A hangover pulsed in Stitches head, nausea causing hm to bite his lip. Overhead a florescent light glared down at him, illuminating an oppressive office room. Across a cold metal table, two humans sat in business attire, looking eerily similar to each other. Both had greyish short hair, stern sharp faces and cool emotionless eyes hid under remarkably clean hats.

            One held a notepad that he scribbled on, looking up occasionally to eye down Stitches. The other fiddled with a recording device and finally satisfied, clicked a tape into place that began to turn as he set it down.

            Stitches sighed; the men hadn’t said a word to him since he arrived. Another woman in a suit summoned him from the apartment with no explanation besides describing the penalties of refusal. It had been easily 30 minutes and he simply wanted to return to bed.

            “How are you enjoying your new life under contract?” the man finally asked. His gaze met his eyes, but didn’t seem to have any true interest behind it.

            The other man paused his scribbling and stared over the notepad analyzing Stitches top to bottom, waiting for his response.

            “Huh?” Stitches rubbed his eyes, he was unsure of the time, “Is that a joke or something?”

            “No,” the man repeated almost the exact same way, “How are you enjoying your new life under contract?”

            The other man hurriedly scribbled something and again waited for Stitches response.

            “Service here is shit,” he scratched at his wrinkled shirt, “food is too.”

            “Were sorry to hear that…” the man’s lips parted slowly into a smile. His teeth looked plastic, “We don’t condone humans mistreating their positions, but everyone needs to blow off some steam now and then, don’t they?”

            “Front desk guy is still a prick.”

            “He perished during the attack.”

            “Hm.”

            The man stared for a bit. Stitches averted his eyes annoyed by his constant staring.

            “Do you know how he died?”

            Stitches sighed, “Listen, I’m sorry, but why am I here? Is this some kinda contract feedback thing or something?”

            The man almost laughed but stifled himself, “Never in the entire history of Prospector Corp, has a compound been attacked by a raiding party of that size,” he adjusted his tie, “According to research, when the savages reach a 4 figure number in size, they split and become rivals. How many do you think you saw during the raid?”

            “A lot,” Stitches grimaced, “seriously…”

            A scribbling pen interrupted his thoughts, “There were enough of them to completely surround the compound. When we finally received the news, we expected the entire facility to be flattened, everyone dead,” The man looked to his left and then his right, “It’s some kind of miracle, not only is there manageable damage to the walls and structures, there’s limited casualties as well. They weren’t here for food, they came to take something very important,” He spoke with a cool almost sarcastic voice, “Interestingly enough, you and your group managed to survive fighting… outside the walls… against bloodthirsty cannibals in numbers so great, the Crown and all its buildings couldn’t even house them.”

            “So,” Stitches picked his nose and wiped his finger on his shirt, “are we getting metals or something?”

            The man’s fists slammed into the table, his face twitched with rage, his lips pulled back to his gums. His eyes bugged out, shaking with anger as some spittle shook free from his teeth.

            Stitches was taken aback, the man was absolutely livid but didn’t utter a single sound, Is every human working for Prospector this unhinged, he thought.

            The scribbler put his hand on his trembling shoulder. He took a breath gritting his teeth his eyelids clenched. In a moment his face cooled back to normal and his eyes opened staring into Stitches once again.

            He cleared his throat, “I know you’ve already been debriefed, but we’d like you to go over everything that happened that day in specific detail.”

            Stitches raised an eyebrow; it was apparent to him now that this was an interrogation. He didn’t know anything about the apparent theft, but there was plenty enough reason to be suspicious of him and his friends. They were not only new, but anyone that could’ve served as an alibi were either dead or missing. The reignited sense of danger made him uncomfortable.

            The man’s hands tightened, but he took another breath and kept his cool, “As a contract of Prospector, you don’t have the right to be silent on this matter. If you aren’t cooperative, we can provide you some incentive to be,” his lip quivered with malicious ideas.

            Stitches took a breath and straightened up, the situation was more serious than he’d thought, “I’ll tell you whatever you want, we had nothing to do with whatever you’re suspecting us of.”

            The scribblers pen scratched wildly against his notepad. The interrogator sat forward in his seat, “Everything that happened. In specific detail.”

            Stitches was exhausted as he walked back to the apartment. The man that took over their watch the next morning of the attack confirmed their wounded state and the men were satisfied with his innocence. Still, the investigators were relentless; no amount of explanation or recital of the sequence of events was enough. If he didn’t reveal the damage done to his body, they likely would’ve kept questioning him in circles.

            They were oddly tireless; while he began slumping over and falling asleep, they were wide awake continuing to pursue answers he didn’t have. As a result of their persistence, the timeline of events was now painfully branded into his mind.

            The hallway was dim, there were no windows to be seen. The overhead lights faintly illuminated the orderly rows of doors and office equipment still left behind in the panic. The sounds of working were noticeably quieter than usual.

            Finally, an elevator stood in front of Stitches. The call button had been hastily cleaned, dried blood still set in the cracks and seams. He hesitated and instead used his elbow to push the button.

            When the doors opened, two humans pushed past him holding a pale metamorph by the arms. He looked to Stitches with a fearful expression, still wearing a prison jumpsuit. He felt sorry for him; he recognized him from the bus ride and seemed to be in a bad state. Nevertheless, he turned away from him and entered the elevator, using his thumb to select floor 3 he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

            Across from him stood Vic pouring over a file she held in her hands, a plump briefcase leaned against her slacks. A freshly stitched scar decorated her cheek and stretched to a missing portion of her ear. Her knuckles were bandaged, her wrists covered in scratches. Her face however was business as usual. The same bored, impatient expression gave him a glance before returning to her work.

            With a jump and a screech, the elevator began to stutter and move. The overhead lights flickered and dimmed.

            Stitches gave her a nod but she ignored his presence. He cleared his throat and gave a “Hey,” not one to miss out on opportunity he wanted some answers.

            She responded with a cold stare.

            Not one to be discouraged Stitches continued, “So what’s up with the creeps in suits? Boss planning on interrogating everyone until they find a traitor?”

            She sighed and closed her file, “You aren’t planning on shutting up until my stop, are you?”

            “Guess not.”

            “Details are above my paygrade; you’re wasting your breath.”

            “Information isn’t cheap then?”

            She gave him look over then bit her nail, “Maybe…” she retrieved her PDA from her pocket and clicked some buttons, “Alright, seems I can use you for something.”

            Stitches nodded, “and you’ll fill me in?”

            “I’ll tell you what I hear, that’s it,” she adjusted her suit, “anything more and I could get unwanted attention from the investigators.”

            “Fair enough, what needs doin?”

            “Assignment acceptance has dropped drastically since the attack. No one is willing to leave the walls, mostly the younger contracts,” she scratched at her stitches, “Its simple, we need an example to be set before profits take a hit.”

            “Oh…” Stitches shrunk back a bit. The images of that night were fresh on his mind, his wounds still stung and twitched at the thought of fighting ash monsters again, “We’re still recovering, we can’t leave just yet.”

            She scowled and fiddled with her PDA, “According to my information, you and your team are perfectly ready,” she brought the device closer to her face, “The four armed one even used our exercise facilities.”

            “That’s not-“

            “And not to mention you all enjoying yourselves and drinking yesterday,” she picked up her briefcase as the elevator came to a stop, “The deal is what it is, get back to work and I’ll make it worth your while,” she stepped through the opening doors and looked back, “I’m sure you already know how to manipulate your team into leaving with you.”

            Stitches turned away as the doors closed. She was right although crude; they gave him everything he needed to have them follow. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to maintain that control.