“Sup business bestie!” Brett Hand hollers, swinging an arm around your shoulder. Your immediate response is confusion. Reagan had been benched a week ago when one of Dr. Andre’s diseases breached containment due to an unrelated incident in sector 42.

The parasite found her a worthy host. Luckily, there was a cure and Reagan could return to work within the month. However, the hallway of 42 was still in repair due to the birth of a butterfly that was somehow linked to the terrible events wreaking havoc in the walls of the shadow government. Until they caught that butterfly, nobody was safe. Circa: your confusion when Brett calls you bestie despite hardly speaking to the man since working here.

“How are you? It's been a hot second since we’ve had a chance to talk. I wanna hear the haps around HQ! fill me in!” In his free hand is a coffee.

The entirety of the shadow government's know this is a bad omen and a brief preview of how the rest of their day will continue. When Brett drinks caffeine he word-vomits, what are, frankly, the most unhinged ideas and questions known to man-kind.