Ye Know Not When the Lord of the House Cometh

[Trask]

"She seems to have settled in well enough," Simmons said as he hurried along to keep pace with the larger mans stride, "as much as she can settle in anyway."

Bolivar Trask nodded, his large, uniformed frame a peculiar contrast to the white coated lab workers and engineers that scurried out of his path.

"What do you make of her Simmons?" The big man asked.

"Make of her sir?" Simmons paused, his stubbled features creasing in thought.

"She is unique," he said eventually, "seemingly both alive and dead at the same time and both human and mutant at the same time."

Trask's expression never wavered.

"How is that possible?"

Simmons frowned, "technically speaking sir, it's not, her existence defies so much of what we would consider scientific fact that I could quite happily write papers until I'm old and grey."

Trask gave him a side-long glance.

"That is sir, both her and her powers offer virtually irrefutable proof of the existence of the human soul."

Trask quirked an eyebrow.

"I never thought I would hear a man of science make such a confession."

Simmons flushed, "well, we've never had a walking dead girl before sir."

"Will she cooperate?"

"Oh yes," Simmons said, his enthusiasm returning, "she seems very keen to work with us."

Trask nodded, "good, very good," he said and stopped abruptly in front of the still-unnamed door.

Then he pressed the red buzzer button.

[deadgirl]

She'd been laying on the bed reading a magazine, flipping slowly through the pages to see if anything rang a bell. Some celebrity faces she seemed to remember, but couldn't tie them to anything in particular. Most of it was new.

Her dark brown hair was now long almost silken, cleaned meticulously. They'd realized in the last couple weeks it wasn't really growing, which had made her so depressed she'd refused tests for a while. Sometimes she couldn't get away from the fact that she was dead. Other times, it was a relief. That feeling was never going to go away.

Dressed in a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a white tshirt, when she heard the buzzer ring she almost regretted taking a day off and slumming it. She did try to at least look a *little* presentable when Simmons showed up. Not that he hadn't seen her at her worst.. but still. When you only had one friend in the world, you tended to obsess over those kinds of things.

Jumping up, she half-jogged to the door and opened it up with a half smile, the sort of mellow expression Moonbeam was once known for that has carried over to her dead self.

Seeing another, much larger figure with him, she cleared her throat, and looked up at the man.

"You must be General Trask."

[Trask]

Trask nodded, "that's right miss, may I come in?"

His first impression was that the girl was not dead at all, merely sick in some way. Closer inspection revealed tell-tale signs however. You generally didn't notice somebody you were conversing with was breathing, it was the kind of thing that was very much taken for granted.

It was amazing how noticeable it was when your conversation partner was not breathing though. Noticeable and more than a little eerie.

Simmons had already explained that she had accepted the name Beam in lieu of her former name Moonbeam and that she found her old title slightly distressing.

Trask wasn't about to quiz her on the subject.

What, after all, was in a name?

"I trust you are finding your accommodation here acceptable?"

[deadgirl]

Wow. He was huge. And broad. And... she could absolutely see why people talked about him with awe, or.. something closer to nervous fear. Trask was downright scary.

Good, then he'd feel right at home.

Nodding, she finally answered. "Oh- Yes actually, they're great. I really do appreciate you being willing to um.. take me on." She looked at Simmons for a moment, then back to Trask.

"It's good to finally meet you. Sir."

[Trask]

Trask strode into the room and walked a circuit, examining the surroundings. The rooms were very well appointed as staff accommodation went, but then most of the staff at Zeta site never left its grounds so comfort was always going to be a concern.

"Likewise," he replied, "Simmons has filled me in on some of your story and I must first thank you for your cooperation, after enduring all that you have it is over and above the call of duty."

Trask didn't smile, instead he folded his arms behind his back and returned the intensity of his gaze to her.

Simmons gave an encouraging little smile.

"I will be blunt. I am sure Simmons has described the sort of work we do here. Anti-mutant terrorism equipment and research. Has he told you anything of the newly organised SHIELD?"

[deadgirl]

Not wanting to sit while Trask stood, she leaned back against a counter and folded her arms over her chest while she thought.

"No, I don't believe he has. Mostly generalities, you know." She figured he'd been waiting for Trask, unsure what kind of clearance she was going to end up with.

She wasn't even sure what kind of clearance she -wanted-. Only that she was convinced she'd be better off helping these guys out than going out into the world on her own.

And seeing how she'd grown rather attached to Simmons, she had even less reason to want to leave.

"SHIELD, hmm. What's it about?"

[Trask]

"The Strategic Hazard Intervention, Elimination and Logistics Directorate, SHIELD. A task force set up for one purpose; the elimination of mutant terrorism. We are working to prevent incidents like Baltimore and Alcatraz from ever happening again."

He resumed his pacing around the room, long strides carrying him along as if he was walking a line of troops for inspection.

"Much of the work that is done in this facility provides technology and weapons for SHIELD. However, unlike certain military advisers of the past," he paused meaningfully, "we are working within strict guidelines set down by the government and the president."

