To Lyger 0: *shrugs* You assume that he could control what type of power he received…

Arms folded, Marcel leaned against the containment cell's outside wall, watching carefully as Ramus interrogated the leader of the group of criminals – the only one to escape with no more than bruised ribs. Vernant had arrived at the crime scene shortly after the ambulance, along with two other crime scene technicians; by the time Marcel had left with Ramus, they had already collected at least a metric ton of evidence from inside the warehouse, as well as the contents of the getaway truck itself. The technicians were still at the scene, still collecting samples; Vernant, however, had returned to the lab to begin analyzing the evidence.

For ten of the thirty minutes since their return to city hall, Ramus had been standing in front of the glass window to the containment cell, staring silently at the man within. For most of that time, the man had remained seated on the single cot, glaring down at the floor in frustration. Finally, he reached up to tug at the collar affixed around his neck, frowning.

Shifting his stance, Ramus raised an eyebrow at him. "Missing your powers, Baume?"

Baume glared up at him. "What did you do to me?" he demanded. "I can't feel anything!"

"Relax." Ramus gave him an amused look. "The collar will suppress your powers for as long as it is active. So no thermal control for you. How long it stays there is up to you."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Baume growled surging off his cot and stopping centimeters from the glass, his breath fogging on the window. He banged once on the glass, fixing Ramus with a stare.

Unmoved, Ramus' mouth set in a thin line. "You are going to tell me everything you know. And I mean everything."

Baume's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? And why would I do something like that? You're just going to throw me in prison. What's in it for me?"

"You want to get something out of this?" Ramus arched an eyebrow. "Of course, you do. That's how you got yourself into this trouble in the first place, after all: you were looking for what you could get out of it." He leaned closer and smirked. "How did that work out for you?"

Baume scoffed. "Shows how much you know, officer," he sneered. "I didn't do this for money; I already got everything I wanted."

Ramus leaned forward. "Yeah? And what's that?"

Baume's eyes narrowed. "The thing you've taken away from me."

"Interesting…" mused Ramus, eyeing Baume intently. "So you were working for the people who gave you your powers." Baume's eyes widened, the color draining from his face, and he muttered a curse under his breath. "Tell me," Ramus continued, raising an eyebrow. "Who exactly gave you these powers? And how?"

Baume tugged at his collar again, clamping his mouth shut, and turned his back on Ramus.

Marcel let out a breath. So, this was what it would be like, being part of the Superhero Liaison Department? Fighting criminals like these four, people who had somehow received superpowers and did stupid stuff like this with them? After hearing about Hawk Moth, and after living in Paris since his defeat, Marcel was more than ready to do his part to stop these bastards. It wouldn't be so bad, working with the Heroes of Paris. After the Tarasque had driven them from their home, Marcel had been angry and bitter: he had said and done things that he regretted, all because he had blamed the Heroes of Paris for allowing the Tarasque to kill so many people. All because he hadn't known where Noémie was – or if she was even alive. All because he had been too much of a coward to face the truth: he blamed himself for not being able to do something about the Tarasque, while young men and women were dying in a desperate fight against a power they couldn't hope to defeat. And thanks to his terrible attitude, he had hurt his relationship with Ondine – would it ever recover?

But now, he would be able to do something – if it happened again.

Ramus cleared his throat. "If you're done with the pity party," he began, "we can move on. Maybe you're not ready to tell me who gave you this power – yet. Then you can tell me exactly where your friend went."

Baume sneered. "What makes you think there was anyone else with us? Maybe it was just the three of us."

Ramus grinned. "We saw four of you, asshole. And you just confirmed it yourself. So. Where did your friend go?"

"Orléans," Baume retorted. "Or Marseille. Hell, he could be in Finland by now for all I know. All I know, is that he isn't here."

"And what might he be doing in Finland?" asked Ramus, giving him an expectant look.

"Sightseeing, probably."

"Any sights in particular?"

"I hear the tundra's nice," Baume spat. "You should check it out. Especially in January. Bring a coat."

Ramus hummed pensively. "You don't know where he went, do you?" he mused, stroking his chin.

Baume fell silent.

