"Cuz you all were so patient I thought you deserved a reward! I wanna first thank Thymine for all of the wonderful reviews! Sorry I forgot to thank you in the last chapter ^^;(S'what happens when I type at four am sometimes. Sorry again). I would also like to give much love to my good friend Michelle for her slamming reviews as well! Reviews are the fuel for my writer's fire! They keep me going! Many thanks to you both and to all of you who are reading! There are a few changes in this story line from the game as the two didn't want to be compatible with each other but it's nothing major. I believe I've reached the point that I'm going to have to change a few things here and there but I'll do my best to stick to the canon story while still giving you all something fresh! Forewarning there's a bit more swearing in this chapter but the storyline situations kinda called for it. Sorry folks. And now, chapter 4! As always please read, review, but most of all, enjoy!
Dorland arrived at the briefing room only to realize that it had been two hours since he had returned to the station and that that in turn meant that Ethan Thomas was an hour late.
"How surprising," he thought dryly as he opened the door. It was then, out of the corner of his eye, that he saw Ethan walking towards him from down the hall, naturally taking his sweet time.
Dorland paused, took a step back, and held the door open for him, not so much out of politeness as out of suspicion. He wanted to make sure that Ethan didn't take any more detours before heading into the room.
When Ethan reached the door he paused, giving Dorland an ugly look. Dorland thought about responding with his own, but on a whim, chose not to. He was far too tired to care at the moment, especially about someone he thought not above sewer scum.
The blank look must have surprised Ethan for his expression changed slightly and he blinked several times before carefully entering the room.
"Look on his face was almost worth that," Dorland thought smugly as he followed in after him.
As Farrel began the briefing, Dorland found he could barely pay attention to a single word that was being said. Too much was on his mind. He was still mulling over the possibility that he had been standing too close to the sonic emitters for too long and that this, all of this, was simply just a side effect. However unlikely the hypothesis might be it was far better, and more reasonable, than the alternative.
But since when had anything ever been reasonable in Metro City?
Dorland tried, unsuccessfully, to focus back on the briefing, but there was an annoying ringing sensation in his ears and he was suddenly beginning to develop a splitting headache. The lights overhead seemed to flare, making it hard for him to see. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to correct his vision but it did little good. The ringing, along with the glare, continued to grow in intensity.
"If the Oro wanted to contact me," Dorland thought as he gritted his teeth, "they could try my damn cell phone!"
The lights pulsed yet again and, for a brief moment, Dorland thought he saw figures of familiar people sitting in seats that had been empty just moments before. As soon as the glare of the lights faded away, however, he realized he had just been imagining things.
"Hey, Dorland," came a deep voice to his left followed by a quick nudge to his side.
Dorland turned to find Agent Pierce LeRue staring at him with a look of slight concern. Apparently his behavior had been noticeable. "Yeah?" Dorland asked, still trying to ignore the ringing sensation in his ears.
"Not to sound rude here, Dorland, but, well…you look like shit," LeRue said with a halfhearted laugh.
Dorland smirked in spite of himself. LeRue had that effect on people. "Same shit different day," Dorland replied with a short sigh as the ringing at long last stopped.
LeRue laughed but said little, for it was almost impossible for LeRue to say nothing—so said ten years of working with the man. "I hear that," he replied.
Dorland shook his head. LeRue was a hearty fellow, no doubt about that. The man almost always had a smirk on his face and always had something to say—a trait that could be annoying at times and beguiling at others. He was a good man and a good agent, in spite of the fact that he, like Rosa, was unaware of what was truly going on behind the scenes. Regardless of how anyone in the Bureau felt about his boisterous personality, LeRue got shit done, plain and simple, and that was a trait that Dorland respected.
Dorland turned his attention back to Director Farrel and heard the rest of the briefing out.
After the briefing was finally over the agents headed out, each going to their respective stations to grab their gear and prepare. Dorland was the last one to leave the room, a habit picked up from counting squad members as his team exited buildings. As he reached for the door the Director grabbed his arm.
"Dorland, just a moment," the Director said. "I need to speak with you."
Dorland eased the door closed and turned to face the Director. "Well?" he said impatiently.
"I heard you ran into one of Sergei's men, Inferi," he said as he walked back behind the desk in the middle of the room. "I heard you kept him from killing Mr. Thomas."
