Of course Dave had noticed the other man fall asleep. He had wanted to strike up a conversation many times, though he had always fallen short of forming coherent thoughts. Whenever he seemed to have something he thought was worth mentioning, he looked over and noticed the man was, indeed, still unconscious. He would have felt stupid, waking Bransen if he wasn’t going to say anything important, and he usually decided that his random commentary was lacking in the intellectual quality that was no doubt necessary to hold Bransen’s interest. Thus, Dave kept his comments to himself, even though he clearly saw this woman picking her nose in one of the cars that traveled along-side him for a little while. He noticed a humorous license plate, [i]FRM MYX[/i], though the car took an exit after only being in his vision for about a mile. Dave briefly began to track the models of the cars as well, though he soon lost track of whether he was seeing the same vehicles again, or different ones, and so gave up. 

Over an hour passed, the station he had picked was fortunately still working alright, the time during which they were under bridges aside. He had seen a few signs for attractions that could have been worth a visit, if the pair weren’t running for their lives, of course. No, had Dave been traveling of his own accord, or with some of hide friends, he might have suggested stopping off. He could almost imagine the look of anger that would have surfaced on Bransen’s face if he had woken up outside of some ‘world renowned brewery’…especially if Dave had abandoned him and gone inside. Dave laughed to himself at the thought, though he continued driving.

In all honesty, Dave wasn’t used to the kind of quiet that Bransen perpetuated. He was used to small talk, and random talking about trivial things. Even though he had nothing to say, he still had trouble with the silence. Eventually, it was Bransen who broke it, and Dave almost called out in victory for having held out longer than the other man. It should have been an extra victory because Dave actually had to be awake the entire time he was driving, while Bransen got to sleep for almost the entire drive. Dave glanced sideways as the other man was rubbing his eyes, and asked in a hoarse voice if they wanted to switch. “You sure you can stay awake?” He asked in response, not even giving the thought enough time to process. It was meant to be a friendly jab, but Dave was doing a horrible job of remembering that Bransen wasn’t a friendly person. Had he waited a little longer, he might have realized that the offer on Bransen’s part to actually do something to help their situation was so rare that it needed to be cherished, rather than poked with a stick. Indeed, in Dave’s mind, Bransen had done almost nothing since they had paired up. It was a miracle that the engineer had survived as long as he had, really, with how uninvolved he was in his own life.

“Sorry, uh. Let’s stop somewhere and get a quick bite. Then you can drive if your foot isn’t too fucked up.” Dave added after a few moments, knowing he shouldn’t have poked fun at his driving companion. Dave figured if the man tried putting pressure on it and couldn’t walk, then driving would be out of the question, at least for a while longer. A few moments passed, during which Dave saw an exit sign that had denoted a few food places that would be coming up on an exit about a mile or so ahead of them. “There are quite a few places coming up… Which do you prefer, McDonald’s or Wendy’s?” Dave inquired. Most people asked McDonald’s or Burger King, however Dave already had an item in mind that he couldn’t get at the King. If Bransen chose Wendy’s, Dave would spoil himself with a frosty. If they chose McDonald’s, then he would get a McFlurry. Either way, Dave would be content for a while longer, and wouldn’t have to resort to drinking just to finish the trip. He planned to get food as well, but it was the desserts that determined where Dave wanted to go for food.

He glanced once more at Bransen as he pulled into the parking lot. “Do you want to go in?” Bransen didn’t look…that bad, and Dave figured that the other man would have to pee at least. He certainly did. Dave would have gone through the drive-thru to get the food if Bransen was uncomfortable, but either way he would end up parking for a bit, so that they could eat and he could use the bathroom. Dave would get some real food as well, if a burger and fries could really count as real food, of course. The fries would be dipped in whatever frozen drink he acquired, using that as his condiment of choice. “You ever have fries dipped in ice cream?” He asked Bransen before putting another one in his mouth. Dave had planned on saving them for the road, but that was already quickly failing, and then the car would smell like fast food, which was another reason that he should enjoy the food now.

