Bzzzzzzt!

He picked up the folder and threw it across the room, scattering papers everywhere.  It was slightly satisfying, but not quite as much as punching someone in the face would be.

"I'm not a miracle worker," he muttered to himself.  "What do they expect me to do?"

"What was that?"  A coworker was shouting to him from the office next door.  Apparently, he could hear the slightest mutter, but not something that might socially obligate his assistance like the sound of a hundred papers flying through the air and the rest thudding into the wall between our offices.

"Nothing," he shouted back.

He was slowly rising from his desk to start gathering the papers back up when his leg started buzzing.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone to find a number staring back at him rather than a name.  It looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.  He made the assumption that if it was important, they would call back and slid the phone back into his pocket.

He reached down to pick up some of the papers only to be rewarded with a sharp pain in his lower back.  It was as though someone snuck up behind him, lodged a knife just above his hip, then stuffed the wound with a couple of marbles.

He decided not to question how he would even know what that felt like.

Hoping that it would eventually relieve the pain, he hobbled back to his chair and sat down.

Then he closed his eyes.

He slowly lifted his head out of his hands and looked across the desk.  "So how have we responded?"  Haze's voice was haggard, tired, and full of the darkest of emotions.

Tristam looked almost as tired as Haze felt.  His eyes were focused intently on the paper sitting in front of him on his desk.  "We can't take any chances right now.  We've already taken her into custody, but there really isn't much else we can do.  The situation is delicate.  Even as a crawler, she could still be part of L.A.N.C.E., but the fact that she lied to us in the first place changes things quite a bit."

"Can you blame her, though?"

"No," Tristam said matter-of-factly.  "Regardless of what our official policies claim, there is a distinct prejudice against crawlers.  Nexters are praised, crawlers are feared.  That's just the way it is right now.  That doesn't change what she did."

"But it does!"  There was more anger in his voice than he had intended.  "It changes everything!"  He realized he was not only standing, but hovering a few inches off the ground.  He returned to his seat.  "She couldn't help it."

"Haze, quit lying to yourself.  She knew full well what she was doing."

"What's happened to the Gefell?"

"We're integrating Nash into the team."

"It won't work," he responded quickly and flatly.

"Excuse me?"  More than a little offended.

"It won't work," he repeated.  "He won't take to League protocols.  He'll be with the Archers in a week."

"And you know this because . . ."

Haze looked at his boss with disdain and condescension.  "Because I can't take League protocols."

"Excuse me?"  More than a little nervous.

He quickly changed the subject.  "Where's Melanie being held?"

Tristam looked at him suspiciously, pondering whether or not it was alright to answer him.  "She's being held beneath the Lexington base."

"Who else knows about this?"

Tristam raised an eyebrow, guessing at where this was going.  "Haze, you can't.  You won't be allowed anywhere near her.  It would be the stupidest move you could make."

Haze scoffed.  "You think I'm an idiot?  I'm just trying to figure out which towns I'm gonna have to avoid."

"You can still go to Lexington, just not the base," Tristam responded with a touch of concern in his voice.  Concern not for Haze, but for the future of L.A.N.C.E.  He could finally see where the conversation was heading.

Haze smiled.  "If she's being held in Lexington, there'll be higher security there.  If I step foot within a hundred miles of that base, you people will know exactly where I am."

Tristam interrupted him.  "We know where you are anyway, you know.  There's a tracer in every League agent."

"I know," said Haze, raising a hand where smoke swirled before materializing into a small metallic device.  "And you can have that tracer back.  I quit."

"Haze, you . . ."

"No," said Haze calmly, rising from his seat.  "I'm done."

"You think the Archers are going to be any better?"

"No.  I don't.  That's why I'm not going there either."

Tristam was confused.  "But then . . ."

"When I say I'm done, I don't just mean with the League.  I mean with this life."  He turned to walk from the room, passing through the chair as though it wasn't there.  "I'm going to go try being normal for a change.  See how that goes.  You might consider the same, Tristam, before you find yourself trying to integrate your own Gefell into the League."

He felt an odd sort of peace pass over him.

And he opened his eyes.

A sudden thought struck him.

He pulled his phone back out of his pocket as he wheeled around to his computer to start digging through his old emails.

Maybe.  Just maybe.

The worthless professional conversations he had had by email over the past week had filled up his inbox rather nicely.  If the boss were to come by, it looked much better than a bunch of goofy forwards that had nothing to do with his job.  Unfortunately, when he was looking for one of those goofy forwards, the professional emails were less helpful and more obnoxious.  After much digging, he finally found the email he was looking for.

He compared the number on his computer screen to the number on his phone.

Yes!

He couldn't believe it.  The numbers matched!  What were the odds of this?

Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrating in his hand and looked down to see the now incredibly familiar number staring back at him.  He always said if it was important, they'd call back.

It must be important.

He tapped the screen nervously.

"Hello?"