[CENTER][img]http://i166.photobucket.com/albums/u118/EBJ05/RPG%20Banners/hourman.png[/IMG] [Color=Yellow][Sub][I]The Time to Act Has Always Been Now // Part 01[/I][/Sub][/Color][/Center] [B]Sender:[/B] Mikelikesbikes@yehoo.com [B]Subject:[/B] The Attic [B]Recipient:[/B] Administrator@Hourman.net [i]Excuse me, Mr. Hourman, I'm not really sure how to format this but I need your help. My name is Mike, I work at the Hamill-Meringue Theatre downtown and we have something of a problem. I work as a janitor. In the attic there is a room that's dependable locked. Well, one day it wasn't. I'd been wiping its handle clean and restoring its shine when it slipped open a little bit and revealed the closet behind it. There are some masks, which is nothing extraordinary because I work in a theatre, but there's also a duffle bag and several weapons, specifically guns, and pictures of a prominent stage actor who we're expecting to arrive shortly for a performance. I'm not a genius or anything, but I think something fishy’s going on.[/I] [hr] [B]Sender:[/B] Administrator@Hourman.net [B]Subject:[/B] Re: The Attic [B]Recipient:[/B] Mikelikesbikes@yehoo.com [I]I see your cause for concern, but have you considered calling the police? It clearly seems to me like an upcoming murder can be easily prevented.[/I] [hr] [B]Sender:[/B] Mikelikesbikes@yehoo.com [B]Subject:[/B] Re: The Attic [B]Recipient:[/B] Administrator@Hourman.net [I]Oh yeah. I forgot. The guns are mine. The masks are mine. And so is the dufflebag. But the thing is that I have amnesia. I've recently suffered blunt head trauma or something and, this is awkward, but I’m pretty sure I plotted a murder. So there's these phone I have that written down that no one responds to. So yeah, I think I hired a hitman.[/I] [hr] “Well…” Rick said, pouting in confusion. As he typed out his final response, he spoke his text aloud. “Meet.. Me.. At.. The.. Busstop.. On.. Lee and Morrison.” Decisively scooting his mouse over the paper plane icon, he sent the message. The scenario made him feel entirely uncomfortable, like he'd be better off ignoring the plea for help completely. Calling the police crossed his mind, and then it double-crossed his mind. He couldn't think of a single reason not to call the ACPD except for the possibility of having the man assigned a charge he didn't deserve, as unlikely as it seemed. The possibility of ‘Mike’s’ mental state being conveniently rewound to a period of complete innocence seemed a little far-fetched, to be honest. Then again, what could it hurt? Besides the actor. “Egh…” Rick slid his hand over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1, hovering his thumb over the green call icon indefinitely. “God dangit.” [hr] [B]Bus Stop #17, Appleton City New York State[/B] Mike was leaning against an aluminum sign. The bus came and he awkwardly explained that he wasn't interested in boarding. Then Rick, decked out in red and blue, makes his approach. “Do you have the documentation?” Mike springs into the air, jerking his arms and projecting a folder of medical printouts into the air. “You scared me.” After half a dozen exhalations he pointed to the scattered sheets before Hourman shuffled them into a neat order. “Identification?” Mike produced his wallet with a New York State issued driver’s license, social security card, and a folded photocopy of his birth certificate. Anticipating further requests, he deposited copies of several gun permits and his phone records for the last several months in the hands of the masked mystery man. “I'll see what I can do,” he said, before turning with the papers in custody and taking off toward the horizon and beyond.