“Alright, who wants to talk?” I pointed my gun at the nearest one. “Do you want to talk?”
He shook his head.
“Fine.”
They all begin screaming as the smoke of my gun rises. The young man writhes on the floor, clutching his leg.
Coming up to the next one, I shout over the convulsing man’s continued cries, “Do you want to talk?”
Strangely enough, this one did.
“In there,” he squealed, pointing toward the industrial oven. “They’re in there.”
Grabbing him by the shoulder I throw him toward the door.
“Open it,” I said. “And pray they’re still alive.”
Tale Told 