He had always been one for patterns. Tropes. Stereotypes, if one wished to call it as such. A single overhead light, suspended from a chord, over a stainless-steel table. Two metal chairs, opposing one another. A door on both ends of the room. A dark and moist atmosphere. Just the way the movies liked it. Two men, two doors, two seats. The sergeant gestured to the seat across from him.

"Take a seat, good sir." Spoke the sergeant, words wisping away into the dark recesses of the room. The man before him took a seat, still fully dressed in his armor. Breathing evenly, but still on edge. How exciting. The sergeant took his own seat and hung his patrol cap on the corner of the table, leaving the guest to stiffen at the sight of his glorious, bald dome. "It's alright to ask. I can tell you mean no harm."

"What happened to your skull," breathed the scrap knight before him.

"Many things, many thoughts." Mused the sergeant, tracing his fingers over the thick, malformed scar that extended from his forehead to the nape of his neck. A filling for the bone and flesh that had been ripped away. "A bit of rebar. Just another chapter in what made me, me. You may call me Mr. Skink. What may I call you?"

The armored man ignored the hand Mr. Skink held out for him. "Mr. Bird. What's with the name? I thought all of you drones had numbers."

"We do. I just think mine is too impersonal. At least for conversation. We're not simply businessmen or soldiers, you know?" Mr. Skink put on the most convincing smile he could muster. "Speaking of conversation, don't you know it's a bit rude to not take off your headwear when talking face to face?"

"I don't need you remembering what I look like."

"Trust me, there are no cameras here. I've already told you the only lie I'll be telling you all day. Have some faith in me."

"You left me in a prison cell overnight." Aggressive. But calm. Intriguing.

"Oh, that room? Please, that's not a prison cell." Mr. Skink stood up. "Would you like something to drink? I had only just realized that we had not given anything for you to drink in there."

"What do you have." Go on. Leave your armor.

"Water. Tea. I've been saving some extraordinary tea for a scenario much like this. Please give me a moment. I cannot believe how careless I am." Mr. Skink quickly made his way to the door behind him and grabbed the pre-made tea from the hallway. Placing the small cups in front of each of them, he poured the tea from the kettle and held it up. "Cheers."

Mr. Bird clinked his glass with Mr. Skink's, and made no movement to drink it. Of course, he would not. His helmet was not removed yet. How very cautious of him. Mr. Skink took a sip of his own. It warmed his very being.

"Your tea is going to get cold if you keep staring at it with such an icy glare, don't you know, Mr. Bird? I would do no such thing as sully the tradition of teatime, even if I am so dreadfully out of practice with such a thing."

Mr. Bird undid his mask, and set it on the table, before dropping his mesh hood back. A stern face. What once most likely held baby fat, had been weaned of its tenderness and molded into the bones of a warrior. Mistrali eyes, closed but ever observant, it seemed. A shortly cut, chestnut head of hair. Mr. Bird blew on his tea calmly. Slowly. As if he himself was going through the motions of what he remembered, rather than what he had once done. He took a sip. His clenched eyes finally closed fully as he enjoyed his drink. "Thank you for the tea. It is quite nice."

"Think nothing of it. Basic hospitality," grinned Mr. Skink. "Now I understand that you wanted to hide your face, but I didn't think you were so polite that you felt that you had to hide your silky hair in order to save me the shame." Mr. Bird took another sip of his tea. "Nevertheless, that is not what we are here for is it? If I really wanted to have myself reassured on my appearance, I could always ask one of the privates."

"What are we here for? Why did you bring me here if you aren't going to kill me or lock me up."

"You see, I would like an outside perspective on a project I am pioneering. I know that you already must look down upon me with distain, as I am merely a puppet for some murderous queen in her attempts at spite. But I would still appreciate a point of view from someone outside the chain of command."

"Alright. What's the terms and conditions? You going to lock me up after this talk is done to prevent word from getting out, or what?" Calmly asked Mr. Bird. The tea must be very soothing. It was doing the trick for Mr. Skink at least.

"The terms and conditions are quite simple! We only tell one another the truth, and nothing but the truth, names notwithstanding. Client confidentiality is still important."

"Fair enough. What else?"

"I trust that I will only tell the truth. However, if you do not, I will ensure that you leave one of your belongings here for every lie that you tell me. Do not worry, I do not plan on keeping your belongings here till the end of time. You will be able to earn them back by doing favors for me."

"And what's stopping me from just leaving?" grunted Mr. Bird.

