maskormenacelogs | No one remembers your name

[Although he'd had several other matters on his plate before he'd found out- investigating that murder and the possibility of its connection to A or a shinigami, and the sudden interest he'd attracted in that secret organization that seemed entirely up to no good- Duo had stopped and given his undivided attention to the vital piece of information he'd learned over the weekend, once he'd been able to confirm it.]

[Crane was here.]

[Like all his other memories of The City, it had been almost 30 years since he'd even been able to call on them, but the sudden resurgence of those memories made them feel as fresh as they'd been when he was Ported out. The sudden loss of control. The tangible, forced re-imagining of his worst memories. The betrayal of confidence that was all the information he'd held, let loose. And then the snap. And data, pure, cold, raw data flooding through his senses, pushing out whatever had invaded and hyper-focusing on the reality: Kill. Survive.]

[And then blood, blood everywhere that didn't belong to an enemy (not a real one)--]

[Just thinking about it sent hot veins of anger through him, the kind of palpable rage he hadn't experienced in years. He'd been a hot-headed teenager back then, prone to kneejerk and overconfidence, at times. And it was always someone else that paid the price when he screwed up.]

[He'd never been able to properly repay Crane for that, or for the other injuries and insults- for what he did to Tabby, for what he did to any of his other experiments, the months of taunts and games and facades. Couldn't, for the few times he'd tried. Well, Duo Maxwell was a man of science, to some degree. Maybe an experiment would be in order. He'd begun by spending as much waking time as possible gathering sufficient intel as was available on Crane- his history in the current world (still up to his old shit, unsurprising), his current location and cover (a little more surprising). Now, it was just a matter of playing things safe as he followed and observed his target, waiting for an opportunity (and a reason) to make a move.]

[Duo could be clinical- maybe safe wasn't exactly the best word for this. When the doors open onto Crane's floor, there's this sneaking sense of a presence shifting after him, but not a sound or smell or sight of it to be found.]

[Crane still makes it to his office a minute later, as scheduled, but his physical alertness is very, very clear. A constant scanning of the corridor that runs both ways past his door shows his suspicion. He seems to be looking for somebody though he has no reason to suspect anyone. The way he carries himself is as quiet as the grave. Something about his demeanour is suspicious, and his hand twitches before he opens the door with his passkey.

Inside, he leaves the automatic door to close by itself and fumbles with the keys inside his pocket. The very feeling of their metal brings him some feeling of relief. He then flattens his brows, closes his eyes. Sits straight behind his desk and smoothes his tie. He unlocks the topmost draw of his desk and pulls a pen from his collection of report drafts and backissues of academic journals. Scrawls his name across the bottom of a few pages of paper and scans further files.

He takes out a binder, flips it open and finds the name he wants - a native employee in the same company, 35, married - to scribble in the margins.

Results inconclusive - but promising. Change in speech and cognition. Shows a greater sign of ambition. Motivation improved.

For the next minute, five, ten, he nests himself, surrounded by his collection of papers, books and chemical equipment. And every day in the week he can be found here, pretending to be a normal member of society. A muscle in Crane's jaw twitches. It isn't doubt over whether he can act the part, but whether he wants to at all.]

[There was a supernatural quality to the sensation of being followed by something that wasn't there, Duo knew. After all, even with the majority of senses removed from the equation, he couldn't remove all the qualities of his existence. Air currents still moved around him, the floor was still solid beneath his feet. Yet even if one could pick up on the slightest sensation of movement he caused, there was no logical explanation for the things which interacted with the physical world but couldn't be observed. It was like being haunted. In most people, it stirred anxiety, fear- something he could use. He wasn't sure what it would stir in someone like Crane, but a reaction was what he wanted regardless.]

[Duo slips in through the automatic door like Crane's shadow behind him before putting space between them again, positioning himself on the other side of the office. He makes quick scans of the room to first and foremost formulate the most basic escape routes, then again for anything in the room of immediate interest. Most of his attention, though, is restlessly on Crane. Doesn't trust the safety of this situation for one minute, but nothing about this was going to be safe from the start. At least there was no one in this place for him to get killed.]

