It was a little obnoxious how difficult even simple things were in this cozy little bunghole, mostly on account of how much everyone seemed to hate and distrust everyone else.

Trust was my bread and butter. As an infopath, if I didn't have people's trust, I had nothing -- no clients, no info, no prestige, nothing. So I'd had to bend over backwards the whole time I'd been here to build up a reputation that frankly, people this desperate should have been happy to throw at my feet. They needed answers, and when answers arrived, they spit on her. It was frustrating.

But whatever. I wasn't complaining. If I had to put in extra work, following up leads and working pro-bono to get established, so be it. I'd manage, because I wasn't about to let everything go belly-up and let everyone I know slip away from me because I was too lazy to try.

Even so, this was a little absurd.

I adjusted my hair a little in the wall-length mirror opposite me, which was difficult because of the cuffs I was in, and then shot a wink to whoever was watching me from behind it before sitting back on the bolted-down metal chair with all the casual ease I could muster. Everything in this room was cold and sterile, and it was simultaneously too bright and too dark to be comfortable.

Which made sense. It was, after all, an interrogation room. Just as I depended on trust to weasel my way into the lives of these Exhumans, the masters of this room relied on unease to ply their trade. I was supposed to be uncomfortable and eager to scurry away, which is why I was doing everything in my power to show them just how much I didn't care.

Every conversation was a battle, whether people wanted to believe it or not. Even chatting to friends, there were always things you'd rather them do, for their own good even, and oftentimes, running your mouth without thinking was just tipping your hand and asking for trouble. Most people might think that perspective cynical, but most people weren't as results-oriented as I was when it came to opening their mouth. Or as successful.

But even most people probably agreed with that logic when they found themselves here. Everything in this room was shrewdly calculated for maximum effect, from the lighting to the furniture to the cameras to the way the interrogators would speak, would posture, would flex their power and influence. Or subvert that expectation and weasel into one's human natures. Even the lack of apparent power could be powerful, if flexed properly.

I scratched my cheek a little and preened my eyebrows while putting my feet up. The chair and table were too close for that move to be comfortable or feasible for most people, but I was pretty thin and pretty flexible, still waiting for puberty to finish the mess it'd started, but in the interim I was left with plenty of space to work with in this, my most obnoxious display of constructed relaxation.

"Get your damn feet off my table," a voice said, as the man owning it threw the door open. "Do you treat your mother's furniture like this?"

My feet didn't budge, the chalky red desert dust leaving a smudge on the stainless table from when I'd thrown them up there. "Mom's dead," I told him with a calculated shrug. Not enough information for him to use, but still enough oversharing to make him regret his words. He sat down without further confronting the feet issue, which was a win for me.

He'd walked in the door playing hardball. Which meant two things to me: One, he was not a professional interrogator, which was good. And two, I should go soft.

Once it was established that it was my decision to do so, I swung my feet off the table and leaned forward across it, imitating his body language subtly.

This was the entire game. In every conversation, like in every battle, someone was dominant. Someone was leading, someone was reacting, someone had the power and the other was playing catch-up. Black Shark always had that control. I wasn't Exhuman, but this was my power.

He didn't speak, so neither did I. I waited, using body language wherever I could to express, even if we were both here, both doing the same thing, I was still winning at it. Whenever his thoughts built up to thinking I might speak, I interrupted him by blinking slowly, unnaturally slowly, indicating I had no intention to. When he shifted in his seat, I stayed where I was, breaking off the intimacy of our matching body language and giving him both the small discomfort of its absence, and the sliver of guilt for being the one to break it.

So it wasn't long before he spoke, although he'd clearly intended for me to go first. It was an ameteur play to try to use on me, and he'd failed at it. He'd quit with the tricks soon enough, and then we could start getting somewhere.

"I hear you're an infopath," he said, stating the obvious to get the conversation situated in neutral ground where he felt comfortable. This wasn't really any better a lead-in than informing me it was sunny out. This was New Eden, of course I was an Exhuman of some sort, and of course the XPCA would have my record. "That's an interesting powerset."

"Not half as interesting as what else you might want to know," I shrugged again, and then segued into matching his posture again, but with a smile that hinted at conspiracy. "Whatever that might happen to be, I know something about it."

