"Who... Who are you?" asked Ethan, slowly lowering the gun from his shaggy head. "All you need to know right now," said the man, "Is that you're coming with us." With this, the men turned towards the door, and Ethan wordlessly followed, letting his pistol drop to the floor with a soft thud as he did so. The men led Ethan out of the small room he called home, down the stairs, and out of the apartment block.
"Where are we going?" asked Ethan quietly after several minutes of crossing streets and taking turns. One of the men motioned towards a large, black, armored van. Another shoved a handgun between Ethan's shoulder blades and grunted, "In." Ethan obeyed; if the bullet hit him in the back, it wouldn't kill him, although it would be excruciatingly painful and could paralyse him. Stepping into the car, Ethan detected the faint scent of cigarette smoke.
Once all of the men had piled into the car, the driver looked over to the man Ethan had originally spoken to. "Rimsley," said the driver, "Is this him?" "Yes," replied Rimsley after a short pause. "We believe so." "So then - then it's true? He can - you know...?" "We believe so," repeated Rimsley adamantly. "Wow..." breathed the driver. After a few moments of silence, Rimsley spoke. "So are we going to go, or are you just going to sit here and admire the subject?" 'Oh, er - yes."
As they drove through the city and out into the countryside, Ethan pondered what the men had been talking about. Surely if he asked the men, they'd be as unresponsive as ever. They must have the wrong guy, he thought. What do they think is so interesting about they'd be willing to kidnap me? Perhaps, he thought, They think I'm some world-class athlete or something? What if they think... What if they think I'm a rival gang member? This had to be it: Ethan had been taken by a gang. A million scenarios whirled through his head, most of which ended with him shot, dead, or both. Suddenly, faced with the prospect of death by someone else's hand, the whole concept became much less appealing.
His mind soon settled on the next problem: how to escape. I'll smash the window, Ethan throught. Once the van's going slow, I'll jump out. Then I'll demand that they relea- But another thought had occurred to Ethan, helping considerably to slow his heart rate. But if they wanted me dead, he though, They'd have just let me kill myself. At this realization, Ethan heaved a massive sigh of relief. But then, he thought, Why have they-
"We're here, Rimsley," announced the driver. "Thank you, Weston," said Rimsley, with a nod to the driver. "You," grunted the man who had poked Ethan with his gun. "Get out of the car, or I'll blow your-" "There will be no need for that, Capps," said Rimsley. "Now, Mr. Freeman, if you'd kindly come with us?" Seizing his opportunity, Ethan responded, "No. Not unless you tell me what's going on right now," Rimsley narrowed his eyes. "Now is not the time for questions, Mr. Freeman. I will only tell you once more; come with us." Dammit, thought Ethan. Seeing no other option, Ethan obeyed.
The troupe of men walked along a deserted path for a few moments before arriving at a high metal wall with a fortified door. Rimsley punched a long, numerical code into a small keypad on the side of the door. The keypad emitted a small beep, and the door slid open. Behind the wall was a massive, sprawling complex of a metal building. "What is this-?" asked Ethan, amazed. Rimsley flashed a small smile. "Welcome," he said, "To the N.R.F.E.I."
