Guess Who (Res)

[seventhsigil]

In the headquarters of Stenet Labs, a building far less impressive than the authoritative name would suggest, there lurked a Question... and an answer.

The latter was, no doubt, still hard at work doing whatever she wished. The former was quite brazenly poking around her business, on the opposite end of the building in a slightly larger office used for whatever temps she had managed to recruit. Several binders had been opened, scanned, and carefully replaced throughout the building, his passage invisible except for the one crucial detail he had deliberately left amiss.

"Interesting," he murmured, eyes narrowed beneath the mask as he flipped through a solid binder, though he sounded more sarcastic than anything else. In the age of computers, paperwork was admittedly on a sharp decline, but he had learned that any competent bureaucracy didn't quite release the old ways, but generally the deep, dark secrets of a corporation weren't going to be found beneath red-wrapped cardboard booklets. He made another mental note to find a competent hacker when the opportunity arose, then turned his attention back to the final pages of the company's financial records, pulling out a page here and there and tucking them in his inner jacket pocket. Once finished, he returned the binder where he'd gotten it, mind chewing through what little useful information he had gained.

Of course, her finances and business model was largely secondary to him; it was this company's founder that interested him.

She was working late, it seemed. Her car was in the driveway. New. Or maybe a rental. The interior was new, still bright and crisp and without the gradual wear that any personal vehicle accumulated after even a short time. The hired help at the wheel, who had clearly been waiting for an incredibly long time for the source of the paycheque to arrive, had been reading a small paperback under the weak light of the car's built-in overhead bulb. So distracted with the novel, and no doubt wrapped up in the irritation of sitting in the middle of nowhere while everyone else was either sleeping or drinking, the assistant didn't even notice when the shadowed, trenchcoat clad figure had walked right up to the rear windows, peering inside. The windows were tinted, of course, but one would be surprised how ineffective tinting was in the dead of night, particularly when there was an interior light source.

Although Sage considered neutralizing the assistant, he had eventually decided that it was best to maintain the element of surprise. He'd instead decided on a far subtler tactic to ensure his quarry didn't leave the building too soon.

The smallest sound over his shoulder alerted him to the fact that his privacy was about to be interrupted. Expected, of course; when he had slipped into the headquarters of her new company, the rest of the building had been dark except from the main entrance, what small staff worked here had long since gone home. Sage could have simply kept all the lights off and used a small flashlight, ensured that he wouldn't be unduly interrupted, but... again... he was far more interested in the woman running this organization than whatever skeletons her people had accumulated after so short a run time. As he had drawn away from her small private office, he had instead begun to flick on first one light at the end of the short hallway, then another around the corner; wherever he went, he turned on a single light, until he left a virtual trail of them in his wake. While the majority of the small building was still dark, he had left enough lights running to ensure a trail towards the slightly larger, more public offices.

Unless, of course, she just decided to keep them all running. But she seemed the conservative type. Bad for the power bill.

Now, the final breadcrumb; a small desktop lamp he had been using to read, flicked on and shining just enough light to show through the windows of the office doors when everything else was extinguished. It wouldn't be long now before she came within sight of those doors, and if he wasn't away from that light, he'd be easy enough to spot. Starting to draw away, Victor paused suddenly, a thought crossing his mind; without hesitating, his wrist flicked, a seemingly blank calling card appearing in his gloved hand as if by magic. Hunching over just a little, he placed the card, carefully, so that it balanced against the lamp's small switch, within easy reach and impossible not to notice.

Only then did he cross to the far end of the room. The lamplight, if anything, only made the shadows in the far corner all the deeper, and he had very little trouble finding a niche that fit him snugly. His hiding spot secured, Sage fell completely still, waiting patiently for his newest target to arrive on the scene.

((I mentioned what the card did in the PM, methinks. ^^ ))

[Nina Stenet]

If Nina had known how much work it would be to start up her new lab, she might have changed her mind and gone back to WayneTech after returning to the land of the living. But she had, very quickly, managed to get nearly everything in place in a very short amount of time. Very soon she'd be at the part where she thanked herself for becoming independent, she's sure.

Having thought that she was nearly done for the night, she'd sent her assistant out to the car, but one distraction led to another and it ended up taking a lot longer than she'd expected. But eventually, she managed to get herself to a point where she could stop and pick it up again in the morning, and started preparing to go home. Naturally, a part of this is turning off the lights that had been left on, and as she walks though the building turning off first one then another, she doesn't notice that they seem to be leading her anywhere. That is, until she reaches the last desk lamp and sees the card on the switch.

Curious, she picks it up, wondering if there might be something on the other side, but instead the card reacts to her touch by producing a question mark. "Edward?" she asks herself out loud, instantly associating the symbol with him - he does have an obsessive need to put question marks on everything. But at the same time, that doesn't quite seem right because it isn't green, and why would Edward leave her a card with a question mark and nothing else on it anyway?

