Jim awoke very abruptly to a powerful rapping on the door.

“Major Burnside will see you now, open the door!” a guard shouted from the other side of the door.

Jim shook the cobwebs out of his head.  He glanced outside and noticed the sun had begun to sink below the horizon.  The wind was also beginning to pick up again, it seemed as though another storm was preparing to blow its way through.  At least he was inside this time, Jim thought to himself, very grateful for this turn of events.

Jim crawled out of the bed, and the rapping continued on his door.

“I’ll be out in just a minute!” Jim shouted back.

Jim gathered his composure and went to the door.  He pulled out his key and unlocked it with a loud metallic click.  He quickly pocketed the key again and opened the door.  There were two guards who seemed minimally alert.  They didn’t appear to see him as a threat, and that is exactly what he needed.

“Lead the way, gentleman.” Jim spoke, almost aristocratically.  The guards however didn’t seem to understand the humor and merely gave him a confused look.

The guards began to lead Jim up the ladder and through the hatch.  Luckily for them all, Machete Max’s quarters was only halfway between his own tower and the one opposite.  The guards followed him along as he walked toward the building.  Their guns were lowered and aimed at the ground, but still held very firm in both of their grips.

Jim was walked right in front of a door.  The same door that only a few days ago, Jim had witnessed Machete Max for the first time for roll call.  The moment suddenly felt surreal to him.  He was about to see how the psychopath lived.

One of the guards stepped in front of Jim and knocked very loudly on the door.

“Yes?” Machete Max could be heard saying from the other side.

“The inspector, as you requested, sir!” The guard said, very loudly.

A shuffling sound could be heard from inside the building.  The latch on the door shifted and the door opened.

“Ah, Inspector Jim, come inside, please.” Machete Max invited, shooing the other guards away.  “Batten down the hatches, we have another storm moving in.”

The guards left and began making their way to other guards to pass along the orders.  Machete Max guided Jim inside his quarters.

“We can’t be too careful around here, lightning may start another fire.” Machete Max said casually, leading Jim further into his quarters toward a table.

Jim couldn’t help but take in the room that he was walking in.  It wasn’t like the rest of the fortress.  The walls were some kind of dark wood, polished and smooth.  Jim was no expert in the surrounding plant-life, but he certainly hadn’t seen any trees of this color, it had to have been imported from somewhere.

On the walls were a variety of pictures. Machete Max looked kind of young in a couple of them.  They all featured him in some variant of military attire.  Some of these uniforms were very basic, others had him obviously older and different medals were adorned.  This man had very evidently been in the military his entire life.

Jim was guided toward the rear of the building with him.  There was a rectangle dining table in the back where Jim was invited to sit, and two windows against the rear wall.  Only the surrounding woods served as the backdrop.  The wood for this table was the same as the wood of the walls.  Jim couldn’t help but notice a pleasant earthy aroma. It must have been obvious that Jim noticed the aroma because Machete Max responded.

“Cedar wood, specially crafted.  This whole building is made out of it.  When this place really warms up and the wood begins to swell from moisture, that heavenly aroma really takes on life.” Machete Max spoke with pride.  “You’ll have to forgive the mess here, I am not used to having company.” Machete Max said, beginning to clear off some random documents that Jim didn’t recognize. “A man in my position is never without constant responsibility.”

The wind began to pick up outside of the windows, causing some of the papers to flutter in Machete Max’s hands.

“These damned storms are so frequent out here.  It makes organization somewhat of a challenge, but I manage.” Machete Max continued gathering pages and tapping them against the table to straighten them.   

He stood up and walked them over to a cabinet and placed them inside before walking back to the table to sit down with Jim. 

“So, Jim, I am aware that you haven’t yet had a chance to explore the encampment.  Given how long you must have been observing this place from afar, the provided bed must have been a welcoming treat.  Never-the-less, I am more than sure you will have plenty of time to inspect the premises tomorrow.  I do have a question though.  What exactly are you here to inspect?” Machete Max asked, his eyes, his face, his posture were all business.

