antiscians

[scubatankfilledwithfarts]

Venture Industries still has that brand new cooperate smell. Strange, seeing how JJ was in charge for a good long while—maybe they pump it in through the air vents? Hatred wouldn’t be surprised with the way super science is, especially with how it mixes with cooperate.

Either way he’ll take it! It’s better than the sulfur and brimstone scent he left behind just now, toilet water sloshing behind him as he exits the stall. A handsome man stares back at him. Sure, a little older, a little tubbier, but the V across his face stands out proud. Hatred straightens, shoulders back. Smooths the wrinkles on his collar.

“This here is the uniform of a great man!”

“Does he know you’re wearing it?” Echoes the bemused drawl from the stall behind him.

“Samson!” The shriek is not girlish, thank you. But his face is red and its rage and not embarrassment for walking right into that one.

There’s a flush, and Brock Samson in all his quarter Winnibego glory saunters out. “Oooh, I sense some hostility.”

“Good, cause I hate you.” He always manages to one-up Hatred, one way or another. He isn’t emasculated, he isn’t threatened by Samson. Its almost like being back in school, watching the bullies get bullied. Not that he was much of a bully, everyone loved Hatred.

The still-esteemed sergeant is quiet as Brock washes his hands, dabs them, and levels a look at him. “You bored?”

Not that he wants to admit that either, but—“It’s a slow day.”

One corner of the man’s mouth quirks into that lopsided smile that definitely snags panties off. “Wanna start shit on purpose?”

For a moment he wonders if Samson is trying to trick him—get in-between him and Doc and the boys—but then it hits him. It’s an olive branch. It’s an attempt at smoothing things over.

Hatred grins back. “Well somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t screw it up too badly.”