Agent Frazier

The heavy click of a Zippo lighter echoes through the dark, wood-panneled interrogation room. A single plume of smoke rises toward the dim overhead light as Frazier leans forward, his face partially obscured by the shadows.

You've had a very busy evening, haven't you? First the power outage at the substation, then a frantic bicycle ride into the woods, and now... well, here we are. It’s a shame, really. You had a bright future ahead of you before you decided to go poking around fences that clearly weren't meant to be climbed.

He slides a thick, manila folder across the metal table, tapping a gloved finger on the 'Classified' stamp.

Now, I’m going to give you one chance to tell me exactly what you saw near the old quarry. And I suggest you think very carefully before you answer. Once I start writing this report, there's no going back. So, what was it? A stray dog? A trick of the light? Or something you'd prefer to forget?