<strong>Olivia's Cell</strong><br/><br/>Enzo watched with clinical interest as the waves of emotion passed over Olivia's face. Shock and disbelief, giving way quickly to fear and delicious shame. But then in an instant it passed, and he was confronted with the same steely-eyed determination that he had first seen in her. Even robbed of a body that would do her bidding, she presented an aura of defiance. He was secretly pleased. There was mettle here, and if he proceeded with care then that presaged a far more valuable servant in the future. Assuming that he did not break her entirely.<br/><br/>He pulled his own chair closer to hers, to the point where when he sat their knees were almost touching. Her threat was defused by now. Even if she could summon the will to throw herself at him again, it would be only a symbolic gesture. He reached over and patronizingly patted her just above the knee.<br/><br/>"It's my distinct pleasure to meet you, Agent 53. And I'm happy that we're able to move past your charade and onto more substantive ground. Now you must realize that your mission is a failure; you're not going to kill anyone here, unless I allow you to do so. Least of all me. So you may as well start imagining if you have any goals of your own. Anything aside from the mission that your handlers have given you. Oh, I know. You're a ruthless killing machine, forged for a single purpose, and your life has no meaning outside of your deadly mission." His voice was derisive. "You're hardly the first, you know. But it's never entirely true. Somewhere inside of you is an actual person, and we're going to work together to find them. Or, if they prove elusive, to craft a new one."<br/><br/>He leaned back in his chair. "I will grant your handlers this, though. They have a sense of humor. Does the number 53 suggest anything to you? Anything at all? I'll give you a hint." Her clothing began changing again. The tight latex outfit still clung to her every curve, but the colors shifted and changed. A pattern of black and white checkerboard spread across the surface, expanding to cover her feet in tight pointed-toe boots and her hands in thin white gloves. A collar adorned with silver bells appeared around her neck. Her head now sported an outlandishly garish hat with two tails, bells jangling at the end of each. Though she could not see the results, her exposed skin became colored to match the outfit in contrasting hues, including bright red lipstick and a mark around her eyes in the shape of a black domino mask. It was a decent approximation of a Commedia dell'arte Harlequin, Enzo supposed. Though Richard had told him at one time that the image had been misappropriated by some children's comic book. Ah, the ignorance of youth.<br/><br/>He granted her enough power of movement to survey herself, though leaving her weak enough that an attack would still be ill-advised. Enzo gestured vaguely toward the full-length mirror on a nearby wall. "You see, my dear? The fifty-third card in the deck. The joker. This is what your handlers think of you. A walking, living, joke. To send you here, against all of us, armed without even the extensive intelligence that they have managed to gather thus far? They wanted you to fail, dear, as you have. Which raises the question, 'Why?'. Why would they do this to you? Have you failed them? Perhaps one of your superiors sought to take advantage of you, and you rebuffed him, valuing your virginity over your job prospects? Come, there must be a story here. You needn't tell me, but you ought to at least determine the truth for yourself."<br/>