This was a long time coming and a lot of rewrites. I'll include a hider at the end of the story with notes about what I should fix from a 'friend.' I rewrote what he mentioned so I could keep it in mind while writing. This took forever, and fixed most of the issues I found.
[hider=C1V4]
The detainee walked slowly, his armed escorts matching the pace beside him. An older man with a set of standard Kevlar body armor stood a bit further back, his hand on his holster. He was the only one not outfitted in fireproof gear. The others wore Kevlar body armor that was normally worn when defusing bombs, making them blast resistant as an added benefit. The center of the entourage had handcuffs that were too tight and hair that was too short. It was a chestnut brown except where it had been burned. His clothes were close to tatters, and not decent in the least. Wretched burns of almost every degree covered his body, and his inconsistent gait conveyed his pain well.

Sam watched this happen through a grainy CCTV monitor, looking over the operators' shoulders. A good thirty monitors covered the wall, and the desk had built in radios. All of this was recently built, and was admittedly very impressive. The call about this boy being picked up had gone out a while ago, and Sam had been waiting for the boy to arrive since, listening to the chatter as he waited. Normal protocol had gone out the window as soon as the boy was escorted here instead of a hospital. He glanced down at the notes, which he had scribbled earlier. They were sparse on the details, as the FBI kept their mouths shut too often to let Sam do his job.

[i]13:30 - Call by an older lady; reported burning building.
13:45 - First responders observed a boy keeping the heat away from himself using some sort of supernatural ability. Boy removed by firefighters.
14:00 - Soon after being treated the FBI showed up and began questioning the boy, as well as the first responders.
14:20 - The FBI radioed for and received backup as well as transport for the boy. Armed soldiers showed up and escorted the boy to the police station [b]despite his wounds[/b] This kind of treatment of suspects is just disgusting.[/i]

"You busy Sam?"

A gruff voice interrupted the narrative in Sam's head.

"Am I allowed to once again lament how much easier this work used to be?" Sam asked, through almost closed teeth. His voice was higher pitched then most men, and a majority didn't let him forget it. "I don't like the shit show the FBI has been orchestrating, not to mention the national guard undoing everything we've worked hard for with the community projects."

A deep breath escaped Sam's lips, his eyes following the older detective carefully. His name was Braden, and he was going on fifty, while Sam was at the earlier half of his thirties. Braden's facial expressions were always soft, and it was rare to chance upon him without a smile. He was without a smile as he began speaking. "Zach, the kid, his parents are- ahem were. Were both doctors, he does well in school and then this shit happens. He said he got his powers in the midst of the fire."

Sam nodded slowly, his frown lingering. "Mighty fine coincidence, huh? Right now though, lets be honest, he's probably just lonely, ya know. I doubt a lot of us know what he is going through. This kinda shit happening to a kid is. . . Just not right." A long sigh left Sam's lips, as he glanced in the direction the boy had disappeared to. "You gonna talk to him? Or are you gonna make me do it?"

"I see what you mean. After all this he just needs some sympathy, I'm sure. Guilty or not. Why don't you give it a shot?" Braden asked, making it out to be an opportunity as opposed to a chore. Sam didn't see it that way.

"Of course, but you owe me a drink," He replied, sharing a smile at the proposition. Sam pulled his clothes tighter around him as he stood. His brown trenchcoat was as dull as the suit he wore underneath, the black tie contrasting the white shirt only barely. They were both grungy as hell. When standing straight Sam was a decent bit shorter then the Major who was about average height. He reached up and ran his hands through his brown hair, and silently appreciated the fact that it wasn't graying yet. Sam noticed Braden acting slightly impatient and slowly made his way in the direction of the boy's interrogation room, feeling uncomfortable under his superior's gaze. Holding cell after holding cell was full and Sam eyed each one carefully as he walked past, not used to this many parahumans being held in the facility at once. At the end of the line of containment cells were interrogation rooms. Two were empty, and one occupied.