He stopped pacing again having completed a circuit of the room.

"Contain and detain are our priorities. No cure weapons. Non-lethal methods where at all possible."

He fixed the dead girl with that intense gaze that had instilled discipline in soldiers on battlefields across the globe.

"Will you help us in our task?"

[deadgirl]

She looked between the two men, a little overwhelmed by the rapid-fire military style speech that had just been shot at her.

"Well, I told Brent I wanted to help in whatever way I could," she nodded. "You really think I'd be of any use? I mean.. we only kind of understand what it is I can do. I wouldn't want to tell you yes and not be able to back it up."

[Trask]

Trask gave her an expression that might have passed for a smile in certain arctic circles where emotions were banned. "From what I have been told, your talents are very ... unique."

He resumed his pacing.

"I leave it to Mr. Simmons to best ascertain the ways in which your abilities may be employed to assist SHIELD and he has my full support in this matter."

He stopped again, once more turning the headlight of his attention on her.

"I welcome any who would willingly offer their assistance in the defence of our great nation, all aid, great or small is gratefully received."

[deadgirl]

Moon listened to Trask with an almost amused look on her face. It was far from condescending; she liked what he had to say. He was just so... cartoony. You had to admire a man who was so dedicated he became a walking cliche.

"Alright then. As long as I'm still a civvy, I'm on it."

She smiled at them both.

"So where do we start?"

[Trask]

Trask gave her a nod of approval before turning his attention to Simmons. "That, is for Mr. Simmons to decide, but I believe he has some ideas in mind."

He quirked an eyebrow at the smaller man.

"Yes indeed," Simmons said with a small smile, "the tests we have been running were designed to isolate your unique powers," there he faltered a little, "without much success I might add, they quite simply defy definition."

He sat himself down in one of the weird, sci-fi chairs and rubbed the graying bristles on his chin.

"I have come up with a couple of ideas that might prove useful however though they heavily depend on how comfortable you are with the experimentation."

He looked at Beam from behind his black-framed glasses.

"We are not in the business of forcing people to do anything."

[deadgirl]

"Well, I'm sure we can go over that." She nodded, looking between them again. "Not a problem at all."

"Well, don't let me keep you General, I imagine you must be a very... busy man," She smiled a bit.

[Trask]

Trask nodded again, though the faintest trace of a frown stole its way across his face.

"Indeed," he rumbled, "I will leave you in Mr. Simmons' capable hands."

A few long strides carried him to the door which slid open obligingly. He turned, half out of the room and regarded the unusual girl with appraising look.

"We appreciate all the help we can get."

Then he was out of the room and down the corridor, already on the phone to one of his far flung agents.

The door slid closed again with a hiss.

"I think he likes you," Simmons said once the door was definitely closed. The generals sense of hearing was almost legendary.

[deadgirl]

Beamer looked amused, and sat heavily on the couch beside Simmons.

"Really? How can you tell?"

Well it certainly felt like getting some kind of recognition- though she wasn't sure exactly what she'd done other than be a victim to some disgusting mutant's crime. She'd have to make a note to pay him back for that some day.

[Trask]

"I already believe you are sincere in your desire to help," he said with a smile, "but the General? He always needs convincing. I've seen him cross question someone for hours before about a subject. The longer he takes the less he believes them, it's like he can sense when you're not telling the whole truth."

"Maybe he's a mutant and we've just never thought to check," Simmons said with a thoughtful frown.

Then he shook his head, his wild hair bouncing like some sort of bizarre halo.

"Nah ... "

"Anyway, he's a blunt man, and very direct when dealing with people, he appreciates the same in return and I think really believes you will be of help to us."

[deadgirl]

"Well, it uh... he didn't seem like the type that wanted to chat, ya know?" She chuckled.

Looking at Brent, it came back to her that she was dead. But even that definition didn't seem right. Here she was, talking with him, and he no longer showed the slightest sign of being bothered by how she looked. If she could smile and laugh, was she really dead?

"Thanks for this, Brent. I appreciate it. It's good... I'll be able to earn my keep." She smirked.

[Trask]

"I don't think Bolivar Trask has ever engaged in what might be considered chat in his entire life," Simmons said with another smile, "it is all business, all of the time."

He stood up and started toward the door.

"As for earning your keep, there are some who would argue that you have already earned it several times over given the ordeal you have been through."

While her unique state had always been more of a fascination for Simmons than a source of revulsion, there were still plenty of people around the facility who found Beam disturbing to say the least.

The little research team that had been working with her abilities had adjusted to the peculiarity of her presence but for the most part the rest of the staff habitually stayed out of her way.

He reached the door which slid open.

It still didn't have an enameled name.

"They really should have your name on here by now," he muttered absently, "I'll check with engineering about getting it done."

Then he returned his full attention to the girl.

"Anyway, duty calls, Mr. Trask wants me to start analysing ways to improve and modify the Sentinel frames. Something about altering the design from Frost Industries. When you're ready head on down to the labs and we can start looking into some ideas for SHIELD."

He gave her a bright smile.