Log inBLACK FILE — “Innocent Questions”
Rain crawled down the safehouse windows in slow silver trails.
Not dramatic rain. Not Night City acid rain either.
Just… weather.
The kind that made the city sound farther away than it really was.
The safehouse lighting was dim except for the kitchen island and the old holo-screen flickering muted garbage across the far wall. Some braindead dating show. Somebody screaming about betrayal. Somebody else throwing a drink.
Ace had been half-watching it with the exact expression of someone observing a controlled industrial accident.
Mai sat cross-legged at the table with a datapad in one hand and tea in the other, glasses low on her nose despite not technically needing them. Which meant she was tired enough to want the ritual of them.
Shammy was upside down on the couch.
Not metaphorically.
Physically.
Long legs hanging over the backrest, silver-white hair almost touching the floor, one arm dangling toward nowhere while static crackled lazily around her fingertips.
The apartment was quiet in the good way.
No sirens.
No gunfire.
No Objects of Power trying to eat causality.
Just breathing space.
Which, statistically speaking, meant danger.
Ace narrowed her eyes at the holo-screen.
“That woman has murdered at least three husbands.”
Mai didn’t look up. “She’s literally a wedding planner.”
“Exactly.”
A tiny snort escaped Mai before she could stop it.
Shammy rotated her head slightly upside down to look at them both.
The atmospheric pressure shifted a fraction.
Curious.
That was always the warning sign.
Ace noticed instantly.
“…No.”
“I have not asked anything yet,” Shammy said calmly.
“That’s worse.”
Mai sighed into her tea. “I agree with Ace.”
Shammy considered this seriously.
Then:
“I have a question.”
Ace pointed at her without even turning around. “Denied.”
“You deny all questions preemptively now?”
“Yes.”
“That seems structurally unhealthy.”
“It’s survival.”
Mai pinched the bridge of her nose already.
Shammy swung one leg slowly.
“I have encountered a linguistic inconsistency.”
Ace groaned immediately.
“Oh no.”
Mai closed her eyes for about three seconds.
“That sentence alone has killed entire civilizations.”
Shammy ignored both of them with serene confidence.
“In films,” she said carefully, “and occasionally in music, humans distinguish between ‘making love’ and ‘fucking.’”
Silence.
A truly impressive silence.
The kind where even the refrigerator compressor seemed to decide it wanted no involvement.
Ace stared at the holo-screen with the thousand-yard expression of a soldier realizing the minefield had, in fact, been real.
Mai lowered her tea very slowly.
Shammy continued, entirely innocent.
“But biologically the activities appear similar.”
Ace immediately stood up.
“Nope.”
“You are leaving?”
“I’m considering walking into traffic.”
Mai finally spoke with the exhausted dignity of somebody defusing a bomb using etiquette.
“Shammy…”
“Yes?”
“…Why.”
Shammy blinked once.
“Because humans react to those terms very differently.”
Ace was already pacing now.
“Absolutely not.”
“I wish to understand.”
“That has literally never led anywhere good.”
Shammy rolled upright in one impossibly fluid movement and sat cross-legged on the couch.
Static whispered softly through the room.
“But the emotional response is inconsistent,” she insisted. “One phrase is treated as tenderness. The other is treated as aggression, vulgarity, humor, stress relief, affection, insult, or celebration depending on context.”
Mai pressed fingers against her forehead.
“That is… unfortunately accurate.”
“So,” Shammy asked, genuinely focused now, “what is the actual difference?”
Ace looked at Mai with the expression of someone trying to transfer responsibility through eye contact alone.
Mai looked back with identical betrayal.
Neither moved.
Shammy waited patiently.
Which somehow made it worse.
Ace finally pointed accusingly at Mai.
“You explain.”
“Why me?”
“You’re the smart one.”
“You literally stab extradimensional entities for a living.”
“Exactly. I’m not qualified for emotional taxonomy.”
Shammy tilted her head slightly.
“I do not believe this is purely emotional.”
Ace made a strangled noise.
Mai inhaled slowly.
Carefully.
Structurally.
“The difference,” Mai began with visible caution, “is not really the physical act itself.”
Shammy immediately leaned forward with full atmospheric attention.
Ace muttered: “We’re doomed.”
Mai ignored her.
“It’s… intent. Meaning. Emotional framing.”
Shammy’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“Continue.”
Ace grabbed a drink from the fridge with the desperate energy of someone preparing for impact.
Mai searched for words.
“When people say ‘making love,’ they usually mean emotional closeness is the primary purpose.”
“And the other?”
Ace answered immediately from the kitchen:
“Sometimes the primary purpose is bad decisions.”
Mai nearly choked laughing.
Shammy looked between them.
“But both can include affection?”
“Yes,” Mai admitted.
“And both can include physical intensity?”
“…Yes.”
“And both can occur between people who care deeply for each other?”
Ace opened the fridge again despite already holding a drink.
Mai nodded cautiously. “Yes.”
Shammy frowned in concentration.
“Then humans separated one emotional spectrum into two linguistic categories because of contextual emphasis.”
Mai blinked.
“…Actually yes.”
Ace pointed at Shammy with complete vindication.
“See? This is why these conversations are dangerous. She turns them into dissertations.”
“I am trying to understand you correctly.”
That softened the room a little.
Not much.
But enough.
Shammy’s voice lowered thoughtfully.
“Humans seem uncomfortable admitting tenderness during physical desire.”
Ace nearly inhaled her drink wrong.
Mai stared into the middle distance.
“…Also unfortunately accurate.”
“And vulgar language is sometimes used to create emotional distance from vulnerability?”
Ace now looked actively offended by how accurate this was becoming.
“Stop being observant.”
Shammy ignored that too.
“But humans also sometimes use vulgarity affectionately.”
Mai nodded once. “Yes.”
“And aggression can coexist with trust?”
“…Yes.”
“And emotional intimacy can exist without softness?”
Silence again.
Smaller this time.
Sharper.
Ace leaned against the counter, arms folded now.
Mai looked down into her tea.
Shammy’s expression remained open. Curious. Not invasive. Just… trying to map them correctly.
That made the whole thing infinitely more dangerous.
Ace finally muttered:
“You know, most people ask easier questions.”
“I have noticed humans often avoid the real question by discussing mechanics instead.”
Mai actually laughed at that.
A quiet one.
Because she knew Shammy was right.
The room settled for a moment.
Rain against glass.
Holo-screen nonsense in the background.
Soft electric static around Shammy’s shoulders.
Then Shammy asked the fatal follow-up.
“So which one are you three?”
Ace closed her eyes immediately.
Mai whispered: “Oh no.”
Shammy blinked innocently.
“What?”
Ace pointed toward the hallway.
“Bedroom. Now.”
“I did not finish my analysis.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
Mai was laughing openly now, face hidden behind one hand.
Shammy looked genuinely confused as Ace marched toward the couch, grabbed her wrist, and started dragging the much taller woman toward the hallway.
Static crackled in amused little sparks around Shammy’s hair.
“I still believe the categories overlap significantly.”
“Yes, sweetheart,” Ace muttered with exhausted affection. “That’s the issue.”
Mai watched them disappear down the hallway.
Then paused.
Then called after them calmly:
“For the record—”
Ace immediately shouted back:
“DON’T.”
Mai smiled into her tea.
“…It’s both.”
A horrified noise came from the hallway.
Then Shammy’s delighted laughter rolled back through the safehouse like distant thunder.
