The Revolutionary Circuit

"So you're just going to stand there?" I raise an eyebrow. "You're not going to try to escape?"

"That would be acutely idiotic," the young man huffs. I note the lack of tension in his body language, the lack of fear in his voice. He's one of three things: incredibly brave, downright stupid, or very good at what he does. He's currently clad in an entirely black suit that I can't distinguish as either his uniform or some form of disguise, but one thing does give away who he works for - the spindly black tattoo of the London crest swirling from under his collar. Where his clothes are lacking in color, though, his eyes make up for it.

"As of yet, you haven't shown much better judgement," I state, baiting him.

Despite the situation, the barest hint of a smile steals across his features. "Are you calling me acutely idiotic?"

"Indirectly, yes."