Contingent Negotiation Amid Snow

[Reila Tsukino]

Well, you see, I have your Fort. No, that wouldn't work. As it happens, I am now in possession of Fort Briggs. Sounded stupid. CONFOUND IT! Krux slammed his head unceremoniously against his keyboard with a plastic-crunching hiss. Ahh~ there went another one. He shut his eyes. It was kinda hard to breathe through his forearm. His nose made a hissing sound.

"Uh sir is everything alright?" The poor soul stuck his head through the door, looking about ready to dart away the second he made any indication of movement. Krux remained where he was, lazily opening a single eye to behold his second in command, Layford. He looked a bit worried actually. Did he appear so disconcerting?

"Why of course!" Layford wasn't buying it. Guy knew him too well. Krux sighed in defeat, adjusting his posture so he was actually sitting rather than laying about on his desk. Suddenly he had the desire to stick his fist through the monitor. It would hurt, but maybe the pain and blood would be worth the trip to the infirmiry. However, that wouldn't finish this letter and thus was useless to him like his keyboard now.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, the usual. Just figuring out how to betray Drachma and get away with it." He had a feeling occupying Fort Briggs was just for show anyway. Well, the show was over now. These people in cages had reasons to live just as he. Even if they had no idea what those reasons were, they still sustained value. That sort of value was what kept people alive and allowed them to harbor the fitness to survive. Layton was staring at him like he was crazy. New day. New agenda. "Thing is, I'm not sure if this letter to the Chancellor will suffice. I mean, who am I? Why should he trust or believe in me? I guess sometimes people just need to have a little faith, right?"

"Whatever you say." Should have seen Layton's face last night. It was priceless. The guy's jaw was on the floor! Krux thought that kind of shit only happened in those whacky Cretan cartoons. No, really, he was gaping and practically beside himself with shock. At the same time, all the men under him were feeling about the same: surprised and then so terribly accepting. It was like RIOTE was just a hobby. Okay, hobby's done now you can all go home. Oh great! Wonder what mom's cooking for dinner. Briggs on a platter. For heaven's sake, this was getting out of hand. He massaged his temples. "What'll you have me do?"

"You just have to take it and Ayden safely to Central and make sure the Chancellor reads it. If he's convinced, he'll return with you and probably a bo--plane-load of body guards. Just don't get shot."

"Thanks for the advice."

"Thought you'd need it." They smiled at each other like losers. Krux's stomach churned in abhorrence and he stared back at his letter. "Come back in another hour and I'll have it done." He hoped. Time to change gears. This wasn't a joyride--wasn't a joke; this was his life finally starting over.

(***)

March 22, 2013
Fort Briggs under occupation by RIOTE Captain Krux Marques

Dear Chancellor Hans,

I am an Amestrian national; not that I assume that makes me trustworthy, but may account for something. Perhaps this too: I will release all of the Briggs Brigade under the condition that myself and the men under me be indited into the Amestrian military at this fort. You are, of course, free to judge for yourself who is dependable and who isn't so long as they aren't prospect to custody.

Why, you ask? After speaking with the late Lieutenant General's men last night, my convictions were proven to have worth. I hacked into RIOTE's mainframe computer drive and brought back 23 seconds of binary. As it turns out, we are just decoys hung by a hook to spur a war with Amestris. And I have a feeling that Vanity does not even count on us for that. You see, we don't like that, and going back to Drachma to complain isn't an option. So I've come to you, will you take my offer, Chancellor?

Forgive me for being blunt as I am not accustomed to writing official letters of any sort. The binary is attached please analyze it for yourself.

Krux Ilya Marques

(***)

His hair was a fro. He could see it in the computer monitor when it went black. He looked like a wreck, felt like a wreck, and could hear pots and pans clashing in the kitchen down the hall. Breakfast?! He was on his feet tripping over his pajama bottoms in a matter of moments, filtering out of his makeshift room and to the musty door. Peering through the small circular window, he spotted a crew of men laughing in cheer. Half of them were Amestrian and half of them were Drachman. At first, Krux was fearful. What had he done mixing hatred into a cauldron and coming up with its opposite?! In a way, it was selfish of him, but at the same time, the mere fact that this was possible gave him nuances of hope. That faint caress of purpose had transformed into a broad corral of contingency. He had something to do now. Since waking up from the throws of death--since losing his body and gaining a second soul, Krux finally found his way.

But he had to comb his hair first. Struggling through knots with his hands, he strutted away from the cafeteria door, giving up after some time. He crossed his arms behind his back and leaned forward slightly, peering off into space as he often did when genius moments were upon him. It was time to get dressed.