Dorland scoffed. "You heard wrong," he growled. "I kept Rosa from killing Inferi. Inferi's incompetence kept him from killing Mr. Thomas."
Farrel shook his head. "In any case, good work back there," he sighed. "But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."
"Out with it then, I have a lot to do."
"The Oro's gone quiet…" he said grimly as he carefully sat down in a chair, the metal implants undoubtedly flaring up. "I haven't been able to get in touch with them since the word came down that Sergei was returning. That last thing they said was that they were attending to matters and told me to deal with the situation."
Dorland furrowed his brow in speculation. "What the hell does that mean?" he growled.
"That the shit may have just hit the fan and we're officially out of the loop," Farrel sighed as he rubbed his forehead. "At least for now."
"Fan-fucking-tastic!" Dorland hissed as he clenched his fists. "What the hell are we suppose to do if we run into complications?!"
"Keep your voice down!" Farrel hissed. "Look, all I know is that they expect us to handle this. Apparently there are more important matters elsewhere."
Dorland laughed. "More important than dealing with Mr. Thomas?"
"They're still tailing him, aside from just our group," Farrel explained. "Besides, they believe that so long as he's in the dark he's only a moderate threat."
"Oh, moderate, right, so naturally the best course of action is to have him help us out on this case?!" Dorland growled. "What the hell are you thinking, Ike?! This shit is bound to blow up in all our fucking faces!"
"Enough!" Farrel shouted as he stood up from his seat, fist slamming down onto the table top. "Do as you're damn well told for once in your damn life, Charles! They're already ill with you! Don't give them a reason to debate your use again!"
Dorland froze. "What?"
The Director went pale. "You should go now," he said quietly.
"Not until you explain to me what the hell all that was about," Dorland hissed.
"You know damn well you've been under scrutiny ever since that day ten years ago, hell, even before that!" Farrel hissed, lowering his voice to a dangerously quiet level. "None of this should surprise you!"
Dorland's blood ran cold. With a strangled tremor in his voice he spoke. "After all I've done for them, all I've lost for them, they dare question my resolve? My wife is dead, Ike! What the hell else do I have to lose?"
There was a long pause before the Director spoke again. In a voice barely above a whisper he said, "Just keep your mouth shut and your head down, Charles, and do as I tell you for once, for your own sake. Just. Keep. Quiet."
Dorland stared at the Director in disbelief before abruptly turning for the door.
"Keep him alive, Dorland," Farrel warned. "We need to figure out what's going on."
"No promises," Dorland spat as he stormed out the door and headed towards the helo-pad.
"Why the FUCK does this keep happening to us?!" Dorland found himself screaming not three hours later.
"I guess this city just loves us too damn much!" he heard LeRue shout behind him.
They were not four feet from each other and yet they had to scream, scream almost at the top of their lungs just to be heard over the rioters behind them, the rioters that were now nipping at their heels. The whole mission had gone to hell the moment they'd been separated. "If only Ethan hadn't fallen down that damn shaft!" Dorland thought angrily. "Better yet, if only that damn elevator had crushed his sorry ass! Then we wouldn't be here!"
Over come with anger, Dorland began ranting. "One mission!" Dorland yelled. "One fucking mission! Is it too much to ask? That one damn thing go right?!"
"Apparently!" LeRue half growled, half laughed.
They were running down the commuter tracks, running from a blood crazed riot while carrying the dead body of Malcolm Vanhorn. "I only wish this son of a bitch wasn't dead so I could kill him myself!" Dorland growled, continuing on with his tirade.
"I can see it now," LeRue laughed. "Upstanding cop killed today on the commuter tracks of Metro City while trying to save…a CORPSE!"
"Glad to see you find this fiasco so damned amusing," Dorland muttered. "You get a contact high back there or something?"
"HA! If only," LeRue snorted. "This would look a damn sight more hopeful if I had."
"Amen to that," Dorland grumbled turning his eyes to the sky, searching for the helicopter that would be their one and only ticket out of there alive.
"Shit!" he swore aloud, having seen no sign of it. "Where the hell is our transport?!"
The voice of the copter pilot blared in Dorland's ears. "I'm on route—two minutes tops!" he said, assurance clearly lacking in his voice.
"You'd better make it one or there'll be no waiting for this table!" LeRue radioed the pilot.
"English, LeRue!" the pilot bellowed back.