She looks up from it, a confused look on her face as she tries to figure out if she's missing something here.

[seventhsigil]

"Not a riddle," the Question replied, stepping from his hiding spot to a place about ten feet from the young woman, hand lifting to tip the brim of his hat in greeting. "But close enough. I suppose I'm going to have to accept that my name won't be the first gasped utterence of this city's inhabitants. Ah well. Can't imagine the Batman has an easier time of it, given his many disciples running around."

His voice was casual, as was his posture, a surprisingly relaxed slouched that seemed to suggest this was little more than a social call. Behind the uncaring facade, however, Sage was in truth overjoyed that his little gamble had paid off so beautifully. The question mark, truly a symbol with two meanings in this city, and Victor's version was hardly the first that would come to mind. That confusion had worked in his favor, revealing the woman's feelings towards Nigma without so much as a single . For just that moment, he had caught her with her defences down, and now that he had worked his way between the plates of her armor, he intended to dig, and dig, and dig, until he hit bone.

"Well," he said dryly, hands in the pockets of his coat as he began to slowly approach. From that distance, and in that lighting, it might have been possible to recognize that this particular detective was a bit more unusual in appearance than most. "I have to say, this is a first for me. Generally, when one speaks the name of their likely killer, it is with a great deal more concern than you seem to be exhibiting. And on a first name basis, no less." He paused, a gloved hand dropping to casually brush a desktop as he advanced a few steps closer, head tilting down to regard his own outstretched fingers. "Then again... generally, when one has a likely killer in the first place, it means they're dead and very unlikely to be speaking at all. Kudos to you for having made such a remarkable recovery, especially given the amount of blood you seemed to leave behind during that most unfortunate demise. I'm certain it must have been a trying ordeal."

He knew that this trail had already been sniffed, by Gotham's Dark Knight no less, but part of what had driven him here was his own personal curiosity. The woman was a conundrum, a puzzle that begged to be solved, and even if it turned out her motives had been innocent enough, and that her aims would bring no harm to the populace, the why was still something he was sorely tempted to discover. Besides, though he had tremendous respect for the Batman, and (relatively) little trouble admitting that the man outclassed him when it came to investigation, (for starters) even the Dark Knight was fallible. If there was even the slightest chance something had been missed, some hidden door or unpursued path, Victor intended to find it. Even if he had to track down the riddle-popping Prince of Pomp himself.

Well. Prince of Pomp would probably suit the Joker a little better.

"Now, then, Miss Stenet," he continued, stepping further into the weak lamplight, head lifting to reveal his faceless countenance; "I think you have a story or two to tell. I'm all ears. See?" His head tilted slowly from side to side, and despite the light pun, his tone made it clear that he was not in the mood to be played with.

[Nina Stenet]

Nina visibly tenses as she turns to face the man who comes into view, having plenty of reason to distrust anyone who greets her in such a manner that she doesn't recognize. Especially one without a face - that's... creepy. Nevertheless, after the initial startle she becomes calm very quickly - perhaps due to his casual manner, but even with that she's probably far more relaxed with the situation than he probably would expect.

Even as he comes closer and says things probably meant to get to her, she doesn't back up so much as a step or look all that concerned. Mostly because what he's saying marks him as some sort of a vigilante, even though she doesn't recognize him, and she has no need to fear vigilantes as long as they're willing to listen to reason.

In fact, she doesn't react very much at all to anything he says. It's only right that what happened to her would come across as suspicious, and even someone knowing the facts would probably have a hard time deciding whether or not she was perfectly innocent of any wrongdoing or extremely guilty - more likely it's somewhere in between. In fact, more than listening to his words she seems to take in his demeanor - at least, as much as she can with her limited people-reading skills and without a facial expression to read.

She doesn't say a word until it's clear that he's finished, and even after that she pauses for just a moment to consider what to do with this. Batman had been easier - she'd met the man before and had guessed rightly that he was one he could trust. But she doesn't necessarily like the idea of telling all to every self-proclaimed doer of good that decides to poke their nose into her business.

"Story? I do, but it's already been told to the person who might be able to do anything with it, and I don't see why you need to know too," she responds, totally unafraid to give him that answer. Still, based on her tone she's not trying to be defiant, but is instead being perfectly honest - she has no reason at all to trust him and is therefore hesitant to give him anything.

[seventhsigil]

"You'd be surprised how few people see that reason," the Question replied wryly, head tilting in the slightest of nods; an acceptance that, even if she was guilty, he was hardly standing on the high ground himself. Pulling the flap of his coat to one side, he pulled out a few large photographs, tossing them at her feet; a blood-splattered room she might find a little familiar.

