[center][color=66cdaa][h1][b]Bob[/b][/h1][/color]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/zJYlBVi.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][b][u]Location:[/u][/b] San Fransisco, USA
[u][b]Interacting With:[/b][/u] Donovan D'Onofrio
[u][b]Date:[/b][/u] March 3rd[/center]

[hr]

Robbie J. Thompson woke from his slumber, clutching the case the Deliver Man gave him tightly. He blinked as the sun shone in his eyes, a car driving past him. Ever since that man gave him the case, the man kept it safely with him at all times. Thankfully, the law abiding citizens in the police controlled section of Hunter's Point didn't dare to steal a very opulent case from a sleeping homeless man. Mostly because a lot of them thought he stole it from someone. His stomach growled in hunger as he picked himself up from the ground, putting the case and his tickets into his old backpack. "[color=66cdaa]Orient Express huh? I need to buy some damn new clothing.[/color]" He looked down at his tattered clothes and snorted. 

It was a short walk towards the only clothing store that actually accepted people like him to enter. The Closet was a low-key, small place that had cheap enough prices that he could actually buy. He walked slowly, looking around for any dangers. These tickets could change his life and he wasn't going to let some punk thief get away with stealing it from him. He took out all the money he had and counted it all. There was a lot of pocket change and a few bills but nothing worth noting. It all summed up to a lowly nine dollars and ten cents. He sighed as he approached the door, praying and hoping there were any clothes he could buy.

"Well, hot fuckin' damn. Robbie John Thompson enters the store." There was a little chime as he entered, signalling his arrival. Donovan D'Onofrio stood behind the counter, grinning at Bob with an amused look on his face. The rough Italian man used to be one of the many Italians to join the Demons and was one of the few to make it out without ending up dead or in prison. Proudly showing off the kanji for death on his muscled bicep, Don was a bit of a show off. He did respect Bob however and tried to give him the best deals he could offer.

Explaining his plight to the San Fran born Italian, he shook his head and sighed. "Life's been tough on all of us Bob. Business s'been slowin' down recently and the minimum I could offer you is an eleven dollar jacket, old boy." Bob looked down at his pitiful nine dollars with a sigh, thanking Don for his efforts. Before he left however, he thought about the case. Yesterday, after the shock of being on the Orient Express, he had looked over the various items in the case. One of them was the Black Status card the letter mentioned. He had no idea what that even meant but he had to at least try something. 

"[color=66cdaa]Don, d'you have a credit card machine by any chance?[/color]" asked Bob as he swung his backpack over and opened it, revealing the suitcase underneath. The Italian snorted before bringing out the machine he asked for. "Old boy, The Closet may be cheap but we're not poor. What'd ya need it for?" The homeless man opened the case once more, setting it down on the counter. The black card sitting atop the letter immediately caught his attention. Grabbing it, he closed the case hastily, setting it down on the floor. "[color=66cdaa]Now, what is the most expensive thing I can buy?[/color]"

Don merely raised an eyebrow before unlocking a safe sat atop the counter, revealing a golden harmonica. It's price tag was a hefty three thousand dollars. The Italian picked it up, scanned it, input a code into the eftpos machine before gesturing for Bob to swipe the card. He grinned, swiping the card and inputting the number given to him in the case. Don widened his eyes as the  "Old boy, that's a damn blank check! I thought you were on drugs or something man!" The homeless man nodded, grabbing the harmonica with trembling hands. It was the finest made instrument he had ever seen and now he could play with it. Bowing out and thanking the shocked store owner after grabbing new clothes for him to wear, he pocketed the instrument into his new jeans. He was grinning to himself as he walked to the nearest hotel.

[hr]
[center][b]Later that day...[/b][/center]

[hr]

Bob flipped back into the bed, signing as he sank down on the soft mattress. He hummed the tune of "Best Day of My Life" by American Authors, thinking about what he could do with this card. Currently living in the fanciest hotel in the whole of Hunter's Point, he hadn't had this kind of wealth in a while, since the peak of the 8th Street Demons. Rolling off the bed with a soft THUMP!, he strolled around his room, thinking about the fact that his life has changed for the better, not for worse. Shaking these thoughts for another day and deciding to enjoy his new found wealth, he gazed at the computer in front of him.

Now Bob wasn't a dumb person and if he went to university, his minor would've been in Computer Science. Glancing back at the open case on the floor, the website address and log in credentials caught his eye. He picked it up and walked towards the relatively modern computer that was in the corner of his room. After turning it on, he immediately went on the Internet and searched the web address. Asking for his username and password, he logged in as Robbie J. Thompson. "[color=66cdaa]Well damn.[/color]" 

Concluding the fact that the rest of the names on the list were the rest of the winners, he clicked on two videos under their names. Natasha Brinne and Joel Grau. Afterwards, he debated whether or not he should introduce himself but chose to be friendly. He pointed the camera towards his face, still bearded due to laziness, and clicked record.

"[color=66cdaa]Hey there, uh fellow winners. My name is Robbie John Thompson, preferred name Bob, talkin' to you in Bayview-Hunter's Point, San Fransisco, California. To be honest, I'm looking forward to this trip and as a homeless man, this trip has already changed my life.[/color]" His voice turned soft, eyes drooping slightly. He hoped that none of the winners would judge him on the fact that he was a homeless man. He prayed that none of them recognised him as a former gang leader and thug.

"[color=66cdaa]I'm 50 something or other. With no one to celebrate your birthday, ya kinda forget, you know? I'm looking forward to meeting ya'll on this here trip. Never been outside of the ghetto so this is kinda crazy. Well, I guess I'll see you in two weeks.[/color]" He cut the recording off before sighing. Hopefully he made a good first impression.