Spy Games: Evil Unseen

[Levyathyn]

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A simple introduction will do, as to where you are and what you're up to. Villains, of course, should be as secretive as they can be about this.

Nazi Germany, April 30th, 1945

The Americans pressed in on all sides, and all was lost. The rain, as unforgiving as it ever has been, rained as blood down from an ash-filled sky. Distant explosions shook the bunker's foundations and stirred deep echoes, hollow roars that sounded like the very jaws of Hell. Alone and unhindered, he sat in the darkness as the world turned to dust around him. A hand strayed to his small moustache, an underline to his nose. His short, combed over hair was hidden beneth his military dress hat, one of ranking officer. In fact, the ranking officer. He was the Fuhrer of Germany. Adolf Hitler. He gzed out in dismay at the sweeping losses before him. News of Mussolini's death had reached him earlier, and he prepared to face the Devil when his time came. Behind him, a shadow drew a pistol silently. With sudden speed, Hitler was clubbed from behind, rendered unconcious with a single blow. The figure bent over Hitler, showing it's young, male face in the pale light of the bunker. The man inserts something into Hitler's mouth, then sits on a stool and gazes out at the war. A few minutes later, he stands up and shoots the former leader. The body is unceremoniously dumped next to a woman's downstairs. Leaving, the figure says only a single sentence after a week of patient silence. "German fools. Useless, even as pawns."

New York City, June 16th, 2011

The ambulance slows, but someone jumps out the back before it manges to stop. From inside, a second person jumps out. The man and the woman work to extract the contents, a very injured man in a stretcher. The many wounds that he has seep blood, and only professional experience and speed have kept him alive so far. The rush him inside, demanding doctors and various cure-alls, praying for a miracle. A doctor sweeps them side and takes over, rushing him to operation. Less than a minute later, the man is dead. The doctor spares him not a single moment, instead rushing off to save the next person. No one notices the ambulance still parked outside. Seven minutes later, the man and woman leave, each carrying a briefcase. Three hours after that, the discovery of a Chief Surgeon dead makes the evening news. The discovery is a tragic one, albeit a small one. The world keeps turning and other, more important people die elsewhere, demanding the media's attention. The briefcases, unrecognizable and unknown, aren't even remembered.

London, June 16th, 2011

The man settles back to enjoy his retirement, happy in his apartment on the 5th floor. His work in the field of science, aside from setting standards for the next fifty years, were enough to keep him happy just as long. The wind from outside blows his hair back, what little he has left. He smiles and sips his Vodka, sighing contentedly as he dismisses the price tag. He stands up and stretches, then goes back inside to dust off his diplomas again. He takes equal care of all three; he has since a month ago, when they made him so well off. He was a celebrity, as well. At least, among the science heavy of London. Until his Nobel prize was finally handed over, he was sure no one in America hd heard of him. With a start, he realies his prize terrier is missing. Not the prettiest of dogs, it nonetheless remained important to him. He kept everything of his late wife, especially the dog, which he had always suspected she favored over him. Sudenly, a loud squeal outside draws his attention. He sets the glass down, fearing the worst. Charging outside, he looks down over the balcony. And there, far below him, the dog lay, twisted on the ground like a broken spring. A momentary gasp of sadness escapes his lips before a rough shove sends him over for a better look. His last thoughts are to the future and to his wife.

Milan, June 16th, 2011

Night looms overhead. Clutching her purse tight, she steps through the square. Afraid for her life, she cautiously searches the entire plaze with her eyes, remaining focused on her goal. Normally, she would have taken a ride to the airport, but she couldn't afford the time. Her work didn't normally involve such high stakes, though she doubted anyone would believe her findings. She was quite a star, locally, known for her in depth reporting and no nonsense attitude normally reserved for movie reporters. It didn't hurt that she was quite attractive. Finally behind her, the giant square in front of the cathedral doesnt remain empty long. The large figure, darkly dressed, goes unheeded, unnoticed once she steps around a corner. She ducks through some arches and turns right, quickly stepping across a street. She gets another twenty feet before a figure steps out in front of her. Normally incredibly brave, she feels dread ice up her spine at the figure's black clothing and obvious stare. She turns to run, only to have a second figure step behind her. Seeing no other choice, she ducks into an alley. Running like hell, she doesn't stay to listen to see if they follow or not. In front of her, a corner whips left, and she turns with it. Reflexively, she darts left as she almost falls into an open sewer grate. She feels elated, suddenly thinking she foiled the two mens' trap. A sudden, light whistle reaches her ears immediately after she dies, stumbling onto the hard stones. The bullet's entry and exit wounds quickly soak blood into her dress, where it pools onto the concrete. The third man, approaching from the end of the alley, puts his rifle into a long case and picks up the purse while the two followeing toss her into the sewer, where they mke their escape. The news would report on her, for once, as missing.