"Curious," he continued, pensive as he pulled out the handful of ripped papers he had 'appropriated' from her. Even if she was innocent, he knew she'd have backups, so there would be no great loss. "Your financial records suggest that you have very little in the way of human expenses. A single assistant, in fact, and not a terribly attentive one. Good choice in books, at least. Curious for a company called Stenet Labs to have only one actual employee... or was Stenet Lab already copywrited? Whatever the case, one might grow a little... suspicious... as to why only a single employee, the founder no less, was in charge. No administrative assistants beyond the menial, no hired brainpower to lend some expertise, not even an office temp. Were I back in Hub City and facing this sort of paper trail, I would punch first and let the police worry about the questions... even without the matter of the apparent death."

Tugging a file folder from another flap beneath his coat, he popped it open, miming the act of reading it. There was no need, of course, he had studied the police report on the incident of Nina's 'death,' but the flash of the GCPD symbol on the front of the folder- something else he had 'appropriated'- would no doubt convey the message that he was a man of some small skills.

"But that's the puzzling thing." The ball of his thumb scraped over the edge of the dossier, his head bowed slightly. "So much effort. So much deception. The wasted police resources spent covering your investigation would have guaranteed a few jail-worthy charges, had you been caught in the act. The association and apparent cooperation to a proven madman like Nigma-" a deliberate jab there, as even though his head was bowed, his shielded eyes watched her, ready to gauge any reaction, "-a risk all its own. Brilliant plan, careful execution, all to make the world believe that Nina Stenet died. And then you go and make a company- a small one, granted, but nonetheless traceable- with your own last name on the letterhead. Clumsy. Stupid. When I heard you might be alive, I went to a lot of trouble to confirm it, and to find you... but I might as well have just run a Google search. Your new company and your final dissertation from college were both on the same webpage.

"So, here is what I think," he continued, setting the file folder down on the desk, arms settling across his chest as he presented one of his theories. He actually had four; this one held Nina in the most favorable light. "You faked your death because the alternative was a very real, entirely irreversable demise. Nigma helped, obviously, though I won't pretend to understand his motives. While your immediate death was very much necessary, whoever or whatever sought you out was neither from Gotham, nor so devoted to ending your life that it would pursue the matter any further. You thought you would be safe taking up your name once more.

"The reason you should tell me, Miss Stenet," he finished, "is because you're wrong. I know more than most that the past is never buried. Especially not when you use so little topsoil. If you're innocent, then prove it to me. I can help. But if you're not... well." He shrugged, hands sliding back into his jacket pockets. "I suspect you wouldn't want the attention that would be drawn when I started digging towards whatever it is you might be hiding."

It wasn't a threat. But it was close enough.

[Nina Stenet]

As each bit of evidence is produced, Nina glances at it curiously. The photos of the crime scene don't cause her to bat an eyelash - she's rather too familiar with the state she left her old apartment in. The paperwork from her own office causes a frown, as is to be expected from someone producing evidence that they've been rummaging around in your things. It isn't until he produces the files from the GCPD that her eyebrow lifts and a slightly amused smile comes to her face.

But much more of her attention goes to what the faceless man is saying, though she listens to it all with the same air of calm that she's had from the beginning. Even the jab at Edward doesn't seem to bother her - people think about him what they think about him and, while he probably wouldn't thank her for this, she's not about to jump to his defense if they call him crazy. She's not even sure what she thinks on that issue herself, after all.

When he's finished that amused smile is still on her face and she idly comments, "You remind me of someone." But she won't say who - she doubts that he'd like the comparison. The smile fades a little and she becomes a bit more serious when she adds, "Impressive. You're very close, except for one detail: I know I'm not completely safe, and I don't think that it's likely that I'll be able to say that I am with any real confidence again. But you're wrong if you think that, even with your skills..." she gives a respectful nod towards the files he's produced "...I see a need to ask for you help. I have help - a lot of it. And I'm not lacking in skills myself. And I'm not terribly concerned by your attention." And the continued lack of concern on her face proves that last part to be very true.

"However, perhaps it would help if you understood something: I'm an honest woman in a difficult situation. I've done a few things that aren't exactly legal, but I think they were justified given the circumstances and I defy anyone to say that my intentions are wrong. But there are two kinds of people: those who can look at all of that with a certain amount of understanding, and those who can't. Which are you?" she continues, tilting her head in curiosity at the end. She knows that Batman is the former simply by his reputation and that's why she felt more comfortable in telling him as much as she did, but the man asking her for information now is an unknown.

[seventhsigil]

It seemed this was rapidly turning into a 'Who's The Most Hard Boiled' contest, and beneath the mask, Vic couldn't help but grin a little.

