"Brad, something bad's gonna happen tonight," Cody's voice wavered—it never wavered—and a gun shone in his palm. Brad felt fear creep up from his fingertips to his palms. No, it wouldn't do to sweat, he needed to be calm.
"Brad, listen," Cody said, and Brad looked into his blue, blue eyes, and his shaggy blonde hair dissolved into red; long red hair flowing down to his shoulders, his face melted off into something tanner, his features warped and his voice got deeper.
"Good morning, Crawford," Schuldig said in his nasally voice, taking a gulp of coffee. Crawford held an empty coffee pot and Schuldig laughed, "We're all out. Didn't you See this?"
"Didn't you See this?" Schuldig repeated, but this time it was a hoarse whisper as they watched Farfarello, knee deep in a room full of mushy gore, biting into the spasming heart of one of his victims.
"Didn't you See this?" Schuldig said, flanked by two of his friends. Brad was staring at a dead end made up of cold, grey Rosenkreuz walls, but he felt no fear as he turned around to fight.
"Didn't you See this?" Schuldig said softly, bending down to wipe sweat off of Nagi's sickly brow. The tiny boy's breathing was heavy and erratic. Crawford handed a cup of water to Schuldig and felt Nagi's forehead. Too hot.
It was dark, and he lay in bed, trying to sleep. Something niggled at him—his Gift? But then he realized he heard something, a mewling sort of sound. He slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway. A glance into Schuldig's room treated him to a view of the teenager lying face down, naked, and sound asleep. He continued his quiet, dreamlike traipse down the hallway, listening carefully as he approached the distressed sound. His Gift was buzzing with answers, but he ignored it to focus on the cracked door ahead of him. One fingertip on Nagi's door and it swung open to reveal the boy's empty bed glowing in the moonlight. Crawford Knew more than actively Saw that he was in the right place: he knelt down and saw Nagi balled up under his bed, shoulders shaking as he cried. Crawford hesitated only briefly before shimmying on his belly under the bed and throwing an arm over Nagi's tiny body. Nagi didn't acknowledge him, but Crawford pulled him close and he quieted. Crawford closed his eyes and let sleep take him at last.
Something rat-tat-tatted close by him. Machine gun? It was relentless. "Schwarz!" someone called out. Crawford turned his head to see, but there was only blankness. Belatedly, he realized his eyes were closed; he'd been sleeping.
Crawford cracked open an eye to see Siberian whacking a large metal spoon against the bars of his prison in the too-bright light. He closed them again briefly and took a deep breath, trying to gather the lingering peace from his dream.
"Good morning, Schwarz," Siberian chirped. He looked cheerful, somehow, and Crawford decided the long catnap he had caught the younger man taking earlier had improved his mood. "Breakfast time!"
Day 2 had begun, then. Crawford sniffed and could detect the scent of cooked eggs and sausage. His stomach audibly growled and his Gift flickered to show him stabbing a fork into a bite of sausage at the breakfast table with Schuldig.
"I thought I'd make something Western since you're our guest," Siberian continued, "You won't be having any, of course," his smile was annoyingly smug, "But I thought I'd wake you up to see us eat it. Gotta have you perky for your interrogation, after all!"
Crawford stared at him blankly before getting up to stretch. The hooded sweatshirt was a little small on him and so when he lifted his arms above his head, a slice of his mid-drift was revealed. A nice set of abs, of course—which reminded him, he ought to keep up with his fitness while he was here, if only to give him some way to pass the time.
Crawford realized Siberian was still staring at him. He slowly lowered his arms. "I'm sorry, were you still talking?"
Siberian seemed just as surprised as he was, "No," he said slowly, "Just that, the others are upstairs finishing up a meeting but then they'll be down here soon for breakfast. And then, then you'll be interrogated," Siberian finished awkwardly.
So Kritiker owned more than just the basement. He probably could have assumed that, but it was nice to know for sure. Crawford wondered where his "interrogation" would take place.
