A thick, chilly fog greeted me during the arrival to work that same night. It hung in the air like a palpable nuisance, forcing a slow drive down the back roads in the looming darkness. All sorts of inconveniencing possibilities hung in the minutes leading to my destination, from the relatively benign but still perhaps destructive, like deer, to something more dangerous, and equally if not moreso destructive, like oncoming traffic. Still, I progressed, and I ended up at the locked gate about 10 minutes after I anticipated, mildly disenchanted that I'd already been thrown behind.

At this point visibility was very poor, causing just about everything surrounding to appear wispy and insubstantial, as if ethereal. Really the only landmark I could be sure of was the monolithic main building I was destined toward some 500 feet in the distance as piercing the fog somewhat were the orange roof lights. As I looked around, I chuckled to myself, thinking it was very similar to what Frodo saw when he put on the ring. It was at that point I realized it had gotten even colder, and now there was a slight breeze, in and of itself not a bad thing, but coupled with the chilly air, it began to make things quite uncomfortable.

I swung the gates open and drove my vehicle in, and began the tedious task of unlocking everything. This included all of the pedestrian gates, and every door on the outside of the building, for the whole perimeter. In standard conditions, this would usually take me about 30 minutes, but this fog just wouldn't let up. Each night I endure this, I secretly wish for something eventful to occur; something, that while somewhat exciting, is relatively low on the danger scale, but something out of the norm nonetheless. In all the years I've been, however, nothing really has, and perhaps even with the monotony I'm better for it, but sometimes...

...I should really just be careful for what I wish.

All around the large square building is a sea of asphalt and a barbed wire topped chain link fence. As I was unlocking the main gate entrance that connects the parking lot with the rest of it, I heard...well at least I thought I did...a giggle...and it sounded feminine. Instinctively, I turned my head to either side, attempting to foolishly glance through the shifting fog. I should add it started to get a bit breezy tonight, just enough to make an eerie whitish swirl, so with it rushing past my ears, perhaps it was something else, well I had hoped anyway.

I entered the building and the door latch clicked shut echoing throughout. The stillness, while perhaps disturbing to some, was something that I'd grown to embrace over the years, also knowing how bustling the building actually can be. Two rows of delivery trucks each flanked a long conveyor belt in the center of it all, and the faint odor of diesel fuel permeated the surrounding air. Soon the place would be crawling with activity, 3 hours til then or so, as the drivers come in to load their trucks with bread deliveries to start the day.

Surrounding the morass of internal structure are inward facing doors that lead to offices and outward facing doors such as the one I entered. It was these I was currently set out to unlock. As I made my way around the stillness, I was on high alert; it could have just been the atmosphere tonight. The fog, the chill, what I thought I heard, and my penchant for not sleeping well as of late probably started to catch up with me. I made a mental note to streamline my days for better shuteye.

Finally I lapped the perimeter and I could get busy doing my work; that was, anyway, until I heard the whistling. The same sixteen notes pierced the air, in a quartet of quartets, and reverberated throughout the inside. Over and over again, I listened intently; they were getting louder, and whoever was whistling slowly seemed to be getting closer.

I waited just outside the office, thinking someone had just arrived early. It certainly wasn't unheard of, for basically any reason. Then he turned the corner. I was relieved, as it was Donald, our maintenance guy. A smallish man, with thinning brown hair, thick dark glasses, and a rotund middle, was carrying a wrench easily the size of my forearm no doubt on his way to fix something.

At least that's what I had thought.

Donald wasn't walking past me...he was walking toward me. He said nothing, closing the distance from about 30 feet. He had two hands on the wrench, resting it idly on his shoulder as he sauntered up. At this point it was severely alarming, and then even more so when the wrench began to lift off his shoulder...and swing toward my head. Instinctively I sidestepped, the wrench just missing my shoulder and striking the water fountain behind me, putting a sizable dent into the stainless steel trough. I looked at his gaze, tracing it down to his wrench. It was unwavering; in fact, I don't recall him blinking at all, almost like he was in some kind of trance.

Quickly, I gave him a two handed shove, and he lost his balance and toppled into a pile of pallets next to where he was standing, sending him down. I took off running in the opposite direction, toward where he was walking. At this point, I immediately regretted silently asking for that 'excitement' I always wanted so bad. What the hell was going on?
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As I rounded the corner, I began to pick up speed, yet as I did, I also noticed off in the distance, yet approaching quickly, inside the building no less, was that same billowing fog as outside! I looked behind me, and none of the garage doors were open. I turned to go back, and when I did, Donald was turning the corner ambling toward me with that wrench. Thinking quickly, I surmised that I could outrun him and double back the other way, but the area he came from was narrow, and he showed no signs of slowing down...or actually any free thought for that matter. It's almost as like he was entranced, and this gave me doubts.