[He watches Crane make his signatures and read his documents with a kind of nervous energy that makes him clench his fist. If he has to watch Crane do paperwork for 8+ hours, he'll do it; but there has to be something else. The binder catches his attention, the longer note that seems to be written in it. He considers the risk of getting close enough to read the note, but schools himself. No, don't get overeager; come back to the binder and search the desk when you can do it uninterrupted. His eyes slide to the hints of chemical equipment around the office, lips twisting into a scowl. He should come back at night, when the offices were unoccupied, go through the desk and test the equipment- find out what kinds of things he's messing with.]

[For now, Crane himself would have to do.]

[Crane stays with his paperwork for an extended period of time. It might be ten minutes. It might be an hour. He spends long enough with its collection of names that he begins feeling lightheaded - and that dizziness turns his focus away from the strange feeling of air in the room. He cannot quite explain why it's there. He considers investigating it for a while, though he doesn't get emotive, and, eventually, stops paying it attention altogether. Bane had been physically intimidating, and he had spoken with him, listened, without losing that feeling of being in charge.

He was, despite an appearance to the contrary, quite strong-willed. He had been conscious of his short height at one time - this being a difference recognizable from his counterpart - but his adaptation of it into a non-threatening disguise had proved effective. A predictable reaction had been the one thing he had denied everybody involved in his care; doctors, ex-colleagues, prison guards. He makes it clear how short he is when he stands up and heads over to lock the backroom door with his pass. No escape route that way. No access to the refridgeration that contains reverse-engineered samples of his work.

The desk goes by unattended as he does it. The bottom right drawer, from which he had lifted his binder, is an uncoordinated jumble of academia and correspondence, beneath which lies a well-thumbed copy of Brave New World. The middle-right draw, which he had unlocked but left alone, contained further copies of his observations and notes about his colleagues. He considers the risk of somebody moving about behind his back, but doesn't make an obvious move to fix it. He has been used to such behavior for a while.]

[Eyes flicking to the unattended desk, Duo steels himself against the desire to rifle through it immediately. He's seen how that picture plays out; if Crane catches him off-guard and he's on the defensive, he loses. This isn't a situation where he can talk his way out of things, nor was it a military mission; he wouldn't end up bored in a prison cell. He'd end up broken, and someone- if not him- would be dead.]

[No... the way to do this, if he was going to make any kind of move rather than just continue to observe, would be to go on the offensive, wouldn't it? (It occurs to him for a moment that he could be unstable due to the return of his memories from The City, including Crane's previous effects- and then quickly ignores the thought.)]

[So instead, Duo follows Crane down the hallway he'd left to lock, and now neither of them can easily escape the other. When cornered, a rat was at its most dangerous; what happened when two cornered each other?]

I wonder what entirely unsuspicious materials are hidden behind Door Number 2, Johnny? [Duo's voice rings out with a cheerful lilt from behind Crane, still invisible. His hand was in his pocket just in case, fingers settled over the grip of the modest handgun he'd managed to purchase legally with his current status. Filed off, of course.]

[The voice catches him unawares. He shuts down a rise of nerves as he feels something moving at his back, realizing he's probably been watched for minutes. His mind controls his body, and he doesn't turn around but continues watching the door intently.

Taking a few breaths, he paces his speech. He could switch on the recording function on his comm to save the stranger's voice, but it would be too obvious. He would memorize it instead. He didn't need evidence to win others round to his opinion.]

Company secrets.

[He says calmly.]

Would you care to tell me why you didn't know? This is a storage facility - in a building given over for clinical research, after all.

[Even if Crane had tried to record Duo, he would have found the recording to hold a disappointing silence instead- security footage, comms, his choice to reveal his voice alone to Crane in the flesh meant he still shielded himself from recording devices as well as other people. After all, he knew the "Bruce Wayne" that owned the company was a Gotham native- meaning surely, even if the man hadn't already shown his hand at that Swear-In, he should know what Crane was capable of, and still he hired him on. He musn't allow anyone else to interfere.]

[After a short and thoughtful pause wherein he shifts a glance at the door's lock, he chuckles.] Well, I'm not surprised, if that's why you're asking. Although, I don't think it's the sort of 'company secret' that you want anyone within the company to know about.