?????????, June 16th, 2011

The phone rings silently. A single green light flashes in time to the noise that should be there, and it does so in Morse code. After it spells out a lengthy signature, a gloved hand picks the phone up. Three seconds of silence tell the calling party all they need to know. "It is done. All is well. Five nation wellspring hovercraft axion catharsis." Then the caller hangs up. The gloved hand hangs the phone up and opens a drawer. Inside is a large mechanism, taking up the whole drawer compartment. After pressing a sequence of 16 numbers in a row, red LED numbers appear on the bomb, counting down from 20:00. The gloved hand, and it's owner, leave by helicopter.

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These issues will be handled in their own time, and they're all smll right now, so feel free to ignore them for now. Post any questions or comments in the OOC thread.

[Lord_Asmodeus]

A man walks slowly but with clear purpose. He takes a sharp right, heading down a long alley. At the end of an alley is a door, a classic "private party" door, complete with a closed slit for a mans eyes to peer out. As the man approaches and knocks twice, the slit opens. A couple of dark eyes peer out. "Password" a deep basso voice demands, nothing can be seen passed his eyes. "I wasn't told no password" says the man in rushed tones. "No password, no entry" repeats the voice from inside. "Its urgent, I was told to come here for a deal, told to see a man called "Coyote"" The man looks over his shoulder, allowing a quick glimpse of a bustling high class bar, and then turns back. "Fine, but next time, no password-" he's cut off as the man pushes past the opening door "Yea yea, no entry" he mutters under his breath. He walks in slowly, surveying the whole room, until a man waves him over to a private table in the corner. The man calls over a waitress and orders "I'll have some wine, from Bordeaux. And-" he turns to the man, who looks up, startled, "ah, I'll just have some scotch" he says a little shakily. This handsome near-youth was obviously not what he was expecting. "Coyote" turns to the waitress and nods, and she walks off to collect their drinks. Coyote looks at the man and speaks "I'd like to make a deal with you Mr.Ross" The man, Mr.Ross, looks startled "How do you know my name". "It wasn't that hard, you're pretty famous in some quarters, and thats what I want to talk to you about" just then the waitress returned. It began to rain outside, as Mr.Ross and Coyote made their "deal"

[Phantom.exe]

"The air vas heavy in the big city; the heat roiling off the pavement was stifling. I had just had a run-in with one sharp dame, Maria. She was looking just as good as I remember. We took the beater out to Sharkey's for some cold coffee and colder toast. But then, just as things were getting cozy, she goes and tells me Barbara Jackson's been snuffed. "Time to make a few house calls," I said, loading my .38 special."

Sig sighed. It didn't sound natural. It didn't feel... right. It was unsettling. It sounded nothing like him - like anyone. Nobody spoke like that - ever. He sighed, and leaned on a cracked porcelain sink, staring into the mirror. Dark bags hung over his eyes, and his coat's tails and bottom were spattered with mud. "Is just practice. I only need practice. It is easier to blend in with practice. Practice takes time."

He repeated his mantra to himself again. He didn't need this, no. He didn't have to do it. But he wanted to. It would make him better, more easy. He couldn't walk around with an accent his entire life. It had made him distinctive, a stand-out. And as far as he knew, if you stood out, you died.
He just needed this little deception; a 'trial run' of a new identity. "Jackie King, Private Eye, Chicago's finest."


Sig stepped out of the bathroom. "They've been waiting for you. Wait for the cue to step on," said a woman wearing a headset and smock.
No turning back.

Finally, he was ready. He listened carefully, adjusted his wire - his 'bug' - heard the signal word. Deeper, deeper, deeper... he waited for it.
"...as dangerous as the waterfront, there were those willing to dive deeper..."

This was it.

The curtain opened. Sig stepped on stage. The crowd was smaller than he hoped - one hundred people at most. He heard the sound of applause, waiting for just the right moment to begin the monologue.
"Well, this is how it all went down. I picked up the phone before it even finished the first ring... you see, the air was heavy in the big city; the heat rolling off the pavement was stifling..."


