X-Force, Assemble!

The Hughes twins, Hannelore and Hamilton, sipped their coffee gingerly as they drove through the morning traffic to their new job. Hamilton's Lancer was restored to its original blue by the simple expedient of the garden hose and its newly-washed hood shone painfully in the morning light.

"So, what is it we're doing again? We're running the communications department for a warehouse?" Hannelore flipped through their hiring notices and other paperwork, frowning at the vague description. "So we're answering phones and sending emails? I left Atlanta to be a souped-up secretary?"

"I'm sure you're over-simplifying," Hamilton reassured her. "Likely they'll have us in a more hands-on capacity setting up equipment or something." It was what he hoped; no amount of activity seemed to help his restlessness or improve his mood. "Anyway, they'll explain it when we get there."

The warehouse parking lot was sparsely populated. Ham took a spot as close to the main entrance as he dared and threw it into park, checking his button-down shirt and pants for lint he missed and to see that it hadn't picked up any stains or crumbs from their breakfast. Han tugged anxiously at her skirt and smoothed her blouse, already feeling a little irritable at the outfit.

"Would kill for my ACUs and boots," she grumbled, stepping out of the car. "At least I get to wear flats."

Hamilton shot her a look over the top of the car as he pushed the button to lock the doors. "You've been on-base too long." He preceded her across the lot and held the door for her to enter ahead ahead of him. At the desk, a plain-looking man with the nametag "JOE" sat before a computer monitor and phone.

"May I help you?" he asked politely.

"Er, yes?" Han fidgeted with the papers in her hands. "We're Hannelore and Hamilton Hughes. We're new hires, here for orientation."

At this, Joe sat up with sudden energy, eyes sparkling as he rose to help her. "Yes, of course, right this way." He led the sibling down a short hallway. As they passed a door on their left, a man identical to Joe stepped out. He wore the same uniform and name badge as their guide. Han quirked a brow at her brother, who simply shrugged and sighed. At the end of the hall they turned left, away from where the door to the main floor of the warehouse was, and took a winding corridor to a service elevator. They rode down two floors and stepped off into one last hallway. Joe swiped an electronic keycard through a reader and opened the door to a conference room which was furnished with a small round table and eight chairs.

"Wait here, please," Joe instructed. "You're somewhat early, so the others will be along shortly." He walked away as the Hughes twins sat down.

"Early? Seriously?" asked Hannelore with a hint of complaint in her voice.

"I am always early," Hamilton responded defensively. The silence drew out between them in the following minutes, stifling the room's two occupants. At last, the sound of the lock clicking broke the waiting tension and the two turned as one to see who was entering.

Tom shuffled into the conference room backwards, not willing to take his gaze off the multiplication meatslab that was guarding the door. While they were identical for all intents and purposes, and while Tom posessed no real psychic or psionic powers, he knew for an absolute fact that this particular clone, duplicate, twin or whatever was the sneaky son of a bitch who'd shot him in the back a few nights ago. There was no way he'd present him with such a tempting target again.

"I know it's you, tazerboy," he muttered under his breath, darkly. "Don't think I don't, because I do."

The door clicked shut without even a peep in response from the Joe. Most likely, Tom had been entirely ignored, but he chose to regard the tuplet's lack of comeback as a victory on his part, and so injected the slightest hint of satisfaction into his body language as he turned to face the conference room he'd entered.

Apparently he wasn't alone, which was mildly embarassing; two people he didn't recognise already occupied seats on the far side of the table. He forced his expression into a half-way professional mask, and cleared his throat, voice noticably dropping a semitone or two. "Morning," he greeted with a curt nod, sliding himself into the nearest chair.

It took a moment or two longer before his brain managed to load up a manners subroutine, and prompted him with a few useful phrases. "Tom," he said, the word coming out of nowhere. "Harriman. Pleased to meet you." He thought about extending a hand in greeting, but realised too late that the table around which they sat was too broad for his arm to reach. Probably shouldn't have sat down; his subconscious was going to have a field day about that.

"So -" His voice fumbled around for tactful phrasing. How did you ask someone if their genes were mutated, without it sounding... you know. Nosy? "Are you two -?"

"Related? Yes." Han smiled, brows knitting a little as she realized that probably wasn't what he was asking. "And newly-hireds, as well. I'm Hannelore Hughes. This is my brother, Hamilton."

Hamilton waved belatedly from his seat, his mind snapping out of the melancholy that seemed to occupy him constantly. He sat up, trying to focus and get into a professional demeanor.

"We're to be performing communications work for a new venture here at the company," Hamilton offered. "There was a need for both a military and a civillian approach, and it happened that we fit the bill."

Tom reflected Hannelore's smile, deciding not to pursue the mutant issue any futher for now. After all, odds were that he'd find out eventually, one way or another; he set himself the challenge of trying to discern their abilities - if any - through covert observation, before anyone told him specifically.