-.-

Melissa had made it clear that she meant business, and apparently Kit was bright enough to realize that he wasn’t going to talk circles around her. He began to explain that the target was restrained, and they used force. She didn’t bat an eye at this—and frankly would have been surprised if they were trying to get around using force. She had, after all, given them plenty of tools with which they could garner information. Had she believed that Bransen would have fessed up to everything, then she would have simply brought him in and skipped the whole affair with the brain and the brawn. 

Mr. Marshall seemed to realize, at the very least, that Berkman was grasping at straws. So had his argument been convincing enough to sway Mr. Tucker to join his side? There were two distinct possibilities that came to her mind as Mr. Marshall explained Davian’s actions; either Mr. Tucker had a conscience, and only just realized during the interrogation that Hawtholders had some less than wholesome activities, or Mr. Tucker was tricked by their captive into believing that he had something to gain by helping the former engineer escape from Hawtholder’s clutches. Mr. Marshall explained that Bransen got under his skin, that the man’s attitude prompted him to attack the other man, and it began to sound to Melissa as if Kit had lost control of the situation, forcing Mr. Tucker’s hand.

Her eyebrows went up a bit in response to Kit’s explanation, including the fact that he was bludgeoned unconscious. She had a good number of questions forming in her mind, but Melissa knew the benefits of letting someone finish composing their thoughts. They often answered the questions before she could ask them—or their rambling enticed them to give away some other piece of information that they had not intended on saying, something to help direct the guilt. Hilda’s readings during the interrogation would give Melissa quite a bit more information about the discussion she was having with Mr. Marshall. One of the most notable results would be the extreme degree to which Kit’s adrenaline rose as he talked about Bransen getting under his skin. It would become even more apparent that Kit probably would have done something regrettable had Mr. Tucker not been there to deflect from the situation. It would also tell Melissa that the likelihood of Marshall being involved in some sort of scheme with the pair was incredibly low. He was more likely to try to snap their necks than he was to be in league with them.

Kit tried to change the subject, bringing up the nature of the activities in which Hawtholders was involved. Was he seriously trying to put Melissa on the defensive once more? Of course she knew what activities they were involved in. Unless he was saying this because he wanted some sort of pay off. The stupid man suffered the same flawed reasoning as many other men had before him. He believed that he was important, that he mattered. He was just a cog in the machine, a grunt worker necessary only to carry out the tasks that Melissa deemed unworthy of her time. And apparently this man wasn’t even good for that. The only reason he was alive right now was that he had information that was very important to the security of the company. “The security measures within the walls of Hawtholders have been re-evaluated. Of that, Mr. Marshall, I can assure you. I can also assure you that what goes on inside of Hawtholders, especially the affairs of the payroll department, are absolutely none of your business.” Melissa leaned forward on the table a bit, her ability to maintain her composure rather eerie in some ways. “What you need to decide, Mr. Marshall, is how you will continue to be an asset to Hawtholders from this moment on.” 

Taking a deep breath, Melissa straightened and stood up from the table. “Hawtholders is continually growing and improving. Without us, this world would be in the dark ages. Our pursuits are, indeed, global, and every good company needs good, loyal employees. So I would like you to take a few hours, Mr. Marshall. Compose yourself, sleep, go to see a medical provider in our care wing if you deem fit. Then, by noon, decide where you fit into Hawtholders' mission, and come to my office then with your decision.” Giving him a few hours would give her time to ho have him watched, see if he did anything that would make her more suspicious of his loyalty. Of course, he could do all of the things he needed within the Hawtholders buildings themselves, but he would be watched via camera. Melissa would be able to confer with HILDA, and decide what they were going to do with Mr. Marshall. He could be a valuable asset, but she needed to run some simulations and decide if he was worth the risk of keeping alive any longer.