Oates saw it, he was impressed.  The clean room was a high-density force-field in the shape of a large cube and the only surface that wasn’t deadly was the floor, which was made of solid granite.  The unique cell was guarded by three elite Vice-models. 

   Inside was a medium sized man wearing only tattered pants.  His hair was very short and it was hard to tell what its true color was, Oates guessed blonde.  The man saw the receptionist and Oates holding a gun at her head and he stood up to greet them.  His face was scraggly and he looked ravenous.

   “Who are you,” he asked Oates.  “Why haven’t the guards attacked you?”

   “Stay, Ruthie,” he co...

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