At the mention of military of civilian, his eyes flicked between the two of them, wondering if that meant that they were one of each. His mind leapt instantly to the assumption that Hamilton was the ex or current soldier, but such a presumption was probably secist, and he didn't feel like earning himself a write-up for that on his first day.

"Military?" he echoed, keeping his tone casually curious. "Which branch?"

"Army."

The twins shot each other narrow looks, then continued.

"Han's been in the army since she was 20."

"I've been in the army about ten years."

Another look passed between them.

"How about you?" asked Ham as his sister popped a Fireball in her mouth. "What're your job and background like?"

That she as well as he struck him as a slight surprise; for a moment he scrutinised himself, wondering if it was the fact that he wasn't used to seeing women in the military - the British government still operated a strict 'no women on the front lines' policy, which tended to encourage female servicewomen into the Navy and Air Force - that had caused him to rule her out; or perhaps it was simply that Hannelore didn't strike him as the gung ho military woman type that he was used to seeing in movies and on TV.

She's no GI Jane, that's for sure, his mind mused to itself.

A small tug of a smile passing across his lips. "Army," he echoed, pushing his thoughts aside and answering Hamilton's question. "British Army," he clarified, "Parachute Regiment. Made it as far as Captain before we stumbled upon my mutant abilities; Her Majesty's Government decided that, given the charged opinions towards mutants at the time, it would be in the country's best interests were I to quietly slip away."

He shrugged. It had reached the point now where the story of his discharge had merely become a matter of fact, and he explained it as such. No matter what his feelings had been at the time, those events had ultimately led him to his life as it was now and he wouldn't change it even if he could: if only because of the time travel dilemma of risking horrible causality consequences if he did.

"I moved to the States five or six years ago," he continued, his reverie vanishing in only a moment's pause. "Earned a doctorate in Physics from Columbia University; and now I'm here."

He cocked his head to the side, musing. "So, what brings you to this little secret club? Which one do you have the history with - Sparky, or Sparkles?"

"I wasn't interviewed," Hamilton said. "Han was offered the job, and she recommended me for the other half of it. I needed work, so when I got the call asking if I'd like to work on communications for a new branch of Treadstone with my sister, I accepted. At the time I was dealing with...with a lot of personal trouble. I never gave it much thought."

Han cleared her throat a bit. "I conducted my interview by phone, since I was living in Atlanta at the time. I was all too ready to accept and get out here, help Ham, you know? I spoke to a man, but I don't recall anything about sparks or sparkles."

Surge gave the Joe at the door a pat on the arm as he passed the man by. Entering the conference room, he gave each occupant a smile in turn.

“Harriman, Hannelore and Hamilton Hughes.”

Surge took a loud sip of coffee to help him digest that mouthful of names. It sounded like the beginning of a limerick. Apparently the recruitment team had only checked one letter of the phone-book. The coffee delivered a rocket-punch of caffeine to his brain and prompted Surge to suck in a breath through his teeth, his eyes widening a little. When realised released that the trio were still looking at him, expectantly, he smiled.

“The boss is just putting her face on. She'll be here in a minute or two,” he added with a wink.

A sigh left her lips as she sat in her office, staring blankly at her computer monitor. Fingers reached out and brushed along the bottom, restarting the video clip that had just ended. Auburn pigtails flashed into view, followed by an adorable round face with unmistakable bright blue eyes. As always, there was nothing to give away location, simply a happy little girl playing at one thing or another. Waving to the camera and giggling as she raced by.

She quickly turned it off and rose from her seat. Dahlia smoothed out her suit and glanced toward the door. Tom had gone back upstairs after their chat, and by now she assumed Surge and the Hughes twins had assembled as well. Something that was confirmed the next moment as a Joe tapped on the door and spoke softly as he stuck his head in to see her.

Waving him away, Dahlia checked her reflection in the small mirror on the wall, ensuring that not a single blonde curl was out of place as she had pinned it up only minutes before. She left her suit jacket on her chair as the conference room tended to be warm, leaving herself in a sleeveless silver top tucked neatly into her fitted white slacks.

She opened the door and stepped in as Surge spoke, sipping from the fresh cup of coffee in her hand. "Ahh Surge...you love me and you know it." Dahlia grinned, nodding to Tom before striding over to where the Hughes sat. Offering her hand to each of them for a firm handshake, she smiled. "Pleasure to finally meet you face to face. I'm Dahlia Ericsson...and like the man says, I'm technically the boss since I sign the paychecks."

After the brief introduction, she sauntered over to stand beside Surge and motioned for him to begin, as this portion of things was really his part of the show.

The twins gave a quick "Pleased to meet you" to Dahlia as she gave the floor to Surge. Hannelore sat up a little straighter and shifted her Fireball so it wouldn't appear too obvious, then crossed her fingers that she wouldn't be asked to give any input for a bit. She wished she'd gotten their powers back from Hamilton, but there was nothing for it, now. Hamilton continued to slouch, but turned his chair to fully face Surge and folded his hands attentively.