The white room was plain and empty, except for a single table and two chairs. Roger was seated in one chair, with handcuffs fastened around his wrists and attached to the table. He glanced to his left and noticed a long mirror on the wall across from him. He recognized the room as an interrogation room, having conducted a few interrogations himself in the past with his partner. Roger had always played the role of the good cop in these interrogations, while his partner played the bad cop. This was due to his tendency to be too nice to people, even those who were criminals and deserved a prison sentence. But, of course, his temper could only last for so long.

The door opened and a tall man stepped into the room, holding a yellow folder. He was dressed in a black trench coat and wore red goggles over his short, scruffy red beard. In the light, his bald head shone like a wet rock. If he was supposed to be a federal agent, he didn't look the part. Instead, he appeared more like a creepy mad scientist from a comic book set during World War II.

The man sat down in front of Roger and placed the folder on the table in front of him. "Is your name Roger?" he asked, his accent revealing he was Scottish.

Roger wiggled his arms to keep the blood flowing, as the handcuffs were tight and restricted his movements. "Yes," he replied. "Am I in trouble?"

"That depends on whether you'll cooperate," the Scottish man replied.

"Then tell me your name," Roger said.

"Agent Rolf," the man answered.

Rolf opened the folder and read through the paperwork. "You were a police officer in San Francisco. Good training, obedient, and popular for arresting a notorious mobster," he said.

But Roger wasn't interested in his background at the moment. "Where are Katina, Labda, and Cilla?" he asked.

Rolf lowered the paper and looked up at Roger. "Who?" he asked.

"The three-headed dog woman. Where are they?" Roger pressed.

Rolf pursed his lips. "You mean the monster?" he asked.

"They're not monsters!" Roger exclaimed, rattling the handcuffs.

Rolf sighed. "Whatever they are, they are not your concern right now. Right now, you're here to answer my questions."

Roger glared at Rolf. "And what if I don't?" he asked.

Rolf adjusted his red goggles. "I recommend that you listen to me, or you'll never see your three-headed girlfriend again," he threatened.

"That's your only threat?" Roger asked. "I don't see any torture devices in here. My so-called girlfriends are from another world. You can't keep them here forever."

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Rolf leaned back in his seat. "You want to bet on that? I don't think so," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Roger turned his head away, unwilling to engage further with Rolf.

"Listen, the world is on fire and I need your help," Rolf said, trying to regain Roger's attention. "You and your monster were the only survivors in San Francisco after a massive attack. You probably saw everything nobody else did, or worse, you were part of it. Just tell me the truth, and maybe you can go free."

Roger turned back to face Rolf. "What about Labda, Katina, and Cilla?" he asked.

"Hard to say, but I promise we won't harm them," Rolf said.

"First, can you explain who you are?" Roger asked. "Are you working with the government?"

Rolf leaned back in his chair. "Sort of. We're Section 8, a private military agency that was developed to contain and preserve unknown entities. We handle anything that goes bump in the night."

Roger raised an eyebrow. "So, you hunt monsters and ghosts?"

"Anything beyond science that can't be fought against," Rolf replied. "We eliminate the threat and make sure no civilians notice. Think of us as the Men in Black."

Roger chuckled. "Do you hunt aliens, too?"

Rolf frowned. "We're not Roswell or Area 51, Roger. Keeping the monsters secret was easy until they started appearing all over the world."

"You can blame Medusa and the Goddess for that," Roger thought.

Rolf leaned forward. "Now that you know who we are, tell me what you know."

Roger sighed. He might as well be truthful and see if it helps him and the Cerberus reach the Arcadian Mountains in Greece. "It's a long story."

Rolf smirked. "I've got all day. Go ahead."

Roger took his time explaining every detail about how he met the monster and who attacked San Francisco. He didn't hold back in telling Rolf about his relationship with the Cerberus women so Rolf wouldn't think he was lying. He explained how after the titan's defeat, he and the women appeared in the Underworld, where they helped Hades reclaim his throne. Then they learned that the Goddess of Chaos, Eris, had freed the monsters. Roger needed to find the golden apples to become a god, which would help him defeat Eris. When they returned to San Francisco, that was when Rolf and his army captured them. The story took about an hour to tell.

Rolf rested his chin on his folded hands and looked at Roger with a blank expression. After a moment, he picked up the paperwork and stood up. "And you expect me to believe all that?"

"If you don't, then you're the crazy one," Roger replied. "You've hunted monsters for probably years and years. That's not enough to make you believe me?"

Rolf chuckled. "Don't make me sound like a fool. I've seen many things before you were born. Maybe I'm crazy, but I can believe in crazy people, too."

"I guess he believes me," Roger thought.

Rolf tapped his finger on the table. "You said you need to find the golden apples to fight the Goddess of Chaos, correct?"

Roger nodded. "Yes. If you can help me, I can help you. Eris is a bigger threat than the monsters."

"And if you defeat her, the monsters will leave our world in peace?" Rolf asked.

Roger exhaled through pursed lips. "I can't say all of them will, but you have to trust me."

Rolf took his time gazing at Roger with a blank stare. Eventually, he placed the paperwork back in the folder and walked out of the room. "I'll see if my superiors will agree with you. You'll just have to wait."

Roger shook the handcuffs. "Can you at least remove these things?"

"No," Rolf said as he closed the door.

Roger looked down at the table. He hated waiting, especially when people were suffering outside.