The hallways were abuzz with sterile, white light, but devoid of any movement within. Wax shined floors bounced that light about the western entryway, decorated with a sparse, symmetrical pair of potted plants. They were fake at even passing inspection, too much sheen and not enough imperfection. About as lifeless as the desk sitting beneath the signature red-and-white glow of Umbrella's iconic symbol. A secretary surely belonged in its empty seat.
Instead, the broad backside of a man stood off to the side, rubbing sorely at the palms of black, tactical gloves. There was militance about his stature, but his demeanor was in obtuse contrast: from his shaggy hair style to the lackadaisical shifting and impatient muttering.
The very same man reacts quickly to the sound of bootsteps, a hurried look cutting across the cold, professional section of hallway that seperated him from the unfamiliar face. The quiet lasts as the stranger is eyed, its end marked by a warm greeting.
He turned to fully regard the other, his hands doing an uncertain dance from resting on his hips to making motions to the abandoned desk.
"Hell, I'm not usually the guy that does this stuff. I know that face," and, now, the gestures had moved onto said face. "This place is a maze. You're apart of the new group they're bringing in, right?" Presumptuously smiling and talking, he strides closer. A black shirt is patched with Umbrella's icon on the sleeve, and a fine layer of track dust clings to the bottom of his boots and pants.
"Name's Carlos. The front desk guy is out on lunch." Not entirely true. Carlos had been chatting him up for so long that he missed a deadline, and to make amends Carlos volunteered to watch the lobby for the arrival of anyone. Well, task completed. Nailed it. "But I can at least get you some U.B.C.S gear to wear so no one chews you out, and give you the quick and dirty tour."
