"As you're probably curious, I'll explain what this room is." He gestured grandly, his leather jacket flaring. "As you will be owned by a Bureau ranking soldier, you will need to be outfitted as such." He grinned, gesturing to the mannequins. "There's exactly a hundred base outfits, and you will get to choose five. You will get to then choose what colors, designs, and personal touches you want. You get at maximum three versions of each outfit. I decide what changes I'm okay with, and add any I want, then send it to the stylist to take care of." He grinned. "The rest I'll explain after."
The leader tried to sigh, leaning down and readying herself.
The grenade blew up in the face of the Manticorus. It howled, bleeding from what amounted to a large gash in it's cheek. It turned, grabbing a building with it's tails, and threw it at Tels, the building breaking in the air into three massive pieces, with smaller chunks and shrapnel flying with them.
The creature growled in it's strange way again, turning slowly. It's legs, humanlike in length, rippled with muscles. It took a slash to the arm, but pulled the arm away fast enough to survive. Then, as it's eyes fell on Deteca, a flash of recognition crossed it's face. It spoke, slowly, with what resembled a british accent, using shakespearean english, along with very slow speech, obviously taking effort.
"I recognizeth thee! Thou art Deteca, the TUBA leadeth'r!" He stepped backward. "Thou art did suppose to beest v'ry intelligent, highly dang'rous, and I'm did suppose to killeth thee!" He raised his hands. "Prithee did not hurt me." He began to draw aons. "I wanteth not to doth this, but I has't to killeth thee."