"Alright," he said. "Then tell me what I'm thinking."

I laughed at him to let him know just how far off he was. "Infopaths aren't psychic, silly," I berated him. "If we were, I'd be buried for being a code-X, wouldn't I?" A nice little appeal to his own system of authority to take apart his request.

"Then what do you know?" he asked, just a little too interested and a little too fast to be cool. This was why I wanted to meet with this particular guy, I'd heard a rumor and if there was enough to gossip about this guy, there was enough to leverage for information. All I had to do was to not screw it up.

I studied him for a moment, but only for effect, before dropping my relaxed air and letting him know this conversation had turned serious. "Here's how this works," I told him through a note of condescension. "This is a prison, like any other, and I'm still human...or Exhuman. I've still got needs, wants, desires, and being in here, they're not always easy to fill. You do me a favor," I dug in my pocket and flipped a coin onto the table where it spun and clattered. "You get a coin. You give me a coin, I tell you something you want to know."

"Maybe among the residents," he said, leaning back and trying to pick up the cool that I'd set down "but not here. See this uniform, see this gun? I'm XPCA, I'm the authority here. It's our walls and guns that keep this place safe, our food that keeps you fed. And if you think New Eden is a prison, just try breaking a few of our rules, and you'll see just what a prison the city can be."

I didn't break or blink in the slightest, just gave him a patient sigh. "Sure. And if I'm breaking any rules, by all means, arrest me. Doesn't mean I'm a show dog that has to use her powers just 'cuz you said so. If anything, I should probably charge you more. You can pay better, you've got better resources...and you've got a whole prison of supers to turn to, and somehow you picked me. Makes me think, perhaps, whatever issue you have, I'm the ideal candidate to help with it."

I adopted his relaxed posture to let him know the business conversation was concluded. "Or maybe not. I probably lose a lot of Exhuman customers by being willing to talk to you at all. Most of them have secrets they'd rather you not hear."

He bit immediately, again one change behind and adopted the serious negotiation pose I'd just abandoned, even if his words contradicted it. "We're not making a deal here, Exhuman. You were brought in for an interrogation. I neither need nor want your services."

"'Course you don't," I told him, sliding the coin off the table with the scrape of metal. A good visual and audible prop to sell how the option was slipping away from him. "As you said, I'm here to follow your rules and be a good Exhuman, and if that's all you want I'm happy to do so."

He stared at me for a few moments, just thinking, and then to mask his continued pondering, got up and walked to the mirror, hiding his face in the dark reflection while able to keep an eye on me.

I could almost laugh. He was considering saving face and sending me away, maybe even considering trumping up charges on me just to punish me for being difficult. But if he'd gone through the trouble to seek me out and had something seriously worrying him, he'd blundered and he knew it. He wanted a deal to be made here, and now that he'd crammed the whole proper conduct of the XPCA angle in the conversation, he couldn't bring it up again without making himself sound improper.

It was tempting to act with benevolence again, to bring up the topic so that he wouldn't have to -- effectively, trading my chokehold on the situation to steer it towards my goal. It might even have been a good idea.

But I was curious to see how desperate he was. If he was willing to eat his own words and bring up the issue again at the cost of face, I knew I'd have him entirely by the balls. He'd be easier to work with after that, a fellow conspirator against the XPCA's interests, and willing to abandon this entire pretense for the sake of results. Things would go smoothly if he spoke again. And if he didn't, if he wouldn't loose his morals and play conspirator, I could play the temptress.

My benevolence extended to appearing as non judgemental as possible while he turned his thoughts over in what might have been awkward silence.

"I'd be interested in a demonstration," he said, and I resisted cracking a smile. "It's in the best interests of the XPCA to know your capabilities, after all."

I shook my head at him. "Please. If you're going to lie to someone who can pull information from the aether, at least put some effort into it. Just tell me what you want and we can both stop pretending and go home happy."

He turned over his shoulder to glare at me, but then sat down again anyway. Perfect. Just the right amount of pushing him to get him to drop his guard. He frowned briefly and then spoke, for the first time, the words coming from the person inside the uniform.

"You should know my issues then, if you're really an infopath. You know what I want, so...give it to me, and I'll make sure you get...extra food, or a new pillow, or whatever it is you want."

