"Helga, are we ready to go evaluate the factory?" Neil asked, poking his head through the door frame and wiping a bead of sweat off his brow. He had played fetch with the dog and the ball used had been decimated in the process.

Thankfully, it got the dog tired enough to take a nap, allowing him to pat it one more time and sneak away.

The two of their heads turned simultaneously, each having a calm and tired expression. The driver had his gaze fixed on the room where the talks were going on, and the arguing voices clearly weren't a good sign."They won't be coming anytime soon," said the driver, rubbing the cover of his phone with his thumb.

Helga stifled a yawn. "It's about time we saw the factory. I think I just saw a spider there, and if it were any bigger, I would've called the animal control."

Firenze gently added, eyes shining and hands fiddling with a folder he had in his hand,"It is an old farmhouse, Ms Koch, spiders are no surprise. I hate it in here too."

He looked at her hopefully, hands still arranging the maps and documents. Occasionally, Mr. Benetto's palm would reach out and would return with a piece of paper. Helga had looked borderline happy for a second, before she regressed back to stoicness. She tossed back her hair, stood up and walked into the room.

A moment later, her sweet voice chimed a 'Thank you' and she walked out, fanning herself with a file."He said yes. Chop chop, now," She said.

As they walked to the door, their feet crushed a local newspaper lying on the floor, which had a picture on its front page; that of an old factory on the edge of a dry field.

•°*°•

Police sirens were blaring when the team had reached the facility. The huge factory gates were thrown open, the space before it was covered by parked police cars, fire engines and ambulances. Neil covered his ears when he heard gunshots being fired at something.

A senior officer was barking orders to two paramedics when he approached him.

"What's going on, officer?"

The officer replied with a hoarse voice,

"This is a restricted area for civilians. Leave immediately!"

Cops and medics ran around, khaki, white, red and blue merging, sirens and commands turning into a myriad of noise. The crowd pushed and pulled around the cop and the team, curious citizens almost stampeding over each other.

Firenze pulled out a paper from a file he was carrying, and handed it to the officer. He waited, observing every twitch of the man's face for a sign of approval. By the time the cop had finished reading, the firing squads had returned and were leaving, and the commotion slowly began to fade away.

They saw the factory workers standing nearby being questioned, all that the police got as answers were agitated gestures and negative head shakes. Helga pointed out that the workers looked more irritated than frightened.

When the officer was done checking the paper, he called a constable nearby who was questioning a worker. The worker walked away grumbling something about the government and the military. The constable was instructed to accompany the trio through the factory and get them out by six pm.

It was easier said than done. With the sun beating down through the oppressive cloud layer, the mob that had gathered outside had taken up the job of prying out answers from the authorities.

A man roared, "What is going on?! Why aren't you telling us anything?!"

Another one asked, his fist punching the air, "It's our right to know what is going on in this place. How much longer are you going to keep us in the dark about the terrorists!"

The senior officer's face hardened, he whispered to the constable, "It's the Union workers again. Don't take the bait."

Hands extended to stop the constable as he led the trio out, harsh questions almost deafened their ears, as they waded through the ruckus, now getting violent.

Firenze could've sworn that he was feeling dizzy from lack of oxygen as he bumped into a particularly burly man, whose ripped muscles terrified him. His heart almost stopped beating when the man looked at him, and he somehow managed to get past him without fainting.

Neil was not particularly responsive; his eyes flitted all over the place, as he was dragged out of the gathering by Firenze.

They moved into a restaurant nearby to take a breather, and the constable suggested that they eat something. Helga agreed wholeheartedly, eagerly rummaging through the menu as Neil poured the half filled jug of water on the table into his mouth.

"What's today's special?"

"Apple strudel."

"We'll have that then."

A few minutes later, four plates of steaming apple strudel arrived at the table, Firenze hastily wiped away a bit of saliva escaping his mouth. He dug in without delay, displaying the hunger of a starving herbivore. It took half the plate for him to remember that he was supposed to chew the food.

