"What," Doug said slowly, lowering his utensils carefully to his plate and glaring at Mikael, "in the fucking fuck is this?"

Brock tried not to collapse under the cafeteria table. Mikael was looking extra murdery.

"snfhhhhht-" Brock managed to say, snot drooling out of his nose as he twitched on the table surface, "-smprkk." His feebly waving hand hovered briefly between Mikael and Doug before slumping to gravity's whim. "...smprtk."

Thankfully, it seemed Mikael was fluent in "help I'm dying," and his hand reluctantly lifted from the hilt of his katana.

"This," his head tilted in the barest motion that managed to encompass the entire room, "is some idiocy that does not concern you, Doug. You should go back home, take a nap, and forget any of this ever happened. Unless you want to talk to the Director."

"Weeeeeelllll-" Doug drew the word out, "you of all people should know that's not going to happen, and the Director already knows he can kiss my ass." Mikael's eyes narrowed, and Doug casually picked up his knife and fork again. "Seeing as how I'm supposed to be Starak's best man and all. Got my kilt picked out already, and it'd be a real shame to return that. My aunt put some serious time into the stitching. You even know how hard it is to work admantium into thread?"

He delicately sliced off a second sliver of Hair of the Dog, not waiting for Mikael's response.

"Gah. I swear that Sekkie makes it this bad on purpose." Doug shook his head, then glared at Mikael. "So maybe you should start talking on how my best friend is sporting a Limiter, and why he's acting weird as fuck."

Mikael stared daggers at Brock's slowly writhing form.

It's not my fault, Brock said silently, but you guys really are bad at planning ahead for simple problems. Seriously, why am I even allowed to walk around in this building during a covert operation? That seems dumb, right? Hnghhhh how is this pain still going on?!

"If you were cleared to know, you'd know," Mikael declared frostily. "Since you are most manifestly not, perhaps you should return to your duties."

Doug swallowed a third piece, winced, then laughed.

"Ahahaha, yeah, nope. Either try and fridge me, or bring me onboard, Mika. I owe at least that much to Starak and Tara."

"Fffffff-"

Brock didn't know if the sound Mikael was making was a hiss or a splutter, but it made him nervous nonetheless. "ungrnt," he tried to say forcefully. "fnrngt fnnhhhh hnnnh spluh." His face twitched slightly against the cafeteria tabletop, but his hands still refused to move.

"See," Doug said, carving off another sliver, "that's what I'm talking about. I was with Starak the two other times he took a Hair of the Dog whole, and," he paused briefly to flick the translucent piece into his mouth, "this sure as shit wasn't his reaction."

Brock's fists beat a brief tattoo against the table, and he briefly raised his head, frothy bubbles gathering around his mouth.

"Horgle! Blorgle horgle blerf!"

Doug chuckled grimly.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Each time, exactly five seconds after Starak downed this trash," he motioned to the two thirds of a grape left on his plate, "he'd salute the south wall and then immediately pass out. Five minutes later, on the dot, he'd be up and ready to go, like he was a new man."

Brock felt one last wave of pain convulse his body, then suddenly, everything changed. The dull sickness in his stomach flattened out into nothing, then into a surge of energy that had him snapping his fingers.

"Wow! I feel great!"

"Like I said," Doug replied neutrally, popping another tiny piece into his mouth, "it hasn't even been two minutes, and you didn't lose consciousness once." He glared back at Mikael. "So let's cut the bullshit and figure out what went wrong. Who's in Starak's corpse, and why are you pretending he isn't dead?"

Brock thought a vein might burst in Mikael's forehead.

"I can't tell you, Doug," Mikael snarled. "Yeah, Starak got taken out by a Sekkie, yeah, it sucks, but drop it."

"This have something to do with Operation Changeling?"

Brock didn't even see Mikael's hand move. One second he was staring across the table at Doug, nostrils flaring, the next a cage of black-red energy had erased both from view. Brock hesitated, then poked his index finger at the weirdly glowing haze cutting the table in half. He watched his flesh disintegrate down to the first knuckle, like he'd stuck it in the world's sharpest blender, then yanked his hand back with a yelp.

Naturally, his finger was already whole once more. A second later, the red-black energy disappeared, revealing a still alive Doug and a still incensed Mikael. Brock held his breath.

"If that's how it is," Doug said stonily, bringing the rest of his Hair of the Dog to his mouth and swallowing, "then that's how it is." He coughed once. "But I'll be watching, and I'm not gonna be the only one. You go ahead and tell the Director that."

"It will be my pleasure," Mikael ground out. "Now, are you done?"

"Sure am." Doug pushed his chair away from the table. "See you around, Mika."

Brock watched the dwarf stride angrily from the cafeteria, rainbow braids swirling behind him like a tempest, then let out the breath he didn't know he was still holding.

"Uhhh, what was that? Who was that?"

"A complication," Mikael said angrily. He pulled out his magiphone and made some quick slashes on it. "Doug is Starak's best friend, and leader of Squad Three, which reports directly to the Council. They're... oversight, of a sort."

"Oversight?"

Mikael tapped his magiphone several more times, then frowned.

"Cataclysms aren't just what we stop, Brock," he said distractedly, swiping back and forth. "It's also what we are. There needs to be some sort of accountability, or we're no better than the Sekkies."

"...huh. What's 'Operation Changeling?'"

Mikael's fingers froze, then resumed their tapping blur. When he responded, it was in a much quieter voice.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Doug knew Starak was involved in it, but Starak isn't around anymore, is he?"

Brock flinched back.

"...sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"I know, Brock," Mikael sighed, swiping one last time on his magiphone before putting it away. "I wasn't busting your balls. I'm just putting out some fires right now before they start." His voice rose once again. "We're trying to limit the number of people who know we've conscripted you, and Doug throws a major wrench into that plan. Of all the people for you to randomly run into... well, he was one of the worst."

Mikael's voice was loud enough to be heard several tables away, and Brock noticed more than one set of ears perk up. He sat in silence, until finally he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Uhhh, right," Brock leaned in close with a heated whisper, "but, like, weren't you expecting something like this to happen?" Brock gestured at his body, then at the metal collar barely visible around his neck. "If this is where Starak worked, wouldn't there be a bunch of people who would recognize him? And wouldn't they react the same way if they saw him with a Limiter? Especially if you say it loud enough for them to hear?"

Mikael coughed lightly, leaned away, then pulled his magiphone back out. He tapped it several times, brow furrowing in concentration, and Brock realized that not only was the swordmaster ignoring him, the whole scenario seemed suspiciously contrived. Fire began crawling through his cheeks.

"...wait a minute. This is me being used as bait again, isn't it!"

"Absolutely not," Mikael coughed again, "absolutely not. Just had to answer some important work messages real quick. You're definitely not a plump wriggling morsel on the line right now for everyone in this room to stare at."

Brock stared flatly at him.

"You guys really suck, you know that?"

"Not sure what you're talking about."