I smiled cordially at him, giving him a tiny reward for opening up. As well as something to hold onto for when I hit him with the stinger. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. I can't just pull any information out of the air, I have to be looking for something specific. Think of it like a story -- I can tell you how it ends, but only if you give me the start."

"I see," he said, swallowing. "Then…" his face flinched subtly as he considered the probable embarrassment of telling me his anxieties, but I remained as cool, professional, and non judgemental as ever. No more comfortable and no less comfortable than having to show your privates to the doctor. "Let's discuss what you want, then," he said, changing the subject.

"I have another client I'm having an issue with. She's looking for someone, and she doesn't have enough information to go off of," I told him. "XPCA records should be more than enough to get me started, so I'm looking for that from you so I can get her what she needs."

"The favor you want from us is just to help some other Exhuman?"

"It's not the best deal I've ever made, I'll admit," I smiled at him. "Certainly you could do more for me than she could, but she's got a coin, and I always honor my promises."

It was funny that everything I'd told him was true. Well, except her having a coin, Steffie didn't need one from me. But otherwise, I'd just given him a very compelling little story which cast me in a very flattering light while also sorting the world into two categories -- my clients, for whom I would do anything, and everyone else without a coin. Humans loved tribalism, loved exclusivity and feeling like they belonged. I'd outlined the perks now of being one of my people, and the arguments against his potential reservations were just stacking up in his mind.

"The person you're looking for, is he an Exhuman?" he asked. I nodded once, slowly. "Is he in New Eden?"

"Well that's what I want to know. They've got some bad blood, you see, and she wants to know if she should sleep with one eye open." A neat little lie which cut off the possibility of Exhumans collaborating because of his actions. If he helped me out, he'd be contributing to the city's harmony, reducing violence and all that. Justification enough for him to do it as part of his job with a clean conscience.

And also, apparently enough to finally sell him on the matter, as his elbows rested on the table and propped up his head, messing up his hair slightly and demonstrating just how little he cared about composure at this juncture. How very far we'd come since he walked in here thinking he'd make me speak first.

And to sell it all, I slid the coin across the table, halfway between us, tantalizingly within his reach.

"All right," he said, putting his palm on the coin. "What's your Exhuman's name?"

"Jack Vega," I told him with a smile.

"Just one moment," he said, heading for the door. "I know someone in records. If he's not too dangerous, I will be able to give you some basics. And then, this," he held the coin up seriously, as though pleading for me not to forget, and then headed outside.

Normally I'd have deflated like a popped pool toy right now, slouching and shrugging off these clothes that felt heavy and dirty from the exchange, but the mirror in front of me might still be manned and I had to keep up my composure for a bit longer yet. I no longer had to play up the obnoxious bit, just needed to seem professional enough, and so I sat there, still and quiet, closing my eyes as though in meditation.

It was most of ten uncomfortable minutes before he came back, rushing through the door shoulder-first with a tablet in his hands. As I'd hoped, he was in a hurry to be done with this all, which meant instead of carefully pruning only the exact data I'd wanted on Jack, he had pulled the whole file, determined it wasn't a threat to hand over, and brought it in.

"Got your man here," he said, waving the tablet at me. On it, I could see mugshots of Jack's smiling face alongside walls of text. "I'll give it to you when you've told me what I want."

"Nope," I told him. "I already told you how it works. You help me, you get a coin. Then you give me the coin and I tell you what you need."

He wanted to argue, but the coin and the tablet were both already in his hands, and I knew which one would hurt more to hand over. He paused for just a moment before sitting down and sliding the tablet over to me.

I flipped through the pages on Jack's profile idly, reading at my leisure and ignoring the man's growing discomfort. I wasn't about to rush this just to spare his feelings, when this was what I'd come here to get in the first place. I learned a lot about Jack's background there, things he'd never mentioned, things which explained a lot about who he was and where he'd become the man he was. The section containing his presumed bodycount was impressive, even for an Exhuman, and I was amused to see the P-Force listed under his relations, but not Steffie. The XPCA had no eye for relationships.

I worked through to his current status and read it carefully before handing the tablet back. "Thank you," I told him with sincerity. "She will be happy to hear that."

