Bashemath's Story

[oops]

"Get away from me!" a man's voice cried out, in a dimly lit New York back-alley. It was barely audible over the heavy downpour of rain as a lone vagrant ran from an unseen pursuer. The man was was absolutely terrified, half drunk, and was nearly stumbling over his own feet as he scrambled out towards the road. It was his hope that he could escape into public eyes. But he couldn't keep it up, he had to stop to catch his breath, gasping and coughing, looking back at the alley behind him. He laughed hoarsely to himself, a half-crazed kind of laugh. "Just my nerves playing tricks on my brain..." he muttered, leaning against the wall with a sigh. Reaching into his ragged coat he pulled out a bottle, popping the lid and tipping it back to his lips.

"Tsk, that's bad for your liver, you know?" a soft female voice said, somewhat muffled as something snagged the bottle from his hand. That something was a tentacle of some sort, coming from an average height humanoid female in a black full-body suit. The man froze in response, refusing to even look at the figure, the look on his face frozen in horror. With a sudden twist of his body, he threw out a hand and produced a burst of steam and swung around, arms flailing, to run around the other way, but only hit another, taller figure, and fell onto his back causing a splash of water, and is knocked cold. The female immediately kneels down and leans over the man checking his pulse. "Geez, Xander, we need to be careful!"

"I am sorry, Bashemath, it was not my intention. He was behaving erratically," the tall figure responded. His voice strange, masculine but the tone was somewhat monotone, soft, and somewhat... distorted, not as deep as would be fitting to his body. The figure, Xander, squated down and propped himself on his knuckles. The figure, while... sort of human-like, was otherwise very tall, gangling body and arms, also fully suited but in a considerably different style, serving a different purpose. Xander, scanned over the body of the man. "The damage is superficial, he will survive. Besides, this simplifies acquisition."

The female, Bashemath huffed slapping her hands on her lap. "It's the principle of the thing! But... I suppose you are right... just, we can't go around hurting people, alright?"

Xander hoisted the man over his shoulder and stood up. Looking down at Bashemath, he simply nodded and held out one of his long arms, prompting her to climb up onto his arm and was hoisted onto his shoulder as well.

"Hey, Xander... we are doing right, right?" Bashemath asked.

"We are not violating our protocol," Xander answered.

"Not quite what I mean," Bashemath responded, laying her head against his shoulder.

"Left to own devices, this one would have died of any number of diseases, or alcohol poisoning, or murdered, or subject to a hit-and-run, or, likely a combination of all scenarios," Xander answered, more in depth.

"Again, not what I meant, but... all the same, thank you Xander," she responded with a short sigh.

"Should I include the potential for lethal animal attacks as well?" Xander asked.

Bashemath laughed. "What? No! I get it, okay, point made," she said, patting Xander on the head. "Lets just deliver the guy before he gets sick from all this rain, okay?"

"Understood," he responded. Undaunted by the weight of the two passengers, he turned and took off towards and unknown destination to deliver their captive, to a benefactor shrouded in mystery from the public eye.

Having arrived on scene, Bashemath walked over to get a closer look at the disaster zone. Xander stayed behind, even in disguise he was still much too tall, much too intimidating. Dust still stirred in the air, officers who had arrived on scene had to wear masks to keep from inhaling possible toxic elements in the air, leaving nothing to risk against what seemed to be terrorists. They were holding back a growing crowd, some weeping for their friends and loved ones who most likely lie dead or dying in the rubble, others yell at the police like they could have prevented this. All the while this is going on, Bashemath snuck her way to the zone, observing the mostly crumbled structure, slightly shaking. Due to the dust and debris carried through the air, and the cover of dark, the officers are left oblivious to her presence

"Why?" she uttered, a slight quiver in her voice. She swallows her fear, she would fulfill her prime directive. She closed her eyes and focused, as a multitude of eyes open elsewhere as figures from the shadows of the streets began to scurry towards her. Vermin and other animals, once dead, reanimated and scattered throughout the city as her sentinels, now by her power came to the call of her will, and, in multitude began to secretly dig into the rubble. Through their eyes she could see, through their ears she could hear, through their bodies she could feel, and through them she could tragically sense many dead... a crestfallen moan escaping her throat, but soon a gasp, as deeper... stifled breath. She reaches out her hands into the air, cupping them upwards as if she was holding something. The creatures, though small, collectively move the rubble and begin to free the entrapped bodies, carefully moving them to the surface with careful surgical guidance. Bashemath herself seemed to dance in a trance, flailing her arms into the air, eyes still closed.

