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Xanatos X

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Motto:
Anti-Cyberization
Pro-Humanity
Pro-God
Hell Hounds Inc

Michael knocks on the door, nervously, clears his throat, and tries to stand up straight. Look worth somebody's time. Not like some twinkie who'd never belong here. "Hello?"
He opens the door. "Er, is anyone here?" He grins to see the metal detector- something you hardly ever see these days- on the doorframe, and decides it seems to stand as an invitation to anyone who can pass through, and treads carefully inside. He takes in the posters on the walls, shuddering as if pained by the misspelling of "defy"- "deify," after all, means "to treat as a god"- but appreciating the fact that the inside of the building doesn't look like the inside of a computer. He wears steel-rimmed rectangular glasses, baggy dark khakis and a black Beatles concert t-shirt (not from an actual concert by a long shot, but made in the early 21st century), beat-up black Converse hightops, and a messenger bag with patches both necessary and decorative. To the people who saw him on the street, his old-fashioned clothes and glasses made him look like either a world-class Fred, the second coming of the Society for Creative Anachronism, or a master of irony.
He holds his hands up in an attempt to look nonthreatening, and calls out, "I love the metal detector! No borgs in here, right?"

He nods. "I'm human. I heard about this group from a friend. He's got some sort of contact with you, I suppose. That guy who sells a lot of old weapons mostly, with that scar on his forehead? He comes to my bookstore a lot, and he told me this is where you have your headquarters. I've known him for a while, so don't think he's been telling everyone who's not full of wires about you."
He realizes that the young man on the other side of the room, for all his confidence, looked rather young. Probably not even eighteen yet. He was a bit taller than Michael and more muscular, but he had a look to him of someone who wasn't entirely done growing. Michael silently told himself to not get too intimidated by someone who, if children weren't taking two years of lessons on computers and getting an entire education that way, would probably still be in high school.
"So please don't shoot. I've wanted to fight what's happening to society for a while, and I'd like to join your faction."

"I'm-... Thoreau. You can call me that." He pushes his glasses up on his nose, and adds, "What are you called, then?"

*knocks on the door nd flattens my jean shorts nd my bikini top nd cs the door open a jar nd cs the metal detector nd walks in nd walks through the metal detector without it going off*