Sigh.

"I hate this thing."

"What, you only just met it, give it a chance. And don't let it smell your fear."

"I'm not afraid of it, but can you imagine it with a cold? Eugh."

Snerk. "Fair."

Someone has recently scratched "GOOD LUCK" under the "ARMORY" label on the door. On the other hand, the locks are unlocked and there are no worrisome noises.

Minion #2 pushes the door open hesitantly, looking around for potential health hazards.

An irritated voice from inside says, “HEY! Knock first. But you can come in this time.”

"Who knocks to get in an armory...?"

Enter two minions, stage left.

Minion #1 (don't call him that) mutters back, “Sometimes it isn't entirely under control. Boss doesn't always remember to put all the features on the instruction sheet.”

The room definitely contains a lot of … features. After one's eyes adjust to the chaos it's fairly obvious that some of the stuff is locked up to keep people's hands off it and some is locked up to keep it off people's hands (and faces and mucous membranes).

Irritated Person is mostly no longer irritated now. “What do you need?”

“Collect two specimens, don't get caught doing it, if you happen to know anything about Snuffleupagus here that'd be useful too.” #1 looks over at #2, then waves a hand in front of them to get their attention from the racks and tubs and cabinets of gadgets and organisms and ambiguities.

#2 looks a little...overwhelmed.

“That—back there—is that a tentacle?”

“Never bring a gun to a tentacle fight!” is the immediate reply from Armory Staffperson, who has obviously been waiting to use that line. “Unless there isn't any collateral damage to be had. Now, what's your experience? Pistols, rifles, big sticks, folding chairs…”

"Um...pistols, crowbars, lead pipe...normal things."

"Okay." Rummage. Not much rummage, considering the quantity of stuff in the room.

Pistol, except with an extra barrel. "Tranquilizer option, here's the switch. Good for not attracting attention but it doesn't always work. Touch the grip here" — poke with gadget — "and now it will work for you as well as the rest of us."

Truncheon, again with extra bits and a weirdly textured surface. "Same stuff, but on contact, so you can poke, hit, or block and get the effect. It won't sting you so you can grip it anywhere."

Sack, with a variety of straps attached.

Minion #1 gets a sack and a pistol and a rifle-esque overcomplicated thing slung on his back. Then it's over to the attached range to get Minion #2 checked out on the new gear and then time to get going.

This is so weird.

#2 touches the surface of the truncheon warily.

"So...we're looking for animals, right?"

"Classifying them is the boss's problem, but if you expect this one to hold still because it's green you'll probably be disappointed.”

"You know, I really thought this would be more academic."

He peers over at the noses.

"Clean up a few labs, get some hands-on experience, turn over a new leaf..."

“Well, you're about to have an opportunity for some field observations. Write 'em up and you might get a chance at some more scientific work. And if you survive to take another job, say you were shanghaied.”

Garage! White van!

Well, white vans at least are familiar. Climbing in now.

"How dangerous are these things?"

#2 gets to drive while #1 gets shotgun weird-ass-rifle and animal-handler/navigator duty.

"They're all over the scale from 'angry pillow' to 'ancient civilizations will write songs about this fight if they weren't dead'. If it's bad enough, and you can usually tell, we go back and get help. If it's worse than that, well, it's going to get noticed and we play Innocent Bystander Running Away Very Fast.”

...#2 stops to load his pistol at the next long red light.

"Just remember, tranqs first. Specimen less damaged, less noise.”

The friendly abomination lying on the floor of the van might be displaying a little more interest, or maybe it's just bored.

He nods.

“I just want to be prepared. For Cthulu bullshit.”

He starts heading for the park, as instructed.

“Cthulhu. Luckily, you're not on the diplomatic team.”

Yep, that's definitely a dog(?) with a scent.

“Huh. Seems a bit soon. Maybe it moved.” #1 pulls out his phone and checks feeds. “Not so's anyone saw it.”

“Oh, ‘scuse me, Yog Sothoth.”

He turns the corner. They’re heading into the park, now.

Sniff sniff snuffle!

“Guess we’re close, then.”

He parks the Suspicious Van and steps out.