Tucking my hands against me so my wrists still appear cuffed, I stumble back against the wall and let out my most dramatic wail of pain. I curl forward around my stomach and drop first to my knees and then entirely to the floor, contorting my body as though in terrible pain. The whole while, I force out loud, agonized groans.

Still crying quietly, I wait. And wait some more. I was hoping that would be enough for them to send someone to check on me, but then again, this is Gaia.

“Help me!” I yell, forcing the words to come out pained and pitiful. “It burns. Oh, please, it burns!”

It takes about ten minutes of yelling and screaming, but finally the metal slot on my door clanks open.

“Quiet down in there. You’re disturbing the other prisoners,” a guard says through the slot on my door. The voice is young, male. A rookie sent to do grunt work, most likely. Perfect. I look up at the slot, molding my face into an expression of agony.

“I need medical attention,” I say through gritted teeth, and take a deep, gasping breath. “My stomach… it’s like it’s on fire. Please!”

“You were fine when you got here,” the guard says, and starts to close the slot.

“W-wait! It must be that plant I swallowed.”

There’s a pause, a beat where I think he might ignore my words and leave me here.

“Plant?” he asks warily. “What plant are you talking about?”

“I… I don’t know. Some black leafy thing with these pods hanging off it. I swallowed one when I saw the officers coming, thought I could hide it, but they caught me with the other one—”

The metal slot slams shut. Through the door, I can hear the hurried steps of the guard retreating. Running, not walking, because he has at least an inkling about what kind of plant I’m talking about.

Biting back a grin, I stay where I am, curled on the ground with my un-handcuffed hands hidden out of camera view.

If I know Gaians at all, they’ll be sure to document everything—even an unregistered off-worlder thrown into a cell and soon to be forgotten. And if I’m right about that, the file likely includes both a name and a reason for arrest. In my case, that would be the import of class-one contraband: Devan flora. It should be enough to back up my story and get them sufficiently worried, especially if the guard realizes what I’m imitating.