<div align="center">(https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1519418482467-96eca39b3f1b?ixlib=rb-1.2.1&amp;ixid=eyJhcHBfaWQiOjEyMDd9&amp;w=1000&amp;q=80)</div><br/><br/><div class="floatleft">(https://lasentinel.net/wp-content/uploads/sites/5/2017/09/ENT-Heroes_Taraji-P.-Henson_IMG-1jpg.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><strong>NAME:</strong> Amanda "The Wall" Waller<br/>(Optional)<strong>WEARING:</strong> Evening Dress (https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMTc2MjQzMTY3Nl5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMjY4OTk4OA@@._V1_.jpg)<br/><strong>DAY:</strong> 08-25-2020<br/><strong>TIME:</strong> 0320<br/><strong>LOCATION:</strong> Her Office &gt; Cadmus Command Center<br/><strong>CONTENT:</strong> Running Cadmus with brutal efficiency<br/>(Optional)<strong>MOOD MUSIC:</strong> Dark Horse - Katy Perry  (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0KSOMA3QBU0)<br/><strong>TAGGING:</strong>[REDACTED]</span><br/><br/><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> It took a strong woman to be wined and dined all night, enjoy herself immensely, <em>not</em> get drunk and take her lucky date home and rock his world. But to instead give him a kiss on the cheek and look forward to another date so she could come see to her good works. It was hard to put duty before self, but she did it each and every day for the good of her country and her people. The date was over several hours ago, and from then until now, she'd been zipping here and there throughout the base, not so much micro-managing as making good and damn sure her orders were followed to the letter.<br/><br/> They didn't call her "The Wall" for nothing. She was a Rhodes Scholar, had multiple degrees, and had become one of the most infamous intelligence officers in the history of the US government. She got <em>shit</em> done, which was why she ran Cadmus, and made sure those chucklefucks in Task Force X kept their heads on straight. A stack of paperwork sat to her left, and her fingers flitted between her keyboard and her pen, signing this, documenting that, requesting this, e-mailing that person. Her work was neverending and monumentally important. It was why she did almost all of it herself. While she typed, her phone started buzzing on her desk. <br/><br/>She answered quickly, as the screen itself was blank, and only one number showed up like that. "You were to maintain radio silence until the mission was completed. So I assume this is you calling to tell me mission accomplished, right, Flagg?" "Affirmative, ma'am. The insurgency has been routed, and the puppet ruler has been put in place. We'll have all the cheap weapons we need to get started on our Morocco operation. Flagg out." The phone beeped as her field commander hung up. She trusted no one on the Squad except for Flagg, so she knew they were in capable hands and she had nothing to worry about at the moment. <br/><br/>Standing up from her desk, she grabbed a bottle of water and walked out into the corridor. "Dr. Simms, I'm heading to the Command Deck, have all pertinent data on Strongarm ready for me. And the combat info from Thirteen's performance that night." "Understood, ma'am. It'll be ready." When she arrived in the CC, a holographic display was already up on her personal console as well as the main one, with everything she needed at the moment. "See if we can splice Strongarm's DNA with one of our Genomporh's. If we can replicate his metamorphic capability, we can extend it beyond just an arm. <br/><br/>And bring up all vid feeds of the fight." Multiple camera angles showed up, all running at once. The one in Thirteen's helmet shorted out after it was damaged, but the rest continued recording just fine. Seeing their creation absolutely destroy a powerful Metahuman put a smile on her face. It meant they were doing their jobs well and that meant people could sleep at night. At the end of the fight, after Thirteen gathered everything he'd come for, the cameras showed the most concerning part of the video. A caped crusader. One who looked highly familiar. It had been bothering her since she'd seen it the first time. Who this person was.<br/><br/> Why he was at the docks. What he'd found out. And if he was worth anything, <em>why</em> hadn't he made a move yet? Maybe she was being paranoid, but paranoia accounted for at least 60% of her job description. "Bring G-Gnome One through Six online. Have them run a thorough, floor by floor psychic sweep of this entire facility." "Ma'am? None of our systems have been breached, no intruders detected; no...no nothing of any kind. Why are we mobilizing the gnomes?" "Precisely <em>because</em> nothing has gone wrong whatsoever since we got Strongarm and our tech back to base. It's been a week. <br/><br/>Seven whole days without even so much as a perimeter breach after someone managed to survive Thirteen's extinction protocols? That don't fly with me. So send them out. Oh, and if you <em>ever</em> question a direct order again, I'll have you put in a hole so deep that you'll pray for death. And when that won't come, you'll realize a good soldier shuts up and does what he's told." Turning away from the stooge, she went to stand in front of the main console, chin resting on a hand. Something was off about tonight.<br/><br/> But what? She'd find out soon. "Dr. Simms?" "Yes, ma'am?" "Warm <strong>him</strong> up." "Any particular reason ma'am?" "Let's call it being thorough. I've got a feelin' in my gut, and those usually don't let me down. Keep him on stand-by." "Yes, ma'am." Standing back, she watched the G-Gnomes come online and head out with their handlers to sweep the base. It had been a while since they had a deep scrub anyway. Why not start now?<br/><br/>Dr. Simms did as commanded and started putting prompts into his keyboard. And elsewhere, deep in the building, <em>something</em> began to stir. "Yeah...deeefinitely unlucky for whoever comes across him."<br/><br/> </span>