There were two guards. They handled him roughly. They tossed him into a metal room, and before he could stand up they hauled him to his feet and strapped him down to a cold and uncomfortable chair. In front of him, sat a dark haired officer in an unusual uniform.
“Name?” asked the officer coldly.
“Who are you?”
“NAME?”
“Peter.”
“Peter, yes,” the officer was not amused. “Peter Kreppner, of 1602 Benson Court, here in the city. Yes. Do you know why you’re here?”
That was the question. That was the question. “God no.”