Time passed. He finished his lines. He finished the rest. He finished the play. He said goodbye to his associates. He packed his clothes into a weathered leather briefcase, out of style since the 60s.

"That was a nice performance, Sig. You've gotten better since last time."

Sig stopped before he buckled the briefcase shut.
"I've been... practicing."
"I could tell. Your voice was higher onstage.
Community theater. You must need to do something to pass the time."

"Diversifying... skills. Vat the clients are after, ya? They don't want just the run and gun, they vant the acting, the undercover."
"Really?"
Sig was frustrated. He spoke with a clear Western German accent, with no attempt to hide him or his identity. He turned to face her.
"Really. And if you don't mind, I haf to get home. Abandoned apartment buildings don't sweep themselves, ya?"
"Slow down."

Sig buckled his suitcase and swiftly headed for the door, determined to push her out of the way, if needbe.

"We found your mother."

Sig stopped mid-stride, switching to a rehearsed 40s Brooklyn accent. "Betcha she's lookin' just like she did in the pictures. Time to make a few house calls."

[LongVin]

Marco Cornaro:

Rome, Marco sat at his kitchen table, laptop in front of him. Checking his email and catching up on the news. Hmm...it appears that some investigator reporter from Milan, that's a shame. Pretty girl too, probably kidnapped. That was a job for the regular police, Marco's job was far more sensitive and important than the local beat cop could even imagine. Closing the laptop he reached for the M92 Beretta pistol that was sitting behind it, pulling the slide back he checked to make sure a bullet was in the chamber, there was, you could never be too safe. The pistol was soon hidden under his shirt.

Taking the last sip from his coffee he grabs his bag that is stuffed with wires and small electronic devices. He had a busy day ahead of him and it was best to get started early.



Enrico Bordiga:

Somewhere along the Italo-Swiss border

The Doctor of Economics studied the dozen or so newspapers assembled in front of him, all opened to the finance section. They were from all over the world and he carefully went through each one for the current trends of the marker and of business circling articles of interest to be further investigated. There was a worker's strike in Naples, hardly news, someone was always striking there for some reason or another only to return work almost randomly a few days later...still it might be used to the organization's advantage, it was circled. The British Pound was still going strong, maybe something could be done about that. A further investigation of the British market would be required. Jotting down a quick note Enrico reminded himself to have one of his associates to make a detailed report for him on the matter.

[Vespe Ratavo]

New York, New York

Marcus yawned as he put down his wrench. It had been a long day. Admittedly, he had spent most of the day working on his own car, but he felt accomplished nonetheless. He put away his tools, turned off the lights, and closed the door.

Five minutes later, he returned. He kept the lights dimmed as he felt his way towards his vehicle of choice. He put in the key, unlocked it, and slid in. No matter how many times he did it, he still felt a tinge of excitement whenever he clicked on the ignition, and the bright headlights illuminated the darkness.

He opened the garage door, then slammed on the gas. His favorite cherry-red sports car burst out of the gate, doing a few laps around the empty neighborhood, and-

Oh right.

He blushed as he drove back around to his garage, clicked his key, and closed the door.

Back to business.

A few minutes later, he pulled up into a parking lot. The Inferno, it was called. Marcus had never heard about it until a few days ago, when he got an anonymous call on his phone. It was a woman. Plain English. No accent. She said she knew where to find someone. The very man Marcus had been searching for for years. Any lead was vital, he thought to himself. Even if this one was fake, it was worth a shot.

He walked inside and sat down. He observed the restaurant's patrons, looking for whoever might have summoned him.

[ThePhantom]

San Francisco, California

Carmen yawned and stood up from her desk. Looking at files for hours almost never solved cases. No new information would come in, so this case was frozen, and the only real lead she could follow. After she had try to find clues around MagCorp and been caught by the police, she was lucky not to end up without a job. Now she wasn't allow within twenty yards of ... the one in San Francisco! That was it! She had a ticket to New York City, and in that city there was bound to be another MagCorp office! She would worry about the details of getting the information after she was in New York. She went and got her keys, then started to drive to the airport.

[Lord Magtok]

New York, New York

A trio parks at The Inferno, arriving in a well-polished purple Volkswagen, a few spaces away from Marcus's sports car, in a handicap spot. They all exit the car in unison, revealing themselves to be a group of unusual men in business suits and sunglasses.