"The simple fact that there are approximately 2 guards for every prisoner here in this vault of sorts. While I have diagnosed that you are an armored, aura rich warrior, one can only handle 120 rounds per minute for so long." Mr. Bird grunted in understanding. "Fantastic. We will be open with one another and tell each other what the other knows. However, nothing we know about the other will leave this room."

"And how do you ensure that I don't sell your state secrets?"

"Because we have trust." Calmly stated Mr. Skink as he took another refreshing sip of tea. "Something you currently lack with the few in your life. If you lack it with the few, how can you expect the many to believe you?"

Mr. Bird's jaw clenched. Excellent. Right on the head. "So, what do I gain from this? How can I be open if there is no mutual benefit?"

"If all goes well, you leave. No conditions, no terms, nothing. In fact, I'll give you some tea in a thermos. I want you to be as open as possible to make our time together an enjoyable episode in both of our lives."

Another sip. He will need a refill soon. "Fine. Terms are agreeable. You mind if I ask my question first?"

"Go ahead. In fact, and on off system would work excellently here!"

"So, how do you have the authority to make these calls? Isn't there an officer here who reports directly up the chain to one of Salem's agents?" Asked Mr. Bird with skepticism. Healthy skepticism.

"Oh, the Major." Mr. Skink smiled a knowing smile as he refilled both of their glasses with tea. "I trimmed his fingertips. He's not able to open his room. As the next in charge, I've been running the base in his stead. I told the others that he is simply under the weather at this time."

"And why?"

"Because I did not approve of the way he managed the guests and their baggage. So instead of being transferred, I assumed control, and decided that now was as good of a time to do some experimentation while I have the freedom to do so."

"And the experiment is what you wish to talk to me about."

"Precisely! I knew you were a smart young lad!" Mr. Skink sighed, smile not leaving his face for a breath. "Say, young man, do you have a semblance?"

"I do."

"Quite the peculiar things, don't you think? I don't have personal experience with one, so I wouldn't know. I only know from a third-party view," smiled Mr. Skink solemnly.

"I am not an expert on them either," sighed Mr. Bird. "I got a rather garbage one."

"Now, don't say that. It has to have its uses!" Mr. Skink took a sip of his tea through his teeth. "So. What is it?"

"Grimm Vision. It's what I've dubbed it. Allows me to sense the world in a way that a grimm does."

"How clever! While, admittedly not useful for the plans I have, its no loss on my end, as I never planned on keeping you here."

"That, and what use does an organization that controls the grimm have for someone who happens to be able to see like them?"

"Exactly!" Mr. Skink could only barely hold in his laugh. "You are quite the fellow, Mr. Bird."

"Appreciate the sentiments, as wrong as they may be."

"Do not worry about such things! You are who you are. No need to hold yourself to some paladin's sense of justice. We are all capable of being the next revolutionary."

"Really? How so?" Smirked Mr. Bird.

"History has a habit of cycling, because people either forget the past and let it repeat, or focus so much on their own mistakes, they do not see the symptoms of the past in their neighbors. Not that you can always do anything about it." Quick sip of tea, followed by dramatic pause, like in the picture shows. "And so, history repeats. Again, and again. My working hypothesis is that this is not the first time that Salem has won."

Mr. Bird looked intrigued. Invested. How delightful. "Really? How come?"

"How many of us do you know actually chisel our pasts into stone anymore? How many cities are wiped clean with no trace left behind? How many years of our history is unaccounted for?"

"Not many, actually."

"But before that? Before the books? Before text?"

"Okay, maybe not all of it." Admitted Mr. Bird. "But we have fossils."

"And so many are beyond our grasp due to grimm. But like the cycling of seasons, winter becomes spring again. The Sun re-emerges from its dark rest. Everything continues as it once did. The spat continues, and no one is left satisfied."

"So, we're just collateral in the world's messiest break-up."

"One could boil down our recent history to those terms, yes."

"Man, we are just in the arse end of history right now, aren't we?"

"Most likely," grinned Mr. Skink. Mr. Bird was quite the talker. "But back to topic. You used your semblance to feel the negativity? How does that work? I am not a connoisseur of grimm."

"At close ranges, it's like being able to see through walls. Longer ranges reduces it to a Geiger counter."

"And it measures concentrated madness, despair, etcetera?"

"Yep. Filled up my whole vision when I got here."

"I'll work on that. Trust me."

"Aren't you running a prison? Why would you want them to not be miserable?" Snarked Mr. Bird.

"I have my reasons that I will get to. Besides, it is not a prison, but a vault." Mr. Skink refilled both of their glasses again. "Any other notable signs that exposed our vault?"