They stared at each other for an extended moment, before Crawford rolled his shoulders to shake off the sleep and turned to his right to begin his morning stroll. The room was small enough that after a few laps he felt like a dog chasing his tail. He found that handcuffs were not only impossible to make comfortable, but also made walking feel awkward. He wanted to swing his arms.
Once he got the feel of his tiny circle, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the smell of breakfast. Immediately his gift reached towards his American youth, but he directed it forward towards the future.
He Saw Siberian at his cell door, keys dangling from his tan hand:
"Time to go, Schwarz."
Pay attention here, Brad. And he Saw that he was directed left, through the kitchen, past food, God, he was hungry, and there was a hallway to the right. This was it. There was the chair, the straps. Manx at a desk, looking hungrily at him, Balinese and Siberian grabbing either arm…
Crawford watched the vision of his interrogation over and over again, tweaking answers and watching the vision change with his responses. It was an iterative process, but after a few runs he thought he had it down pretty well. He let his eyes focus on the present again and stopped his run.
Weiss really was having breakfast. Crawford began his push-up routine, watching their blurry (his vision was terrible without his glasses) figures out of the corner of his eye and listening to their conversation.
"And she had this tight, tight dress," Balinese said, apparently in the middle of a story, "Damn, was that a pain to get off that night, but so hot."
Somewhat surprisingly, in Crawford's opinion, Balinese was not only straight, but some sort of womanizer. His story made the rest of the team obviously uncomfortable, which made Crawford smile. When they stopped the blond man from continuing to any explicit sexual content, Balinese turned to harassing his teammates individually. Crawford half-paid attention as he bothered Bombay (who mumbled something polite under a thick pink blush) and Abyssinian (who gave him the cold shoulder). Balinese hardly got started with Manx before she excused herself to get ready, presumably for his interrogation.
"What about you," Balinese said, giving Siberian a light kick to the shin, "I saw you talking to that redhead chick the other day… Think you're gonna take her out? Have a little fun for once?"
Crawford saw Siberian jerk out of the corner of his eye and he looked up instinctively. Their eyes met for just a second.
Crawford missed Siberian's response. Something felt weird in that moment. It was a blurry, messy second, and Crawford couldn't help but feel frustrated with himself. If he didn't have such bad vision, he could have read the subtext in that look. There was something there.
"Well, I'm done!" Siberian proclaimed loudly, standing up, "Who's ready to make Schwarz itchy? First to get him screaming gets ice cream on me."
"Ken-kun!" Bombay said, evidently shocked at his teammates behavior.
Ken-kun. The word brought with it the memory of Schuldig's description of Weiss, but Crawford pushed it out of the forefront of his mind. That was for later. Right now, Siberian was approaching him, looking a little sheepish as he addressed his younger teammate, "I was just kidding, geez."
Crawford stood to greet him at his cell door. "Hello, Ken."
Ken paused for just a second with the keys. Then he busied himself as if he hadn't heard, but Crawford knew he had. He smiled to think it had bothered the younger man so much.
Crawford realized maybe he shouldn't have instigated those emotions in his soon-to-be interrogator when Ken grabbed him roughly to pull him out. "Time to go, Schwarz."
Bombay and Abyssinian were tidying up the breakfast table as they passed, which meant Balinese and Manx were waiting for him in the interrogation room, just as he had Seen. So far, so good. Ken was bodily shoving him, but Crawford tried to remain as graceful as possible, mostly to annoy Ken, whom he knew was dying to see him ruffled.
The interrogation room was barely bigger than his cell. Manx sat at a table with a computer and a pile of wires in front of her and Balinese at her back. Another, more freakishly equipped chair, sat in the middle of the room. Crawford knew that was his seat. A solitary light fixture dangled from the ceiling with one bulb. Since it was Japan, it hung absurdly low, and Crawford had to duck to avoid hitting his head. He held back a smile when Ken unwittingly walked into the pull-chain.
