The taste of subterfuge had laid upon his tongue from the days of his youth, of crouching beneath bar benches and between the feet of pigs in suits of enemy soldiers, stealing their money and secrets to men in the back for change, and supposed honour. Chu Minh Hoang had been but a boy in those days, didn't understand what he was doing beyond the feeling of coins in his hands, and warm food in his stomach. Didn't matter. And when he came back to the bar burned down and a soldier waiting to pick him up, he'd gone willingly, following the promise of serving his country.

The first time someone died directly by his lies was....exhilarating. He found the psychological torture of the mind a taste better then sweets. The way people were so easily twisted, manipulated by simple words. It fascinated him. It wasn't any wonder he'd been the youngest specialized agent to be sent out to the field, the model child for propaganda. The sociopathic pet canid. He'd been a guerrilla tactic all in himself. But then the war ended. He was a spy now, gathering national security info, anything that the president wanted. Like his current mission, looking for info on a little sell-out of a politician who'd hired this agency to make them disappear. A fellow canid had done it, it seemed. He'd played with them over a few months, watched the tale-tell signs of arousal, weakening. Maybe he'd taken it too easily, let his true personality slip behind his mask of charm and charisma. The detective was still a detective after all.

His almost choked when he felt the fingers in his mouth, hand gripping at his jaw as if to tell him to stay quiet, to the detective spiel of knowing his real motives. For a moment Minh Hoang considered killing them. He breathed in. That wasn't the objective. He needed the detective alive to get that info. And well, the game was more fun with manipulation over a heavy hand. He'd allow the hand for now.

"I don't know what you mean. C'mon, you know me. Do you really think that low of me?" He smiled, eyes half-lidded.