The sudden flat tone to his voice catches him off guard. He had expected Foster to argue more, or to begin laughing again. Instead all the Psionic gets is a look. It leaves him with a lot of aggression and no place to direct it. He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath and then slowly letting it out, releasing his anger along with it.

There's nothing to understand. But there is. He's not sure if he's ever met someone as confusing or contrary. Surely there must be some reason for it, even if that reason only exists in Foster's own demented mind.

"Why do you think you're trash?"