Blain, Tiffany, Mikayla, and I sat together on one of the tables. The one we picked was located at the back left corner of the room. Blain settled into his seat on my right, and Tiffany into hers on my left, and Mikayla sat right of Blain. The one remaining seat at the table was taken by the tall, skinny boy with pristine teeth; his surname was either Blayney or Soot, since those were the names called out by the Pied Piper officer at the time he exited his block.
"Michael Blayney," said the boy in a Welsh accent.
He smiled elfishly and offered Tiffany a hand to shake, which she did, and he in turn shook all of our hands with the vigor of a politician. A wave of different readings of Michael crashed into my mind, leaving me a little dazed.
On the one hand I felt as if his whole demeanor screamed 'psychopath', or 'sociopath', or something along those lines. His hand was firm and warm to the touch and his eyes beaming with friendliness, and yet there was something about him that didn't add up.
Whilst the other teenagers took their seats at the other tables I figured out what it was about Michael that didn't make sense; quite simply we were, presumably, all afraid and wary of what this special dinner might entail. And we were all prisoners at the facility, separated from our families and friends; I couldn't speak for what Michael had experienced but I had seen two teenagers at the facility killed in less than a month. For this reason, and many more, I had every right to be stressed and prickly and unwilling to engage in friendly handshakes and conversations. He seemed to hold none of the same apprehension.
You're probably overthinking it, I tried to tell myself. My initial reading about Tiffany had been wrong after all. Way back when I had first met her I had counted her as someone to avoid, someone untrustworthy, and that first impression had been proved wrong. She was kind, and at times she had looked out for me and stayed true to our promise to stick together and to look out for one another. She hadn't done so perfectly, but that was only reasonable since she was a human being and human beings often fell short of idealistic expectations.
I was taken out of my reverie because I felt a twinge of something sharp inside my right plimsoll.
I leaned down and dug a finger into the shoe and found the little stone which was causing the problem, flicking it out. On my way up however I couldn't help but notice Blain and Mikayla were holding hands beneath the table. I sat upright and pretended as if I hadn't seen what I just saw.
My heart did a little leap to think Blain and Mikayla were becoming an item, especially after Blain had been so intent on bringing her away from Holly and her group before. I felt the urge to congratulate them or something but knew that would probably just result in an awkward silence, so I decided it better to mind my own business.
"This is mighty fancy, isn't it?" said Michael, smiling.
"It's done up so nice," said Tiffany.
She hugged her stomach as if cold and searched the room with her eyes.
"I don't see, Robert," she said.
"Oh I'm sure he'll come along shortly," said Michael, "I suppose he'll want to make an entrance."
The sound of a drinking glass being dinged three times drew everyone's attention to the front of the room. There stood Abigail who was dressed in her usual smart, business-woman-esque attire; she was the one who had dinged the glass in her hand with a fork. Beside her stood a short man wearing a backwards baseball cap at odds with his otherwise traditional chef attire; he looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. I recognised him as the head chef that had taken to overseeing the work done by the volunteer teenagers working in the kitchen at the facility.
"Welcome everyone," said Abigail, "Tonight you will all be treated to a three course meal; cooked by our wonderful chef, Mr Tremblay; whom some of you may already be familiar with."
"Please, call me Danny," said the chef, smiling.
"Well, Danny," said Abigail, "Over to you."
"Thank you, Abigail," said Danny, his accent the Canadian one I remembered hearing before, "We have a selection of dishes for the meals, you will all be asked your preference of chicken, beef, or fish; there's plenty of all so please choose what you'll be most satisfied with. Enjoy your meal everyone, thank you."
Danny doffed his head and after a quick glance to Abigail he headed out of the room, leaving through a door which I could just make out led into the adjacent kitchen. The smells of various delicious foods wafted out of the kitchen, making the hunger gnawing inside my stomach even worse.
"What would you like for your main course?" said a small voice.
