It was easy for people to lose track of Duos. His very training and nature lending themselves to his elusive, not-really-there persona... So well crafted was this tallent that even he himself had forgotten he was still in Fanya's office, leaned against the wall... That one blasted word playing over and over in his mind... Or was to two words? His entire being was bent into focus on this one topic, his body almost subliminally fading from teh notice of others, entering such a trance like state it actually could inflict others to lose attention on them, save perhaps the Wastes weary Sue and attention to detail Fanya...<br/><br/>Whatever Pro-gramming meant, it caused a discomfort in the back of his head, a nagging, agervating sensation. Coiled with it was anger, the sort of anger that was left in the place of something stolen, something taken... Never to be had back... When did he learn all these skills? Every gun he had seen, he knew how to use, and bare basic upkeep for. The art of the sniper was his bread and butter, the guile of stealth, the dance of the unseen the only way of moving he understood... His memories, were they the price he paid for these 'gifts'? A price paid by him, at the behest of another? That must have been it, they took him, they changed him into this: A living weapon, devoid of memories...<br/><br/>Tomorrow, more would be learned, even if he had to brung that shop down with his own two hands... He needed to know, needed it more then breath in his lungs. And there, leaning against the wall of Fanya's office, it was not likely anyone could see the rage which roiled over his covered skin, that brimmed behind masked eyes...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>