"Shit, have the rats already began to eat at them?" an officer muttered, having noticed the vermin squirming their way through as the dust began to clear. The sight before him was more than what he had imagined, as the rats were exhuming the victims in a systematic manner, and placing them next to each other. He nudged another officer who swatted his hand aside, on edge from the carnage, but paused as the scene caught his eye. "The hell... is this?"

Running over to the scene the officers swung at the rats, and the vermin scattered out of sight. Kneeling over, the officers checked the victims, finding they have faint heartbeats and shallowed breath. Their bodies covered bruises and gashes, but alive all the same. Without hesitation, they began to signal to the medics.

Bashemath watching as they placed them on stretchers slipped quietly back away from the scene, certain she had not been noticed. They would see it as a... freak event of nature, that maybe the rats intended to feed on the food buried underneath and inadvertently freed the survivors. None of that mattered to her, however, she was only concerned with fulfilling her directive.

"O-oh," Bashemath uttered, upon hearing a rather wet explosion, freezing in her tracks as a rat ran up her shoulder. Slowly she looked back over her shoulder at two figures who stared directly towards them. Based on their clothes and general stance, she deduced they were some kind of law enforcement.

Xander turned, his extraordinarily tall form casting a shadow on the agents. "Problematic," he muttered. He began to menacingly approach them, his long arms raising up, but Bashemath tugged on his coat causing him to stop. He paused and looked over at her. She simply shook her head slowly, and, as if understanding his partner's intent, lowered his arms and stood simply as a statue as she walked ahead of him.

"Please forgive my brother, he's just looking out for me," Bashemath said, her tone as friendly as possible. She knew there was no getting out of this encounter, and she wasn't about to let Xander cause harm to people at random. She froze in place, as she now got a better sight of the agent, an audible crack in her throat as she slowly pointed at him, or rather, splatter on his clothes."I-is that..?"

"Blood," Xander bluntly explained. "What is in that alley is most likely not for your eyes."

"What happened..?" she asked, her voice having an increasingly distressed tone to it. She then looked directly to Arthur. Reading his face and body language, she determined that he was also distressed, likely more-so. Based on apparent age, it wasn't deemed healthy to remain in a stressed state. Without any resistance she slowly raised up her arms. "We submit to your authority. Whatever gets him to sit down the soonest," she said, making a motion to Arthur.

Arthur's face contorted mildly in confusion. Firstly, why would ANYONE 'submit to authority' of cops, feds, or anyone else? And secondly, they both looked incredibly strange. Arthur assumed the smaller one was a female, who seemed relatively normal in shape (despite her odd clothes, even by modern standards), but many other things about her seemed off. And the other, the giant... Well he was just downright bizarre.

"Alright, you two just stay right there and don't move. Alright? You play cool and we won't shoot." Peter responded with that unnerving neutral tone.

'How is he not even surprised?' Arthur thought internally. 'He looks completely unfazed, like this is an every day thing...'

Peter pulled out a com device, with an ear piece and a glass part that went in front of his left eye. "Control, we have some... Suspects we need to take in, might be regarding the terrorist attack here in New York. We're about a hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty meters away from the site of the attack. Requesting an airlift out with the suspects. Bring something... Spacious." When he finished he gave a nod to Arthur and put the com device back in his jacket. "You should probably sit down Arthur, take a load off while we wait."

He nodded in agreement before going to sit down on a trash bin, not taking his eyes off the two strange beings for a long while. When he finally did, it was to look over at Peter, when he noticed the blood was still on his face. He stared for a bit until Peter turned to look at him.

Peter cocked an eyebrow, confused about why Arthur was staring at him so intently. When Arthur signed about something on his face, Peter did a quick check with his hand. Now it finally registered that he had blood from the terrorist on him. He turned away for a moment as he pulled out a handkerchief and quickly wiped his face clean, placing the piece of fabric back in his jacket when he finished.

