Blobby

[thehonorablebat]

(Context: ‘Blobby’ is the nickname given to the friendly Silacoid from The Bureau: XCOM Declassified)

Warning: Goodchild gets mentioned in this.

–

 

 

When Dr. James began her Silacoid tests with the much needed assistance of their lone Ethereal for the safety of the scientists and the only hope of those who had come in contact with the infection, she could not have predicted this outcome. Though, she probably should have. Part of the experiment was recreating the same kind of psionic control Agent Carter, and later, Professor Weir exhibited over the amorphous blobs.

“It’s kind of cute.” Dr. Weir’s grandson, a gangly young man still growing into his height, cuddled the blue and black blob in his arms.

In the midst of an argument about what Will Weir could and could not do, James had seen fit to dump a barrel of the Silacoid goo on Weir’s head. An effective, if not harsh, means to the settle the argument. Six scientists had been infected and Weir might be their only means for a cure. They didn’t have time to entertain his hang ups about his psionics.

Her plan had worked! Marvelously so.

They couldn’t say if the flash of psionics that followed was intentional or instinctual, but it resulted in the goo coming under Weir’s control.  It formed into a sentient blob.

The thing purred in Weir’s arms.

He’d made himself an unfortunate pet.

One that, in three days, would eat the face off of Aaron Goodchild.

James only reaction to that was a one armed shrug. It wasn’t worth looking up from the data.

She only got annoyed when they dragged her into the council’s inquest.

“If Goodchild was dumb enough to threaten Weir while he’s got a loyal Silacoid at his heels, than he deserved what he got. Stupidity doesn’t deserve to survive in these halls.” James had never liked Goodchild. The man always had concerns other than the Work.

They were both obsessed with Weir. James would fully admit this. But while her obsession was purely clinical in nature, Goodchild’s ran darker. To the point James had been making contingencies to protect her asset in case things went awry with the ex-therapist.

“How do you know Dr. Goodchild was threatening Cadet Weir?” The Council spokesman tilted his head on screen.

“The thing has been loyal to a fault.” James checked her watch. “Animated, such as it is, by Weir’s own psionics. Weir is many things, but at this point in time, he is loyal to the Bureau. He wouldn’t dream of attacking the staff. Even if the staff harmed him. However, his use of psionics is still very instinctual. His ‘fight’ in the natural fight or flight response is perhaps ten time more deadly for it.”

“So you believe this was self defense?” The Spokesman asked.

“I know it was.”

The Spokesman dismissed her.

–

“The Council has extended their apologies.” Director Marlowe lit a cigarette, waving out the match. He pointed at the jar on his desk with the cigarette. “And they’ve returned your Silacoid.”

The ‘for some reason’ went unvoiced.

Weir grabbed the jar, unscrewing the lid.

The Silacoid leapt out. It ran around Weir’s legs like a cat.

“Blobby!” Weir patted it.

It made that odd purring sound.

“Blobby?” Marlowe regretted asking the second he did.

“What would you have called it?” Weir opened his arms. The Blobby jumped into them

“Find ‘Blobby’ a place to stay,” Marlowe said, ignoring the question. “You cannot take it to West Point with you.”

“What about the Farm?” Weir cuddled the blob.

“I’ll talk to Hank.” If anyone would get a kick out the Silacoid, it’d be him.

Weir brightened. He saluted and left.

Marlowe rubbed his eyes. He sensed disaster.