The hall light flickered above him as he put his hand on the door to the room where they had placed the boy. Armed agents stood on either side of the door, watching him carefully. They were pretty clear indicators of where 'special' individuals were being held. Sam ignored their pointed gazes as he entered. It was a smaller room, the table in the middle half occupied and occupying; the first was being done by the young boy and the second by the table to the room. He glanced at the camera in the corner of the room quickly, then at the one-way glass.

The boy looked tired, but his eyes warily observed Sam as he took his seat. "Hello Zach, I'm Inspector Myers, and I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable." A short pause followed, and Sam waited patiently before speaking again, "Do you need anything? Maybe an ice cold water?" The boy nodded quickly, seeming slightly happier at the prospect.Sam walked to the door, satisfied that he had at least gotten that out of him. The kid would crack in no time, and they could find out what had actually happened. As Sam pushed opened the door he heard loud, crisp foot steps echoing down the hall, and he saw the guards flinch very slightly with each footfall. Sam closed the door and walked the rest of the way out into the middle of the hallway.

An older man in his later forties was walking down the hall wearing a well fitted dark suit, contrasting his blonde hair strongly. An ID card provided by the PD's reception informed all who viewed it that he was a member of the FBI. It was a generic tag, preprinted and laminated as was demanded with their involvement being so complete. The man's square face drew Sam's eye, as it was the most prominent feature. The way his jaw protruded was odd, and made Sam instantly dislike the man for this very superficial reason. The man's words didn't help his case when it came to appealing to Sam.

"What the fuck are you doing with my witness Greenie?" He asked angrily, clearly speaking at Sam, as opposed to [b]to[/b] him. It was quite the odd insult considering Sam's experience in the force, though he wasn't used to being treated well by people like Square Jaw. After all their nose's were so far up their boss's asses that they couldn't be expected to show respect.

Sam thought for a second, considering his words. [b]Greenie[/b] could also be a reference to his experience with working alongside the FBI (though saying they worked alongside assumed there was mutual respect). Either way it wasn't really true, though he was angered nonetheless. If he didn't want to get in trouble he should refrain from saying an action movie one liner like "I'm just doing my job asshole." He seethed inwardly, but remained composed nonetheless and answered, "Sorry for the intrusion, sir. Me and my superiors thought we should lighten the work load on your department a bit, and try to interrogate the suspect." It was, at the very least, a half truth, and hid his anger well.

Square-Jaw's mouth formed into a hard scowl, his eyes narrowing. "Just stay away from the witness, Greenie," He said before walking past Sam, and into the interrogation room.

Sam was still bristling as the door closed under its own weight behind him, and stalked towards the viewing room. He threw the door open, and glanced around quickly to make sure he was alone. He sat down in the wooden chair provided, which faced away from the glass. A deep breath escaped his lips as he stared at the wall intently.

He let his anger fade, taking deep breaths as he studied the, oh so interesting, wall in front of him. After thirty seconds or so he was back to normal. After forty he noticed that the VCR in the corner which recorded the CCTV camera in the interrogation room wasn't recording. He pushed the VCR the rest of the way into its slot and pressed the record button. As he did so, he glanced over at the room, watching the Square-Jaw attempting to interrogate Zach.

The man sat across from Zach, his mouth forming words that Sam couldn't quite follow, and the glass wasn't thin enough to let sound through. He turned around and turned up the volume on the TV connected to the VCR to a reasonably quiet level before turning back to watch the scene unfold.

"-about the fire. Isn't it more then a bit coincidental?"

Zach's response was inaudible.

"A murderer like you doesn't even deserve a trial, much less water. We could have you shot right now, no one would bat an eye."

"I don't know if you could."

A scoff escaped the Square-Jaw's man's mouth, as he glanced at the door.

"I don't buy bullshit, boy. The officers on site gave me their reports, and there is no fucking way. You'd be one in a million, and your luck died with your family. You're no superman."
[hider=Notes]
security terminal - world building, character building

cctv 1990? Fits better with the character too

cut out his little speech about supers, or give it to Braden, leading to sam's character developing further. 

Sam needs a reason to be caught off guard by  the kid.

Scrap current interview, redo it. Make it better and more character driven for both Sam and Zach. 

Major? Why the fuck reference that, most people don't know that's a rank.

Reconsider martial law?
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