[Aaron H]

"Who are you, again?" The guard asked for the eighth time. The eyes weren't as much suspicious as they were lost.Aaron was in the coldest Area of Amestris. Aaron had come to visit his old friend, but as he was freezing his ass off, the man in front of him couldn't distinguish that Aaron was no threat. What was he going to do anyways? He was practically a cripple in his own mind. Still did he really look like a terrorist to the terrorists? His stubble of a beard, boring brown eyes and messy brown hair.. he probably looked more like a hobo than a threat. On the other hand, he WAS quite glad to know he didn't smell like one too.. that may have been a downer.

He sighed and pinched his nose tightly. "Aaron. Hartmen." The man scrunched his nose. It looked like it was time to go to desperate measures. Aaron rose his hand and pointed towards the distance. "Is that a polar bear?" The man looked over and Aaron slipped into the area beyond.

Not like there was any hassle, that was the only guard who cared he was there. If he REALLY needed to break and enter, he would have. He was pretty sure though, that his friend wouldn't appreciate him dissecting his systems.. that was invasive on another level. One rule of thumb.. Don't fuck with people's computers. It didn't help that Krux was a hell of a lot better at hacking and would likely take revenge to a whole new level if Aaron tried that. Too much effort, not worth it in the end.

Anyways, Aaron pulled his ancient-looking tattered brown jacket tight around him. He never bought a new one, because he'd be damned to pay out his ass for something he rarely needed. His boots kicked at the ground while he made his way as if he knew by heart. In a sort of way, he did. Or he was just hell of good at the guessing game. EITHER OR, he managed to find his way to Krux's room with relative ease. The man was probably not expecting him and knowing Aaron, he had bad timing, but he wasn't going to miss a chance to pop by and check in on him. To everyone now, he was Il and in a way that killed Aaron. His friend was technically dead. Krux would never really be himself again and the sacrifice of another man had brought him back. He could only hope this new life would be everything his friend wanted. Was it selfish to keep him around? Certainly, but Aaron would have given up more than his eyesight to save Krux. His arms crossed and he waited patiently outside the room, partly hoping to scare his friend, out of revenge on the last time they'd hung out. No matter how much they grew up, Krux still had some of that bully from elementary left in him, even if it was just playful. At least that was what Aaron supposed.

(Told I could hop in don't mind me <3)

[Guest]

Close to two miles south of the Fort on the road to North City, in a clearing in the snow-specked forests which a winding, icy path lead into, there sat a car. This car was something unfamiliar to the infinite white expanse that was the tundra-like Amestrian north, for it instantly stood out for one thing and one thing alone. The creatures, the trees, and the men and women who wandered this grand monochromatic region all had a way of blending in to avoid detection. White fur, white coats, white weapons, white armour; or even simply a light dusting of Mother Nature's improvised camoflauge - snow.

This vehicle was not. It did not blend in, and amongst the slaloming tree trunks and undergrowth of the north, it stood, poignant, off the beaten track, all-black with a glimmering sheen beneath a pale yellow-white sun. This car's very frame was sleek with the darkened colour, a stark contrast to its surroundings, and the tone was consistent not only on the bodywork, but on the wheels, the rims, and even the tint of the windows was questionably thick. Immediately, something would strike any onlookers awry about this particular car.

But past the aura of mystery and intrigue surrounding it, any modern sports car enthusiast could appreciate it as a behemoth of the time. The Amestrian-built Audi R8, a car as beautiful as it was agile. And sat inside it was its owner, a singular silver-haired assassin against the perfect, unmarked leather interior, garbed in all-black as his steed was. Leather longcoat upon black overshirt over a dark grey ceramic vest. Black leather slacks and powerful, tight-laced, metal-toed walking boots made to be both light and strong. Cerulean eyes looking out through the windowscreen as a gentle sigh of smoky breath exhaled forth from lithe, slender lips, before vanishing but a moment later, dissipating into the almost stale air, crackling and ready with tension and waiting excitement.

This man was Ayden Derocha. And these lands were rightfully his.

It had been ten months now since the death of his superior and one of the only people he'd respected in all the land. She was Lieutenant General Reila Tsukino, and she was the self-proclaimed Ice Queen of Fort Briggs. She ran a tight ship and demanded two things from her troops: respect and loyalty. And by god, did every man and woman serving at that great wall, that steely barricade, the last line of defense from Drachma possess those two things directed straight at the crimson-haired Aerugese tornado.