Arthur looked back at the strange things again, a bit transfixed by them. He didn't say anything, he couldn't find any words worth using.

"Well I hope everyone here likes sight seeing. Sounds like we're heading to D.C. tonight." He leaned back again, pistol out and resting casually against his lap, with no intent showing beyond that he was intent on being prepared.

Bashemath stood still, not moving from her position, just as she was told. She looked around between the two agents. She then locked focus back on Arthur, who has not said much, unlike his unusually composed partner. She reached over for her helmet and slowly removed it. Her face was mostly human, aside from the somewhat odd discoloration of her skin, eyes, and some dark splotches on her cheeks. Her hair was a mess, to be expected from the helmet. For the man's own sanity, she kept her ears covered for now, and just gave a smile, lowering one of her arms to just awkwardly wave at him.

Xander looked over at his sibling. "Why have you removed your mask?"

"I figured a face would offer some comfort, the man is utterly distraught," she responded. "His partner is quite stoic by comparison, he possesses a much more controlled composure. This likely isn't his... how they say? First rodeo?"

"Is he negligent towards the psychological needs of his partner?"

"What? No, my theory is that he feels it more appropriate to establish control on the situation with the least emotional response possible, a... learned defensive process, he's focused on the task at hand. Not too unlike you, actually. But this is mere speculation," she continues, waving her hand around a bit to Xander. She then turned her attention back to the two agents. "I'm Bashemath by the way, and this is Xander, hmmm... those are pretty complex... um, perhaps... nicknames would help?" She gave an awkward crooked smile and shrugged.

Xander turned his head slightly, sensing another human-sized being alone on the streets. Possibly not a threat, however.

"Ehhhhhh~" Zilas said, watching from afar with eyes as if he had found a new toy to play with. Of course, this was while he was monitoring the scene from far away. Far enough to not be detected, and to drink a nice glass of wine.

"Should you even be drinking wine?" Clark asked over the comms, even though Zilas had not told him anything. "And what new toys did you find this time?"

"Clarke, why are you on comms? Wasn't it Clara's turn?"

"Remember, you gave me all her tasks today, naked".

Zilas was pretty sure he only said that for the hallway...and he was pretty half hearted about it. Well, that was Clarke's mistake. He would probably figure it out soon anyways, he was a smart kid...he might also be playing it safe.

Or this was all a joke and he lied right there. Would be interesting to find out which.

"Anyways, why do you ask? Are the older toys getting jealous?"

"No way. Anyways, it got you interested..."

"Well, either my eyesight is getting worse..."

Clarke wanted to comment that he was pretty sure those glasses were fake and he had 20/20 vision, but he didn't feel like invoking any more wraith today.

"...or there are two totally non-normal individuals, getting arrested by two completely normal feds".

"Wait wait! Arrested arrested? Not gassed, or trapped in some cage, or whatever, but with actual handcuffs by real cops?!"

"Yeah..."

"...amazing, to think the legal system actually still works that well...how do you know for certain though?"

"Aside from personal experience...based on what I see through the scouter, one of them has that sort of face..."

"What sort of face?"

"The face you made when we first met".

"Oh...I guess the police can behave like actual people then also...sometimes...."

Incidentally, Clarke had as little faith...no, he might even have less faith, in the legal system then Zilas.

"Clarke, there should be some state of the art police listening programs there somewhere, if they make it to an interrogation room, I want to see that comedy show. Make sure we get the recordings".

"...you dont even care about the information do you? You just want to see how the interrogators handle this".

"Don't you as well?"

"The popcorn will be ready by the time you get back".

"Excellent, now..."

He changed his view from looking through a scouter, to looking down at the factory where a certain arms dealer was currently taking stock of his finest goods. Maybe, given the additional heat that would pour down soon, he wanted to offload them before he got caught or something, though it looked like a good amount was already missing.

And so, seeing an opportunity, with no one else seemingly around, Zilas teleported behind the man, and tapped him on the shoulder while using his most innocent and childlike voice possible.

