Jeremy Blaire left the server room where he had just institutionalized Waylon Park, the infamous Whistleblower. He started tap dancing throughout the hallways, flashing smiles to security workers and Murkoff employees, while an unconscious Mr Park was dragged out of the room and restrained to a chair in front of monitors displaying the Engine.
Jeremy took the elevator up to visit his old friend, Richard Trager. He was surprised when, right before pressing the elevator button, Dr Wernicke grazed through the hall in his rocket wheelchair and squeezed the brake at the elevator.
"Zanks for waiting, son," he said in his German accent. Jeremy kept staring at him with his opened mouth.
"What are you waizing for? Press ze button, boy," Wernicke said before tapping his finger on the armrest.
"What level?" Jeremy asked.
"Wherever you want to go."
Jeremy was taken aback by his strange reply, but pressed the elevator button. He figured the scientist was an old man, so it was nothing out of the ordinary to see him behave like this. As he looked back, he saw that Wernicke was staring at him from the corner of his eye, it creeped him the hell out.
"So, doing anyzing this weekend?" Wernicke asked.
"No."
As the elevator doors opened, Wernicke moved out towards the courtyard making Dalek sounds. Jeremy made a sharp turn left, not wanting to continue talking to the strange doctor. But to his annoyance, the man in the wheelchair kept following him.
Jeremy entered Rick Trager's office. The executive looked up from his papers and his face lit up when he saw his colleague approach him. They greeted and were making plans for playing golf that weekend, until Trager noticed the man on the wheelchair in his doorway.
"Doctor Wernicke? I did Nazi you coming. What brings you up here?" He asked.
"I'm almost too afraid to ask but, can I spend ze weekend with you guys? I'm bored as shite and ze doctors told me my heart won't support me for another week, and I want my last memories to be fun ones."
Rick nodded and looked at Jeremy, who had closed his eyes and seemed in deep thought.
"Doctor Wernicke, in your condition you are not able to play golf, and I think your wheelchair is just a tiny bit too big to fit in my car."
Wernicke weakly punched his armrest. "Find a way or you're fired."
Mr Blaire gave in. "Oh, fine. Whatever Rudolf."
And then they all laughed.