XIAO

eXcommunicated, Incarcerated, Alienated, Outcasted

"The whole thing was garbage--you don't bring four bottom-of-the-barrel losers into a small room together with an FBI investigator, and expect a 'dream team' to come from it."

--Alden Kruse

The strong scent of cheap cigarettes permeated the stale air inside of the small, white-walled room. A single metal table sat in the direct center with four raggedy, peanut-butter-colored folding chairs stationed around it on the white tile floor. From where he sat, Alden Kruse could see the small, handleless blue door to his left, and the mirror-like one-way glass window directly across from him, which he began using to adjust his appearance. He often sported his favorite black kung-fu uniform top like a jacket over a black compression shirt, accompanied by his sweatpants, which sported a singular vertical white stripe along the outside of his legs. His hair was dreaded and pushed back into a single ponytail reaching just between his shoulder blades, and as he wiped aggressively at his tired, light-brown eyes, he yawned.

The door opened quickly on his left, and immediately a second individual stumbled into the room.

A Caucasian male in his early 20s with a tattered, black leather jacket draped over a faded Nirvana band t-shirt, ripped up jeans stained with engine oil spots, and time-worn, faded-white Adidas fell into the room, and stood up quickly as the single door slammed once again.

"Do that again and I swear I will kick your collective asses!" he screamed, turning around to look at Alden.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

Alden nodded at him and sat up in his chair, studying the rough, red beard and moustache occupying the new occupant's face.

"My name is Alden Kruse, what's yours?"
"Screw you man! I didn't do it! Tell your boys to let me go!"
"I'm sorry, but I am also a guest of these...individuals."
"What?! Don't play head games with me, okay? I've been interrogated before, Mr. Alden Kruse--I know all the tricks!"
"Well then you would realize I am not an officer, just the first to be picked up and brought here by one," Alden calmly explained.

The Caucasian male sat down roughly at the chair to Alden's right, facing the door.

"What'd they getcha for?" he asked.
"Nothing, I was sitting at home and they asked me to come down," Alden admitted, causing the Caucasian man to burst into a wheezing laugh.

"Yeah me too! I always get arrested for 'nothing' too!" he jeered.

Alden rolled his eyes and stared forward at the mirror-like glass, as the man leaned back in his chair with a bad creaking sound and sighed.

"M'name's Lars McDonough, former member of the Skull Kings biker club after my brother died," the Caucasian man introduced with a sly grin.

"Nice to meet you, sir."
"'Sir'? Did you say 'sir'? Hell I ain't no 'sir', how old do you think I am?"
"Just a habit from work, Lars; I wager we are close in age."
"What kind of work, Alden Kruse?"
"I helped out at a local martial arts school near Midtown for a while."

Lars let out a deep chuckle, leaning back even further in the chair.

"I see--that explains the Bruce Lee fighting shirt you're wearin', but yer name sounds kinda familiar too," Lars admitted, staring up at the white ceiling tiles around the fluorescent lights above them. Alden looked over at Lars slowly, reading his expressions as Lars appeared to be in momentary thought over his name. The room fell silent for a minute, and then Lars snapped sharply.

"I got it--yer that kid that used to fight outta Texas for the Wolf Den MMA team, right? You moved here and like a month later they got busted for criminal activities--riggin' fights, drug trade, extortion--they called you a traitor for blowin' the whistle, and then you disappeared! Damn them wolves must hate you--all those belts and records down the drain, and I am surprised they let you near any martial arts school up here in Atlanta!" Lars laughed sharply.

Alden allowed a sharp grimace to creep across his face.

"Something tells me that after tonight, I won't be," Alden hissed.

The door opened once more, and this time an African-American woman in her early 20's with curly, auburn hair spilling backwards into a puffy ponytail, hazel eyes, and wearing a hooded grey sweatshirt and black leggings slipped inside. Lars let out a sharp whistle and sat forward in his chair as she took a seat on Alden's left at the table.

"Well hello there, beautiful!" Lars greeted boldly.

The woman stared blankly for a second and then turned her head towards Alden.

"You--do you know why we are here?" she asked him.

"Just like everyone else, I have no idea; I was picked up just like all of you and brought here," Alden replied.

"No idea at all? What is your name?"
"Alden Kruse; what's yours?"
"Kaiah LeBlanc."

Right after she spoke, the door opened once again, and this time two individuals stepped inside. The first was a Middle-Eastern male in his late teens, wearing a plain black t-shirt and blue jeans; he had long, brown hair neatly trimmed around his head and a clean-shaved face, and his right arm cradled a small netbook covered in miscellaneous sticker decals. The other male wore a crisp black long-sleeved button-up shirt tucked neatly into black slacks, with an FBI badge clipped onto the left side of his belt; he had an even-cut of black hair, piercing blue eyes and appeared to be in his early 40's. The Middle-Eastern teen sat down at the last chair as the FBI agent circled the table eerily.

"Does anyone have any idea what this is about?" the Middle-Eastern teen asked with a heavy accent.

"I'm sure we'll find out," Alden answered, eying the FBI agent as he passed in front of him.

"My name is Agent Stoneman, FBI; you are all here on my request as suspected members of a domestic terrorist cell; you will help me with my investigation and I expect you to cooperate, or you will spend the next thirty to fifty years behind bars, is that understood?" the FBI agent demanded.