"Excuse me, Mr...but could you tell me how you contact the people you have been selling weapons and bombs to, and where their base of operations is if possible?"

At first, the arms dealer would likely be very confused by Zilas' sudden appearance from behind out of nowhere, before finally going into shock. Of course, Zilas was already prepared. When the shock wore off, his smile would soon resemble more of an evil demon that had caught its prey.

And should the man try to raise a hand against him, Zilas would telekinetically blast him, and then perform a full psionic interrogation. Of course, so long as they locked eyes, and he didn't do anything to disrupt it, Zilas planned to do that anyways.

Zilas was very careful, but that did not mean he could not get things done quickly.

(My brain was kinda dying a bit, but I managed! Hope its good!)

Arthur looked over to the two beings again, taken aback when the female decided to remove part of her helmet and wave at him. 'She... Is she a gene splicer or something? I have never seen anything that severe before...' He thought to himself.

"Peter and Arthur." Was the eased response Arthur's partner made, pointing a hand at himself and Arthur. Peter checked his watch, it'd been about ten minutes since he'd made the call, so he was expecting pickup soon. "Never been good with nicknames myself. How about Bash and Xan? Not exactly clever, but it's been a long day."

There was a nod of agreement from Arthur. "Not trying to be rude or anything, but you do have the right to remain silent you know."

Peter chuckled slightly. "I think my partner just needs some quiet for right now." He looked over towards the two strange figures, a calm smile on his lips. "Much as I'd love to hear more about the two of- Oh well would you look at that." A FBI 'drop ship' began to fly overhead of them, straitening itself out and landing near the entrance of the alleyway.

Arthur sighed slightly, getting back up and unholstering his pistol too. He nodded towards the ship. "Alright you two, make this easy for me. Walk over to the drop ship, get in, and don't make any sudden moves or anything." Arthur's tone was emotionless, and a little tired.

"Oh they won't be causing us any trouble tonight Arthur." Peter said with a slight smile. "Not that I want to make any assumptions, but I don't think that's what these two want at all." Stepping to the side of the alley slightly, Peter extended his arm, pointing it towards the ship that awaited them. "After you."

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The weapons dealer looked shocked for a moment, but once his eyes had locked with Zilas, he seemed to become at ease. "W-what? People I've been selling weapons to? You mean the Cartels? Or the mercs?" The man's eyes seemed to wander in a dazed state. "I just give the guns to the guys they send, and they give me the money. It's no big deal." His eyes still wandered, he seemed almost totally lost in the daze.

"Lot's of guys come in and see me, they all just pay the money and take the weapons. Oh! There are those weird folks too, they always cover their faces, never say too much either. Just give me money an-"

The man's head disappeared leaving behind a fine mist of blood and gore, while a large hole exploded in the ground nearby (a result from the .50 caliber round that had passed through the gun dealers head). A few flashes of light could be seen from rooftops nearby, all seemingly aimed at Zilas. They weren't from guns however, but from some kinds of cameras.

In another moment, a knife could be felt at Zilas's throat, as someone began to whisper into his ear. "Now now little one, you're going down the wrong rabbit hole. You've got some fine gifts, but they'd be put to better use investigating someone else. Maybe some strange beings caught by the FBI, hehehehe..." The voice trailed off a bit, and the knife pulled away from Zilas's throat.

The masked, knife wielding figure walked around in front of Zilas, still giggling away as they held something in their hand. "SMILE!" was the last thing said before the white Comedy mask exploded, and the head of the knife wielder with it.

The docks were quiet now. Everything seemed to have ceased. No people moving, no machinery running, just quiet, and the sound of rain.

Bashemath simply nodded, her smile unbroken as she walked in without a fuss. As she walked by into the craft, she took another glance at Arthur, who remained silent, and her smile wavered some. She then looked over at Xander who followed closely after her, his eyes presumably remaining forward. As they enter there was a quiet exchange between the two. "He's... sort of life father, right?" she whispers.

"Far less smiling," he responds quietly. "But those were forced."

"Not always..." she whispered back, but suddenly she heard something, or rather, the rats heard something. The expression on her face suddenly turned grim, her eyes blanked, pupils dilated. She turned to Xander again, her eyes pleading. "Ah a-another murder... I think."