While Donald steadily approached, and I assessed doubling back to be too iffy, one choice remained. I had to take my chances in the fog ahead. Without another pause, I turned and ran into the unknown, the unwavering form of the maintenance man diminishing in the distance until the fog swallowed my surroundings. Although I knew the general layout of the building, and I had an approximation of where I stood, the fog was very chilly, and with the current situation it became a bit difficult to think clearly. The further I went, the more I couldn't see, and the fog around me began to take on a freezing mist quality. I stopped and paused to listen. No longer could I hear Donald's rhythmic footfalls on the floor. For that matter, I couldn't hear much of anything else; all had become eerily quiet...again. My quiet breaths seemed to add to the thick mist around me, as the vapor exited when I exhaled.

A hollow windy sound suddenly stirred up the fog, like a wind selectively tearing through the building; it picked up significantly, stirring it up, thinning it out, to where I could see again. The building was again silent, and I looked around, all directions, and there was also no sign of Donald. That was, until I heard the sound of running boots filling the tranquil air. Coming from the opposite direction, again, was Donald, and this time with a purpose. He had a mean look on his face and the wrench behind his back with both hands running feverishly in an attempt to attack me again, closing distance from about 50 feet away, screaming as he ran toward me.

I turned tail to run, because at this point, I don't know what the hell's going on, because there's a madman chasing me with a goddamn wrench. I tear ass back in the other direction, toward the water fountain, and I get about ten steps, so I turn to look back. My next step hits an oil slick on the floor, a slippery spot I somehow avoided in the chaos that ensued earlier. Since I was already leaning back, this only exacerbated my lack of balance. My feet slid out from under me and I thudded the concrete pretty hard; enough to stun me quite a bit. I understood immediately how prone this just made me, and I tried frantically to scramble up and get away again, but the current pain was much too large to do that effectively. Within seconds Donald hovered over me, angry look on his face, breathing heavily, ready to swing. I did what I could, threw up my hands over my face in a move to block, and waited for the impact. I shut my eyes tightly, extremely terrified, and I heard the wrench clank a bit as it hinged down.

The blow never came.

After an excessive few seconds, I opened one eye, and looked through my arms. The wrench was still, about 6 inches above my block, still attached to Donald's hands, the look on his face the same, but totally unmoving, his entire form, as if in suspended animation. He remained that way for another several seconds or so, before slowly leaning to my right (looking up) and toppling over awkwardly, still in that peculiar position. I slowly got up, a little sore and banged around from the slip, and ambled to my feet. I could feel part of the slick had soaked my shirt in the back, and I could pretty much count on throwing that away, because it wasn't probably coming out.

It was the least of my worries though, poor Donald was still there, in that same position. I approached him, cautiously, and knelt down to see what I could do. As soon as I touched him, there was a sudden reaction; he popped out of his stasis and rolled out the last little bit to stop on his back, arms splayed out in either direction, with the wrench clattering to the floor. I ran to the wall phone nearest all of this to call for help; just like a damn horror movie, the stupid thing was dead. Then I heard a giggle...a very feminine giggle. A voice followed this, as I reached for my cell phone.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you..." it said, hauntingly familiar. Standing about 20 feet away, near the conveyor overlooking the whole scene was...I couldn't believe it...Angi. She jumped down off the platform and walked toward me. At this point I didn't know what to expect; I just had to assume that everything that was weird in occurrence tonight was at least partly her doing, which, if it were true, brought up a whole bunch of other questions I didn't even want to broach.

She continued sauntering forward, eyes fixated on me, like burning into my head. She was dressed differently though, this time. She had on a baseball cap, the team I couldn't quite make out in the shadowy warehouse atmosphere, but the other features were unmistakable. I should have read into it a little more back then, but who realizes that such minor details could foretell such extremes? She wore beige capris, with white sneakers and white socks, but what really caught my eye was the emblem on the front of her shirt, which was white in the torso, and green on the long sleeves. Centered on her chest was a black circle; inside of it was a four leaf clover, an upside down horseshoe, and a number seven, two stripes, in black and red. She actually looked really sporty, and sexy, and I might have been moreso aroused, if I weren't so disturbed by the night's events thus far.

"So tell me, Clark, you asshole," she said, eyes still unwavering. "Was it worth it?" "Was it worth stiffing me over our silly bet?" She waited expectantly for in her mind whatever bullshit answer was going to come spewing forth from me.

I paused, not knowing how to take all of this. "Oh come on! That was total crap and you know it! You got a lucky swing off on a great pitch; and there's no way in hell you should have won that! I was cheated!" I realized how indignant and childish I sounded, since, as it was, I was still very incensed as to how it all went down.

She nodded slowly, as if an orderly were talking to a neurotic psychopatient. "Uh huh...and according to baseball rules, if it hits the foul pole on a fly it's a fair ball, and if the home team is ahead in extra innings, the game ends...so what, exactly, was unfair about following the rules of the game?" She smirked slightly, knowing she had me dead to rights. Again, she waited for my pathetic rebuttal.

I had nothing. "Why this though? Was this all you?" I panned the surroundings with my hand, referring to all the shenanigans that had taken place, and referenced Donald, still lying motionless on the floor.

