“Can’t believe they need two agents for this job, two of their BEST, might I add,” Joel smirked.

“Shite must be really fucked,” Ian shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Joel huffed with a roll of his eyes. Taking a final drag of his cigarette, he flicked the burnt out bud and rolled his neck. “Alright, let's get this shit over with, got a doll callin my name after this.”

The searing pain was unbearable, Ian cried out, “Fuck!” His vision blurry and he began to choke from the smoke. He couldn’t feel his right arm and he felt so heavy. “Patient zero three four four seven six eight one zero, your vitals indicate an emergency. If you are conscious, assume the rescue position. Assistance is thirty minutes and twenty seconds away from location, on route now,” the Trauma responder instructed through his comm.

Walking through the small corporate building, nothing seemed out of the ordinary at first. “No receptionist,” Ian commented as he looked toward the front desk. “Maybe on a smoke break or napping in the back rooms. Hell, I know I’d be bored as shit all the way out here,” Joe brushed him off. Entering the server room, Joel did a quick scan of the room. The space is nondescript, three large black servers stand in the center of the room, and several cooling lines run along the ceiling and walls. Pulling out his deck he delved right into the streams of code, “this shouldn’t take too long. You can go grab a coffee from the break room or something, if I run into a snag I’ll call for backup,” Joel said as he sifted through the server.

Eyes stinging, Ian continues to pull himself across the room. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the overpowering smoke. Stretching out his left arm, his shaking fingers felt over something fleshy. Picking it up, he brought it up to his eyes. His gaze widened as he held a Prism, covered in blood and bits of flesh. “J-Joel…” he choked out, the hot air suffocating, “... fu-fuck… Joel!” he tried to call out as he squeezed his eyes shut, the roar of the flames drowning out his agony.

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“You sure?” Ian asked, watching him. “Yeah, this ain’t even worth my time, let alone both of us,” he said, waving him off. Moving to walk passed him, Ian paused as a scent caught his attention. It is faint but it definitely smelled of gas. “Jo-,” he started but it was too late. 

“Patient located,” a male voice called over to a group of other suited up individuals, the Trauma Team. “Deceased,” another called out somewhere across the room. “Leave 'em for the meat wagon.” The first called back. Through the haze, Ian looked up at the responder as they rolled him onto his back, his distorted face reflecting in the blue reflective mask, white hazmat suit turning gray from the ash. 

Fading in and out, he was being carried out of the inferno, then lifted into the Team’s hover rescue and then being rushed through the white halls of the Trauma Center.

His mouth is dry and numbness keeps him still in the uncomfortable bed. Suddenly the door opened and quietly shut as slow methodical steps approached. “You are quite lucky Mr. Glass,” a stern voice broke the silence. Ian didn’t respond, he could barely make out the gray suit in the peripheral of his right eye. “My name is Edgar Mills. As I am sure you can guess, I am here on behalf of our employer,” he continued, unfazed by his silence. “It is quite unfortunate that this happened. Seems there was a Daemon planted in the server that spiked our assurance, which activated the devices…” he tried to explain before Ian had cut him off. “Quit beatin ‘round it. Our cranial bombs went off,” he growled, his thick irish accent echoing in the sterile room.

“... Quite. The bombs were detonated by the spike. However, it seems yours malfunctioned,” he continued. “Tempest does wish to offer our sincerest apologies and to properly compensate you for your experience. Rest assured your medical bills have been dealt with and to make things right, we are offering to replace your arm. Please look over the catalog of options from the approved items. Finally, you will be placed on medical leave until you have recovered,” Edgar finished. Ian couldn’t believe the rehearsed drivel coming out of this corpos mouth, but he remained silent. “Yeah. Great,” he said unenthusiastically. Pausing he asked, already knowing the answer, “my partner?” “I am afraid Mr. Briggs did not have the same luck. His next of kin has been notified and compensated for their loss,” Edgar answered, Ian was now sure this guy was full of it. “Right,” Ian nodded. “Try and get some rest Mr. Glass. Be sure to check over that catalog,” Edgar said, bidding him goodbye.