"Not our priority," he responded rather coldly, causing his sister to look away and sit down, becoming somewhat despondent. Xander in turn sits down next to her, just as quietly, a considerable feat for a being of his stature. It was clear that he struggled in dealing with the more altruistic nature of his sibling. "I am... sorry... forgive me?"

"Yes, always."

(Sorry for the delay, school stuff kept getting in the way. Actually, I have a terrible headache right now also, but I have some time so I am doing my best)

The moment the man's head exploded, Zilas put his hood up and ducked behind an object. He was not some fool who would leave himself out in the open, but he had thoroughly checked the surroundings. He was sure of it.

I suppose I should give them credit... he thought while taking out a gun he kept with him. Crude, and often unncessary with his powers, but he had to...

The nthe figure started to speak, putting a knife to his throat. That said, some tension was actually released from him, as the figure continued to speak.

They dont want me dead? No, of course. I am too much of an unknown probably. As crazy as they are, they must realize I am some sort of a threat. If they had been watching, they should know I could escape from this easily...in which case, they are not killing me because they dont know if I am alone or not probably. Well, they could just be crazy, but they were cautious enough to go through all this trouble.

At the same time, Zilas watched as the man's head explored before he even had time to restrain and psychically interrogate him.

"Hmmm. Okay then, be that way" he said, with a smirk on his face. "Well now, what to do..."

First off, he definently should NOT do what the crazy terrorists told him to do. Unless, of course, they were looking for a challenge? No, but to fall right into their words was silly. That said, they might be watching him now, waiting to see what he would do...who he would contact.

Wait a second...they knew about the capture? That meant, they were watching the FBI, or those things, as well? Ooooh, you silly, silly terrorists....you made a mistake. You told me you were watching them as well, which means you have people there. Obviously they cant be wearing masks, which means...they could be identified! Sorry Commedia, but you made a fatal mistake.
Even if you planned it out, you dont know my full abilities, especially the ones I trained since I escaped. In other words, if I hunt the ones following the FBI, I can use that to find them. Well, I suppose before I do, I should take care of business here.

Of course, by business, Zilas meant stealing the harddrives, phone, and all other objects of note from the arms dealer. He would also get the paper records, and finally...he copied the fingerprints of both the arms dealer, and the headless man, using some common household supplies, such as tape and all that.

Naturally, he took some DNA samples as well. Now that he thought about it, wasn't there a program to recreate the face from DNA samples?

You want me to play your game, Commedia? Well, let me flip that around. Instead of investigating those two people the FBI caught, I will use the FBI and them as bait, and lure you out instead...you really should be more careful what you say...huh? Maybe that man didn't explode his own head, but they exploded it for him so he wouldn't talk anymore? Well, it might get a tad bit trickier if they thats true, but none the less, I can use the logs of the Arms merchant to learn what they have. It would suck if they had missiles I didn't know about and such. Well, I suppose I will have Clarke update me on what the FBI are doing, and use that information to move forward.

Incidentally, the reason Zilas knew the member was not a threat was because there was a good chance they had seen him teleport, and yet instead of slitting his throat immediately, did not do a thing. If Zilas had wanted to, he could have easily escaped that man, but he just kept on talking, so he decided to keep it going, let him think he had the upper hand, and get some information out of him.

And Zilas had a good theory that was worth testing out, so it worked out well.

7am - Washington D.C.

Arthur shuddered periodically as he slept on cheap hallway chair in the offices of the FBI. He'd been exhausted from the day before, and was trying to remedy that with some sleep now, though his dreams continued to show him things he'd rather not have seen.

Peter was standing in another part of the top floor offices, watching a TV that was playing through the news as he sipped away at a coffee and puffed away at a smoke. He hadn't slept at all since yesterday, and was ready too either.

A younger man sitting at a desk close by looked over to Peter, a look of annoyance on his face. "Peter, could you put that out? You know you're not supposed to be doing that in any building, never mind a government one."