LeRue sighed, audibly rolling his eyes. "Get your ass here or we're toast!" he growled.
"Roger that!"
"What the hell is wrong with our pilots?" LeRue asked.
"Shit if I know," Dorland sighed.
Dorland stole a quick glance over his shoulders. The only one thing rioters were closer to then LeRue and himself was Ethan, who had taken too long in exiting the building. He signaled LeRue to hold the body while he drew his hand gun, taking out two of the rioters.
It did little good. The mob that had accumulated behind Ethan was ten seconds away from swarming him. If he and LeRue were going to make it out alive, drastic measures were going to have to be taken.
"Looks like this isn't your day, Mr. Thomas," he thought as he took aim at a nearby transformer.
The second shot had sealed the deal. The transformer erupted into a sea of flames sending the rioters, hurtling to the ground and Ethan, who had been alongside the device, into a nearby fence before he too came crashing down.
"That should by us some time," he thought aloud.
"Sir," LeRue hissed, "Mr. Thomas is still back there."
"He'll find his way," he assured LeRue. "He lives in this filth."
LeRue replied to Dorland's last comment with only a dark look as he tried to radio Ethan, telling him of the extraction point. "Thomas! Meet us up ahead," he said. "We'll secure the area till the chopper arrives. Find your way around and meet up with us before this shit gets outta hand!"
"You his mother?" Dorland snapped. "We have Vanhorn. That was the objective!"
"The hell is wrong with you, Dorland?" LeRue spat. "He used to be one of us!"
"Used to be!" Dorland pointed out. "Right now, my main concern is getting you and this damn body out of here in one piece! Understood?!"
LeRue held his tongue—for once—but it was clear that he was none too pleased with the situation. "If you knew what was really going on," Dorland thought, "you might understand. The longer we stay around him, the higher our chances of dying."
Dorland knew that Ethan was a death sentence to anyone that surrounded him. But unfortunately for him, LeRue wasn't familiar with Ethan's colorful past, causing Dorland too look more brutish than usual. Dorland knew he would have to drive the point home in his own way, telling non-Oro members of Oro activities was the fastest way to get killed in his organization.
"Hate me if you want," he thought. "Least you'll get to go home and see your family tonight."
The flood of rioters continued almost without ceasing. They fought off the insane mob for what felt like an eternity, and, with each agonizing second, the two Metro Officers were beginning to run out of bullets.
"Dorland!" LeRue roared over the fire fight. "We gotta problem here!"
"I know, I know!" he yelled. "Hang in there, that damn chopper should be here any minute!"
As if on cue, the chopper blades could be heard, and before long the steel bird herself could be seen.
"Speak of the devil!" LeRue laughed. "Why didn't you do that sooner?"
"Har, har, LeRue," Dorland chided. "Load the corpse up and let's get the hell outta here."
The two SCU officers quickly strapped the body into the harness and gave the signal for the chopper pilot to pull it up.
"You next, LeRue!" Dorland shouted over the chaos.
"What about Thomas?"
"He's on his own!" Dorland shouted. "Now get your ass moving!"
"Are you nuts?!" LeRue retorted. "He won't last ten minutes out there!"
"Leave him!" Dorland barked once again. "That's. An. Order!"
LeRue gave him a long hard look but, with a few choice words, got on the helicopter as instructed. Dorland followed suit as fast as he was able and in moments they were flying over the mob infested streets, at last headed back to the Bureau.
There was a long and uneasy silence on the chopper ride back. LeRue was practically burning a hole into Dorland's forehead with the glare he was giving him. The tension was palpable, so much so that the loud mouth, wise cracking pilot kept his jaw firmly shut—only courageous enough to occasionally steal glances back at the two SCU officers.
Eventually LeRue could no longer stand it. "What the hell happened back there, Dorland?" LeRue growled. "Why the hell did we leave Thomas?! We could have waited! He was so damn close!"
Dorland sighed. "Not as close as you would like to believe, LeRue," he reminded him. "Just leave it. It was my call and I made it. You don't have to live with it, I do. So can it." He turned his attention from LeRue back to the direction of the chaos they had just barely managed to escape. "Besides," he continued, "Thomas is like a cockroach…It's gonna take a hell of a lot more than that to kill him…"
"Is that experience or disappointment I hear talkin?" LeRue said with a leer.