"Yeah, actually. Lack of roaming grimm."

"That is something I will have to address on my own. Not much I can do about that at this time."

"Makes sense. So why are you asking about semblances?"

"I find them interesting," smiled Mr. Skink. "You ever notice how some are eerily similar, and some are even genetic?"

"I have."

Mr. Skink leaned closer to Mr. Bird, close enough to see the texture on his teeth. "What if we could replicate them?" Mr. Skink snapped back into his seat. "I'm using the royal we, of course."

Mr. Bird looked at Mr. Skink suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"What if one could turn an individual's semblance into their family's semblance. A semblance is the expression one's soul, is it not?"

"Supposedly."

"And if one's soul identifies as part of their family; their soul has their family's semblance. Like the Schnee's."

"Like the Schnee's." Mr. Bird took a long sip of his tea. "So, you're proposing to make favorable semblances into hereditary ones, so they can be mass produced?"

"Precisely! Oh, you are such good fun! A powerful semblance under our control is oh so difficult."

"So, you didn't come for an outside prospective? You came to express your, quote unquote, genius idea to an unbiased audience and check for their reaction."

"And you've figured me out. Fantastic deduction skill Mr. Bird. Round of applause." Mr. Skink clapped his black leather gloves together.

"Frankly, not a big fan of it, as it implies eugenics."

"Oh, that is simply because it was bastardized in the great wars. A term used against its own good." Another knowing smile. "Not that it isn't eugenics. It is just impartial to any race, and specifically towards semblances which would be widely useful."

"And let me guess, you just have guys here and need to find a way to get it kick started, cause even the big bad Salem won't promote eugenics?" Oh, how smug of him.

"I believe she is against the incessant breeding of humans overall. Possibly jealousy. Being an immortal does limit your ability to produce offspring, I hear. Much to the contrast of the respawning wizard."

"What now?"

"The husband's semblance is to be a literal parasite and attaches itself to young boys like a priest. It then takes over their lives and pretends it is them, and that their old memories are not moot. Quite disturbing, really. But I did discover one thing from my studies."

"And that is?"

"He cannot attach to those who have already unlocked their aura. If your soul is already free, he cannot latch on and hijack what kind of soul you would have. Or at least, this is my clearance allows me to understand."

"This is far more clearance than I think a sergeant should have."

"Because I'm using the Major's clearance for research." Mr. Skink peeled off his black leather glove, revealing a human skin glove underneath. Mr. Bird's face was horrified. "While I could have simply cut them off, it is so much harder to hide a human hand in your trousers." And the glove went back on. "And unlike what you said earlier, I already have started. One of the subjects have a daughter already, and if I can raise her to idolize her father, identify his semblance with being part of his family, unlock said semblance, then I have enough evidence to apply for additional funding."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then I'll let her do as she wishes. I'm not going to keep her for the rest of her life or kill her. She did not do anything to warrant such a treatment."

Mr. Bird was visibly bothered by this. By his next questions. He could see him mulling them over on his tongue. "And is this prison all male?"

"It is. You're wondering about how I will continue tests, aren't you? What a dirty mind." Mr. Skink smiled. "That's manning's problem. Once I get approval, I only have to get some results, positive or negative."

"So that is how it is." Mr. Bird sighed. "I should have expected something like this."

"You really should have," smiled Mr. Skink. "It really should have been done earlier, if we're being honest." Another sip of tea through grinning teeth, eyes burrowing into Mr. Bird. "So, my turn. Who were you talking to on your scroll?"

"A friend."

"The scroll networks are down, Mr. Bird. Now what was going on?"

"I was listening to an automated message. A recording, of sorts." Calm. Deliberate. Ultimately pointless, no matter how he wished to twist it.

"Now that is a rather rude thing to say to… Penny, was it?" Mr. Skink could feel the corners of his smile tickling his ears. "May I talk with her?"

"I don't have her with me at this time."

"Time is no matter. May I talk with her?"

"It's not part of the agreement." Snapped Mr. Bird.

"And neither was you lying. I will brief you tomorrow on the favor I would like completed. During the time it takes you to complete the favor, I will be having a similar talk with your friend Penny." Mr. Bird drew his sword. Mr. Skink smiled all the larger. "Now, do you really think you will be able to break my aura, and kill me before I can make it into the hall? It is right behind me, after all."

Mr. Bird sheathed the sword. "I'll be back where I was. If you could get me some food, that would be kind of you."

What a good day. "Of course. Thank you for your company, and rest tight, Dove."