Of course, this ongoing stubborness was putting him in a bit of an awkward position, as despite Victor's good intentions, his hands were rather remarkably tied, at least where this conversation went. Furthermore, at this point he was rapidly running out of reasons to stick around; he was reasonably confident that she was on the level, her blatantly bizzare methods aside, so there wasn't any potential threat to the city. He was still pretty certain there was a potential threat to her, but unlike some do-gooders, he was no longer the sort who all but stalked every potentially distressed damsal around, whether or not they wanted it. She assured him she was perfecly safe? Fine.

Of course, there was always the chance she was just a very good liar, and that in reality she was doing this for some secret, nefarious purpose. But there wasn't much he could do to ascertain that in a face to face conversation, not without crossing lines he wasn't quite willing to cross today. If she had been a little shadier, if Batman hadn't already checked her, (and, some chauvinistic part of him admitted, if she had been male,) he probably would have started threatening the integrity of fingers by now. As things stood, the best he could do was withdraw and keep an eye on the situation from afar, just in case she was really helping the Riddler.

"I see your point," was all he said, tipping the brim of his hat as his demeanor seemed to change entirely. "Well, I should be going. Places to go. People who do need help to find. Have a good evening, Miss Stenet. Good luck with your new company."

Turning, he began to straighten his coat and tie, pausing just long enough to reclaim the financial records he had temporarily set on her desk. Sliding them underneath his jacket, he moved towards the door without another word, but as his hand rested on the knob, he paused for a second, a single finger rapidly tapping the metal as if he were trying to prompt some memory. A sudden snap of his finger suggested success, a finger even lifting in a mocking 'Eureka' moment.

"Almost forgot," he added over his shoulder, tugging the collar of his jacket straight, his other hand reached back into that ever-bountiful jacket, pulling loose a second small stack of photographs. These were quite different, however, a great deal more recent; a few were of the front of this very building, and three were of her. From the quality and distance, they had clearly been taken from across the street, at varying times of day. "Consider it a gift. I wasn't the one who took them; rather, they're the very reason I found you here. The aforementioned trouble I went to. If you're so determined to play dead, you're better off making sure the information brokers don't pick up your scent. The more trouble someone puts into to hiding, the more profit the tattles smell when they finally catch on. The name of your company drew in at least one. Maybe more, I didn't check. Right now they don't see enough interest to try shopping around for buyers, but if your plight gets any noisier, I wouldn't trust in their discretion. Try big sunglasses." Heavy sarcasm there. "Those work."

Setting the photos down, shaking his head slightly, he shouldered his way through the door, a finger lightly- ironically- scratching his featureless jaw. At this point, there was a fifty-fifty chance she'd change her mind. Even if she didn't, though, it wasn't exactly like he'd be at a loss to find alternatives; one good thing he could say about Gotham was that it rarely left a man bored. As for the fate of the young woman he was leaving behind... she probably was right. She seemed to have things well in hand, her slip-ups

And if she was wrong... well, not his problem anymore.

Pushing open the front door, he gave a light wave to the long-suffering assistant across the way, who had looked up hopefully upon hearing the door open. Stunned and confused, the hired help could only wave back, even as the Question began to quick-step down the front stairs, whistling 'Singing in the Rain' softly to himself.

[Nina Stenet]

As he tips his hat and starts to take his leave, Nina sighs internally. After so many years of being (relatively) anonymous and safe, now she's not safe and it seems like people are crawling out of the woodwork to pay attention to her. Wonderful.

But that internal sigh is repeated when the man hesitates. Perhaps surprisingly she doesn't look very concerned about the photos he produces. She knows that she's being watched - though she can't imagine which person she knows is watching would have taken pictures. Perhaps there's someone she doesn't know of. Even more wonderful.

She's not about to chase the faceless man down and demand to know where he got them, or to correct his assumption that she's still trying to hide. Really, given that he chose to leave after what she just said, she's quite certain that she doesn't really have to worry about him much at this point so she's happy to see him go. Then again, she's also getting the sense that she's probably not seen the last of him yet.

"Wonderful - now I have four very smart men watching me," she mutters to herself as she steps over to get a closer look at the photos. She should do something with them, she realizes - give them to Batman or Edward since either of them would be able to track down their source. Batman would be preferable since Edward would probably want to kill whoever took the pictures. But on the other hand, while she's certain that she'll see Batman again there's no telling how long it will be until she does. Edward is much better at being around when she needs him.

Gathering up the photos, she turns off the lamp, then heads back to where she left her briefcase and puts them safely inside. Then she heads out, giving her assistant a frown when she reaches the vehicle but saying nothing: she knows that the young woman will adequately chew herself out for not paying enough attention - though, granted, whoever that man was he seemed to be exceedingly good at getting into places that he shouldn't.