Balinese strode forward to grab him, and he and Ken gruffly sat Crawford in his chair and strapped down his arms and legs. This meant taking off his handcuffs, but Crawford Saw no good would come out of trying any funny business.
"Good morning, Schwarz," Manx said. She pulled out a pocket recorder and set it on the desk.
"Good morning, Ms. Manx." Ken and Balinese were strapping wires around his chest and arms and even clipped something to his fingertip. Crawford deduced that the machine on the desk was a lie detector.
"We can do this nice, or we can do this not-so-nice," Manx twisted her pen between her thumbs and forefingers, watching him intently, "It's up to you. I promise that you will not like the not-so-nice way, so I suggest you opt for the nice way."
It took a valiant effort on his part, but Crawford did not roll his eyes. Instead, he smiled, all charm: "Of course, Ms. Manx."
Manx seemed offended by his smile. Her eyes narrowed, and she cleared her throat, "Here's the deal, Schwarz. You tell us what you know, and you get to live. If you help us apprehend your teammates, you might even get to see the sky again. If you don't cooperate, well... Siberian and Balinese will happily assist you as they can. We don't want to kill you, Crawford. If we do, it will be a very, very slow way to die."
Crawford kept his face impassive, but Siberian rustled beside him. "Don't want to kill him? Ha. Speak for yourself, Manx." That seemed to cheer Manx up, and she glanced back at her notes, ready to get started.
"Alright; first we need to ask some baseline questions in order to get this old thing calibrated." Manx tapped the machine with a manicured nail, watching him intently. "Are you a member, if not leader, of the notorious criminal group known as Schwarz?"
"Yes."
"Are you currently wearing a grey sweatshirt?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever shot a gun?"
"Yes." Crawford decided he liked the polygraph. Sure, it was doubtlessly less effective than a telepath scouring his mind, but that suited his purposes just fine. Indeed, it was a hell of a lot less painful.
Manx pursed her lips in thought. "Right. Let's move on, shall we? What is your given name?" It was time for the real questions, then. Crawford smirked.
"Bradley Derrick Crawford. I prefer to be addressed simply as 'Crawford.'"
"And are we correct to believe you have talent of a supernatural sort, Crawford?"
"Yes."
"Which is?"
"I can See the future."
There was a tense pause as Weiss digested his pronouncement and the steady trail from the polygraph. They had suspected as much, but could it really be true? Really?
Manx kept her frown but moved on to the next question: "And your teammates? Are we to believe they have supernatural powers as well?"
"Yes."
"Details, Crawford," Manx chided him, and Siberian rewarded Crawford with an encouraging slap. Crawford was prepared for it, of course, but it still irked him.
"The redhead, Mastermind, reads minds. Prodigy, the child, can move things with his mind. And Berserker, the psycho," Crawford knew he didn't need to elaborate more than that, "Can't feel pain."
Again, Weiss wasn't surprised, Crawford knew, but they didn't look happy with the news.
Manx nodded and continued: "Tell us where your teammates are and what they're planning to do next."
"I don't know," Crawford said honestly. He felt Siberian tense beside him.
Manx smiled, something cold, but unmistakably genuine. Siberian wasn't the only one looking forward to his pain. "I'll give you one chance to revise your answer as a courtesy to you as our guest. Then I'm afraid we'll be forced to help you remember."
"Schwarz moves a lot," Crawford explained, "Usually once for every major job, but sometimes more often. We won't stay anywhere longer than six months. It's time to move again; I packed before I left, in fact. Schwarz has either moved, or is about to within the next two days. I don't know where we're going next, but I told Schuldig somewhere more Central would be ideal."
Manx had been taking notes as he talked, but she finished and looked up. Her eyes were searching, trying to judge him for truth.