Dorland glared back at LeRue but didn't answer. He didn't have to because it didn't matter. None of it did. The fact remained that Ethan would undoubtedly turn back up on the Bureau's doorstep within the week spouting curses and death threats to match. Dorland would again be dragged through some hellacious endeavor only to watch it blow up in his face because the powers that be were too damn paranoid to deal with the matter the sane way.
Dorland was once again reminded of how much he hated Oro protocol.
At long last the chopper landed on the Bureau's rooftop. The body was extracted by a few of Dorland's underlings and taken to the morgue. Before they managed to cart the body off, and after both LeRue and the pilot were out of ear shot, Dorland reminded them not to let anyone examine the body until certain 'measures' had been taken place.
His men, all fellow Oro members, knew exactly what he meant. They affirmed that they would do as instructed and quickly headed on their way. With that, Dorland made his way down to his office.
Before he opened the door he realized his office lights were on. Dorland never left his office lights on. He sighed. "Usually only means one thing," he muttered.
Dorland opened the door and was greeted by an impatient looking Ron Harris. The red-headed Scots-Irishman glared at him as he entered the room. "What the hell have you gone 'n fucked up?" he growled at Dorland as he stepped into his office.
Dorland blinked, surprised. "Hi, Ron…how are you?" he said flatly as he glared at the man in front of him, the only sound in the room being that of the weighted door quietly closing itself.
"One of the other Oro's recons came by and was snooping around your office while you were out," Ron said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wanna tell me what the hell he was looking for?"
Dorland's jaw dropped. "What?"
Ron looked taken aback. Apparently he had been expecting Dorland to not be surprised. "Y-yeah…" he said hesitantly. "'Think he was from the Umbra the way he kept hoverin. He moved around some of the lower offices and then came straight up here. Sergei had to chase him off."
Dorland ran a hand over his buzzed head as he walked behind his desk. He let out a long, aggravated sigh before inquiring more about his 'visitor'. "You the only one that noticed him?" Dorland asked.
"Me and Sergei," Harris replied. "Don't think anyone else even knew he was here. Shouldn't surprise you though, he is recon." 'S kinda his job, it'n it?"
"Then how did you recognize him?"
Ron frowned. "Well for one thing, Sergei's brought a few through here before, smart ass," he growled. "And everyone from that damn squad looks the fuckin same. To top it off the bloody idiot practically told me. Looked up from my desk and the creep was standin right in front of me. Asked him if he needed something and he just smirked and walked off. I called Sergei after that. Figure'd somethin was up."
Ron sneered when Dorland looked surprised, however faint his expression was. "Alright asshole, I know I've slacked off here lately but even I don't deserve this BS," Ron hissed as he crossed his arms defiantly across his chest, the red on the back of his neck nearing that of his hair.
Dorland snorted. "Sorry, Ron," he said. "More grateful then surprised."
Ron dismissed Dorland's remark with a wave of his hand. "Yea, yea," he said. "Stow it and tell me what the hell's going on."
Dorland shook his head and gave a slight shrug, which only aggravated the Scots-Irishman further. But before he could begin another rant, Dorland interrupted him. "I honestly don't know, Ron," he said, cutting off a sharp and aggravated intake of breath on Harris's part. "Some weird shit's going down and I'm just as in the dark as you."
Ron eyed his friend carefully. "What'd ya mean, weird shit?" he asked.
Dorland rubbed the sides of his head and let his gaze drop down to the desk. Without looking up he answered as quietly as possible. "…Some of my wife's things turned up today…"
Dorland couldn't see Ron's reaction, but he could hear it—a slight intake of breath followed by the sound of a gulp and hands gripping arms even tighter. "W-what?" he asked, a slight quiver in his voice.
"Don't make me say it again, Ron," he sighed.
He heard Ron's arms go slack, heard him turn and start pacing around the room as he rubbed his jaw. He heard him slowly walk over to the front of the desk and flop down in one of the office chairs.
"That ain't just weird shit, that's down right…it's…ugh…" Ron shuttered.
Dorland glared up at him. The only one who had a right to freak out was him, and Ron's melt down was not helping him maintain his composure.
"Right," Ron coughed. "Sorry…So…now what?"
"Hell if I—"Dorland was unable to finish his sentence, having just realized what he thought the recon was after.
"What?"
Dorland ignored Harris as he frantically pulled at the drawer where he had stored his wife's gun, praying that it was still locked.
