It was classic, just like Delphi said it would be. Bright lights (I mean bright), yellow walls (shades of *****), a low hum (in the bass range). Mister Suit sporting a razor-thin mustache sat stoic at a long black table carrying a wry grin, his eyes shades of pitch. They unshackled me, hands pushed me down into a chrome chair with a firm red leather cushion. Screams came through the wall from the room next to us. I sat there just as stoic across from him with a wry smile of my own. It felt like a scene from a stereotypical sci-fi flic, it wasn't though. This was as real as it gets, these guys meant business. Guys like me were trouble for the Control Boys. They'd find out soon I wasn't a pushover.