There were times when his job sucked. Like, really sucked. The hours were lousy. He got shot at. And whenever he did anything awesome, he was very rarely appreciated; in fact, his successes seemed to be to the detriment of his standing within the unit. Maybe it was because all of the members of Dorn Force - to whom he was seconded - thought they were so badass and awesome because of all the sneaking around and shooting stuff that they did. Admittedly, those two words were apt adjectives for the newly promoted Major Glayde and his merry band; and Oran had to admit a certain degree of gratitude at the recommendation that Glayde had placed in his file following their last mission, which had wound up with him being bumped up to Sergeant. But still. Sucky job. No recognition.

Except for right now, of course. Orders had come down from on-high for Oran and his fellow Technicians to convert one of the storage rooms into a makeshift tech-support lab. Which was great. It meant he had somewhere to work that wasn't the floor of whatever transport had been assigned to their particular mission, or on the mattress of the spare bunk in his quarters. It also meant that at times like this - when his colleagues were off enjoying beer, and women, and cool stuff like that; and when half of Dorn Force was off on special indiviual assignments that no one really knew anthing about - he could pump up the volume on the sound system he'd insisted be installed for "accoustic simulations", and rock out to some kickass music.

Arms flailing above his head, Oran rattled his way through the epic drum solo of Run Through The Gills: one of the biggest hits from Ion Maiden's latest album. Though he couldn't see himself, Oran knew for a fact that he looked cool as hell and, if a woman happened to walk in on him at this precise moment, they'd be overcome with the desire to leap at him, rip his clothes off, and have hot steamy sex all over his imaginary drum kit.

Surprise raced through his mind as the music suddenly died out, leaving him hanging in the midst of a heart-felt cry of: "Run through your li-ife!" A mix of panic and anticipation ran through him, at the prospect that perhaps his scatterbrain musings of being accosted by hot women weren't entirely wide of the mark. Lieutenant Tur'enne was off-base he knew, but that Captain Tallen was still around, and a couple of the girls from Aurek and Besh were pretty hot -

Disappointment settled when his eyes came to a rest on a very non-female and very non-hot old man hovering close to the entrance of what was laughingly being described as 'The Lab'. The man was unreadable, eyes hidden behind a pair of tinted glasses that conjured a strange air of mystery. Oran frowned, not even remotely familiar with the individual who had invaded his territory and screwed with his music. "Can I help you?" he asked, trying to slip a slight edge of authority into his tone that didn't really come off as all that convincing in the end.

A smile broke on the visitor's face. "Yes, Mister Jsorra: I believe you can."

That in itself was creepy; had there been a note of a laugh in that reply? Whatever was going on, it was making Oran nervous as hell, and he didn't really like that particular sensation. "Listen, creepy guy; this is my lab -" A half-truth, at least; "- and you just turned off my music, so my patience is pretty damn thin. So drop the Mister Enigma crap, and tell me who the hell you are; and what the hell you want."

There was definately a laugh that time; or perhaps a menacing chuckle. "Very well," the visitor answered, the tone in his voice doing absolutely nothing to reassure Oran, or settle his mood. "I'm Atton Kira," he revealed; "Alliance Intelligence and I have a job for you."