Smoke billowed out of Peter's mouth as he turned to look at the young man. He stared him right in the eyes, face totally devoid of emotion, or any real sense that he actually cared about what the boy had to say. "Thomas, please don't interrupt me while I'm having my Canadian Breakfast." Another office worker chuckled before Peter turned to him too. "That wasn't a funny joke Kevin. Stop fake laughing."

Kevin coughed slightly as he embarrassedly settled back in and looked away from everyone in the room. Thomas just felt unnerved by how much Peter didn't seem to care. Lame jokes aside, he always just seemed like nothing in this world had any value to him. If Thomas was being honest, it scared him a little.

Peter continued to watch the TV, but did manage to take a quick look across the room to one of the window-sided offices. It had been converted into an interrogation room for the time being, and both Xander and Bashemath sat in there at the moment. Most of the employees hadn't seen them yet, and those who had were disturbed. The room wasn't conventional, but it was also one of the few rooms that the building had that could accommodate at least Xander's size.

From what one of the higher ups said, they probably wouldn't be able to start the interrogation till about 8 or 8:30, so he was stuck to his coffee and cigarette for a bit longer. Apparently there was going to be some announcements on the TV for last night's bombings soon though, and the President and Congress are both expected to make statements about the government shut down that could be happening today.

There was a lot going on. A lot of chaos, and a lot of people trying to take advantage of it.

"Well, this is cozy," Bashemath said, head propped onto her hands. She scanned the room slowly, a blissful smile on her face. She knew what was to come, questions, but she was calm, without fear, contented even, because she loves a good discussion. She looked over at Xander, who sat quietly still, in absolute equilibrium. "You seem to make them nervous."

"As do you," Xander responded, to the point as usual.

Bashemath frowned for a brief moment. "I know, and it makes me... mmm, sad? I don't like that, how do I offer my services in this situation?" She looked puzzled, laying her cheek down against her helmet, letting out a short sigh. She twirled her black hair slowly. "And these horrid things, these murders. It makes me... mmm, nauseous? I like that least of all. I cannot comprehend the motivation to destroy another."

"Money, infamy, a sense of dominance, a feeling of duty, a feeling of delivering justice, delusions of being holy orders, or simply malicious pleasure," Xander listed.

"You say it all this so casually," she responded, her tone getting more gloomy.

"I do not approve of it either," Xander said. "I just... try not to dwell."

Washington D.C. - FBI Headquarters

Peter's mouth hung a little looser now that he had seen what was unfolding on TV. Strong words from the head of Nobis himself, and the beginnings of a breakdown in the Republican and Democrat parties to boot. The President was already making his speech about the government shutdown, had some very angry, pointed words about the 'betrayal' by Victor Bentley, but the President himself seemed quite a bit shaken by the whole ordeal. Peter wasn't usually surprised, but this certainly had done the job. A slight grin grew on his face, as Peter found it hard not to be a little impressed by the gusto of everything that was occurring.

A couple coworkers were whispering about what had happened already, others were getting more vocal. 'Office chatter' you might say, with some people already getting their 'about time', 'this is how the end starts', and 'what a complete traitor' remarks out in the air. Thomas remained quiet himself, mostly just observing everyone and playing the 'active listener' rather than the 'active talker'. He wasn't about to lose his job over actual politics becoming office politics.

Peter just smirked, not bothering to say anything to anyone himself. He put his cigarette out in the cold remains of his coffee, and made his way over to their interesting guests. It was time to get some work done.

______________________________________________________

Once Peter was in the interrogation room, he closed and locked the door, and spun a chair around on the side of the table opposite Xander and Bashemath, sitting down and facing them directly. "You know, I find you two incredibly interesting." Peter said with a slight smirk. "Both of you could have done all kinds of damage already. Maybe not kill every one of us, I mean we might even take you down, but I feel like in certain circumstances that wouldn't matter to you. All that, and you've chosen not to be a threat."

The man chuckled as he poured a glass of water for himself from a jug that was sitting on the table. "Feel free to have some if either of you need... Or can I guess." He took a sip, set the cup back down, and stared at them a moment again. "You see, why I find you so interesting is that I actually know you're not going to cause me any trouble. Let me be clear; I don't just feel this, or suspect this, I KNOW you won't, and not because you're afraid." Peter scratched at his chin slightly, giving it a rub as he took a moment to contemplate. "You two are actually choosing not to cause trouble by your own choice. I know that for a fact. So tell me... Why are you choosing to do this?" Now Peter's tone was serious. As serious as his question was.