It was very familiar. I glanced up and saw it was Daniel, balding but also long-haired Daniel who I had shared a block with at one time. He was still wearing his overalls like we all were, and in his hand was a computer tablet to take down our preferences.
"Daniel?" I said.
His eyes didn't meet mine. I noticed his hands were trembling just a little.
"Daniel, are you okay?" I said.
His eyes opened wide for an instant and fixed on me. He shook his head in a 'no' gesture and then, as if to clarify the gesture, he said, "I'm here to work. Please tell me what you want."
A fresh onset of adrenaline and rage filled me. Were the Pied Piper officers, and Abigail and Robert by extension, getting other teenagers to fill the role of waiters for the rest of us? Was Daniel going to have to take our orders and watch on as we ate a delicious meal, all while he went hungry?
"Please, I need to do this quick," said Daniel.
I could tell Daniel was a few seconds away from entering into a full on panic attack. His face was reddening from the stress.
"Chicken," I said, if only to ease Daniel's torment.
"And drink?" he said.
"What are the options?" I said, feeling myself stuck in the absurdity of the back and forth I was having with Daniel.
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"Red wine, white wine, cola…" said Daniel.
"Cola," I said, "Thank you."
The others made their orders and they seemed less uneasy about Daniel being our waiter than I anticipated. Once Daniel had moved over to the next table I leaned forward in my seat, drawing the attention of the others sitting around me.
"That's messed up," I said.
"What is?" said Mikayla.
I flinched. Wasn't it obvious?
"Daniel," I said.
I gestured to the other waiters taking orders, all of whom were teenagers that were also under arrest at the facility.
"What else are they going to do?" said Blain, "They'll probably get something to eat for doing this."
"It's the principle of the thing, man," I said, "It's messed up."
"I'm going to agree with Burgess on that one," said Michael, taking the napkin in front of him and laying it over his lap as if he were no stranger to fine dining, "It's in bad taste."
"And we sure they're not also a part of this?" said Tiffany.
"Maybe they are," I said, "But I doubt it."
We didn't have to wait long to receive our meals. We were all given soup with warm crusty bread as a starter. Daniel and the other waiters were the ones to bring out the meals and to set them down. They did so well enough I imagined they had been given a crash course from Danny Tremblay on how to wait tables.
As much as I was against what I was seeing regarding the waiting staff, I was still a hypocrite because I finished every last drop and crumb of the delicious soup and bread.
No sooner had we all finished the soup and bread did the main courses come. My meal was half a roasted chicken, with a hefty helping of buttery mashed potato, with lots of greens. We all dove into the meal like pigs to a trough; we ate with only the sound of our contented sighs and chewing to fill the silence which had taken hold of the room.
Halfway through the meal Daniel arrived back at the table with a tall glass of cola, as well as the drinks for the others (Blayney chose red wine, and Tiffany, Blain, and Mikayla chose white wine.)
That first sip of the cola was immensely satisfying. The cool, bubbly, sting of the cola hit just right. I considered pacing myself with the cola to enjoy it for longer, but that notion was quickly forgotten as I gulped it down in less than a minute.
And, just when I thought I was satiated enough, the waiters took our empty plates and returned with tall glasses filled with ice cream sundaes drizzled in hot fudge sauce. For a brief instant it occurred to me the food might be poisoned, as if for some mad reason Abigail and Robert Hoffman had decided to use the occasion to elaborately poison us all. The sundae tasted so good I simply couldn't bring myself to not eat every last bit of it, potentially poisoned or not.
Daniel took the plates and empty drink glasses from our table away for what was likely the last time whilst all of us sat back in the midst of food comas. My mind drifted towards returning back to B-6 and getting a good night's sleep, only to remember that there was a good chance I wouldn't ever be going back down to the third floor of the facility ever again. The notion of potentially going back to the third floor, back to the white walls, terrible food, the confinement, and the constant terror of being murdered at any moment sobered my thoughts.
