<b>Spook</b><br/><br/>The WatchTower woman stood silent, the visor betraying nothing of the feelings of the person beneath. Though there was little to betray. Performing the menial side tasks of PMC's obligation was monotony. All the 'paperwork,' none of the fun. A tech in a grey-blue uniform entered the room, looked up at Spook from a slate in his hands, gave her a once over and hit a few keys.<br/><br/>"Alright... name?" He inquired, waiting for her response.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>