All right.

[He concedes with ease. Sephiroth can wait, and though curiosity needles at him, he won’t urge Steve further when they have work to get done. It would be hypocritical of him, anyway, a man who prefers to keep to himself nine times out of ten.

He loads up boxes, his movements automatic; the task is rote enough that he doesn’t have to give much thought to it, beyond making sure the cargo is stacked in an orderly way. He remains quiet as the larger, heavier ones are arranged, then looks over his shoulder as a few soldiers behind them come in to finish the work, their arms loaded up with smaller ones.

He steps aside, gives them room to work. Glances askance at Steve. The space between their conversation has been long enough that maybe it’s awkward, remarking on it again, but Sephiroth doesn’t consider that. As always, he’s been churning in his thoughts the whole time.]

That’s all Shinra was. Is. Propaganda, protecting their interests, and a number of things they never want the public to see.

[He crosses his arms. His tone is unaffected, but it’s hard to say such things without a hint of censure.]

I wonder if that's just the nature of those in power.