No such luck.
The drawer slung open as Dorland yanked on the handle revealing a very, very empty drawer.
"FUCK!" Dorland shouted as he slammed his fist down hard on his desk causing it to give a violent shake.
Ron was immediately set back on edge. "What?!"
Dorland shot up from his desk, pacing behind it as he held his jaw with one hand in an attempt to keep from screaming. "The gun—my wife's gun—Sergei…found it…" he said, panic creeping into his voice. "I locked it up in my desk…"
"—and now it's gone…" Ron groaned as he slumped back into the office chair.
Dorland abruptly stopped pacing. "…Guess this mean it wasn't the Oro…" he thought aloud.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly as he stepped out from behind the desk.
"Wait, where are you going?" Ron asked as he too shot up from his seat.
"Need to talk to Sergei," he said quickly. "See you tomorrow."
He heard Ron sigh behind him. "And if you suddenly don't show up for work?"
"Then say something nice at my funeral," Dorland said as he threw open the door and headed to Sergei's office downstairs.
He only made it three steps out the door before his pager started blaring. "Gonna have to wait, old man," he growled as he turned the device off and continued on his way.
When he arrived at Sergei's office he found that all the lights were off but the door, as usual, was unlocked. Dorland wasn't sure if he was there but he tired it anyways. He quietly walked into the barren room and looked around.
The office, lacking in anything that even resembled sentimental value, consisted of one desk, one filing cabinet, a standard computer, two small office chairs and one tiny couch-like piece of furniture. It was on the couch he found Sergei lightly dozing.
Dorland sighed, reluctant to wake the exhausted Russian. He had heard only rumors of what the missions were like—the ones he personally was sent on—and none of those were ever pleasant. The task of waking the Russian however was done for him for Sergei suddenly opened his eyes and looked right up at Dorland.
A small flicker of a smile danced across the Russian's face as a mischievous gleam appeared in his eyes. "You're not a pretty Serbian girl," he jeered, his voice hoarse from sleep.
Sergei always had an odd sense of humor.
"No…" Dorland said flatly as he cocked an eyebrow. "Good dream I take it?"
The Russian grinned suggestively as he looked off, almost as if to remember. "Da," he sighed dreamily. "Oh well, all things must end I suppose." He sat up and turned to face Dorland. "What can I do for you, comrade?"
"Heard I had a visitor."
All semblance of humor plummeted from the Russian's face as his expression turned to one of stone and ice.
He nodded.
"And I take it you don't have the gun either?"
The Russian's eyes widened ever so slightly before being reduced to slits. He heard Sergei spout something in Russian. "No," he growled. "Why didn't you take it with you?"
Dorland scoffed. "For all I know that thing could be bugged. Ain't no way in hell it was going anywhere with me."
Sergei shot him a dark look knowing full well that that wasn't the real reason, but he chose not to press the matter.
There was a long pause, each man running over the different scenarios in his head, each more unpleasant then the next. "How many conclusions do you figure they'll jump to?" Dorland asked.
The Russian laughed. "If they think one of her splinter factions has contacted you…" Sergei trailed off.
Dorland glared at Sergei. "She didn't have a splinter faction."
"Your wife had influence, however small," Sergei sighed. "People respected her, knew she didn't do things without just cause. She spoke little, but when she did, people tended to listen, and when she acted, they tended to follow. In the eyes of the Oro, that's a splinter faction."
Dorland grunted in disgust but chose to drop the matter. It was a conversation he'd rather not have, so he chose to change the subject.
"What about you?" he asked. "You think they'll come after you for chasing him off?"
"Possibly, though I doubt it," Sergei said as he stood up from his seat and walked towards the center of the room. "The different Recon teams tend to be territorial of their base of operations. The fact that I was none too happy he was nosing around in my assigned area should appear normal."
"Should," Dorland pointed out.
Sergei shook his head. "I was careful of what little I said," he assured Dorland. "To have another recon search our assigned areas while we are present is taken as an insult. The fact that I chased him off the scene is expected. If I didn't, it would be as if I were admitting guilt in some fashion. I defended the Bureau, not your office—at least—that is how it will appear. If they chose to conduct an investigation on me, it will be because they are paranoid, not because I gave them a reason."
Dorland was surprised at the thought Sergei had placed into how he had played the matter. He knew this was the kind of thing that Sergei did on a regular basis, but it was rare to get a play by play. "You really thought this thing through, huh?" he said.
