I raise my hands slowly and tell the guy, “We weren't going to do anything; we were just trying to get to the next building.” Suddenly, Monty slaps me on the back of the head. It takes me a moment to realize why before it hits me—I accidentally revealed we knew where the summoned building would be.

  The guy tells us, “Stand now.”

  Monty asks, “Can we at least take the trolley with us?”

  The guy motions with his weapon at the trolley, and we take that as a sign to begin pushing it as he leads us into the lobby of their base. Once inside, we realize what it is: a large resort hotel. The most shocking part, however, is the sheer number of people moving around inside. In the lobby alone, there are at least sixty people, some in full military gear while others seem to be in support roles.

  We glance around at the crates stacked throughout the space and even spot a working forklift transporting a pallet with what looks like a pump. The guy points to a door and instructs us, “Leave the trolley out here and enter the door. Someone will question you soon.”

  I respond, “Dude, we have gold on the trolley. We ain’t leaving it unattended.”

  The guy eyes us skeptically until I slide the wooden box aside, revealing several large pieces of gold jewelry. He sighs. “Fine, put the trolley near the door and sit down at the table.”

  We enter the room and follow his orders. “Now, hand over your weapons,” he demands. Reluctantly, we comply. He locks them in a metal closet along with the weapons we looted from the pawnshop before leaving and locking the door behind him.

  I scan the room and, seeing no cameras, walk over to the trolley and open the wooden box. It was a good thing I had turned the text toward the suitcase—otherwise, he would have seen “DYNAMITE” written in giant letters across the front. I take three sticks, tuck them into my hoodie, and sit back down like nothing happened.

  Monty eyes me. “What are you going to do with that? The room is way too small; you’d kill everyone in here.” He pauses as realization dawns. The dynamite isn’t for use—it’s leverage. He sighs with a tired smile.

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  Three hours pass. I’m fast asleep with my head on the table, dynamite hidden in my hoodie, its fuses above my pocket, and a lighter tucked away. Monty, unable to sleep, twiddles his thumbs, humming tunes he remembers.

  Finally, the door creaks open. A woman in military apparel, slightly more casual than the others, enters with a man in tow. She sits across from us.

  “I’m Major Tatiana Marlow, and this is Staff Sergeant Daniel Abbott. Please state your names and classes for documentation.”

  Monty stays silent. I lazily lift my head and mutter, “Nonya business and professional copper thief,” before dropping my head back onto my arm.

  Major Marlow sighs. “Please don't make this harder than it has to be.”

  Monty replies, “I’m not telling you my name or class. Maybe if you tell us why you locked us up, we’d be more willing to talk.”

  She sighs again and explains, “Fine, if you two won’t cooperate, I’ll start. You were spotted stalking our base while heavily armed. What were your intentions?”

  I speak up. “I’d hardly call what we did stalking. We arrived, looked around for a few minutes, and got caught.”

  She flips through some documents, likely containing a different account of events. But I keep talking. “As for the weapons, they were just loot from a pawnshop. And even if we did have bad intentions, what could two guys possibly do against this many people?”

  Before she can respond, an older man enters. Both Major Marlow and Sergeant Abbott immediately salute. Without a word, he gestures for them to leave. They obey without hesitation. The man sits in front of us, places a document on the table, and introduces himself.

  “I am General Stevens. I must apologize for my underlings. They’ve been on edge after a recent attack on our base. That said, paranoia is no excuse for neglecting their duty to protect fellow survivors.”

  Monty asks, “Is that what you people are doing here? Helping survivors?”

  The general nods. “Yes, we rescue as many people as possible and bring them to the lower floors where the dungeon is more stable. But I have a question for you two. The corporal who brought you in has… a reputation. Would you read this report and tell me what doesn’t line up?”

  Monty takes the report and begins pointing out falsehoods. “First, we just arrived and were captured within minutes. Second, we handed over our weapons willingly, yet this claims we were searched. In reality, he never even searched us.”

  Monty nudges me. I smirk, pull a stick of dynamite from my hoodie, and place it on the table. “This report is a gross exaggeration and, in some places, a flat-out lie.”

  The general’s eyes remain locked on the stick of dynamite as he mutters, “This is going to be a hell of a lot of paperwork.”