Per 
"Mhm. Yeah. Yeah of course. I'll have the next object under control within a week. No I can't do it in two days. Urgent? Maybe if you rerouted half of the site's power by tomorrow, I could work something out. Yeah I'll do my best. Good night Director". Luke Bishop sighed as he set down the telephone receiver into its cradle. It was an older model, from the 80s, but when you're 5 kilometers under the ground cellphones don't have the same effectiveness anymore. Not that he couldn't make one that would work; He was the current director of the Anomalous Materials Labs, stationed at Site 64, something like that wouldn't be too far outside of his repertoire, but something about the satisfaction of slamming a phone down was just too nostalgic for him to let go. He reminisced a bit more about the times he was a happier lad, idly chewing away at a bag of salt chips before a sharp ring interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes?" he pedantically replied, his voice dropping instantly to the consistency of molasses, awaiting a follow-up from the Site Director about some artifact he was supposed to have catalogued long ago. He gazed out into the lab from his tight cramped office. Just a few months ago, it was a hive of activity, where bright-eyed researchers scurried from one end of the hall to the other, each working on something new, something interesting, something creative. Now though, only a single pilot light remained on, the rooms devoid of life, dust settling on the desks where minds once broke through the barriers once thought unbreakable. The assembly room, directly adjacent to his office, remained dark, with the seldom red blinking LED piercing the darkness to show that the room still had electricity at least. Empty wrappers and bottles overflowed from the trashcans, oil spilled on the floor, and tools were scattered all over the once white, lineoum floor.
Those days were long gone, ever since that… thing gave him a project to do. Luke was the director of AMAT, but very few knew he was a director of an empty ward, a lone scholar in a place once bright. He sighed again, waiting for the Site Director's squeaky voice to pipe through. Except it never came.
Luke heard only static for a solid minute, and for a moment he thought he had accidentally pulled out the main line from the wall. His office was a mess after all, so it wasn't too uncommon for the odd electrical to kink in the wrong place, he hadn't done much maintenance since his juniors left. He was bending over to check the landline connection when he heard a voice, echoing through the receiver. It was a hollow voice, one of someone who had seen too many things people were never meant too see, someone who had killed enough people to dye the world red, and had seen civilizations crumble and turn to ash. Or so the legends told, but Luke knew well enough that Foundation legends were more often then not less legend and more terrifying remnants of indescribable pain passed down from person to person, in shadowy whispers and frightened foreboding. Luke stopped as he froze still, his body stiff as rock and his blood turned to ice, his arm robotically bringing the receiver closer to his face as he hoarsely whispered into the microphone: "Hello, Overseer"
Three years ago, Luke Bishop sat in his bedroom, staring at his screen, spacing out as he usually did. He was, on first glance, a pretty ordinary kid; at 16 he was just out of 10th grade, he didn't do exceptionally well in school, and he looked about as average as everyone else around, but he was everything but. Luke stared into space for a few more minutes before sitting straight and shutting off his computer. Waiting until the screen cut to black, he pulled out a sleek, silver hard drive from under his desk, slotted it in, booted onto a secure partition, pulled up tor, logged into a darknet forum, and started digging. He was obsessed with the secretive ends of the world, the things that normal people were never supposed to find out. He first started with CIA scams and MI6 coverups, the scandals of politicians corrupt both near and abroad, but after a while he heard a whisper. A rumour in the dark that something greater existed beyond the world of shady assassins, laundered money and smuggled guns, something he immediately became obsessed with. He never thought himself special, but amongst the neatly organized books, the slightly disorganized pens on his desk, the pile of clothes building up on a chair in the corner and his quickly made bed, he was breaking the mold his parents had rigorously set for him, a set of constraints society had bound him with that he felt were suffocating. After checking the usual underground news and gossip, he eventually started scrolling through the latest Parawatch forums, but nothing new of interest really caught his attention. Parawatch was painfully unorganized, but it was the best he had, given that the internet was extremely policed by all sorts of webcrawlers and AIs. As he scrolled through the typical vauge documentations, Bigfoot sightings and Philadelphia Experiment conspiracies, he came across a forgotten post, detailing the existence of a now-defunct anomalous shell corporation called "Prometheus Labs, Inc.". He started scrolling down again, before going back and saving the document just for the hell of it, telling himself that he might give it a read-over later. After a few more pointless hours of searching, he eventually gave up, closed his proxies and called it a night.
Two years ago,
[WIP: Ok, so how do we get Luke Bishop from 2020 to the year 1980 (Or at least on mars?)
Proposal: Luke digs into Prometheus' past, finds a reference to prometheus labs, and tries to post it on parawatch before being compromised. He knows "they" are coming, so he attempts to run, however the remnants of RedZone (Or the Mars division, fuck knows) help him get away. He wants to return to see his family, but they don't remember him, since they've been amnesticized. Unable to return home, he goes to the Mars Base to work on theoretical physics. (Introduce instantaneous knowledge transfer shit or something of the sort). Tries to come back home after failure within the base. Failure constitutes in a null void scinario. 40 years pass in a second. Captured by the Foundation. Promised freedom if he works on the Project 05-11 gave him; works with a team, but 05-11 kills them all as punishment for attempting to find out too much within the foundation.]
