientists had considered during her conceptual stage. He thought for a passing moment that maybe perfection didn't just equal a healthy mind that wasn't prone to the pyschological damage done in the crossfire. If all of her were engineered to give a tactical edge in battle, then why was she given these features? The soft skin, the pink areolas that centered her breasts. The way the circuitry turned about her sides and dipped down below her waist. A delicate, long neckline that ended at her exposed collarbone. She could have easily been designed to have bulky arms heavy with muscles or a boxy frame that allowed for a washboard stomach or large hands fit for an unarmed close-quarters combat situation. Why did so much of her look so fragile when she could easily incapacitate someone like Mikhail? Was it all rooted in deception? He felt his cock twitch - a primal, knee-jerk reaction to the sight before him. A man was a man and he couldn't deny that Avielle held a very special type of attraction. Something... <i>forbidden</i>?<br/>
<br/>
He was no longer looking. He was <i>definitely</i> staring. His grip on the device tightened even more, knuckles white.<br/>
<br/>
The Commanders' eyes tore away from her form and met hers for a split second, and for the first time he searched Avielle's features with almost the same intensity that she searched his. He <i>wanted </i>her to at least suspect that he was attempting to figure her out. Even if it was just a minutes' focus. And he didn't know why. Maybe in the morning when his mind wasn't clouded with the substance that fueled these sudden feelings would he regret this interaction. Right then, he was focused on <i>Avielle </i>and her inherent enigmatic aura.<br/>
<br/>
She continued to expose more and more of her body, the suit clung to her waist. All it would take was one more inch of the zipper trailing down and the suit would be stepped out of.<br/>
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Drennen didn't look down. He really couldn't bring himself to even when she turned away to retrieve a set of underwear. It was an act of self-control - a remnant of his Spec Ops training. <i>Resist temptation</i>. <i>Keep your mouth shut</i>. Hit hard, hit fast, hit first, hit last. Get out before anyone even realizes you were there. It's not too hard to will his vision to blur around the edges.<br/>
<br/>
She mentioned something in passing about his BAC. He wasn't surprised. It was just one more thing he'd have to change about her. Loose lips are more deadly than any weaponized human.<br/>
<br/>
The Commander stepped towards the Avoxxis, reciprocating her awkward attempt at small talk. A hand rested firmly on her bare shoulder before the black device was brought to the barcode. An affirmative beep marked the end of Avielle's testing days at SSAG and the beginning of the most intense training regiment of her short lab life.<br/>
</span></span></span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><span style="font-size: 10px">"I'm sober when I have to be. That includes the time I spend on operations... and I don't appreciate the implication that you think I'd still be a commanding officer if I really was that incompetent, Avielle."<br/>
</span></span></span>​</div>