The assassin had escaped from that complex after watching two of his comrades die, and had vaulted out clutching a semi-faulty detonator that had sent the entire place rising up in a grandiose, tumultuous wave of flame. Shots had cracked and sheared past him as he sprinted away, but he dove into the treeline and evaded RIOTE's persistent personnel, ensuring them of his death or disappearance one way or another. The only scouts that pursued him back far enough found themselves swiftly picked off, one by one.

But that was it for him: Drachma had Briggs, and with it, not only a portion of Ayden's pride, but a large collection of his belongings. He retreated to North City and was one of the first to bear news of the deaths of Reila and Daigoro, but for him the battle had not yet ceased. Tirelessly he worked back through the tundra and retraced his steps to the ruined compound until he found his bounty: an unmarked, unscathed uniform of a Drachman military officer. His ticket back into Briggs.

He returned a couple of weeks later, working from a warehouse in North City, and his plan had gone spectacularly. He approached the fort from a lesser-known side entrance, and with what little he knew of Drachman silently infiltrated it, escaping each time with a portion of not only his belongings, but intelligence, too. Over weeks he came back and brought a file on each of the senior personnel that he passed by or eavesdropped upon, alongside some of his old equipment.

On Ayden's last trip, however, he was approached leaving his old office by a Drachman Captain, and none other than Krux Ilya Marques, the new strategist and commander that RIOTE control had placed into the fortress proper. His was to oversee that operations went smoothly, and for a moment the assassin readied himself for a battle, knowing that he had been discovered - and he was not wrong.

But instead of throwing him into the brig with the rest of the hostages, Krux wanted his help. His loyalties, the Captain had decided, lied no longer with Drachma. He wanted to defect to Amestris, and with his betrayal, turn free the Briggs Brigade that had been captive for so long. And to do so, he required Ayden's assistance. Knowing that the man could just as easily take him hostage, and realising that this was in everyone's best interests, the silver-haired murderer agreed and swiftly left.

Since then, the pair's correspondence had been consistent, plotting and planning meticulously for the escape of Krux Marques and the liberated brigade. And it just so happened that one of the earlier stages of the plan was to take place today. With that, the Major General rose the transmitter he held in one hand to oppose the suppressed FN Five-seveN pistol he held in the other, pressing down the input button with a click and speaking into the grille. "Briggs Command, this is Overwatch speaking. Would like to note that we are in the aforementioned position around a click south of your position, over. Are we still set for Operation Whitewash, over?" The pair of them used a code - Ayden's Drachman was still somewhat lacking, so they'd agreed that Amestrian was acceptable, but he still needed to resort to some form of vague, military-style cipher incase any RIOTE higher-ups were paying attention.

He let his finger fall free off the button, clicking it back into place, and lowered the transmitter once more with a second gentle sigh. Now, only time would tell as to whether Krux's plan was still to go on or not.

[Hans L. Reinhardt]

Hans felt a queasiness roll over his stomach and for the third time that day, he pushed it down. That had been happening to him a lot lately... becoming nauseous without the slightest provocation. Although, he had to admit, he suspected the ill feeling was brought upon by thoughts. Thoughts of a festival, some two months past, that had been a disaster. Relations with Xing were strained at best, and in general, the world was going off of a cliff. Not to mention that something terrible had happened to him and he still did not have the answers for it. He felt disgusted with himself and with the entire world at general. Was this what it had come to? This endless battling back and forth? A short, mad scramble for something that quickly disappeared through their fingers? Hans really couldn't stand it. He had taken a few days off of work when he had been able, after the festival, but it had not done much to help him. He still felt like he was letting his country, his people, down. And that hurt most of all.

Hans sat quietly in his office at home, the door shut with an unspoken warning that he not be disturbed. Brigitte had been so supportive of him through everything, but even she couldn't help him through all of it. He still had his own inner demons. And sometimes the best way to battle inner demons was in a quiet, dark room with a glass (or bottle) of good scotch. The ice clinked against the glass as he rose it to his lips, taking a delicate sip. His eyes were unfocused on the hall before him as he leaned back into his seat. Ayden Derocha should be reporting to him within a matter of days. It had been a pleasant surprise to learn that Derocha had been one of the few to escape Briggs. Not that Hans was particularly surprised. The man was damned crazy, but he was good at what he did. About once a month, Ayden came to Hans with a report as to the goings-on in North City, as well as if any changes were made in the RIOTE-controlled fort. There never really was any. RIOTE had instructed someone to take the fort over and then sit with it. A blatant show of “Haha, we beat you again!” Hans would never risk losing the men and women trapped inside by laying siege to the place... not that he had the men to spare, anyhow. So as long as RIOTE wasn't doing anything at Briggs, then Hans just had to wait. He wouldn't risk more lives.

