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looked around the room with his dark grey eyes. There were twenty or so people in the room and everyone there wore suits as far as he could tell. The FBI had called his local police office in Detroit and requested that he fly to New York for a case. Kirk was on the bottom of the food chain back home in Detroit and was curious to see what all the fuss was about. He had a hard time believing that anyone would be requesting his presence let alone the feds.
    Kirk Weston was a middle-aged man whose hair was thinning, so he kept it shaved smooth. He had a look of disdain plastered across his face most of the time, and many people would say he was a grump, jerk, or any other word for not a pleasant person you could come up with. However, this job could do that to a person.
    Now not to be fooled Kirk Weston was not a bad cop, quite the contrary he was a good cop, if not a great one. You don't make detective by hanging in the donut shops and showing up late for work. He just didn't like people, not that people were all that bad, he just couldn't find any he liked more then a splinter that was infected in the bottom of your foot. Then there was the outright disregard for authority, or anyone who was in a position to tell him what to do. Not exactly a fine quality for making friends and all that mumbo jumbo. Kirk was a little more then annoyed that they had pulled him off his other case, but it seemed, from the looks of the room, that everyone else was in the same boat. Not that his other case was all that important anyway. Just a rapist who had a bad habit of picking targets under the age of sixteen, no biggie, let some other slob go after the guy. "Stupid feds," he muttered just loud enough for the two gentleman in front of him to hear.
    He could see badges from New York, Boston, and even Washington. Everyone but Kirk was in uniform. No matter. He felt more comfortable in jeans and a white T-shirt, and no one was going to tell him what to wear anyway. A well-built man with thick black hair that stood on top of
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    his head like a tiny army of soldiers, made his way up to the front of the room. He adjusted his green tie that had no business next to his salmon shirt unless you were in a sad Christmas play. He looked up through thick glasses and cleared his throat.
    "Ladies and Gentleman, my name is Mathews, Special Agent in charge," Special agent Mathews pulled up a PowerPoint as he looked around the room with a somber look on his face. "As most of you know, a few days ago there was an incident at the David's Island Correctional Facility. If you will look on the screen behind me, you can see from the pictures that it appears that the inmates in this photo have passed out," The picture showed thousands of men in orange jumpsuits laying facedown on the floor and some still sitting in their seats with their faces smothered in their food. There were fifty or so paramedics and firemen working on the victims. Kirk thought to himself, S o what! So they ate bad shrimp. The photo looked like it was taken in the main mess hall or cafeteria. Metal tables that looked like picnic tables were in neat rows and in the top part of the picture was a long counter with glass behind it. That was what it looked like where the cooks prepared the food.
    "As reported on the news stations, the poisoning affected every inmate in the building. Not one guard was affected in any way. Now for the real story..." He paused to get everyone's attention. The director took off his glasses and switched to the next photo. A slow muttering rippled through the room.
    "They were not unconscious. Every inmate you see here is dead!"
    Whispers and gasps were heard as everyone began to see what was really going on.
    Kirk shifted in his seat with a half smirk on his face. He was somewhat glad and didn't have any feelings of horror or loss like the rest of the normal people in the room. The prison housed some of the vilest criminals known to man, and now they were all