The interrogation room was not set up in a professional matter. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t set up at all. The agents simply cleared the local sheriffs office out of anything beyond the desk, a chair, and a blindingly light desklight. There was also a stool with a cushion on top, seated on the opposite side of the desk to the chair. Inside there was one man. The best physical description one could give was one word: “Indistinctive”. Tan skin, dark blonde hair, not above average height… One probably passes by dozens of people looking alike on their daily trip from home to work. There were however two characteristics that could turn your attention to him. First was his relatively light german accent. Second was his clothing. Ragged-looking, here and there torn and stained with mud, dirt, a spot or two of tree sap and a bit of something that looked surprisingly a lot like blood, accompanied by a pair of broken aviator shades.
Opposite of him, on the stool, in a way so that he could easily block the door if the interrogated would think of escaping through the room’s only door, was a cartoonish-looking unicorn pony. To take from the otherwise serious scenery, he had a deep viridian coat and an offstandingly orange mane. He was also wearing dark glasses.
So, mr.. Wortkünstler? Did I pronounce that correctly? - The pony spoke up after a minute of silence.
Yes.
Good. Mr. Wortkünstler, I trust you to know why we are in this room.
I am aware of the reasons behind our conversation, yes.
Good. If you are not ready to answer our questions, just tell.
The only thing that prevents me from doing so is the ridiculousness of this situation.
The pony raised an eyebrow.
May I inquire?
Well, the federal agent that’s tasked with interrogating me is a pastel colored talking pony from an animated series designed to sell toys to little girls and he’s trying his damn best to sound as tough as it gets. If not the awareness of what I’m in, I’d be laughing my ass off and making some snappy comments about how your butt-tatoo is probably a pair of shades and an earpiece. - Explained the man.
The unicorn flinched, then looked down at his flank, which was indeed proundly presenting to the world a pair of shades and an earpiece. Indeed, the situation, form a third party observer’s point of view must have sounded like a setup for a bad joke.
This isn’t recorded, right? - Wortkünstler asked.
No. - The interrogated need not know about a recorder taped under the desk. Best not to phase his mind with it and let him relax.
The sheriff didn’t have anything against you crashing into his place?
The local sheriff was one of the ones to commit suicide shortly after the Incident.
Ah. - The subject was visibly off-put by this statement. - I see… Shall we begin.
Of course. Please, mr. Wortkünstler, state your name and occupation for the sake of protocol..
My name is Jakob Wortkünstler. I am a journalist working for the National Geographic Magazine’s german branch.
And you’ve been part of the expedition beacause…?
My employers, as one of the expeditions main sponsors, decided that they wanted one of their men to be a part of it. I drew the methaphorical short straw.
I see. Allright, mr. Wortkünstler, I won’t be bothering you with much. Please, tell me the whole thing from the beginning to the end.
Of course. It was a dark and stormy night in Frankfurt am main. The light flickered in an obscure hall in Bethanien Krankenhaus…
By beginning, I mean from the point you stepped onto american soil.
Of course. - The man put down his glassess on the desk, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and started talking. - It all began 3 weeks ago, on the Chicago-O’Hare international airport…
