Tillman's eyes narrowed warily at the mask, his smile growing thin. He knew that he wasn't like to get dosed while he was armed and on his way to a job, but he couldn't shake the aversion he had to the ugly stitched affair.

"A poppy," he repeated, buying himself time to mull it over. The compound he had inhaled had rendered him entirely helpless. The damage it could do in times of war would have been astonishing. The thought turned his stomach a bit. "That is odd," he agreed.

"How did..." He trailed off as he made the connection between the information given and the little meth house they had come from. Crane was the one making the fear gas and somehow, the government wasn't aware of it.

Out of the hands of one made genius, and into another. He watched Crane expectantly, hoping that he would go on despite the interruption.