Unless you plan to sell your services for commercial sabotage, now? Seems a little mercenarial for you, though. O, brilliant Doctor.

[The annoyance grows ever more sour. It reaches his throat and travels down to his heart, where it feels like a weight on his chest, but he gently pulls his right hand free of his side and scratches under his chin. His left hand presses against the small of his back. With a disappointed sigh he mourns the loss of this guy's manners.]

My work isn't for sale. [He smiles at the absurdity.] Mr. Wayne recruited me for my expertise. There are other reasons, of course, but I'm not one to break confidentiality.

[Yes he is, when in the company of the right people. Psychiatrist gossip!]

Your expertise in... the mind? Or the chemicals? [He says, carefully. He had never quite been exactly sure of how Wayne fit in with the rest of the Gotham loonies or the Bats, but from everything he'd heard it wouldn't be outside the realm of possibility for the guy to be interested in either one. Both could be lucrative business, under the right circumstances. It was only more surprising to him that this would be public knowledge, and yet none of the other capes would mind.]

[Unless... Wayne was in with the capes himself. He had no way of knowing one way or the other, from his past experience.]

But no, of course not. [He says, on both other counts.] You do everything for your own sake, right? One to just 'break' in general. So is that what I'm gonna find, locked away in that room back there? The results of your breaking people?

You tell me.

[He doesn't so much as contain his ego. He has something of an aptitude for exhibiting his pride - be it in his accomplishments or his elevated status. Truth be told, he rather enjoys getting to show off.]

Perhaps you might know what you'll discover already? Since you seem to be personally familiar with me.

I guess I might. I mean, it's not like you haven't made a name for yourself already. Makes me wonder how you're able to wander around freely. Deficit of bats flying around?

[Not as if it was anywhere near his first rodeo besides that- but it depended, didn't it, on just how many rodeos he'd been through...]

...Good thing for you they have a pretty soft moral code.

[Seconds tick by.

He shifts from one foot to the other. Rolls back his shoulders and tilts his head. The Batman. Gotham's finest. Well... he has been in plenty of scrapes in his life. What's a few more?]

You're not wrong. I would argue your assessment of their morality is made according to your own perception of what is moral, but I think that's something you should raise with them yourself.

That's sort of the nature of morality, yeah? If you're not a blowhard.

[He glances up and down Crane's back, takes in the way it's set, trying to read the atmosphere. Most importantly, trying to read whether there was some kind of power in play, or whether one was on the cusp. Triggering one of Crane's little episodes wasn't something he exactly wanted to experience again.]

[He takes a silent step back, a tiny precaution, before he continues again.] But really, they shoulda done away with you when you turned yourself in the last time. It's amazing no one else did- with as many enemies as you made.

What can I say? Everyone is too scared to do what needs be done.

[His back is naturally straight; his mood confident and secure. The usual stress that would cause him to tense his shoulders and stiffen his neck is completely absent. He carries himself with the attitude of a man who has rid himself of his fears.

He shrugs lightly.]

That they are too scared. That's hardly my problem, is it?

[Oh]

[You think you can taunt him, don't you, Crane? (Or maybe not, maybe this wasn't a signal... It could just be natural, typical Crane ego. A taunt to get him riled up into making mistakes. But he had to know for sure...)]

Fear of their own guilt, of their own demons. That's what it comes down to, right?

[He could test it. He could try. No, no, it was too risky- if that change in his brain was still there, it would only give Crane evidence and a chance to attack him again.]

[I'm not afraid of you!]

[Duo notices he's grinding his teeth silently, and clamps down on that tension before he can let himself speak with the proper amount of ease again.] Color me curious. What was the pyrokinetic afraid of? Since you're such the expert. You must remember them all, right? All your little test subjects.

[He could let on a hint of things being personal. After all, with how many enemies Crane had made, it wouldn't be a hint unless it would result in a confirmation.]

[Crane's expression is blank, impartial, when he turns his head in profile. The young man is searching for answers regarding some past grievance, obviously. Better provide them then, hadn't he?

