“You<span style="font-style: italic">don’t recall</span>,” he echoed, his voice hollow and monotonous. She gained nothing from lying to him, but there was no point in telling her that. She wouldn’t listen; they never listened. With a deep breath, the young man placed his hands on his knees and pushed himself to his feet. The limp body of the lab worker rolled slightly at the sudden redistribution of weight. A soft tap with each footfall, he moved around the chair that Bluebell Taylor sat in. His left hand whispered against her left shoulder, and as he moved around the chair, his right hand found a similar position on her other shoulder.<br/><br/>“I could kill you, you know,” he informed her, though his voice held no malice. And true to his tonation, he had no interest in exerting the energy that it would take to kill her, even as minimal-effort as it was. “If you’re not going to be of any help to me, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. Make no mistake, Ms. Taylor. What happens to you at this point doesn’t matter to me and I don’t<span style="font-style: italic">care</span>. You’re alive as a courtesy, and I ask that you remember that.”<br/><br/>His fingers tapped out an ancient rhythm against her shoulders; one that made him nostalgic of something he couldn’t quite remember. His eyes slipped shut, and he breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth before opening them again and staring straight ahead - past the lab attendants, past the wall of the lab, into absolutely nothing. “Perhaps I should rephrase. What is your<span style="font-style: italic">relationship</span>to Alexander Ascolani?”