He noticed Helga smiling at his appetite, causing his cheeks to redden. To distract himself from staring at her hair, he decided to ask the grim constable for more information, who replied in a monotone,

"Locals say that the building is haunted. The workers who had been visited and questioned by government and military officials didn't seem to want to co-operate. In the midst of the questioning, a few workers on the ground floor were attacked by some creature and were found lying on the floor, with deep gashes across the chest. We believe that this was the same creature that had killed the four men from before. Most agree that it was a bear turned man-eater."

Firenze suggested that, maybe, the bears were just disturbed by the entire hullabaloo caused by the investigations. The cop immediately countered that with a rant on how society viewed the police as governmental thugs.

Helga listened meticulously, and drilled the cop with questions regarding the factory's questionable location near a forest, refusing to let him eat. It didn't take much time for the cop to ask her whether she was a HOD. She gave her time-perfected signature smile and replied that she was the head of the technical department.

"Lucky guess?"

"Cop's intuition." The man replied, happy to finally taste the cold piece of strudel that had been hanging on his fork for the last seven minutes.

•°*°•

The main building of the factory wasn't very big, but the compound had had many sub-units; the entire facility covered an area of two square  kilometres or so.

Firenze suggested that it was too much to cover in one day, and proceeded to refer to its architectural plan. He suggested starting with the main block which was, surprisingly, in pretty good condition for a burnt building, quite charming too with its medieval aura. Latest tech, advanced research, experienced scientists and dedicated workers used to make this one of the best chemical factories in Southern Germany.

Then the inferno happened.

These days, the factory was reduced to a bunch of laborers packing bleach and fertilizers. Most of them belonged to the middle class, and were now threatened with the prospect of the factory closing down.

The team trod down every single corridor, inspecting the machinery, checking the systems and evaluating the structure. The workers helped them as much as they could, offering tid-bits of the rumors that had spread as well. Almost all of them were absurd, ranging from mutated felines to alien intervention.

Firenze had run into the burly man he had met earlier in the crowd. He felt awkward when the man smiled warmly at him, offering to conduct them around as well.

"Is this your son?" Firenze asked, looking at the photo he was handed over, afraid to taint it with his greasy hands. The man laughed proudly as he opened the main switch board, allowing Helga to examine it.

"Yes, that's him. He's two now."

"Oh, what's his name?"

"Marco."

Firenze grinned.

"Like the explorer Marco Polo?"

"Yes," The Hispanic man said, sweat sticking his shirt to his chest, "He wants to become one when he grows up. You know little kids; by the time he's a teenager, he would've had a million dreams!"

The man laughed yet again, rubbing the dirt off his hands, making Firenze appreciate the sweat his parents spent in raising him and his sister. When his dad used to work in a factory like this one, had anybody asked him about his son?

By the end of the tour, all those interactions and procedures made the trio feel dead tired. Neil sat down huffing, wondering whether age was catching up with him.

He was in his mid thirties, and all that staircase climbing and inquiring did do him good. He pulled out his phone and decided to call his wife Tessa again.

Firenze continued shuffling the papers in his file and Helga had her eyes fixed on the setting sun, lost in deep thought. The wind ruffled his hair, and the scent of a night blooming flower permeated through the air. The factory's stone walls glistened grey in the full moon. Crickets chirped, wolves howled. It was a pretty active night.

A little voice answered the call,

"Papa!"

"Hey Pumpkin, how are you?"

"I'm fine, papa. How was the trip? I drawded you and momma today. You looked very silly, like a caterpillar. . ."

The entire chat lasted for an hour, yet it felt like a minute or so. His four year old's voice warmed him up in the cold night.

Eager to return home, he stood up and decided to call it a day. Helga agreed and politely asked the cop to arrange a cab for them to return to the farmhouse, who walked out, followed by Firenze.

That's when he heard a noise coming from the factory.