"Curious," Crane murmured to himself under his breath, observing your vitals intently on the monitor as his workers administered the new batch of toxin, pressing the mask over your nose and your mouth and making sure you remained strapped to the chair. You'd given a bit of a fight at first, wrists straining against the leather cuffs on the chair, but after a few moments, the fight had passed. It wasn't because of the toxin, though. He'd found that for a peculiar reason, you were completely immune to his toxins. He'd experimented with different batches, given you concoctions that would drive ten adult men insane with a single breath, and yet there was nothing.

Your vitals were settled. The only thing was an elevated heart rate, though that was caused by the struggling each time his men would force the oxygen mask over your face, until you realised it was useless to struggle any further. Only a healthy dose of fear. He'd been running tests on you for weeks now, absolutely fascinated by your resistance to the toxin, but there seemed to be no concrete answer. After a moment, he waved his men away, who gave the straps on your wrists a cruel tug, just for good measure, on the way out. He approached you slowly, eyeing up any lick of fear in your expression he could fathom.

"You are breathing in enough toxin to kill a third of a crowd packed into a stadium right now, and yet, dear, you feel nothing, don't you?" Crane purred, tapping the oxygen mask with his finger and feeling you flinch from the impact. He doesn't take his eyes off of you, meeting your narrowed glare. It wasn't as though you would have come quietly if he'd asked, after all, so taking you against your will was the only way to find out exactly what it was that made you so immune to his life's work. "It's fascinating. Though rather tedious that I cannot figure out why."