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    Name: Ryan Shista
    Occupation: Strategist/Criminal
    Crime: Death of over one thousand militia officers.

    “So Mister…. Shista,” said the interviewer. “It says here you killed thousands of militia officers. Do you have anything you’d like to say?” Mr. Shista was being interrogated for the eleventh time. Every time, the interviewer had hoped to gain some information on what happened at the militia compound. As of this interview, not even one had learned anything except for one thing. Mr. Shista could piss even the most calm and collected men in the world. Within five minutes of the interview starting, Mr. Shista had all the interviewers begging to stop the interview so they didn’t have to put up with his snide remarks and his overly used mouth.

    The current interviewer was John Garso, considered one of the best interviewers in the world. Years ago, he had managed to get a criminal who was mute and death to give up secrets just by watching his eyes. Within seconds of starting an interview, he would have figured out what the criminal did whenever he lied, told the truth, or was hiding something. They only brought him in as a last resort for the most hardened of criminals.

    “Perhaps, maybe, maybe not, who knows,” replied Mr. Shista. “Like I’d tell you anyway. Everyone always thinks I’m going to just tell them everything they want to know. As if, I’d do that. Sorry, can’t help you. Enjoy, loser!” At this point, most would have been pissed and freaked at him, but not John.

    “Thanks for the hint” said John. “Now, PLEASE, tell me everything you know Mr. Shista. I said please like you wanted me to.” Mr. Shista just smiled.

    “I see after all these times they finally sent me someone with a brain,” replied Mr. Shista. Please, call me Ryan.” As he said this, the door to the interview room smashed open. A man in a business suit came through the door, looking utterly pissed.


    “Well, Sir, if you noticed from past interviews, he’ll only ever talk in small, annoying sentences,” said John in the most disgusted tone he could manage. John hated the suits, the ones always barging in on his work and delaying him. They had no respect for his talent.

    “SO!” answered the man. “WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?” At this, Ryan spoke up.

    “I’ll explain,” said Ryan. “I’ll even use small words so your brain doesn’t explode from confusion.”

    “WHY YOU-,” started the man.

    “At the beginning of each interview I answer in six sentences that are out of my usual character. This is to draw attention to the sentences. Then, if you’re smart, which you obviously aren’t, you notice that the first letter in each sentence spells the word “please.” Now, if you’ll excuse us, John was interviewing me and if necessary, we’ll explain all are conclusions, just as long as you don’t interrupt again!” The man just looked at him with pure loathing. Then, without a word, he walked through the door to the hallway and slammed it as hard as he could.

    “Thank you for shutting him up” said John. “They always have to question my methods.”

    “It just means we’ll have to explain everything that we say,” said Ryan. “Oh, by the way, Sir, explain means to tell you what we mean by something.” The two men heard some sort of noise come from the hallway. It ended just as soon as it started. “I think I annoyed him.”

    “Anyway, about what happened at the compound,” said John.

    “What about it?”

    “What happened there?”

    “People died.”

    “Could you use a bit more detail?”

    “I could, but that would require effort.”
    John realized this wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime fast. He needed a plan. As he was thinking, the man entered the room again.

    “SEE?” yelled the man. “HE WON’T TALK TO ANYONE, NOT EVEN YOU!” The man looked somewhat satisfied at this. John figured he was just hoping to see him screw up.

    “With all due respects, I’m more than willing to talk” said Ryan. “You just need to learn to ask the right questions.”

    “WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” demanded the man.

    “I don’t know”


    “Not sure”

    “GAAAAAAAHHHHH!” yelled the man; He took a swing at Ryan. He missed by a long shot since Ryan moved out of the way.

    “If that didn’t hurt you physically it must have been pretty hard on your pride,” said Ryan with a smile so devious you’d think it came from a five year old. “Oh well, it’s your own fault for doing things wrong.”

    “WHAT DON’T I DO WRONG YOU PIECE OF CRAP!?” screamed the man.

    “You don’t try and kill me after already attempting once is one thing that isn’t wrong,” replied Ryan. It hit John like a brick. Without so much as looking at him, John asked his question.

    “What don’t you know about what happened at the compound?” asked John. The man stopped yelling and looked at John if he were dumb.

    “What the fu-,” started the man.

    “I don’t know who screwed up the plan,” replied Ryan. Finally, some progress thought John.

    “What plan?” asked John.

    “What are we talking about?” was Ryan’s reply. John didn’t know why, but Ryan was only answering questions that were phrased to not give the information while giving the information, if that made any sense.

    “What wasn’t in the plan?” asked John. He knew he had to hurry this up. Interviewing hours were almost up. He needed the truth!

    “There was not an authorization to attack the new prototype defense mechs” replied Ryan. “Also-,” started Ryan as the door burst open. Within seconds, the room was full of army officials and police officers.

    “Time’s up” said one of the police officers, a sergeant by the looks of it. “He needs to return to his cell.”

    “But I just hit somethin-,” started John just before he was hit by the man who had been yelling at him the entire time.

    “We make the rules, kid”said the man, “and you follow them.” The men grabbed Ryan and dragged him off to his cell. Just before they turned a corner in the hallway, Ryan started complaining.

    “Must you guys ruin a perfectly good time?” said Ryan. “Unbelievable you guys are. Really now. Dinks like you don’t deserve jobs. Everyone BUT you guys deserves this job. Really.”

    As Ryan and the group turned the corner and went out of sight, John started crying. Not because he had, for the first time, not figured something out. Not because he was hurt and needed help. It was the last message he would probably ever hear from Ryan if Ryan spoke true. MURDER.

    To Be Continued…