His voice is level and calm.]

No. Should I?

[Well, that's a vague answer. But it's an honest one - and in more ways than one, at that. There had been so many criminals, so many test subjects, that some simply hadn't been fascinating enough towards the end.]

Anyway. Your hypothetical experiment is a little lost on me. Care to share?

[Tsk--] Information isn't very useful if you can't remember it, Doc. [The man scolds, allowing a sarcastic drawl to enter his tone.] You can run all these experiments, but if you can't correlate them to results, what's the point?

[But. That wasn't the point, was it? Something chilling bubbles up in his memory, but at least it's not as bad as the triggers were.]

An ebon spirit rises high, child of air and fire.
Born in death yet borne by wind,
It flies but does not tire.

Hey, don't you like riddles, Doc?

[People, when placed under intense scrutiny and investigation, provide information. He smooths his tie. For him information is knowledge; one doesn't need an emotional bond with a resource.]

Not particularly. By their nature they are unintuitive; they force an answer via the riddler's method. I prefer using my own tools.

[That settled it, didn't it? Crane, with all his ego, his delusions of grandeur, wouldn't scorn his own logical following, past or present, Duo reasoned. Perhaps alternate?]

[Hell, he'd heard of at least three Batmen and God knew how many Robins. Why not two or more Cranes? And besides, riddles weren't his thing, anyway. He was truthful about that.]

Ones that have a bit more room for adaptation, if I remember right. [Even if he couldn't be entirely sure what some of those tools were, now.]

[How to proceed. He could push about the locked door in front of them- it was suspicious enough already that he ought to find out here and now what Crane was up to again, before he could move or destroy the evidence. Unfortunately, Duo hadn't seen hide or hair of any bats or birds just yet, and he was an honorable enough guy- he wouldn't step on toes until he had evidence of it being necessary. And he really wasn't feeling in the mood to go a second round with Crane's methodology. It really irritated him that he wouldn't rightfully be able to justify paying this Crane back for what he'd done, back then, but it would simply be- unfair wasn't the word. Foolish, maybe. Petty, although he didn't particularly mind being that.]

[Fine, then. Cut his losses. "Run and hide", it was.]

Well, Doc, it looks like we're back to 'zero', as it were. Isn't it your lucky day? [...Wouldn't be Duo if he knew when to quit.]

[It doesn't make sense. With each passing minute he feels like he is the target of some personal vendetta. Granted, he had been on the receiving end of some back in the day, but he had always known why. He pulls back his shoulders and tips his head to its side.

Riddles. It isn't that he cannot solve them. He believes in his logical reasoning. Every day at Arkham it had kept him safe and able to get away with everything beneath his co-worker's noses. It simply is that nobody else's reasoning is sound. So why would he follow it? He strolls back to his desk and takes a seat.]

I don't believe in luck. Not as a force. [But the concept...] You seemingly unearthed the answer you were searching for, regardless, so please - excuse yourself out.

...No. Setting your own odds is better, isn't it? Shoulda figured you the type to stack the deck. [Not that Duo hadn't cheated a hand or a dozen before.] I guess that's a kind of adaptation, too.

[The dismissal gets a chuckle, the hubris of it just amusing enough to not pull some sarcastic, kneejerk-defiant refusal from him. But he should just take it. Better than pushing his luck and having his head broken again.]

[He's pretty sure that even if he had taken the opportunity to quietly sneak about beforehand, to steal through records and attempt to break into the room at the back, it wouldn't lessen the feeling of restlessness he has now. That even though Crane had no idea who he was or what he had made him do, his presence here would have Duo looking over his shoulder, remembering mistakes and dependencies, have him drowning in resentment and memories that hadn't resurfaced for decades.]

[He wasn't afraid of Crane, but he was afraid of becoming again what Crane's damage had made of him, in The City.]

You might be gettin' babysat for now, but the next time you slip up, you won't see me comin'.

[With that, the automatic door to Crane's office opens and closes seemingly on its own, leaving him to business.]

No one remembers your name

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Just let me know when you want these two to physically interact np

I think this is an excellent opportunity for Duo to make an unsafe decision!

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