The sterile white light permeated everything in this facility. Originating from diffuser panels, the radiant tone washed out any competing vibrance in the area. The tile floors were spotless but not reflective, as the dictated codes enforced just for this facility. They'd developed new cleaning chemicals to apply a wax-like protection without a shiny surface. Everything within these walls was artificial and advanced.
Many such technologies had been made in this new world. Since the kaiju had first appeared, humanity felt new fear unlike anything before. These giant creatures that had laid dormant until modern times seemed to have unified purpose despite diverse appearance: They would extinguish human life until they were repelled. Each one was a purposeful weapon aimed only at humanity's destruction. We still don't know why.
Conventional weapons rarely did the job, even for lower-class kaiju. The planet had been lucky a few times: some kaiju were vulnerable to nuclear weapons or fire or water, and those battles were won without major research. But, facilities like this one had become prevalent worldwide to develop new ways to repel--or rarely destroy--a kaiju. Every developed nation had at least one secret facility buried somewhere. It was an easy thing to support--no politician wanted to be the one to deny money that may fend off a giant monster attack.
Sarah had the fastest walking pace of anyone she'd met in her life. She tore through the halls with inertia, rounding corners with confidence rooted in her knowledge that nobody lingers in the walking areas for long. "There's always a job to do, otherwise the world ends," her ignorant bosses had drilled into her until she stopped getting snacks at the vending machines.
The door slid open for her and she entered. This was her home for nearly all her waking hours. The gray cement floor was a nice change from the hallways--it felt welcoming to her by now. She set her coffee tumbler on the steel table beside her, which put the furniture off-balance. Her coffee threatened to spill, but Sarah caught it in-time. She sighed, shimming one table leg up using some nearby notecards.
"Sorry," Donny called up from below, "I needed yesterday's crossword. Meant to replace it--my bad."
He was ratcheting something in the wall of the sub-level, barely visible through a mesh grating with countless tiny slits in it. The floor grating was for air flow, designed so that nothing larger than a hair could slip through. It had also been developed for facilities like this.
"No problem, man," she replied.
She turned toward her computer station to begin another day of drone work. By that, meaning she would be working as a drone: She would never get the opportunity to do such engaging work as operating the department's semi-autonomous combat vehicles. She lacked the requisite prestige.
The room was a sterile steel dome packed with technology, exposed wires and panels, with few staff relative to the space. Centrally was a steel platform, connected to the various mezzanines on the walls by crossing catwalks.
Donny Marko, their mechanic, worked with relaxed demeanor. Despite his calm, his work was paced incredibly. There was no better guy to call if you needed something disassembled. His intuition and creativity were unmatched. He was tall, with dark skin and vibrant green eyes. He shaved his head and trimmed his facial hair, since the scar on his lip made his beard hair grow strangely. He had massive musculature, often hidden by his jumpsuit, but occasionally he'd distract someone when he unzipped the upper half to reveal his white undershirt and biceps the size of your head.
A loud crash stole both her and Donny's attention. Though this was common, barely worth noting after their years working here, the two were clearly still kids at-heart, and they looked on at their coworker with intrigue. They saw up on the main platform incredible commotion: Lucy had succeeded in her latest spar.
The amazon of a woman stood tall, shoulders arched back, face to the sky screaming a triumphant war cry. Her body shined with sweat. Her golden hair was tied back, but some loose strands had fallen out to cling against her tan face. In a heap before her was a collapsed android training partner. Demolished, its limbs jutted out at odd angles. For good measure, Lucy kicked the pile of junk, scattering its pieces across the room. Laughing, she fell down. She looked like a superhero, wearing the uniform designed specially for their project.
Representing the nation, it was a vibrant red, white, and blue stylized linework that highlighted her stature. It was a legless, sleeveless unitard stretched to lay against her skin with no room for an opponent to grab or snag. Its tough fibers were harder to damage or burn, and most importantly it would react with the Origami Energy to grow proportionally to the wearer.
The sparring doll's head landed and rolled to a stop at the feet of a gentleman in a lab coat. His glasses glinted against the fluorescent lights, and he brushed his salt and pepper hair back with the hand not preoccupied with a file folder. Without looking up from reading his documents, he asked Lucy, "Finally beat the X2, Agent Craven?"
Lucy lay on her back on the floor, letting her heat dissipate through the concrete. "Nah Doc," she panted between ragged breaths, "That shit's been beat. This was the newest model."
"Doctor," he replied to her with a jaded tone.
Dr. Isaiah was the head of the research team, their supervisor. He was always a bit off: in his apathy, cruelty, and mental unwellness. He was a thin, tall man of pale complexion who, despite an unremarkable silhouette, could disquiet you with hawk-like eyes. His hair was trimmed weekly, almost maintaining an illusion that he was unchanging. This was shattered when the stress of the job caused him to acquire more grayness at the sides of his head with each passing month.
Lucy Craven was the team's field agent and specially selected combatant against kaiju. She had a radiant quality, with lightly dark skin and brown eyes, but she was almost highlighted with reflective hues from her blond hair and shining skin. She was like a nephilim, striking on-sight. That is, until she spoke to you with vulgarity of a sailor.
The only other person in the room was the junior technician, Toni Garret, who was scurrying from her last post to pick up the errant parts Lucy had distributed. She hid her frustration in front of her boss. Still, Dr. Isaiah found a way to disparage her, "Ms. Garret? When will the next model be ready? And take off your hat."
Toni was crouched in front of the man, looking up at him when she said, "Probably a few months before the next bot's ready."
Toni, youngest in the room, was a stick-thin redhead who cut her hair shorter than even Dr. Isaiah's. She wore sneakers and a baseball cap despite constant reprimand. She was here for her paycheck, not promotion--she would never want to excel in a place like this.
Dr Isaiah was, rarely, impressed by his team. Lucy was rude, but she was talented. This last bot was only finished a week ago, and already it was beaten. But these were goings-on at a grunt level below the project leader. The doctor twitched his lip in a scowl, walking past Toni like she didn't exist, "Well, we can at least rest assured that Operation Origami is ready for any kaiju class 7 or lower."
Toni spoke reflexively, "Actually, sir--"
She was startled by the doctor's fast turn back to meet her.
"Uh, this was just rated to 6," she completed.
Dr. Isaiah waved a hand dismissively, "Sure, but we get more grant money if I say 7 to the board. It's a much nicer number, anyway. And Agent Craven clearly has implied an aptitude above the model."
"That it is, sir," Toni mumbled when she felt she could stop listening. She rolled her eyes when she felt she was no longer being watched.