"You say you can see the future, and yet, you do not know where your teammates will be? And you expect us to believe your team is going to make this move without looking for you? Just like that?"
Crawford sighed as politely as he could. "It's… complicated. My Gift does not answer prompts, nor does it present to me linearly. I would recognize the new safe house, but I would recognize the next twenty. I can't necessarily divine which will be the next one. I'd need more information." Or time and a fragrant cup of tea, but they didn't need to know that. "As for my team… I might have anticipated a delay in my return and informed my them as such. They won't think of me for at least a week." Stupid in hindsight; he should have arranged for a check-in as a precaution.
"Right," Manx said, "We'll need the address of Schwarz's last known location, of course, in case our friends haven't moved on yet."
Crawford rattled it off obediently.
"And you mentioned, uh," Manx glanced down out her notes, "You're in between major jobs, which implies, of course, minor jobs: I'd like to know about all the other projects your team might be taking on right now."
Crawford felt no guilt about sharing this confidential information. He was detailed and thorough. Weiss should be able to find Schwarz with the knowledge, but that wouldn't mean Weiss would be competent enough to make Schwarz uncomfortable. Annoyed, maybe, but Weiss was laughably weak in comparison to Schwarz and posed no real threat.
Briefly Crawford noted the irony of his thoughts considering his present situation, but he brushed it off. His capture was just a little kink in a larger plan; he should be out in a few days anyway.
"Alright," Manx said, giving her newly fact-filled notebook an appreciating look, "You've been a very good boy today, Crawford. It's past noon and you've certainly given me enough to keep my men busy. I think we can end our little chat here and pick it up in a few days." She snapped her notebook shut with a satisfied smile. "What do you say, boys?"
Balinese nodded, but—
"We should break his hand." Ken, of course. Manx stared at him slack-jawed, clearly taken aback.
"I thought you said you could handle this," Balinese hissed, shooting Ken a furtive glare.
"I can!" Siberian protested, "Seriously, I can't believe you two are falling for this bullshit. So Schwarz just tells us a pretty story and we're all happy now? Yeah, right. We should break his hand, let him know we're serious, and if he escapes, he's maimed and can't hurt anyone again. You really think he doesn't have some plan for escape? Look at his fucking cocky face."
Crawford smiled as un-cockily as he could (which was a challenge because the look wasn't in his repertoire), which enraged Ken further.
Siberian lunged for his hand, holding it up as best he could against the restraints. Balinese and Manx stared in fascination. "I'm going to do it," Siberian declared.
"Wait, stop; I need that hand," Crawford said, no real concern in his voice.
"Shut up, Schwarz," Siberian spat, clenching his fist to unsheathe his bugnuks.
"Seriously," Crawford said, "I need that hand. You can take my left, though."
"You're going to spend the rest of your life here, you don't need either hand in captivity," Siberian said.
"I beg to differ."
"Yeah, right; like what?"
"Well, leave a man alone in a cell all day, there's not much to do except…"
"Except what?" Siberian snarled.
Crawford made eye contact with Ken and smiled coyly. He winked. Ken released his hand as if he had been zapped with an electric pulse. The boy had finally connected the dots.
"Except what?" Manx asked, obliviously.
"Masturbation, of course, Ms. Manx," Crawford said cheerfully, trying on his un-cocky grin again.
Manx's eyes widened, though she quickly suppressed her surprise. "We're done here," she snapped, grabbing her notebook and heading briskly for the door. "We'll be in contact," she said by way of goodbye.
Siberian and Balinese stayed to detangle him from the polygraph wires and get him reacquainted with his handcuffs. Crawford noticed Siberian's ginger treatment of his hands and smiled.
"Arigato, Ken-kun," he purred, "I am sure I will think of you in thanks the next time I—"
The elbow to his nose was expected, but that didn't make it hurt less. Crawford felt blood streaming to his chin.
He laughed all the way back to his cell, thoroughly amused.
Maybe Weiss could be fun, after all.