Well. That was... that was something.

Zurn is muttering to himself, checking a computer readout. "Pineal gland... overstimulated.... Higher brain functions... functioning, always good." He notices her. "Hey, you're up! That is great work, well above MK-ULTRA's success rate." He rolls over to her on his swivel chair. "Hey, can I ask you--have you ever seen a jaguar tripping?"

"Zurn!" the woman reprimands him through the computer.

"Uh, wow, yes, right." He lowers his voice conspiratorially and adds, "Look it up some time."

"I will!" she assures him.

"Hey you better haul ass over to the Test Chamber. Jump through a few hoops. Oh, oh!" He motions for her not to leave yet, never mind that she hasn't even stood up. "You might be feeling some discomfort from the microchip that I grafted to your spinal column, but no worries, it's gonna fade. Two weeks, tops. And as your doctor, I caution you--strongly caution you--don't try removing it. 'Kay?"

"Why, what happens if I do?"

"Well, uh, probably you'll cut into your own spine and paralyze yourself for life. So don't do that, yeah?"

"Fair enough!"

"Okay, off you go, if you get lost there'll be a search party along on Saturday." He turns back to his computer.

"You know," she says, getting up and heading for the door, "the mad science aesthetic really works for you."

"Thanks!" he says, cheerily and apparently completely sincerely.

The main floor is all concrete and acute angles, but a second look reveals that each doorway has a little plaque next to it, usually with either someone's name or the name of the room itself. The one labeled "Test Chamber" has several holographic training dummies, an array of weapons in the center of the room, and an impatient person waiting off to the side.

"Good morning!" she says to the impatient person.

The impatient person gives her a cell phone "for reports" and instructs her to pick a weapon or two, familiarize herself, and find Ms. Geary. Then they go back to talking on their own cell phone.

Well then. What's the selection of weapons like?

She has her pick of artillery, melee ranging from Wolverine-esque claws to a hammer bigger than she is, and a collection of what looks like junk but is probably magic foci, judging by the aura coming off it and the familiar feeling of those books.

Oh, let's go for magic, shall we?

Setting aside the blood magic books, there are two choices: a tangle of wires with what can best be described as "a weird feeling" to them, and a ceramic disc about the side of her palm, which is room temperature but feels like it's supposed to be hot on one side and cold on the other.

Hmmmmm. And what does the disc have to say for itself?

At her touch, knowledge unfolds in her mind, of how to command fire and ice and energy, how to bend lightning to her will, how to invoke the wrath of hurricanes with surgical precision.

Yeah she's keeping this one. She has had a lot of trouble with fireballs, and she deserves a turn bending them to her will.

Excellent. Shall she go find out who Ms. Geary is and what she wants?

Sounds good!

Assuming that Kristen Geary is of some importance will take her up a ramp on one side of the room to a large office overlooking the rest of the complex. Sitting at the lone desk in the room is an austere-looking woman with white hair and pale skin, dressed in a navy blazer and pencil skirt. Leaning against the far wall is another woman, tan with wild black hair in a loose, short ponytail. She's also wearing navy, but has on jeans and a trenchcoat, plus a muzzle-like mask over the lower half of her face.

"I fucking love old-school hip-hop," the first woman says, in that slightly-too-loud tone of someone wearing earbuds. She notices Naomi and takes them out. "Ah, you must be our new blood."

"How'd you guess?"