Victor Stone had resigned himself to the fact that he was completely alone in the world. He had comrades, but they were completely organic. He had people he'd consider calling 'friend', but they were organic as well. They had secret identities. They...
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Harper often heard that every good day was followed by an equally horrid one. She had never believed it until now.
Yesterday had been mostly positive. She and Victor had cleared up whatever tension that remained between them, and though they hadn't verbally agreed to continue with their budding relationship, there was a silent consensus that they both felt strongly for one another. It seemed like everything was falling back into place...until Red Tornado appeared at the door to her quarters and said "I have been asked to escort you to the secure holding chamber on deck 5."
Harper, who was leaning on the door frame with her arms crossed, sternly pressed "What for?"
"For questioning. You have been implicated as being involved in a recent incident. Please do not resist." The android warned, somewhat needlessly since Harper wasn't in range of any of her battle suits currently.
She complied without hesitation. This kind of thing happened to her all the time in the military. All she had to do was answer truthfully, and she'd be fine. Harper knew she didn't do anything wrong so why get worked up?
After the short journey it took for Red Tornado to take her to the interview room and secure her inside, Harper found herself alone in this chamber for at least twenty minutes. As per the usual interrogation rooms, this one had a two-way mirror with an observation room behind it. Well, seeing as Harper didn't have x-ray vision, she couldn't exactly see it, but she knew it was there. And she knew that someone left her sitting there for twenty minutes on purpose to watch her behaviour...someone who knew what they were doing. People often show their hand when they think they're alone, whether it's through quiet muttering, nervous ticks, or body language. When they think no one's watching, they don't pretend.
Suddenly, the hatch to the chamber slid open and revealed a tall, shadowy figure. His black cape was leathery and dragged across the floor like a pair of folded wings. The cowl that masked his pale face fixed it with a permanently tensed brow.
Batman strode inside and stood at the opposite end of the desk Harper was sitting at. The door closed, and the Dark Knight said nothing. Just stared into her eyes like a predator looking for weakness in his prey.
Minutes ticked away in absolute silence. Harper said nothing. This was all Batman's attempt to apply pressure. A guilty person would either strive to defend themselves instantly, or eventually give into it. Either way, Harper knew what the Detective was after.
"We know what you've done. You might as well confess now." His husky voice insisted.
Instantly, Harper's mind raced. There's no way they could know about who she really was. There was no evidence...so it was natural to assume that Batman was either feigning knowledge to coax an admission, or he was talking about something else. Or, maybe both. CIA agents would often use this kind of technique to press suspects into a pre-emptive confession. For example, they might have only a tiny, non-concrete piece of evidence, but pretend to know everything and then confront the suspect with this lie. The suspect would then react to this statement, verbally or non-verbally, and the agents would have their answer.