The man who had been on the driver's side takes out a white cane and keeps it waving about in front of himself as he strolls out towards the restaurant. The other two seem equally odd, as an obese man quietly muttering to himself is wheeled in by the third person, an abnormally pale fellow whose jet-black mohawk sharply contrasted with his fancy suit.

As the trio enter, the fat man is wheeled over past Marcus and to an empty table some distance away.

He then pulls down the sunglasses slightly, revealing a pair of red eyes with crosshairs instead of pupils. Upon closer examination and due to the small distance between the two, Marcus might find that the man's face sags a little, isn't quite a face at all, but a mask. The "blind" man doesn't seem to remember to breathe, his chest remains the same as he waits for the others at the table. And the pale fellow, he attempts to discreetly plop a handwritten note on the back of a MagCorp business card onto Marcus's table.

"The man made of metal wishes you well
And he says you're to visit that Buddy (Ball) in Hell."

[Vespe Ratavo]

New York, New York

Marcus observes the strange trio as they walk by. He picks up the business card and reads it. His facial expression sours as he places the card into his pocket. He shoots a glare at the three men...then, strangely enough, grins, as if to say, "good luck."

((Can't decide...does present tense or past tense sound better? ))

[Lord Magtok]

New York, New York

The three "men" at the table watch Marcus cautiously, not touching the food before them. After a few minutes, the blind one receives a call. He begins doing something a psychologist would call word salad.

The puppy is in the oven. Repeat, puppy is in the oven. No sign of popcorn, but we'll keep watching Sponge-

The fat man in the wheelchair snatches away the phone.

Gimme that! Sorry sir, Sprinkles must've stolen the phone from me when I was waving to the puppy that was in the car next to ours for a while. It was a really cute puppy too, sir. Sir, why can't we have a pup-?

...But I told PETA I was sooorry!

A few people in the area raise their eyebrows at the grown man whining like a small child, but shrug it off and return to their meaningless lives.

Fine...Anyways, the boy has been given the message, and he isn't panicking. Can we take off the disg-

...*Sigh* Yes, sir. I know, sir. Also, Sparkles was wondering if he you got his fax, the one asking about when we get back, whether we could have some snacks. Yes, the rhyming bugs me too. Bye, sir.

The fat man hangs up the phone.

Sir says we wait for him to go, and then we use the lead pipe.

[Levyathyn]

OOC: ((Vespe: I myself used to write in past tense, but I eventually found that I felt it was less impactive that way. I see more past tense, but I prefer future, myself.))

[Vespe Ratavo]

Marcus walks over to the table where the three are sitting, and sits down.

Hello.

He smiles.

[Levyathyn]

Almost invisibly, a raven-haired woman looks into the glass windows from outside the cafe. She notices Marcus sit down with the men and shakes her head, a frown on her face. She walks out of sight to the right, disappearing. Only two people in the upscale restaurant notice her.

Elsewhere, Marco Cornaro's cell phone rings. The number is unspecified.

[Lord Magtok]

"Sprinkles" open his mouth to babble some more, but is promptly stopped when "Sparkles" puts his hand to the other's mouth. He then attempts to speak in rhyme once again, but is stopped by that third one, the one who comes closest to speaking normally.

Hi, Marky. As the note Sparkles wrote says, boss wants us to kill you and stuff. Can you do your prayers and eating and stuff and then come with us to the alley before Sprinkles starts babblin' again, please? We were kinda busy drawing in our colorin' books before the half shiny man told us to go here, and we'd like to get back to that soon.

Yes, the cold-blooded killing machine wearing a rather lousy disguise to blend in with the humans did in fact state that it was drawing in a coloring book meant for children, and that its companions were named Sparkles and Sprinkles.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Well gentlemen, I'm sorry I interrupted your coloring.

If you'd kindly tell me where the "half shiny man" is, I'll be on my way and we can all leave this with our limbs intact.

Marcus takes a sip of a Dr. Pepper.

Don't do anything stupid now.

[LongVin]

Marco Cornaro:

Heading down the street to where his car is parked, Marco feels the vibration of his cellphone against his hip. Pulling it loose he checks to see the number just as he is hitting the unlock key on his car.