Ramus eyed him carefully. "If you don't have any information for me, then we'll just have to turn you over to the prison system, and who knows what will happen to you then…" Baume's eyes narrowed. After a beat, Ramus cleared his throat. "So. If you'd rather not end up in Nouvelle Bastille, you will tell me where you got your powers from, and exactly what you were planning to do with those chemicals. Right now."

"Bite me."

Marcel chuckled humorlessly. "Is it always like pulling teeth with these guys?" he asked.

"Sometimes," Ramus confirmed, not taking his eyes off Baume. "Sometimes, they sing like a canary. Take a guess which of them fare better…"

Marcel smirked. "You know, we used to have a technique of actually 'pulling teeth' to… encourage prisoners to talk," he mused. "I'm sure M. Baume would enjoy it…"

Ramus hummed, his lip curling slightly. "That is a tempting prospect," he allowed. "Perhaps we can test that theory."

Baume's eyes widened, looking back and forth between Ramus and Marcel. "You can't be serious."

Ramus raised an eyebrow at him. "How serious I am or am not is entirely up to you," he informed him, turning on his heel and striding away. "I'll leave you to ponder your response for a few hours," he called over his shoulder.

Giving Baume an evaluating look, Marcel jogged after Ramus in the direction of the cubicle that he now knew as Vernant's lab. Behind him, the glass on Baume's containment cell clouded over, hiding him from view. As soon as it had done so, Ramus let out a relieved breath, shaking his head.

"Pulling out teeth?" he muttered, glancing over at Marcel. "That's a new one – but if I know tough guys like Baume, the threat will be enough to crack him."

Marcel shrugged. "And if the threat doesn't do it…"

Ramus furrowed his brows suspiciously. "Is that something you did in the Army?"

"Only twice," replied Marcel. "One time, terrorists were threatening to blow up an embassy residence, and we didn't have enough time to search for the bomb. The other time, we had less than an hour to locate a kidnapped diplomat." He frowned. "Crude, but effective in a pinch."

Ramus' mouth set in a thin line. "Maybe that worked in the military, but here it's different. We can't resort to physical torture – even if sometimes we would like to. That's one thing to keep in mind. Criminals have rights. And as much as we wish we could do whatever it takes to get the job done, we need to respect their rights."

Marcel shrugged noncommittally. "Fine."

As Ramus led the way into the lab, Marcel looked around in surprise, taking note of the wide array of scientific equipment on display. Most of it he had only ever read about or seen pictures of – never seen in use. In the army, he had only ever been one of the grunts, sent out into the field with his squad to carry out particularly dangerous missions. Very rarely had he ever gotten to see everything that went on behind the scenes to enable him and his men to complete their missions. But this room… it looked like Vernant had enough equipment in here to identify any substance imaginable – and maybe even to replicate it.

"I monitored your interrogation from here," Vernant told them without preamble, glancing up from his computer screen. "Based solely on biometric readings, I doubt that you will get much more information from our guest than you have already received."

Ramus shrugged. "Until we can get anything else, Baume is our only lead."

"Until now."

"You found something?" Ramus' eyes widened, and he stepped closer to the lab table. "What do you have?"

Vernant gestured to the computer screen in front of him and turned it around to face them. "I have analyzed the blood samples from our three prisoners and identified the same compound in their blood as we had found in the others. For them, however, it is present in a significantly higher concentration."

"Does that make them stronger?"

Vernant shook his head. "I do not believe so. Based on available evidence, I suspect that they received the compound more recently than the others, accounting for the elevated concentration."

"So these guys are closer to the source."

"I believe that these three received their powers more recently than anyone we have yet encountered," Vernant confirmed, nodding. "And even if M. Baume does not reveal anything, I am cautiously optimistic that he and his compatriots will be able to direct our search moving forward."

Marcel furrowed his brows, looking back and forth between them in confusion. "What? Do you know where these people got their powers from?"

Vernant nodded. "We are unsure of the precise mechanics, but we have identified a specific compound in the blood of numerous powered individuals. And," he added, glancing at Ramus, "My analysis of the chemicals which our friends were attempting to steal shows that they may have been stealing some of the precise chemicals used in this procedure. There is something still missing – I will need to conduct further experiments to determine the exact combination of the chemicals, as well as what additional ingredient they use. But we are getting closer to an answer with every piece of information that we receive."