[The memory hits him before the light even fades. Clocks remembers--remembers something, something that makes him flinch and grimace visibly behind his sunglasses. He jerks back and lifts his own hand, not to extend it, but to look at the palm.

On the pale surface of his own skin, two interlocking gears appear. He stares at them a moment, as if seeing something else, then shakes his head. Shakes the whole thing off.

Tries to, anyway.]

Okay. That's. ...Yup.

[He jams his hand back in its pocket.]

So--yeah. That's it, or...? I mean, are you guys doing anything now you need a pink and wailing pacifier-sucking greenhorn to help with, or am I, you know. Good.