[Reila Tsukino]

"A polar bear, really?" Krux muttered to himself, scratching his armpit and turning to stare out one of the tiny frosted windows. If that could deter a guard from preliminary examination, then the world of warfare was over. It was funny, in a way, that someone could be tricked so easily--like how a room could suddenly become vacant once someone left. The room he was in now felt empty even with him in it. He felt alienated by himself, lonely in himself, vacant as himself. The dust which was gathered around him was not his own, but from others: ghosts. Fort Briggs felt like South City: a blurred space filled with so many things, but none of them old. There was so much worth in old things--so much history and depth that can never be replaced by the new. RIOTE huffed in, but what is there to occupy here in this place? Whatever was is now gone, buried in a blaze snuffed out by snow. She wasn't coming back. Even if he returned Fort Briggs to Amestris, it was just another South City. The fittest survived for a reason, the Brigade said, but how does one find that reason? Perhaps he had finally found his way through the dismantled fragments of his life, but Krux was not sure he'd ever fully grasp why he was the one to stand amid the glints of ghosts.

"Briggs Command, this is Overwatch speaking. Would like to note that we are in the aforementioned position around a click south of your position, over. Are we still set for Operation Whitewash, over?"

The radio on his desk was singing. He could see the pale-haired alchemist's scrutinizing eyes and wary patience just like the expression he had seen when they first met. It was surprising to have found someone with enough will to sneak into a fort blistering with RIOTE soldiers. That, and so relieving. If he hadn't, would Krux have gone through with all of this alone? It was turning Briggs into another crater, yet at the same time, hadn't that already happened? It was already a graveyard whether or not it was taken into their hands. The death of their leader made it as such. And somehow, the death of their leader was what had opened Krux's eyes. Being given this opportunity as honcho of Briggs was a blinding victory to his own ego so much so that he could have fallen decoy to Amestris. Stepping on the skeletons of others to change what is fundamental would only end up putting off the inevitable. That was what he believed--that was why the Fort stood so strong. Even without the old, through dust could be paved the meaning of why the fittest survive.

"We are set," Krux said with his flighty accent. He sounded like his father, oftentimes felt like his father. Part of him didn't understand what it was like to have a father, but he guessed that was where his two souls collide. Maybe that was the real reason why he joined the military. That was all that was left for him in the long run. Couldn't return to that same world he had spent with Kamilla. Instead, he resorted to taking lives, gambling his own, and hacking the rest up to binary. Big change, the last few years. He was sure Aaron was going to try and talk him out of it again or something along the lines of moving somewhere warmer. He shrugged to himself, unlocking the door to his room in preparation for four eyes. "Commence operation Whitewash, and do mind your feet; I read penguins actually attack people. It's all over the news! Ooo scary. He shuddered and heard footsteps outside his door. Clacking the receiver back down, he slunk behind where the door would open and waited with a sly, demonic smile so oddly becoming. When the door opened, there was a moment of nothing. Why? Because he was expecting it. Three seconds later, Krux flung himself out and latched onto the man, glasses whacking together. He hung there momentarily with a crazy 8D look in his azure eyes, arms wrapped around the other man's neck because he could.

[Aaron H]

The door opened and Aaron could feel the vibrations of excitement on his own skin, boiling in his shoes and overflowing. However, much to his dismay, there was no Krux to be found. For a second, Aaron thought he was dreaming. Maybe his eyesight had failed and been replaced by the delusional nothing before him. However all dreams come to an end and it so happened as quickly as it happened, it morphed into a momentary nightmare. He had been shot! Or at least for a minor second he thought that. Then there was no real pain. Slight discomfort from arms looped around him with an extremely affectionate man hanging around his neck.. but that was about it. There was no blood, other than that which was pumping angrily in his ears.

After his near heart-attack, with his eyes wide open, he stared at his companion. "Jesus," he breathed, as his blood slowly returned to his legs. It was only then that he realized his lasses weren't on him right, and that he could BARELY see Krux at all. He cleared his throat and lightly pushed on Krux. "Err... yeah.... Affection." Maybe last time they were together he would have been used to the spontaneous attack, but at the moment, Aaron was a bit awkward. It HAD been a while and it wasn't that he didn't feel a happiness in meeting his old friend, it was just.. well he'd been alone. Aaron often holed up in his home and avoided the people around him. Deep breath, try to construct words. Process failing.. "I swear.. you must have me chipped to know when I'm coming with such accuracy."