“It’s my job to perform a generalized inspection.  I don’t generally perform a deep dive on anything unless something were to stand out and force my attention.” Jim began his bluff again.

“What pray-tell might force your attention more closely?” Max asked, curious, but a small sense of worry creeping on his face.

“Any blatant mistreatment of the volunteers at any given location.” Jim answered quickly.

The wind outside continued to pick up in strength.

“After all, they are all officially volunteers on the books, and should be treated as such.  I am bound by policy to verify humane living conditions.  Can you verbalize to me that this is currently the case?” Jim both stated and asked, putting on his professional act.

Machete Max hesitated but only for a moment.

“I can tell you that our volunteers have a roof over their head, a bed to sleep in, and three square meals provided to them, along with unlimited access to fresh drinking water.” Machete Max responded, a small amount of fear could be heard in his voice.  Jim didn’t react to this.

“Very well, how about bathing facilities? Do volunteers have adequate access to clean water and soap to bathe with?” Jim asked, beginning to feel like a bureaucrat.

“Our usual facility is in disrepair and I have sent word that it needs to be repaired.  So far, I have heard nothing.  However, we do allow groups of volunteers to take supervised trips to the lake nearby to bathe.  I realize it is less than ideal conditions, but with no solid word on facility repair, I’ve been forced to improvise.” Machete Max, clearly hiding something, but sounding genuine all the same, continued to keep all focus on Jim, clearly his military training.

Jim turned his head for a moment to act as though he was thinking, it was also to break away from the icy stare that Machete Max always seemed to have when speaking in this mode.  

“That… is a reasonable accommodation.” Jim said, turning his attention back to him. “I do however want you to let me know if you hear anything about the actual facility if I’m still here.”

“Of course!” Machete Max said, clearly relieved by Jim’s response.

“I only have one more formal question.” Jim said to him, and received an acknowledging nod from Max.  “What specific jobs are these volunteers assigned to?”

Jim asked this knowing that Machete Max might grow suspicious.  After all, Jim should, in theory, be fully aware of what the fortress was designed for.  He secretly needed to know so he could keep up his act.  He hoped dearly that Machete Max would simply view his question as nothing more than a test of knowledge.

“This encampment is for volunteers who wish to contribute to many of the luxuries that those who are in the Central Hub may continue to have, including themselves one day when their volunteer service has concluded.” Machete Max responded, seemingly oblivious to the implications of such a question.

“How long would you say a volunteer typically signs up for?” Jim asked, out of pure curiosity.

“The typical volunteer contract is for a six-month period, however, volunteers may sign on for additional contract periods in increments of three months apiece.  The longer a volunteer continues their stay here, the more work hour credits they accrue.  In theory, if a volunteer were to stay here for an extended period of time, say ten years or more, they would be set for life when they returned.  I have yet to see anyone stay that long, however, the option is there.” Machete Max answered, his body language hinting toward a different truth.

“What exactly is the benefit of accruing work hour credits here instead of at the Central Hub?” Jim asked.

“The answer to that is simple.  Work at the Central Hub isn’t very easy to come by unless you have connections.  There are only a certain number of jobs to be had there.  If people wish to survive, there are various volunteer opportunities outside of and surrounding the Central Hub to provide those work hour credits.  It’s not uncommon to see married men and women say goodbye to their families before coming out here.  Any work hour credits they receive are wired to a private family account so they can support their families.  The system itself isn’t very complicated.  Time spent working equals credits that can be used to purchase essentials.”

“Very well.” Jim said, not wanting to ask too many questions that would spark his curiosity.  “So, tell me about you, what’s your story, Major Burnside?”

The sudden shift in conversational topic caught Machete Max off guard.  His entire demeanor changed from upright and professional to relaxed and casual.  Jim took note of an obvious smile now creeping on his face.  Machete Max seemed to be very much looking forward to talking about himself.

“What is there to really know, Jim?” Machete Max rhetorically asked while turning his whole body sideways in the direction of the windows.

The rain began to trickle outside with moderate wind gusts every so often.