[ .. more of a field man, maybe? or at the very least, a researcher that doesn't seem to spend all his time in his office. the question makes his glance flick back up, though, meeting the other man's, brows lifting faintly. ]

No. It's my real name. [ though most people call him by his item number these days, as if they think it actually provides distance. he doesn't mind, really; the foundation is still the closest thing he's had to peace and family in a very long time.

he settles in the chair his jacket is draped on, crossing his thighs and lacing his fingers together atop them. ] I'm not precisely employed by the organization in the traditional sense. When I say that I belong to it, I mean that very literally. [ he unlaces his hands again to lift one, hooking his index finger beneath the collar of his shirt to tug it down and reveal the tracking collar instead. ] Technically speaking, I'm one of their artifacts.