Who: Felix and Daphne Where: The Batcave When: Mid morning
Felix was in a bit of a mood, but one he couldn't quite describe. Something close to restlessness, but not quite. One thing he did know was that he didn't feel like dealing with the rest of the house as a whole, and staying in his own room was getting boring as fuck. He knew there was some residual disappointment that the Subject 0 thing wasn't really going the way he'd wanted, but he chalked that up to the desensitized, goldfish-brained residents of the house. From the feeds he'd noted that no one had even actually looked for the message, or thought at all that there was any potential that someone, anyone from the outside, even if it was Them, was trying to communicate with them. God forbid they actually get a real message from someone.
So, he was shelving Project 0 for now, perhaps to come back to later, or try to rebrand as something new. After all, it was a shame to let his reward go to waste. You win some you lose some.
For now he was looking at the plethora of items he'd kept in his storage box, laid out on the bed he'd silently claimed as his own the day the batcave had appeared, taking stock and hunting his brain for ideas. The blanket and baby parts from the bunker, Rhett's file, the bottles of remaining ink from his adventure with the octopus, the remaining piano wire, his first set of home-made lockpicking tools, the camera, the photos he and Madison hadn't used, what was left of the pack of cigarettes and matches he'd stolen from Chase, the hoodie he'd also taken, the two-way strap on, the cube puzzle, the white noise machine, the German-to-English dictionary, Pam's notebook, various odds and ends from the craft and utility rooms that no one was going to miss, his first hand drawn map of the house interior with the windows and entrances noted (though now most of the room names were wrong), and the cereal box full of dead spiders and insects. That last one was firmly sealed with tape, for obvious reasons. He sat in the middle of it, leaning against the wall with Chlem on his pillow and one ear plugged into the iPod. He'd shoved Jack's music onto it along with whatever else Gemma had stored on it, and he bopped his head slightly at his surveyed his hoard. There was a plan here. Several plans. He just needed to figure out what to do first, and what would have the most fun impact.