a/n: I had this written for a long while, almost as soon as I'd finished the game, but I thought it wasn't exactly cannon complaint and didn't post it. Now I can't remember why I thought that, and I still like this piece so I brushed it up.

I imagine that since L.I.M.B. is the most pervasive installer of augments, that they would have say in when a patient is ready to return to work. Since there is not only physical difficulties to over come, but psychological ones as well. I don't think they can make you do anything you don't want, but if you don't have their approval it voids the warranty or makes you un-insurable or something like that.

A long night in a sequence of them, Sarif argues with Dr. Marcovic to have Adam released from sick leave for the mission at the Milwaukee plant.

"God dammit, I don't care if it's only been six months, we need Adam back. Now." Sarif snapped, voice rough from lack of sleep and the dull throb of a building migraine.

Dr. Marcovic was unimpressed. "Detriot has a excellent police force, you do not need Mr. Jensen."

"He's stir crazy from your insistence on him sticking with his recovery schedule, he needs this-"

"You mean you need this Mr. Sarif." Her tone was frigid.

Sarif narrowed his eyes, and leaned on the desk, to come as close to the image of Marcovic as he could. "Yes, I need Adam, Doctor. And with all due respect, you have no idea what he's capable of."

"Oh and you do? Is that why you made him more machine than man? That contract he sighed may have been legally binding, but it was not right. You had no right to make him into that."

"I'm not here to argue the legality vs the morality of the situation, Doctor." Sarif sighed, suddenly weary of all...this. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't expect for this to happen, any of it." He straightened and continued sharply, "However, regardless of whether you approve or not, this is what Adam was built for. Transfer him from sick leave."

Marcovic stared sternly out from the view screen at Sarif, and he crossed his arms. He couldn't afford to loss this battle, not now, and they couldn't afford to loose his donations.

She sighed, the same weary sound he'd just expressed moments before. "I suppose you'll pull you're support if I do not?"

He stood there, frown etched on his features, unmoving in his continence. He wouldn't say it out loud, but they both knew he would if he had to. It would be inconvenient, this L.I.M.B. clinic was so close of Sarif Industries headquarters, but he could always go to Cleveland, or even Toronto if necessary.

"..Very well," she acquiesced, though it was clear that she did not want to. Off camera, her fingers flew over a keyboard, the distant clack could be heard over the connection, "There, Mr. Jensen is cleared to return to work."

"Thank you," he replied, genuinely grateful. He wasn't sure what he'd if done if she hadn't agreed.

Marcovic made to close the call, but Sarif spoke before she could.

"And Doctor? Make sure those Praxis kits are available tonight. I'll be sending Adam by later."

She gave a curt nod and closed the connection.

Sarif blew out a huff of air in irritation and collapsed into his desk chair. He took to rubbing his flesh where his where his cybernetic arm prosthetic was attached as it was aching fiercely. A sure sign that he was over due with his Neuropozyne injection, as was the blooming migraine that was currently eating away at his patience.

He had a tendency to ignore the recommended intervals between injections -there was always something else to do, something else that needed his attention- and the injections left him fuzzy for a day or more. An allergic reaction that impaired cognitive functions until the drug was dissipated. As of late, it was a side effect he couldn't afford to have. Sarif yanked opened his top desk draw and fished around for some pain killers.

'After the situation is resolved at the plant,' he thought to himself, hoping that this was last crisis for a while. He took a gulp of cold coffee to down the pills and grimaced at the taste. Then turned to his computer screen and put in a call into Pritchard, audio only.

"Frank, it's David." God he sounded tired. "Call Adam and tell him to get in here ASAP, I just spoke with Dr. Marcovic and she's released him from sick leave."

"Why me?" Sarif could just see the sneer on Pritchard's face.

'Because I told you to', was what he felt like snapping. Instead he rolled his neck and replied far more diplomatically. "Because you'll be running comms, and I want you to brief Adam on the situation."

"Fine, I'll make sure he gets here... yesterday."

"Good." Sarif closed the connection.

He leaned back in his chair and grabbed his baseball off its little stand. Rolling it around in the palm of his cybernetic hand, Sarif allowed himself a moment to wallow in self-pity as the days events -and previous ones- stacked themselves upon his shoulders.

He wondered just how bad this latest crisis was going to turn out, what needed to be done for damage control, (he clenched the baseball as he considered the possibly that the Typhoon could be stolen) and just how the hell he was going to say afloat with all the shit that had been going on.

Sarif felt the pressure behind his eyes ease as the painkillers kicked in and straightened his spine with a crack. He gave the baseball a quick toss before setting it back in it's stand, and brushed aside the self-pity for something more constructive.

He sent a quick text message to Malik:

ETA?
D.

She replied:

10 min.

Good, that should give Adam enough time to get here. He hoped however, it wasn't much longer than that. By now SWAT was already on scene, and he didn't know how long they would wait, even with his pressuring the Captain, who was only going to allow a mutually beneficial relationship between S.I. and the DPD sway him so far. No, Sarif was going to have to play dirty on this one, and he knew just how close the Captain was to retiring.

The video-caller ID chirped on his screen, Detroit PD. Speak of the devil...

Sarif sighed and stretched his augmented shoulder before accepting the call. This was going to be a long night.