"With pleasure"

There was something off about this building Lancaster felt, something that just wasn't right. On a personal level it was the emptiness of the factory; here it could have been a office complex, where a several dozen employees would work overtime for a minimum-wage pay, filling up George's personal bank account in Switzerland, and it saddened him for its waste. 

That, and the fact it was dirty. 

On a professional level, he registered a low buzzing sound coming from upstairs, accompanied by boots walking back and forth. It was logical that they had kept the ground floor empty, so as to try keeping the illusion of an empty factory intact. And if anyone was to enter, they could come down and force them away from the premises, which was exactly what was going to happen now as George heard the footsteps heading down a pair of stairs. -"Who is it? This is a restricted area, you can't just waltz in like tha..." was all the man approaching George could say before George pull up the piece of paper. 

"Quite the contrary, my good Sir, quite the contrary. I just bought this lovely piece of land, so I do think You are the intruder." George had the largest smirk on his face as the man stared silently at him, finally taking the paper and looking at it. The man was of what one would call 'average appearance' for the area. Middle Eastern or Mediterranean origin, long hair and beards, nothing noteworthy. 

-"There must be some kind of mix-up, mister..." 

"Lancaster. Victor Lancaster, really nice to meet you!"

-"...right, Mister Lancaster...Would you mind joining me upstairs? I need my colleagues to check the our papers and yours, this can't be right."

"Be my guest, quite literally, I have all the time in the world."

The two men proceeded upstairs to what looked like some sort of office, only with fewer people and more Spartan interior. The group consisted of eight men, George's first encounter included, all eyeballing him before seemingly going back to work. -"Sorry for the harsh welcome downstairs, we've had quite a hard month. I'm Girisha Toor, and this is the...simple HQ of Toor Tech-Support Inc. 

"You have a tech support company, stored away on the first floor of an abandoned factory? Which you do not legally own yourself?"

-"...Fine...we don't actually own this place, but it's been empty for as long as I've lived here, and it seemed like a good place to run this company. Truth is that pretend to be located in India so...It's a really long story, mister, and I guess you don't want to hear it all."

"All I want is for you to leave the factory by the end of the week, and I won't call the police...but I'll gladly take some shares in your company though."

-"But...why? We've already left by the time I can arrange that, and we don't even earn that much!"

"Think of it as rent, okay? I'm sure you can manage to pay few percent of your income. £49.99 to £86.14, or whatever you trigger-happy bomb-belt wearing turban Jihadists get from uncle Osama back home?"

The room went dead silent as George uttered those lasts words. The others around George and [i]'Girisha'[/i] looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, before George spoke again. "Did I say something wrong?" One of the men suddenly pulled a knife out from his shirt and took a stab at George, who effortlessly grabbed the terrorists arm and threw him forward to the wall. [i]One down, a handful of goat shaggers to go.[/i]