Randall sat in the comfortable office chair, staring out the window.

"Kid?" An older woman sat in front of him. She had pink fur and looked like a dragon that had been tarred and feathered. "Okay, we already know your name and all that jazz, but now we have to find a job for you."

"A job?"

"Yeah, something to keep you busy. Welcome to Pester Enterprises. We are the largest exile group in the world. And now you're a member." Randall could finally read her nametag; Mrs. Flesh. "Cally told me you'd be kind of a tough nut to crack. I guess she figured, with those bruises and all.........say, how'd you get those, anyway?"

"Long story............Cally? Was she the one who found me?"

"Yup. You're lucky, too. She's one of the more famous exiles around here, too. Cally Wintergreen. Ever heard of her?"

"The name is familiar...." He had heard of her before; he was sure of it. But where?

"Let's see if this brings back memories; the Elder Crisis."

"Of course! That's it! I was still in training then. She was the one who led that group who tried to scare adults."

"Uh huh. Biggest scandal of the century. What was so special about her case was that she actually managed to stay in Monstropolis for a while before being exiled. They made an effort to hide it as much as possible, but when those guys from the Times got a hold of the story, there was no stopping them. Gave her 2 weeks of news coverage, a made-for-TV movie, and a book before they finally shipped her out. But she's a good kid now."

"Yeah, well..."

"So, as I was saying, we need to find you a job. But first, let me introduce you to what we do here at Pester Enterprises. Our founder was Calvin X. Pester, my great-grandfather. He was not the first exile, but he decided to help out those less well-off. So he decided to create a company. But more than just a company. He decided to create a home." She paused to cough into a tissue, then drank from her coffee cup. "We read your profile. Blue exile, eh?"

"Blue?"

"Improperly exiled, that is. You're going to have to learn the lingo around here. Anyhoo, we also noticed that you listed that you had a prior camouflage ability."

"Yes."

"Seems we exiles all develop that same ability after being turned out for more than half an hour in any one place. Some kind of built-in survival mechanism."

Randall looked up at this. "Were you-"

"Exiled? No, I was born here. Born with the ability. That's another quirk."

"Oh. Because I can hardly see you being a troublemaker." This oughta get me in good, he snickered in his head.

"That's very kind of you. But flattery will get you nowhere, if that's what you're thinking." She turned back to the computer.

Man, she's on to me, Randall thought.

"Oh man, I just keep getting off topic! Listen, I've been on the job since 3 am this morning, and it's now-what is it?-4 pm. 13 hours! I have every right to be cranky and I would be if I was the cranky type, which I'm not, so you're lucky. And this coffee ain't helping without a darn. So take a look around, get some rest, and report to the medical office at 9 am sharp for an exam." She handed him some papers. "Just give that to the doc before you go in."

"Exam?" His voice shook with that word.

"Oh, you know, the usual stuff, to make sure you're well enough to go to work, you know so you won't drop dead on the job and give us another inquest to have to go through." She grabbed a sheet off the pile she had given him. "See right here? Third floor, down the hall, 'til you come to a hallway painted neon pink. Neon pink. Isn't that gawd-awful? It was actually a mistake, you know. We wanted cream to match the rest of the hallways, but no, somehow the painting crew misread cream as neon pink. Left it that way, though, 'cause before that, everybody had trouble finding the main medical clinic. Had one poor guy who sat for 10 hours naked in a supply closet before one of the nurses realised he hadn't shown up. Finally found him shivering beneath a pile of rags, fast asleep. Worst part of it is he wound up with pneumonia. Well, I've got to stop jabbering on. You're probably getting right sick of the sound of my voice." She grabbed her coffee mug and keys, and turned out the lights."I'll let my machine pick up the rest of the calls. If they really need me, they can come and get me. You going to be okay, hon?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Good. Now you just take it easy, Mr. Boggs. Can I call you Randy? Like Randy Travis. Heard some of his music on my radio 5 years ago. Been hooked ever since. He's a country singer." Mrs. Flesh walked out of the room, and Randall followed. "You can call me Alice. That's what everybody calls me. They say I know everything 'cause my dad taught me to read using the company newsletter. You know, they're like, 'Go ask Alice.' Anyway, have a nice day, Randy."

Alice locked the door with her key and walked down the hallway. Randall stared as she walked away, thinking about something far back in his mind, when suddenly a cart crashed into him, sending his papers flying in the air like seagulls. Randall fell over. The guy pushing the cart-he was a member of the maintenance staff- was listening to a walkman. He continued on his way.

As Randall picked up his papers, he shoved them absent-mindedly into a file folder. He happened to notice that whoever had labeled the folder, it was certainly not Alice. The label read BOOGER, WENDELL.

Finally, the question that had escaped him a moment ago was as clear as if he'd thought of it for the first time.

What on earth had he gotten himself into?