Damn, private numbers, he thinks before popping it open and answering "Pronto" (for those of you who don't know, in Italy that is how people answer phones)

[Levyathyn]

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You'll have to excuse me, Italian is not a language I know anything about. =\

For a second, only silence answers Mr. Cornaro. Then a male voice begins to speak in fluent, unbroken Italian. <"Mr. Cornaro? I have some information you might want. Would you meet me under the gate of the Castello Sforzeco in Milan? I'll be wearing a rose on my lapel."> When Marco answers, the man hangs up immediately.

[LongVin]

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I know just the basics of Italian. But I found everyone answering the phone and basically saying "ready"(pronto) pretty interesting/funny so I distinctly remember that from my trip.

Marco Cornaro:

Glancing around checking to see if it could be anyone near him, Marco cautiously answers. "Of coures, but..." they already had hung up. It looked like his plans for the day had changed. He would be off to the train station. But, first he would try to find out who called him.

Running back to his apartment he grabs his laptop before going to the car and heading towards the train station. Purchasing a ticket for the first train to Milan he settles down in the station and finds the wires he is looking for.

Quickly finding his seat on the train, he connects his cellphone to the laptop and attempts to crack the block placed on the call and find out just who was looking for him and had his number.

[Levyathyn]

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I've never been, but the Castello would be on my list to see if I did. It's amazing.

The block is almost too easy, probably dialed in straight from the man's cell phone. He is listed as Antonio Gatzo, a low-grade banker from Florence. His record pulls up some minor gambling trouble in the past and a recent clean streak, as well as a messy divorce in between the two. His picture shows n verage build man with short hair and a penchant for dark, round glasses. The files you find say nothing about why he would be calling.

[LongVin]

Marco Cornaro:

Well, that solves one mystery but leaves open how the man got his number. It didn't seem right but it was still a lead that might be worth pursuing.


Arriving in Milan a few hours later, the first thing the agent does is rent a locker at the trainstation. There was no reason for him to carry his laptop around and it would be a major hinderance if he got into a tussle while in the field. Securing the laptop in the locker he makes his way towards the Castello Sforzeco on the look out for his contact.

[Levyathyn]

Carmen Christine

Carmen is caught completely unaware when a car behind her suddenly speeds up and starts flashing red and blue. It's not a cop car, but a light gray Acura. She can vaguely make out two people inside. They stay on her, and as she watches, a hand comes out of the passenger window and waves to the side of the road impatiently.

Marco Cornaro

As you approach the front of the Castello, you see a few groups of people milling in and out, touring the site. A few are obvious tourists, but others appear to be Italian citizens enjoying the view. From your angle some ways off to the right, you can see inside the open portcullis, but not well enough to distinguish one shadow from another.

[Lord Magtok]

Da Minionz and Marcus

The pale rhymer glares coldly at the one whose speech closest resembles normalcy, and then turns to Marcus. It pulls a glove off its hand, revealing a skeletal robotic claw with pointy fingers that could easily cut open a throat.

I'm afraid, my dear Marky, you just hafta die
Or else us three hitbots won't get to eat pie.

I know it's not nice, I know it's not fair
But we three are all robots, and weren't built to care.

The robot leans towards Marcus's face as it speaks, intending on making its huge toothy grin of razors and its latex mask gently come in contact with the young man. Now might be a good time to act, and act fast.

[LongVin]

Marco Cornaro:

His hand resting softly but discreetly on his Beretta makes his way to the entrance of the old castle turned musuem looking for the banker.

[Vespe Ratavo]

Please Sparkles, this is hardly the time for such things.

Marcus holds up what appears to be his car keys. There is a small keypad attached.

Tell me, how damaging to MagCorps image would it be if, say, the police arrived at the smoldering crater that was once The Inferno, only to find nothing but mangled bodies, the remains of three MagCorp robots and the shrapnel from a MagCorp missile? And the only survivor, a man named Marcus Lennox, tells them about how the place was attacked by insane MagCorp bots?

Do you think your boss would like that?

Marcus puts his car keys back in his pocket.

Let's settle this like gentlemen, shall we? Put that away, you could poke someone's eye out.

[Levyathyn]

Marco Cornaro

As you near the gates, you see a man that could possibly fit the man's description. He's wearing a dark suit with small, round shades. He sees you and apparently recognies you, because he nods slightly at you. You're about thirty feet from him, directly outside, and he stands in the shadows of the raised portcullis. As you approach, a loud shot sounds and the man flinches as an exit wound sprays blood from his upper chest. The shot is clen and straight to the heart, a professional's work. "Il mio dio!" Screms one woman, running in fear from the dead man just as he collapses. "E nella torreta!" Yells one man. "Funzioni via, rapidamente!" He tells the woman nearest him. As they run away from the Castello, they point at the main tower, inside the gate and across the courtyard.