Aaron paused and half-awkwardly hugged Krux back, in his Aaron-y way. "Or I have as much stealth as an elephant in a tutu trying to waltz." His eyes lit up lightly. "Honestly I prefer the latter. the thought of you tracking my EVERY movement would be kind of disturbing." And at the same time, Aaron wouldn't mind. It wasn't like he had anything like THAT to hide. He was pretty damn sure a 'spying on Aaron' project would be very disappointing. Anyways, away from Aaron's disoriented and strange thoughts. How was one to get a Krux off from their necks? Apply a crowbar? Unfortunately there was none to be seen. The messy-haired man only shifted his weight and looked around. "You keep hanging onto me like this and people are going to start assuming things." His voice was a gentle whisper n the air. That kind of made things worse, but it was always something he managed.

"Anyways," he started. There WAS a reason he visited, even if it was to visit. "Things look busy. I hope you don't plan on making me socialize. I'd rather follow you around and look stupid. you know, so people don't ask me questions?" While he scratched at the back of his neck, his eyes avoided eye contact. Today was his glasses day so his eyes were back to their red and brown combination. "And... I hope I'm not interrupting something?" Despite being incredibly socially strange, he managed to give a gentle smile to Krux, one of the few times he could. Krux was probably the only person to see Aaron sincerely be happy (as unnoticeable as it could be at times).

[Guest]

"We are set. Commence operation Whitewash, and do mind your feet; I read penguins actually attack people. It's all over the news!"

Click. Hiss. "Roger that."

With that, Ayden unlocked the car doors with a click on the keys, still primed in the ignition even though the Audi's engine wasn't running. Slowly, he pulled the handle til it clicked, and the door freed with a gentle hydraulic whir, moving out a few inches before the silver-haired alchemist pushed it completely to and stepped out. Fresh snow unmarked by his vehicle's tracks crunched under the hardened black material of his boots.

Finally, with a metallic whistle and a loud snap, the Major General drew back the slide and let it ping back, the expression on his face neutral as he inspected the black gunmetal of Interceptor, as he called it. The suppressor gave it a poignant symbolism in among the blanket of white snow and pale, empty skies. One could never be too careful, after all.

It was around half an hour longer with no activity whatsoever even from the roads, Ayden able to watch easily from the little snow-flecked forest clearing of dead trees and intertwining branches, before a uniform-clad "Drachman" soldier appeared in his line of sight. The assassin made no attempt to call out to him or give away his position, knowing that hopefully, first, Krux had given his foot-soldier some form of co-ordinates, and, second, that he was perceptive enough to see the mirage-like scene through the branches. A white man in all black by his car in amongst the snow. It was almost fitting, save for those piercing azure orbs that sat above a slender, bored face.

He hated running these bureaucratic errands and ferrying high-value packages back and forth, but supposedly this was important, and, as Krux had put it, "essential to Amestris' recovery". Ayden didn't really give a flying fuck. He just quite liked Briggs and his position, and thus, not wanting to jeopardise it, had to play nice with the politicians every now and then. And the Drachman Captain wasn't bad company, he supposed.

Once the figure in his BDU drew closer, Ayden called out lethargically, easing back the hammer on the pistol he held behind his back at his waist. "Whitewash." He spoke in a stern, clear, cool tone, his breath once more an acrid white-grey smog upon the pale air. It was the sign for the operation: one which required a counter-sign that Krux Marques had told the Blackskull Alchemist to prompt for.

No response came. The figure in grey drew closer. The hammer clicked into place and Ayden snarled. Brandishing the pistol, he aimed it dead-on from his arm height, trying to target the torso of the figure stumbling through the snow, his head having the irritating tendency to bob up and down as he moved. "Whitewash!" He called, this time louder.

"I forgot the countersign!" Came the response. "Do not shoot! I'm the Captain's man!" The Drachman voice came thick from beyond the trees in fragmented Amestrian. Ayden's snarled heightened and for a moment he deeply considered putting a bullet in this man and taking the letter he so frantically waved in the air. Journey would be quieter. Then he remembered Krux and slowly lowered it to the man's legs as he approached, his stride quickening. At least it wouldn't be lethal.

