Ian McGregor stood with his back to Reilly and facing the illuminated panel, upon which was hanging a row of X-Rays.
"How are my bones looking then, Doc?" Victor asked.
"Well... they're definitely all there," Ian replied, stroking his chin in an attempt to look learned and thoughtful. He turned around to face Victor, who was sitting on a couch in a t-shirt and tracksuit pants.
"In fact, I can't seem to see a thing wrong with you," Ian said.
"That's comforting."
"...so far," Ian added.
"So far," Victor agreed, nodding.
"Where are you from, anyway? I can't seem to place the accent..." Ian said, sitting down on the couch next to Reilly.
Victor shrugged. "Born in London, but don't remember it. Was taken to the states when I was two, spent a few years there. Came back to London for a year or two, then spent the teen years in France and then Scotland. Then back to London when I did my training with the British navy.
"British/American/French/Scottish/British?" Ian asked.
"Yup."
"Wow. So everybody hates you."
"Yup."
"And the navy, they're the ones who did this to you?" Ian asked.
"Did what?" Victor replied, raising an eyebrow.
"You know... turned you into Killy McKill-Kill."
"Not the navy specifically. Some secret sciencey type branch of the British government. Headed up by some researcher named Feldman. Harold Feldman."
"Harold? Seriously? People still name their kids Harold?" Ian asked.
"Apparently."
"He didn't shorten it to Harry?"
"He hated Harry."
"So you called him Harry."
"At every opportunity. Are we almost done with these tests?"
"Just about."
"Do I get a lollipop?"