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<My god!>, <He's in the tower!>, aand <Run away, quickly!> respectively.

Marcus Lennox/Magtok's Minions

Your discussion is cut short by a large explosion outside. The front windows blow in, spraying glass everywhere. Pieces of metal, like shrapnel in a bombing, tear through flesh where they meet it and lodge in walls or land, smoldering, on the ground. The entire building shakes, and two people nearest the windows die from the explosion. The robots are shaken, and the shockwave disrupts their sensors for a few seconds, but Marcus is dropped clean off of his chair.

[ThePhantom]

Carmen pulls to the side of road. Making sure her pistol was close to her hand, she rolled down her window.
Hello officers, can I help you?

[LongVin]

Marco Cornaro:

Instictively dropping to the ground, his pistol is drawn and he takes in the scene. The shooter was in the tower and no doubt on the move by now. Pulling himself to his feet, he sprints towards the the castle trying to make it to the castle before the gunman had a chance to get lost in the crowd.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" he screams as he charges pass the fleeing crowd towards the tower.

[Phantom.exe]

Sig sits alone.

He sat alone a lot, actually. No big deal. It was quiet.

Besides, living in an abandoned apartment has its perks.
Free newspaper.
They forgot to cut off the electricity.
Water was... usually... okay.
Free Wi-Fi from the nearby university.

He sat, sipping coffee. Bad coffee.
He was alone.

"That is enough for the improper grammar in sentences," he said aloud to himself with a heavy accent.

He picked up the newspaper and turned to the local section. Surely, there must be SOMETHING interesting going on. SOMETHING that seemed... out of the ordinary. Something... super.

"Here is something," he said to himself.

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I'm sorry to have to go begging for hooks. I'm not in a creative mood. Any chance someone could put something interesting or investigatory in the newspaper?

[Vespe Ratavo]

<expletive deleted>! <expletive deleted>!

Marcus pulls himself up, then grabs a pistol out of his pocket. He hides under the table that just a few minutes ago, he and the MagBots had been talking over.

He leans over and says to them, Okay, THAT was NOT ME.

[Lord_Asmodeus]

Wilhelm Faustus

The negotiation with Mr.Ross had gone well, and Wilhelm was sure he would be reaping the benefits soon. He was reasonably certain he could keep tabs on him by himself, but just in case he'd hired out a third party to report back to him. Pocketing his phone, Wilhelm took the sunglasses he kept in his pocket out and put them on to keep the glare out of his eyes as he surveyed the crowd.

[Levyathyn]

Marco Cornaro

As you charge towards the tower, the shooter takes a few shots at you, although he can't seem to track you well. You easily dodge five shots before you reach the main door, and you don't hear any more after that.


Carmen Christine

One of the men flashes you a badge. "FBI, ma'am. I'd like you to come with us." He raises his hands to show they're empty. "I'm not going to make you, and it's not you we're after." He looks at his partner, also out of the van and near your vehicle, and the man nods. "We need your help. It's...unnatural. We think it's bad. If you have something to do, we'll wait, but time is critical here Ms. Christine, and you're the only one we can verify. If you'll follow us in your car?"


Marcus Lennox

As Marcus bides his time, he notices a few burnt and twisted pieces of shrapnel, all of which are the bright cherry-red of his car. A few screams reach him as the general populace recover, and he notices at least five critical injuries, and two or three possible deaths.


Sigeismund Saur

You turn the paper, and something falls out. A slip of plain, white paper, torn to about the size of a postcard, has writing on it. A couple of words and some numbers are scrawled on it in clear handwriting.

MOTHER
call 0011(02) 28 5035

Wilhelm Faustus

A man approaches you. He wears sunglasses himself and a black suit. He wears leather gloves and has shoulder length hair, black. He doesn't look your kind of dangerous, but he could be carrying weapons. He gives you a curt nod, and hands you a package; A document sealed in paper and tucked away inside of a tied envelope. Without speaking, he turns and walks away, getting into a car. He doesn't crank it, however, and pays you no more attention.

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No problem, Phantom.exe. It's a pretty lucky thing I needed one, eh? =)