"Yes," she answered with doubtless conviction, "and I'm also here for a reason." She produced the hat, once again, and extended her arm, and it, out to me. "I'm giving you one last chance to honor our bet; though I warn you, consider your intent carefully, because a continued refusal escalates the reaction from here." She stood there again, waiting, arm extended. Her gaze was neutral, but I got the sense she was ok with either scenario.

I wanted so badly to take the hat. Looking back, I probably dismissed her actions as drugging Donald and really good use of a fog machine, but alas I couldn't believe I would follow such warped logic. I also had a passion for calling bluffs my entire life, a trait that often led to my peril in much more admittedly benign events. For the latter, this was no different. For my actions, I was about to see just how much the reprisal was going to accelerate things. In a fit or what could only amount to sheer nerve, and to her rather nonplussed reaction, I declined to honor the bet a second time.

She nodded a singular time. "Very well then, that opportunity has been waived." She put the hat away in a small bag she had been carrying on her shoulders and continued to speak while doing so. "Something tells me you're going to regret that decision; your actions during this whole time have consequences that extend to a much greater scale beyond the scope of what you believe. I'm assuming you're trying to weasel out of this for a reason, and I'm going to guess it's because of the humiliation you'd suffer from wearing such an item. That, however, is of no concern to me; the greater violation is the fact that you did not keep your word, in front of a litany of witnesses, which gives me all the evidence I need to move forward."

I got this awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like maybe I should have just taken the hat. I put my finger up in an effort to pause her speech. She cut me off immediately.

"You want to wear the hat now, don't you?" She smiled slightly.

I nodded, eagerly.

"Sorry, that opportunity has passed; as I stated before, consider your intent carefully; you dismissed it quickly, now we progress." Her answer to me was somewhat canned, but also matter of fact, and it left nothing to guesswork.

"This is your final opportunity to make things right; it's not nearly as generous as, say, accepting the wager outcome and wearing the damn hat, but it is an opportunity nonetheless. In progressions such as these, I make the rules, and I set the requirements." Her gaze was again unwavering, as she explained what was about to go down.

"Within this building, extending to the property around, except for the parking lot; basically, wherever the perimeter fence is, are the boundaries. If you breach the fence, you lose. If you call for outside help, you lose. If you make it clear you are ending the game before time is up...you lose. For thirty minutes, you must stay upright. What that means, is, if you are taken down, tackled if you will, you lose. Last 30 minutes without a takedown, all is forgiven, and you don't even have to wear the hat." She smiled at that.

"See, Clark, there's something I haven't told you about me," she said coyly, with expression to boot. If there was some kind of big reveal here, I certainly wasn't ready for the wild explanation that was about to ensue. "I am what's called an Agent of Fate; the emblem on my attire signifies good, bad, and neutral spin, as per the clover, upside down shoe, and twin colored seven. The baseball game bet we had was an 'audit' of sorts, if you will, and not only did it show me what kind of a spineless weasel you are, but it also put you in direct violation of everything I represent. You didn't keep your word, and because of it, now you've spun fate, so to say. In reality, I can just impose the reprisal for breaking this word currently, but since you're also my friend, I've decided to give you one...last...chance."

"Stay upright, 30 minutes, go anywhere within the confines of the fence; run, hide, whatever..." She shrugged. "I don't care; you do that, and this ugly little matter goes away. If you fail..." She paused there, almost daring me to ask first.

I didn't disappoint; suddenly the gravity of how serious this might be came into focus. My mouth was dry, and I was barely able to speak, but I somehow squeaked the words out anyway. "What...then?"

Without hesitation she replied, "Your life as you know it ends. You are compelled to serve the whims of those you have violated, in this case, me. You will be fit to serve, until such time as the served deems freedom a just action. In other words, if you get taken down in the next half hour..." She smiled widely as she said this, to my disturbingly palpable horror. "...you become my thrall!" Angi waved her hand in front toward me, and my forehead began to burn intensely. It felt like a bad sunburn, and my disbelief in what just happened was at full tilt. This might be the worst situation ever where I tried to call a bluff.

She pushed the button next to her on the wall, and all the building garage doors around the perimeter opened up. The next sound I heard was a slew of vehicle doors slamming closed in the adjacent parking lot. I looked out to see eight women walking up to the entrance and filing in. They were the other girls on her team.

"Aw, c'mon! That's not fair! You have help!" I shouted. "And what the hell did you do to my head?!" I reached up to touch it tenderly, and it still hurt like hell.

"Remember, my rules, Clark; this is very serious, and it's on my terms. On your forehead is the symbol of thrall; two manacles connnected by a chain. But on another note, I'd so love to have you as mine, so go ahead, resign now, make it easy." She winked, disturbingly. Without another word I took off running, away from whatever Angi is now, and away from all of her 'help.' I remember thinking how badly I wanted my nights to be more exciting, and how much I wanted to renege on that wish now, and how much going back on my word has gotten me in trouble. I turned to look back in time to watch the ladies fan out for the hunt. I liked my life; I wanted it for more than 30 additional minutes.