A whirring sound drew everyone's attention to the front of the room. A projection screen was being lowered down. Earlier, whilst eating, I noticed a projector fixed to the ceiling. The dinner phase of the night was over.
"All stand," said a Pied Piper officer loudly from the back of the room.
Everyone, including me, hesitated before doing as we were told. Once we were all standing Robert Hoffman entered into the room through the doorway which led to the kitchen. He looked the same as usual, wearing a baggy, tan-coloured suit. He smiled as he approached Abigail, the two giving each other a quick hug.
Abigail, who hadn't sat with the rest of us during the dinner, took a seat at one of the tables at the front and faced her father. For a moment I saw Abigail look my way, her gaze lingering for a half second on me before facing Robert again.
"Hello, everyone," said Robert, "Danny's a great cook, isn't he? I would like to thank Danny for his hard work this evening."
Robert started to clap, and half the room joined in clapping too. Everyone at our table refrained from clapping with the exception of Michael Blayney, who clapped extra loud.
Danny Tremblay was standing at the kitchen doorway bowing his head bashfully at the clapping.
Are we seriously doing this? I thought, hating that we were all pretending to be at some society dinner and not currently under arrest.
"And thank you, Abigail, for arranging everything tonight," said Robert.
More clapping, with even more of the room joining in this time; including Mikayla and Tiffany.
It seemed to me Abigail looked uncomfortable with the applause but took it gratefully.
"Thank you, Dad," she said, with her hand pressed over her heart.
Robert gestured for us all to sit back down, which we did.
"Alright, okay, let's not waste any more time, let's get down to it, right on it, let's go," said Robert, working up momentum.
"I didn't bring you all here just for some fancy schmancy dinner," he said.
He waited a moment, letting silence fill the room, then said, "You're here because you're special. And I don't mean special because of your powers. That is something special, no doubt. But I'm talking special about who you all are."
Robert walked slowly over to a chair where Jay was sitting and put his arm atop the back of the chair.
"Some of you I have already spoken to one-on-one, others I haven't yet had the pleasure. But I have been keeping a close eye on each and every one of you during your time at the facility because I have been on the lookout. On the lookout for what, you ask? Potential. Talent. That special something. Something that you all possess."
Robert brought a finger to his lips as if contemplating what he intended to say next.
"The world is not ready for the tidal wave of change that is soon to crash upon it," he said, "And this tidal wave is, of course, the introduction of powered individuals across the world into society."
"In practically every country across the world powered individuals are now seen as a menace."
Faking teenagers exploding was something the Pied Piper's Return operation had done to scare the public into giving up their children to the government, I thought, indignantly.
"I want you all to understand something," said Robert, "As hard as the Pied Piper's Return operation has tried to find and identify powered individuals, there are tens of thousands of powered individuals which have likely evaded detection across the globe; and this is a very conservative estimate, mind you."
Robert moved away from Jay's chair and returned to the front of the projection screen. He clasped his hands together.
"My point is this: let's assume that tomorrow you were all no longer under arrest at this facility and you were all to return home to your families. As things stand right now you would not be able to live a semblance of the normal life you once knew, precisely because of the prejudice against powered individuals which has newly taken root in society."
I looked at Tiffany to gauge how she was taking in this information and saw she was breathing heavily, clearly emotionally affected by what Robert was saying; her mind no doubt on her finding a way to be with her son again.
"You are all here today because you have been compliant with the Pied Piper's Return operation," said Robert, "And I know, I know, it has not been an easy road. I do not agree with much of how things have been run at this facility, but much of what goes on here is not under my jurisdiction. What I want to broach with you all tonight is a question which can't be avoided; what will your future look like in this new world that is already here? How far into your future can you see?"
Robert retrieved a small remote from his pocket and thumbed a button, turning on the projector.
He then said, "This evening I'm going to present you with an offer to participate in the first program of its kind."
The projector came to life and Robert stepped outside of the light.
An anagram written in bold red letters filled the screen.
"Welcome everyone," said Robert, "To the P.U.N.C.H program."