"He might not be held in confinement indefinitely," he cautioned, and I had to smile that he was taking the extra trouble to warn me. "If he shows good behavior and rehabilitation, he may join the greater New Eden populace at some point. But your friend has a very dangerous enemy in this man."

"I'll make sure she's well aware. Now, I believe you have something to ask me?"

He gave me back my coin, and then what followed was honestly one of my favorite hours of playing an Exhuman in my life. The man opposite me, like many, was on a shifting stateside deployment, and moved when the XPCA demanded it. Only recently had he been moved to New Eden on a relatively permanent basis, filling a void I knew Athan had created by setting off the civil war in here, which opened many positions at the prison city.

And, like many deployed men, he was wondering about his wife back in Florida. When pressed, he was all-too-willing to fish out the gory details of their relationship, of all the suspected men she might have found to fill his sheets, of the raptures and the strains of their coupling. As he lost himself in his own life story, it became immediately apparent that there was nobody watching us through the mirror and cameras...or if there were, the man was at least a shameless exhibitionist.

And honestly, I kinda wished I could just do this for a living. Nothing in the world gave me quite the unadulterated glee of pulling back the veil of someone else's mess of a life and watching all the moving parts of it going to hell, like lifting a rock off a nest of ants and seeing them go berserk. While Athan's was a bit close and a bit...oblivious...for my tastes, I drank up relationship drama with a straw, and hoo boy, did this guy have some years of drama piled up.

In the end though, his question was simple enough. Was his wife faithful or not? And I had to come up with an answer on the spot. A simple yes or no, and probably not one that really mattered, so I gave my honest opinion.

"You really think so?" he said, his eyes shining with hope.

"It's not a matter of what I think, that's what my powers tell me," I informed him, all mysterious-like. "Besides, despite everything, you two have been through a lot, haven't you? She wouldn't risk all that now, just because things are hard."

"Yeah," he said. And then with more confidence, "Yeah! You're right. Man, that was stupid of me, I almost did something really dumb. I'm glad I came to you first."

"Maybe next time we can skip the process of having me brought in," I suggested. "Just seek me out in the city. Perhaps forgo the uniform."

He laughed, and inside it, I heard years of anxiety and stress crashing into relief. It felt good, after hearing his insecurities and living his story through him this last hour to give it a happy ending. He uncuffed me and dragged me back through the winding passages in the walls and back into the city with a spring in his step that made more than one or two other guards give us a questioning glance as we passed.

Which was good. This is how reputation spread. The man was living advertisement for my services, and the more XPCA knew about it, the greater chances I could dig up information on Athan and the others. But Jack and Steffie were here, now, and she was...was not doing well. As much as I wanted to find Athan, I wasn't about to abandon Steffie to despair if I could help it.

So as annoying as the jovial, bouncing man was as he said his farewells, I endured it with grace and poise, even accepting a brief awkward squeeze of a hug at the end before he turned me loose.

And then kinda hindsighted that maybe the others attributed his mirth to a more conjugal-style visit, and tried not to recontextualize the two of us walking in the halls in that light. I sighed as I worked back to where Steffie was waiting and hoped that wasn't the kind of advertising I was making out.

Back at her own house, she could not rush me inside and get the information out of me quickly enough. I smiled broadly at the start of the conversation to placate her and let her know she didn't need to struggle through this talk, it would all end happily.

Because I didn't want her to stress longer than she had to. She was already at her wit's end there for a bit about losing Jack, and anything I could do to ease and reassure and help her, I'd do. I had the information she wanted and we could start forming a plan right away, and there wasn't any reason for her to suffer through our chat until I chose to break the suspense on his whereabouts.

So I told her flat-out, up front, that Jack was alive, and he was here, and drank in the visible relief which seemed to hit her physically, softening the lines of her face and the stiffness in her poise, unaging her years in a sentence.

Some people were like Steffie. Soft, loving, good people. She was a friend, one I'd help and protect as I was able. Then there were harder people out there, people like me, like my brother, who would fight without hesitation. People who pathologically couldn't give up, as long as there was something in front of us to combat. People who would dedicate our lives to fighting so others didn't have to.

Because, after all, every conversation was a battle. And if I would just win a few more of them, maybe...just maybe, I stood a chance of getting her, and Jack, and myself out of here, and helping my brother fight his battles to do the same for the whole damn world.