The Exo-7 Falcon
New Jersey, 2011
Exo-7 developing site
Beating sun rays radiate in waves off of the sweltering, sweating tarmac, General Thaddeus Ross grimaces to himself, obviously expressing his distaste to the overwhelming warmth sticking to his upper lip, covered in a well-maintained style of hair. He twitches his facial muscles, attempting to destabilise the congealed, condensed globule of perspiration.
A singular, uniform-clad arm comes up and swipes away at the continuous heat in front of his - Ross welcomes the small wave of cool air gracefully. It was a given that this New Jersey stretch wasn’t as hot as the Brazilian rainforests he had been venturing through to find Doctor Bruce Banner, but the northeastern heatwave was still as ferocious and fierce as the tropical, equatorial sun in the southern.
He stops at the gate, perhaps 20 paces away from his parked, convertible 1962 Shelby Cobra, bought for $13.2 million: barely a scratch off of the total amount he was paid for facing down The Incredible Hulk. When he reveals and points to his gleaming badge, safely pierced onto his right breast, the multitude of armoured guards let him stroll through the raising barrier onto the sight.
Respected, that’s how he feels when the soldiers salute and lieutenants nod to him alone specifically. Sometimes he replies, maybe a thump on the chest, or a nod in return. When the cooling, harsh breeze of the air-con ruffles up his appearance ever so slightly, he pauses.
If there’s one thing he’s learnt from Tony Stark: it’s that appearance is key; especially upon visiting another site, you want people to remember you as the smart, objective-based man - not the overpaid man-child he had referred to earlier.
A few final corrections to his attire send him on his way past the reception desk in his agonisingly slow pace. Once more he flashes his badge, this time to the woman on duty behind the mahogany stretch. She shuffled and opens her mouth to speak, but Ross is already halfway down the first corridor, making a b-line for the office of the Head Of Site.
Putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to his crawl makes Ross think of the one objective he has today. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t even need to be here technically. The general could’ve just sent a message through the mail, or perhaps forward a quick email from the president to each of the members of the clan he’s about to visit... But this morning he decided to do it himself, take matters into his own hands and do the act personally. ‘It might even build a bit more credit with his uppers.’ He reasoned last night when he first thought of the idea to come in himself. ‘If they notice the dedication and responsibility: a raise and promotion will surely be on its way.’
Two rights at the end of the corridor position him in front of the office that had been his up until last month. The latest promotion had done a lot, Thank you, Doctor Banner - now that Ross thought about it, he didn’t even get to thank the owner of the multitude of PhDs.
Four swift and powerful knocks announce his arrival and entrance onto the stage and spotlight. “Ah, General!” The shorter, bald man before him shoots to his feet when his secretary nervously opens the door, evidently scared - or perhaps surprised by the latest arrival. His display is followed by the slightest, but a noticeable bow and a hand offering. Thaddeus isn’t 100% sure on its meaning: perhaps a possible handshake, or an offer to sit.
However, given the fact that the two other chairs in the room are situated right in the corner, Ross extends his own - and clutches onto the Head’s hand as if it’s the last thing keeping him alive. Too much force than necessary, but the head understands why. A power move: to show that General Ross is higher up and more respected than this simple Head Of Site. It implies you to be a natural leader and further installs the hierarchy into oneself’s mind. It displays an aura about you, and says: ‘I don’t intend to be in your office for long.’
Ross regrets that handshake as soon as it begins. The Head’s hand is clammy, and that indescribably rough, yet moist feel. Ross believes it to be because of his presence. The Head probably doesn’t get many higher-ups in these parts. Especially with the majority of actions happening over in Malibu with the richest man in history. Secondly, Ross only occasionally shakes hands, definitely not to lower downs, but because of this time of the fact that he’s outnumbered in the room. 2 against 1 is manageable but unadvised. The General isn’t stupid, he knows he’s got his enemies, and quite his fair share - but he’s not going to call their bluff as Stark would.
“I was wondering whether I might see you today. What will it be?” The man may be speaking, but Ross isn’t listening, only noticing the pyramid structure he forms with his hands.
“I want to know whether these individuals are on site.” The man: Russel, Ross identifies him through his shining, polished name tag, looks rather taken aback. Thaddeus reckons that he would’ve been to, had he been working for a week here - instead of 42 years. You see, as a military official and politician, it is key to know what language is used when, and how you use it effectively. Strong, demanding words speak down on another- forcing your will over theirs.
Russell’s lips quiver on the edge of a smirk before he offers forth his hand. ‘So he does understand.’ Thinks Ross. Being in the trade for 4 decades, he recognises things. Russell is trying to lead the meeting now, he knows that he’s on the back foot. Ross is pressing on a tight situation here.
Forward comes the sheet into the Head’s outstretched hand, and Ross examines Russell Birch’s facial movements; identifying expressions with the slightest of muscle spasms or movements. What gives most men around are the eyes - and with Russell’s darting around down and across the page Ross can tell that his day is going to be relatively easy. His thoughts are only confirmed when Birch announces what Ross has known for the last few minutes, all the individuals are present and are situated in ‘Hangar 7’.
He doesn’t thank him, or announce his intentions (He would try to stop him, and anyway, it doesn’t involve Birch.’ Ross doesn’t say anything before he leaves the office - and then after that, the building.
Once more the midday sun tries to clutch into his existence, defiling his cool persona rather effectively. More than ‘The Avengers’ could anyway. Two layers of sweat form across his crinkled brow before he makes it into ‘The Hangar Of Hangars.’
Ross prefers to stay inside, away from the windows and the large glass walls that surround the rooms inside the base. The General takes a left, and then another, eventually followed by a third. With a fork in the path, Ross takes his first, swerving right bend onto corridor ‘B’ with Hangars ‘5-10’ along the right-hand wall. His eyes dart between numbers. ‘5’... ‘6’... ‘Bingo..’
Puffing out his chest, Ross throws open the door to mixed reactions. Some jump, some whisper, and some - the ones Ross hates: they smile, like long lost friends meeting once more. Thaddeus unwrinkled his brow, no longer having the bright sun glaring and reflecting off the white tiled floor into his eyes as it had outside the concrete square that was ‘Hangar 7’. A haughty cough draws all stares, some glares. All attention on him he begins. “From here on out, all personnel, apart from cleaners, are henceforth released fro-..” He has continued his sentence to the end but no-one heard him. Not even Herman, the closest one to him. The effect had been instantaneous on the room. Then again, that probably was the case when you fire a squad of highly trained, qualified, and maintained, middle-aged ex-soldiers and mechanical engineers.
The General took his newly acquired to observe ‘Hangar 7’. It was vastly different from the rest of the nearby facilities and even looked different from how he had viewed it last in 2010. Marble, white walls covered the usual concrete boundaries - majorly different to the usual unfinished, chipped, grey concrete. Smooth granite floors illustrated a carefully cut and precise nature to the place. Most notable however were the workers: all proper scientists and engineers. They were all vastly superior to the duds that worked over in Hangar 2 and 3; the only two other currently operating positions in the North-West area.
Ross drew the place in his mind back toward where he came, round the reception desk and under the barrier into his Shelby Cobra.