"The correct response is Penguin." Ayden shook his head with a long, drawn-out growl of a sigh, already sick of today's antics, the demented side of his mania flickering in those cerulean eyes. "Where does the good Captain find you useless fucks?" Sighing, he reached forward and ripped the letter from his hand, easing the hammer down once he saw that the man was not only unarmed but pale and perturbed by today's events. This was no interloper, just a confused twenty-something Drachman defector. And perhaps the best Marques could find.

The growl stemmed and died as Ayden turned back to the car, yanked open the door and sidled in, twisting the ignition. In a single fluid movement, he opened the glove department and deposited the sealed letter, and eased the safety on Interceptor back on so he wouldn't shoot himself as he laid the gun down on his lap - he still had other pistols if events required it. The engine roared subtly into life and the alchemist looked up to his would-be cohort.

"I am Layford, Captain's second-in-command." Eyes full of scrutiny, he cocked his head and scratched at the back of his neck, wearing a fluffy Drachman hat upon his messy fringe. "I guess that you are the pick-up agent?" Ayden rolled his eyes and tutted. Really?

"No, I'm the other guy they sent to deliver a highly confidential and potentially ruinous official document." Ayden shook his head and jerked his head, silver hair and all, to the passenger seat. "Now stop wasting my fucking time and get in." The growls were more open and animalistic. With that, Layford quickly obliged, the alchemist kneading his temples as he kicked the R8 into gear, making his way silently towards the horizon, and, with it, Central City. "I suggest you take that hat off, by the way. Unless you fancy being lynched before we get to Central." The Drachman's face quickly dropped and became glum as he nodded, removing the headgear.

*****

Affairs like these bypassed the Chancellor's typical conference room. Any news of this importance concerning Fort Briggs? The Major General had been told to report directly to Reinhardt's office at home, a threshold he'd seen only once, let alone crossed. Layford had fallen asleep with his cheek flattened against the car window and a string of drool hanging from his lips, but jerked awake as the R8 pulled upwards into a gravel drive before a pair of wrought iron gates, two Security members flanking them on either side.

Ayden wound the window down and flashed his military ID with a sigh. The suit-clad officer, sunglasses and all, nodded and indicated for him to move up to the intercom. The militant obliged with a sigh, moving up and buzzing through. "Chancellor, it's Major General Derocha, here. I believe I've got a package you'd be..." He looked back at a groggy Layford who was rubbing grit from his eyes, and shook his head with a vindictive grin. Fucking amateurs. "...somewhat interested in."

[Hans L. Reinhardt]

Hans glanced down at the phone on his desk as it started to ring. He frowned a little at it; security would only patch a call through for certain reasons. He hoped it wasn't an emergency. He reached for the receiver and put it to his ear, making a gruff sound of acknowledgment. The voice on the other end informed him that Major General Derocha had arrived and he had a guest. Well, that was a few days earlier than expected. But, Derocha was nothing if not unexpected. A few moments later, Ayden was patched through the line. "Chancellor, it's Major General Derocha, here. I believe I've got a package you'd be ...somewhat interested in." Hans wondered briefly what it could possibly be, besides the usual reports. “Very good. I'm afraid security is a bit tighter here; you'll need to hand over the majority of your weapons. At least the overly visible ones. Goodness knows you've got plenty hiding on your person.” If he had insisted Ayden remove all of his weapons, it would be an hour before he was allowed in the building. “But, as I don't know the man with you, he'll have remove any and all weapons he has. And he'd best be on his best behavior. You as well.” Allowing Ayden a moment to respond, Hans hung up the phone after the conversation had finished.

He stood up to go out the door, walking down to the kitchen, where he found Brigitte making up dinner. He walked in and brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “Business time, my love.” Brigitte nodded her head, focused on the casserole she was putting in the oven. “Well, if they're still here in an hour, they can stay for dinner.” Hans allowed a small smile to curve up his lips. “Of course, dear.” Brushing another kiss on her head, he walked back, meeting Ayden and the stranger in the hallway. “Come along gentlemen.” He directed them into his office. The room was not very large, and intimate. It was dark wood paneling on the walls, with dark green carpet on the floor. There was a window or two, but they had the curtains drawn. The overhead light was on, the fan gently turning, as well as the lamp on the desk. The massive desk stood near one corner of the room, two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. There were also several bookcases, full to the brim of a variety of books. Hans closed the door once everyone had entered, directing Ayden and the stranger to sit. The bottle of scotch was sitting out on the desk and Hans stepped over to one of the more empty shelves on a bookcase, where a few extra glasses stood. “Drink?”

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