It was a bland day. Unremarkable, he thought, as he sat in the car. The traffic was lighter than usual, with few of the fast-moving prey that would help him towards his quota. So far, he had only given five tickets today, all of which were within 10Mph over the limit. His quota was a concern, but it was a small concern, and he was generally enjoying the calm of his day from his spot on the highway. He had been too involved in his work recently; that and some worries about his mortgage had made him worry too much recently. He relaxed for awhile in the unnoticable weather, feeling the cool breeze gently blow through the car windows as he leaned back in his seat. Time seemed to pass by, in that special semiconsciousdull way. Eventually a nagging oddity brought him back out of it. There were no more cars on the highway. Birds chirped, and the wind still caressed the trees, but the empty highway felt deeply wrong. He squinted his eyes, and waited for a moment, on the hunch that this was just a temporary oddity. After a few minutes, he remembered his radio, and turned it on. It was oddly quiet, not even making the static that comprised that world's equivilent of silence. Curious and nervous, he started up his car, and began to pick up speed, intent on heading to the nearest exit to put down nagging doubts. As he drove, he felt yet more doubts -- shouldn't he have been at exit 105 by now? He glanced off the sides of the highway -- they certainly looked like he would expect, but to a large degree it all looked the same. He continued to drive. Several minutes later, while decending into a low area that he wasn't sure he remembered, he saw something sitting in the road on the corrisponding rise ahead. He began to slow down, and as he came closer, he corrected his thought -- someONE. Apprehension, nervousness, and a trace of anger filled him as he slowly moved the car to a stop to the left of the person. For a moment, he considered speeding off, but he quickly banished his doubts, opened the door, and stepped out. As he walked around the car, he was surprised to see that the person.. the woman, had turned to face him. He didn't recall seeing her get up. She was sitting, on her knees, on the cement, the tops of her feet resting against the road like he remembered the Japanese did in the movies. She wasn't Japanese though.. she looked European. She had an old, intense, intelligent face, her hair in short, brown/grey curls. Her clothing was a bulky, smooth grey hooded cloak, the hood lying back against her back. He was surprised to see that the apparent age in her face was not matched by her hands, which although wiry, had skin that looked like that of a teenager. With a slight gesture of her head, she bade him sit in front of her, and to his surprise, he did, about a foot from her, and, like her, in the middle of the road. One of her hands reached behind her and pulled out an expensive-looking chessboard. A small part of him questioned its origin, a question ignored by the rest. His skill at chess was poor, but he felt strangely compelled to play. The board was on the highway, its pieces facing neither of them, as she stared at him. In an attempt to convince himself that he was not tense, he gave an exaggerated shrug, and rotated the board, moving the white towards himself, and made his first move. The game began. He played an agressive game, occasionally glancing up at her emotionless stare as she moved her pieces. 8 moves into the game, he got the impression that she was much better than him. After about 15 moves, most of his attacking pieces were taken or trapped. He tipped his king on the 17th move, and reached across the board to shake her hand. Chastized by her stare, he moved his hand back, and waited. The long moments grew uncomfortable as he looked around, looked anywhere but at her. Eventually he turned his attention to her clothing. He spotted a pulled thread in the otherwise perfect clothing, the string hanging out and blowing in the breeze. He raised his hand to point at it, but she already was moving towards it. She slowly pulled the thread further out from her garment, examining it carefully. She then pulled a large pair of scissors.. shiny metal with black plastic handles, from her cloak, and snipped the thread, holding it up with her other hand. She then reached across the space seperating them with her hand, offering it, and her hand, to him. He took her hand, the thread between their palms, and they both rose from the rough pavement, slowly walking down the highway away from the chess board and the car.