An evening conversation. (OPEN)

"Is that him there?" inquired the man in the suit, gesturing through the one-way mirror to the man inside the interrogation room.

"Yes, agent. We caught this man in the Swicegood Corporation's tower. Y'know the arms dealer with the federal contracts? Heh, apparently their night guard caught him trying to type at a keyboard but he didn't know how to type. Real loonie this one is. He's the one the Jump City P.D. are all huffed up about, the oh what was it.... Sandwalker guy. The one involved in those random shootings." returned the on-duty investigator.

"Well I suppose we are here to find out just how random they are exactly." stated the agent, straightening his tie with one hand.
Showtime he thought.

The door was closed behind him, and the agent settled into a seat opposite the stranger. He placed his papers on the ground and warily eyed the stranger. His attire was distinctly military in appearance, but no insignia of any nation, or unit was to be found anywhere. Neither were there any fingerprints on file, well, mostly because this stranger had no fingerprints. He was vexed already, and the silent glare form this 'Sandwalker' idiot were only fueling his rage.

"How about we start with this. Can you tell me your name?" queried the agent.

"My name?" croaked the military mystery man. It struck the agent that this man's voice was incredibly dry. As if he hadn't had a drink of water for days. Maybe years.

"Yes, your name. For the record, you see."

"My name... is unimportant. The sands do not permit me my identity, rather only that I suffer for.... my sins"

This is going to be a long night. Dwelled the agent. At least I have this investigation all to myself. Not like any other agencies to jump in, assuming those *&#*$ boy scouts over at Titan's Tower didn't curry the governor's favor for the right to his case. It would be just like them too, to come barging into my little office here, and demanding that I turn over all files to their auspices. Braggarts.