Marc closed the door behind him. He knew the light in the interrogation room was barely enough to see. To him however, it was as bright as a sunny day. He heard the breathing of the suspect picking up pace and an increase in heartbeat. Slowly Marc unpacked his bag and put a small skinning knife, a pair of pliers and a rusty spoon on the table. Calmly he sat down and for the first time he looked directly at the suspect. 

“This morning you’ve had gluten-free breakfast cereal and a glass of apple juice as breakfast. I can smell it from your breath, despite the fact that you brushed your teeth with prodent toothpaste. I can also smell you have sweaty hand palms. I’m here because I can sense things. I can hear the blood pumping through your veins and can smell the fear building up in you.”

With one swift movement Marc grabbed the skinning knife and jammed it between the suspect’s index and middle finger against the skin of the hand. The suspect jerked his hand back and Marc was overwhelmed with the stench of fear induced sweat.

“I’m also here because I’m very precise. Now, I’m going to ask you questions and it’s in your best interest to answer truthfully, you don’t want to know what the spoon is for.”
---
An hour later Marc stepped out of the interrogation room, glad to be free from that sweaty stinkhole. He got the answers the officers wanted, and knew they were 100% true. He chuckled at the thought of fear in the man’s eyes whenever he looked at the spoon. He had no idea what to do with it, but somehow everyone was deadly afraid of it. He made his way up the stairs and headed to Peter’s office and changed his voice to that of Peter’s wife.

“PETER! Why is that secretary still here! I told you to get rid of that bimbo!” Marc yelled out with the voice of Peter’s wife. Peter looked up panicked from his desk. “It isn’t what you…” He started, before realizing who stood before him and frowning. “Goddammit Marc, cut the crap! Did you at least get what we asked you?”

“Of course, everything is on tape.” Marc laughed, his voice back to normal. “If that was all I’ll be on my way again.”

“No that’s not all. We got a high priority S.H.I.E.L.D. call. They want you to go to their HQ in the States, Stat. They didn’t specify why. Transport has been arranged. Can’t say I’m disappointed to see you leave after that joke…” Peter replied.

“We both know I know that isn’t true.” Marc replied. He shook hands with Peter and barely suppressed a grimace. Physical contact hurt him, especially a strong handshake like Peter’s. “Well, take care of yourself. I’ll see you when I get back.”
---
Only a couple of hours later Marc had is stuff packed and was on his way to the states in a S.H.I.E.L.D. jet. Much to his dismay, Marc could still hear the turbines raging, even through the noise cancelling headphones. Luckily, the drinks cabinet was fully stocked. The alcohol would suffice to dull his senses enough to ignore that blasted sound so he could get some sleep before arriving in New York.