On Monday morning, Dr. Alto Clef (former director of Training and Development, and now the director of Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ("Dr. Clef's Bisexual Stripper Assassin Squad")) walked into the suite of rooms set aside for said Mobile Task Force and waved pleasantly to the attractive woman with vaguely Asian features sitting behind one of the six desks in the outer suite (the other five of which were empty).
Senior Special Agent Andrea S. Adams did not reply. This did not surprise Dr. Clef.
He headed to his own office, closed the door behind him, and turned on his computer. He two-finger typed his password into the keyboard and began going through the day's emails and alerts.
After reading the first couple of messages, he realized something was odd. He scanned his computer screen carefully. His eyes lit upon the header of his emails.
That was how Dr. Clef found out that he was now the director of Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ("Impending Sexual Harassment Complaint").
His head snapped up. He glared out the window of his office at the lone occupant of the outer office. Adams' eyes were locked onto her computer screen, and her face was expressionless, except for a slight hint of an amused smile around her lips.
Clef's left eyelid twitched once.
On Tuesday morning, Senior Special Agent Andrea Adams walked into the suite of rooms set aside for Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ("Impending Sexual Harassment Complaint") and found that her stationery had arrived. A nameplate, box of notepads, and a stack of five hundred contact cards (which were like business cards for people in the same business as you are) were sitting on her desk.
She picked up one of the contact cards and looked it over. Very nice, she thought. Cream-colored. Embossed with the Foundation logo. There's my name, and the Mobile Task Force Symbol, and the name of the—
She glared intently at the name of the Mobile Task Force.
Senior Special Agent Adrian Adams.
Executive Officer, Mobile Task Force Lambda-2
"Uppity Smart-Mouthed Bitch."
She crushed the card in her hand reflexively as she heard Clef snicker in his office. A cold fury descended upon her and settled just below her heart.
On Wednesday morning, Dr. Alto Clef (director of Mobile Task Force Lambda-2: "Uppity Smart-Mouthed Bitch") headed down to the site cafeteria to pick up some snacks and bottled water for his office mini-fridge. He filled out the necessary form and slid his ID card into the computer as the bearded man behind the cash register gathered up the requested supplies.
The bearded man stared at the computer screen, glared at Clef, and asked, "Is this a fucking joke?"
"… oh God," Clef groaned. "Not again."
The bearded man turned the screen around, revealing that Clef had charged the snacks and drinks to the operating account of Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ("Fat Ugly Misogynist Dinosaur").
Clef let out a single loud, sharp, extremely heartfelt curse.
On Thursday morning, Clef smirked as he walked into the office, eagerly awaiting Adams' reaction when she found out what he had changed the name of their Mobile Task Force to. He powered up his computer and looked up at the top of his screen.
His eyes widened.
He stood up from his desk and stormed out of the office, down the hall, down two flights of stairs, and down another hall to a red door with the symbol of Recordkeeping And Information Security Administration. He opened the door, ready to let out a loud, angry complaint, only to halt dead in his tracks as he saw two women there he wasn't expecting to see.
One of them was Adams, standing in front of the desk clutching a "Request for Minor Services" form (the same one that he'd filed twice this week, requesting "Change to Nickname of Mobile Task Force"), looking shamefaced and guilty.
The other was a severe-looking woman appearing on a teleconferencing screen behind the hapless tech usually assigned to this desk.
"Ah, very good, you've arrived," Maria Jones (Director of the Foundation's Recordkeeping And Information Security Administration) said coldly. "Now that the entirety of Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ("Adults Acting Like Children") are here, I'm going to begin my little talk about wasting my valuable employees' time with stupid office pranks and juvenile games…"
On Friday morning, Adams and Clef went to the armory to get a gun.
"All right, love," the balding man with the winged dagger tattoo on his bulging right bicep said. "That's one Mk-7 sidearm, serial number A-59652-00, one shoulder holster, three magazines, and one hundred rounds of 9mm Parabellum ammunition. Anything else?"
"No," Adams said curtly.
"Cool. In that case, you sign here, and you, Doctor Clef, sign here as Task Force commander."
Clef and Adams complied in silence.
"All right, then," the balding man said. "If you'll just hand me your ID cards, I'll input this into inventory."
Clef and Adams handed over their ID cards in silence.
The balding man whistled a cheerful tune as he swiped the cards. Then his brow furrowed in confusion. He checked and rechecked the data on the screen. "Hey, seems like there's an error in the system," he said. "I'm getting your Unit Designation, but not your unit's nickname."
"… that's all right," Clef said shortly.
"Yeah, no big deal. It happens all the time with new MTFs," the armorer said. "If you know your unit's nickname, I can enter it in for you…"
"No," said Clef and Adams, Director and Executive Officer of Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ("NO NAME ENTERED"), respectively.