Sergei smiled. "But of course."
There was another pause before Sergei spoke again.
"Go home, my friend," he said. "You should rest. There is nothing more we can do now until we know how the Oro will react."
Dorland nodded. He was right, as usual. Fatigue began to wash over him. He hadn't realized how tired he was. "Yea…" he conceded. "I could use a few winks…" He looked over at Sergei. "You look like you could use a few too."
The Russian smiled wanly as he nodded. "Da, that I could," he said. "That we both could…"
With a smile and a nod the two men went their separate ways. Dorland quietly exited the Bureau, cranked his patrol car, and began the long drive back to his apartment. It was sometime during his ride back home that his cell phone began ringing.
He flipped the phone open with a tired sigh. "Dorland here," he growled.
"Nice of you to report in," came the gravelly, not so enthused voice of Director Ike Farrel.
"Ah…"
There was a long, agitated sigh on the other side of the line. "I can't believe that you…left him in the middle of that...riot!"
"Funny," Dorland hissed, "I remembered recovering the body of a certain Malcolm Vanhorn being the top priority. I don't recall being ordered to baby sit."
The Director reprimanded him. "I told you to keep him alive!" he barked.
Dorland sighed in frustration. "Well apparently he made it back otherwise you wouldn't be calling me and wasting my time," he growled.
There was a pause on the other end. "You're damn well lucky he did," he chided. There was another pause. "FUBAR mission aside, Dorland, I need you to do something."
"What?" Dorland snapped.
"I need you to disappear for a few days…"
"…What?"
"You've attracted a lot of attention suddenly," he explained. "An Umbra came looking for you, for crying out loud! You're only lucky the helo-extraction took so damn long."
"Again with this damn Umbra," Dorland snarled. "What the hell have I done exactly?"
"Hell if I know yet, but I'm trying to figure it out."
"Great," Dorland snorted. "Fantastic. How the hell are you gonna explain me returning from a mission and then suddenly not showing up for work for several days? R and R?"
"Who said you came back?"
Dorland sighed, he was severely lacking in the energy required to play solve the cryptic phrase. "The twenty cameras, four SCU agents, Sergei, Ron, and LeRue say I came back," he said.
"Easy fix," Farrel assured him. "Tapes get lost, re-written. Your four men, Ron, and Sergei will do as I tell them because they know the drill. As for LeRue, I'll think of something."
"I don't believe this."
"Believe it, Charles," The Director insisted. "The Umbra could still be looking for you. Keep your head down and please, stay quiet this time."
"No COM chatter I take?"
"Of course not."
"Right..." Dorland murmured. "And how the hell do I know you're not setting me up right now? Please fall off the map for a few days and cut yourself off from communications? To say that sounded suspicious would just insult my intelligence, a lot like what you're doing now."
"Dammit, Chuck!" Farrel growled. "After all of this time, all of these years, you still don't trust me? You know I wouldn't do that to you!"
"Don't take it personally," Dorland replied. "I haven't trusted a lot of people in the last ten years."
"Yourself included?"
Dorland's blood ran cold. His rage caused his words to fail him. He heard the Director sigh. "Chuck—I didn't mean that—"
"—Like hell you did."
"Chuck—"
"Shut up!" Dorland hissed. "I'll do as you ask but if I think for one second that you've sold me out, I'm gonna come down on you so damn hard I'll make the Hate's interrogations look like a fucking reprieve!"
"Dorland—"
He never heard the Director out. He cut him off with a flick of the phone's cover and roughly shoved the device in one of his many vest pockets. Shortly thereafter he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex and parked his car haphazardly in his designated section, taking a few minutes to collect himself before killing the engine and heading up to his apartment room. Upon arriving at his room, he fumbled with his keys momentarily before opening the door and stepping inside.
The room was cold, colder then he remembered leaving it, but it wasn't an uncommon thing for his heater to cut out and the temperature therein to plummet. It was an unfortunate side effect of living in a rundown apartment.
The room was pitch black too. Dorland could barely see a thing. He groped for the light switch for a few minutes before at last finding it and flipping it on. He took two steps into the room and then…
He saw him.
"Good evening, Special Agent Dorland," rumbled a man's voice from the middle of the room. "Please close the door. The Oro would like a word with you."