"I figured as much." Why else would they be in that suit? Arthur's pretty sure they aren't going to kill him in a test, so he's not exactly intimidated, but he probably wouldn't be too intimidated either way. Everything is a problem to solve, right?
He's already checking the suit for weaknesses; Where does it seem thinnest? Are there any electronic parts that aren't fully encased? With a disadvantage, he's going to have to be smart and use the tools he has, which are basically down to a water gun and his wits.
The suit appears seamless, but the pockets, holsters, straps are all points for gripping or wrenching upon close contact. The seal along the jaw and throat, the wrists are where it has the most motion and, unfortunately, the thinnest slips of material. The greatest disadvantage of a visor is that anything applied to the surface is disorienting till the HUD inside compensates.
Leaning back on his heals, Arthur bends his knees just slightly and then launches himself at the suit, feinting slightly to the left. He slams his palm up into the visor, the heel of his palm giving the brunt of the force to the bottom edge of the visor as he brings his left hand up to grab at the right wrist of the suit to bend and twist it back.
A head-on assault wasn't at all what they were expecting- the visor doesn't crack under the blow but it's a near thing- the force does snap their head back as they bring their arms up to block blindly. Without a clear view or time to reorient themselves their arm goes easily. Two, three quarters of a second pass before they start to move, twisting with their arm in an attempt to leave Arthur's grip without dislocating their shoulder.
Arthur puts more pressure on the arm, twisting it as far as he can without snapping anything human on the inside and working to try to get the suite in a sort of headlock. He doesn't waste his breath on cocky words when he can just show his skill in action. It's just not his style and the situation hardly seems to warrant anything like that.
Not enough leverage to twist- even the suit can't keep their joint from sliding out of place with a low pop. They lock up for a moment in pain before attempting to use what little leeway the dislocation would offer them to get out of the lock. Sadly, unless they want to tear a few ligments, it's not happening.
Arthur holds strong, wondering idly if all he's supposed to do is pin the person or if he's supposed to prove that he could kill them if he had to. He could, of course, if he had a gun. As it stands, he's got a pen and they've got a very delicate area near the neck of the suit.
He shifts his grip so that the hand around the neck twists around to also have the wrist of the suit pinned against the back where it's been twisted and with his now free off hand, he slips the pen quickly from his pocket and positions the point of it so that he could easily puncture the joint of the suit and the throat beneath.
"I'm assuming you don't actually want me to kill you. It seems counterproductive to getting a job from you."
They give one wrench, then another- but nothing comes of it other than straining the joint and- well they have been off their game, haven't they? With a sigh they reach back to tap at Arthur's side.
Behind the shelf is a cozy looking sitting room. A holographic fire place, dim lighting, and a few sitting chairs making up the center of the room with a small drinking table in the center.
Back among the far wall though, are several cameras, scenes of sidewalks, of the outside of the hub, of the sands surrounding the dome outside.
And in the chair in front of the monitors is FDR, dressed as usual in a dark suit and tie. When he hears the door open, he spins in his chair, grin bright when he sees Arthur.
"Hey. You made it. I'm impressed." And he stands up, smooths his suit out and walks over to Arthur with his hand extended.
"Well, now that we're done with the interview, suppose it's time to ask if you want a job."
"You can call me boss." He grins, slapping Arthur on the shoulder before gesturing him further into the room and over to the sitting chairs where he plops down casually. "Well, not really. I'd rather that not become common knowledge. We're not exactly...law abiding."
"Surely you're not insinuating that the CIA does anything illegal?" It was sanctioned killing, as far as he was concerned.
There's a shrug and an offer for Arthur to sit down beside him. "Information dealing, mostly. People pay us to find information. We find it and give it to him. We're delivery guys." And his lips twitch, "Delivery guys that don't get caught."
Arthur can't help the grin that spreads over his face. "Information is my specialty. I might need a little help getting up to speed with the technology here, but I'm a quick study."
Grin widening, he ducks his head. "And I never get caught, boss."
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He's already checking the suit for weaknesses; Where does it seem thinnest? Are there any electronic parts that aren't fully encased? With a disadvantage, he's going to have to be smart and use the tools he has, which are basically down to a water gun and his wits.
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He shifts his grip so that the hand around the neck twists around to also have the wrist of the suit pinned against the back where it's been twisted and with his now free off hand, he slips the pen quickly from his pocket and positions the point of it so that he could easily puncture the joint of the suit and the throat beneath.
"I'm assuming you don't actually want me to kill you. It seems counterproductive to getting a job from you."
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"Uncle. You're not half bad for a string bean. Next door is behind the shelf."Which would lead him to the face of their merry little organization.
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"Hey, you've got to work with what you've got."
He steps towards the door and pushes it open to peer inside.
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Back among the far wall though, are several cameras, scenes of sidewalks, of the outside of the hub, of the sands surrounding the dome outside.
And in the chair in front of the monitors is FDR, dressed as usual in a dark suit and tie. When he hears the door open, he spins in his chair, grin bright when he sees Arthur.
"Hey. You made it. I'm impressed." And he stands up, smooths his suit out and walks over to Arthur with his hand extended.
"Well, now that we're done with the interview, suppose it's time to ask if you want a job."
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"Are you in charge or just in charge of me?"
The yes should be implied, because Arthur is pretty sure this is exactly the sort of job he wants here.
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Arthur's not planning to show all of his cards right away. FDR doesn't need to know that Arthur's a criminal.
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There's a shrug and an offer for Arthur to sit down beside him. "Information dealing, mostly. People pay us to find information. We find it and give it to him. We're delivery guys." And his lips twitch, "Delivery guys that don't get caught."
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Grin widening, he ducks his head. "And I never get caught, boss."