“Demanding, aren’t you?” The woman on the phone snapped her jaw shut as<span style="font-style: italic">he</span>entered, and she closed her phone just as he did the same.<br/><br/>The voice, though incredibly soft and refined by comparison, seemed to cut right through the dull roar of scattered conversations throughout the lab. When<span style="font-style: italic">he</span>spoke, it was a silent demand that other people listen. They seemed to do so well enough. In spite of the hard soles on his shoes, the young man seemed to glide soundlessly to the side of the woman that had been on the phone, busying a syringe of sedative between her fingers. He leaned over toward her to murmur into her ear, holding his hand between them. She nodded and placed the syringe in his hand.<br/><br/>“Good morning, Ms. Taylor. Or would you prefer Bluebell? I suppose it doesn’t really matter what you prefer though, does it?” he mused, more to himself than the woman he was addressing, a plaintive smile resting on his lips as he moved to her. He held the syringe parallax to his eyes, needle up, flicking it with his free hand until the air bubbles rose to the top of the barrell. He pressed on the flange until he pushed the air from the syringe entirely. It was a beautiful purple liquid, especially with the way the light caught it and refracted. It was almost a shame that it had to be used in such a way.<br/><br/>In one fluid motion, a white coat walked past him - just between Bluebell Taylor and himself. It almost happened in slow motion for him, from the moment that his pale blue eyes locked onto the unsuspecting lab worker’s throat to the time the needle of the syringe pierced it, the fine purple liquid disappearing into the man’s system. The white coat’s dead weight fell against him, but that was of no concern to the young man. He merely pushed the unconscious body from his person, leaving the syringe lodged in its place. He stepped over the crumpled mass of person on the floor, one foot, then the other, until he came to a halt where he stood and sat down on the other man’s body. His eyes rested on Bluebell Taylor, elbow propped on his knee to support his chin in the palm of his hand. He seemed almost<span style="font-style: italic">bored.</span><br/><br/>“You’re in better hands than you were,” he answered simply. That answer would just have to suffice. “How did you wind up in the building that you were in, Bluebell?”