"Capability and motivation are two different things, detective," Bashemath began to answer, rather quick to the draw, yet maintaining her jovial smile. It had become something natural, to smile in the presence of people, to most this gesture would be received as comforting, if not forced, that is, or to guise malicious intent. She had no reason to lie, nor the capacity for cruelty. "To me, there is no 'acceptable loss.' The risk of exposure outweighed the well being of the overall entirety. I didn't get caught because I made a mistake, I made a choice to become involved, and now I'm here for it, because it represented the least overall damage and better overall outcome. Additionally, your partner was in a compromised state, I couldn't very well compound his condition with a struggle." She spoke rather rather passionately and sincerely, no break in her voice or twitch of the eye.

"I was told not to," Xander spoke rather factually. As always, his voice was virtually emotionless and resonant, contrasting starkly against Bashemath's pleasantries and soft voice. "She chose to attempt rescue, despite risk, risk I made aware to her, and she chose to not struggle against capture, again, my choice would have been incapacitation or retreat. I can question it, but I cannot oppose," he continued, but his tone shifted slightly as he finished. "I am faulty, and thus my logic requires that balance."

"That isn't to say I'm innocent, either, of course, to be fair! But, I will not kill or maim to achieve my goals, I do adore my benefactors... it barely makes sense to harm the things you love!" she continued, impassioned in her speech, her voice raise some, but still quite civil in tone. She then leans back in her chair. "That being said, even I don't know my employer, so it isn't like I'm a security risk anyways. Even if I'm prone to tell the truth, I can't tell one that I don't know. My risk here is... minimal. They are... very clever," she said in a quieter tone, her smile breaking some. "But, I digress, I'm just... very contrary to the idea of causing pain or discomfort."

"A noble heart cannot suspect in others the pettiness and malice that it has never felt, a quote by Jean Racine our... progenitor used while she was in conception."

Peter leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk on his face. "Racine eh? I haven't seen or read much of his works, but what I do know of him is the regard of him being quite the wordsmith. In French at least." The detective took another sip of water. "Duty and Empathy. What an intriguing pair. You know Bash, Xan, I believe what you say." He swirled his cup around, watching the water roll gently around in an imperfect circle. "An employer you don't know... Your 'duties' and 'programming', even your compassion. What I suppose I find most interesting is what the two of you are, and what your employers are."

_____________________________________________________________________________

Outside the interrogation room, the other employees periodically dared to peek through the window to see what was going on.

"Freaky..." One of them said. "Really freaky."

"Yeah, what even are those things? Haven't seen any gene-freaks or magic weirdos that look like that."

"I know... Just ain't right. Stuff like that... Wasn't meant for this world."

Thomas heard everything being said, either passively or intently, but didn't contribute anything himself. He merely continued to clatter away at his keyboard, head down and unnoticed by the world.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The sly, knowing smile didn't fade from Peter's face. "I'm going to continue to accept that you're both being totally honest with me right now. So tell me then; what are the both of you employed to do."

The two grew deathly quiet for a moment after Peter asked his question. Bashemath couldn't lie, this was a fact, and Xander would have to follow along with Bashemath in whatever she said next. The perky smile on the former would fade a bit, knowing this was the matter she was not innocent of. It wasn't quite legal in a number of countries.

"Well, I suppose that is the crux of the matter, isn't it?" she said, stalling her response a bit, trying to decide on just how to answer that question in the best way possible. She glanced over at Xander, in hopes he would chime in, but he was still as a statue, and equally as silent. "Well," she uttered, as she looked back at Peter. "We've been taking in the gifted, through diplomacy if allowed, if not... well, with as little injury as possible, by us or to themselves. I don't know where they go afterwards, but I've been told several times that they are better off. Our targets tend to be those that have very little in life, little to go to, or nothing at all. I would... sincerely hope, that they receive accommodations for their induction into whatever it may be."