It was a dark and stormy night. Okay it wasn't stormy, but it was dark. What's more, it was definitely night. At the very least, it was a good way to set the mood that had come upon Rhys after recieving The Letter. He had received a missive just the night before informing him on how he was to proceed accepting his most recent job, and it unnerved him.
Why am I doing this? he asked himself for the hundreth time this week. I have no idea what they want from me, or what I expect to get from them by meeting with them.
He sighed to himself, firming his resolve to get to the bottom of this situation; he couldn't leave before he knew what was going on. He walked into the area described by the letter and instantly felt a presence near him. Senses honed through years and years of combat, he readied himself for an attack, his hand straying toward a weapon.
"Calm yourself, Mr. Caldara. I have not brought you all the way out here to attack you.” A voice sounded out from behind Rhys. “I prefer such events to be a bit more informal."
Rhys spun around, amazed that someone had managed to slip by him. He cursed for having allowed himself to become overconfident yet again. Last time I did that, he thought to himself, I ended up sleeping in Torpor for about 500 years. His gaze settled on a hardy-looking man with a broad, muscular build and the salt-and-pepper hair that indicated that he was (or had been embraced in) his late forties or early fiftes. The man was sitting in what appeared to be an easy chair. Rhys shook his head. “Hold on,” he said. “Not only did I miss you snaking up behind me, but you brought a chair with you to relax in? I'm losing my touch."
"I hope not, Mr. Caldara.” The old man said, his tone deadly serious but a slight smirk appearing on his face. “I didn't bring you out here to attack you, but don't think I will not have you killed if you are not what your reputation purports.” And with that a bullet winged by Rhys' right ear.
Rhys cursed again, aloud this time. “Fine, you want my attention apparently. Well, you've got it. Now make your point, and do it quick or kill me and be done with it. If you know me, or at least my reputation as you say you do, you know I do not fear death.” Rhys glared at the man in front of him.
"Nor do I, Mr. Caldara, and hopefully you'll have no need to face what...” he chuckled, “you don't fear. Not now, at least. Hear me out. You want something to fight for? I will give you something to fight for and I will pay you well to do so.” He held up a hand. “One moment, Mr. Caldara; it is not the type of job you might suspect. As a matter of fact, if you are forced to kill it is because you have done your job poorly. What we are asking you to be... is a courier. We want you not because you can kill, but because, to society, you are invisible. And because you are trustworthy. I trust I am correct about these things?"
Rhys relaxed his pose, nodding to the gentleman. The gentleman then rose to his feet. “Sanura, lower your gun and please come here.” Rhys started again, Twice in one night I've been surprised, not good. For as soon as the man stopped speaking an Assamite woman was standing by his side.
"You have excellent aim.” Rhys complimented the woman. “Few could have managed that shot from so far away within this clearing."
The woman snorted. “I was not inside the clearing. That would have been far too easy."
Rhys inclined his head. “My apologies for underestimating you.” His gaze returned to the gentleman again. “You have made your point. Who will I be working for?"
The man cleared his throat and smiled. “We are called Poltergeist."