[center][h1]Argus Lichfield[/h1]
Physical state: Cold
Mental state: Irritated[/center]

Argus absolutely [i]loathed[/i] spooks. He loathed everything about them. Their tailored suits, their well-groomed hair, their haughty mannerisms - there wasn't a single thing about them that didn't fill him with unbridled hatred. So when Agents Mills and Hanson had approached him with a job opportunity, he had to restrain himself from hooking them both in the jaw.

[color=f7976a]'You see, the problem is that the Bureau of Investigations can't handle this one themselves.'[/color] Mills' Brooklyn-saturated speech flowed thick and fast, a constant deluge of useless words from a young man clearly preoccupied with quantity over quality. 

[color=fff79a]'Can't handle it at all. Too risky.'[/color] Parroted Hanson. The huge, dopey agent loomed over Mills like a skyscraper. The display was a textbook intimidation routine, one which seemed rather rehearsed - and one which Argus wasn't buying. He listened in silence as the two agents continued their seemingly incessant babbling.

[color=f7976a]'Yeah, too risky. I mean, two Feds show up in town and start askin' questions, that gives off the wrong impression, know what I'm sayin'?'[/color]
[color=fff79a]'Yeah, completely the wrong impression.'[/color]
[color=f7976a]'So what we need, Mr. Lichfield, is a man on the ground. A man who ain't one of us-'[/color]
[color=fff79a]'A total wildcard-'[/color]
[color=f7976a]'- So we can figure out what this Dr. Atkins character was onto.'[/color] Mills concluded his spiel, out of breath but trying valiantly to conceal it.

Argus silently looked through the dossier before him. The two agents glanced nervously at each other. [color=f7976a][color=f7976a]'Uh, might I remind you Mr Lichfield, that the circumstances surrounding Dr. Howard Atkins' death and his recent research represent a potentially dire threat to national securi-'[/color]

[color=662d91]'I'll do it.'[/color]

The two agents fell silent. Argus looked up at them over the folder. [color=662d91]'I'll do it. I'll take the job. That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? You wanted a 'yes' out of me.'[/color]

And with that, Argus became both their errand boy and their fall guy. He knew how the Bureau operated. If he pulled through, they'd take the evidence back home and parade it in front of their superiors, taking all the credit but keeping their hands clean of any hard work. If he fucked up, they'd use Pinkerton and himself as a scapegoat - just another expendable sack of meat to be discarded at a moment's notice.

Any man of sound mind would have seen right through the scheme and turned them down. But knowing full well the odds that were stacked against him, Argus chose to stare right into its face and said 'Yes'.

And now here he was, aboard a train steaming straight towards dreary Arkham, Massachusetts. The cold in these parts bothered him - it seeped through the walls of his cabin and pierced through his coat and gloves, the unnatural chill sinking deep into his core.

He looked out the window at the Miskatonic's sluggish winter flow. The cold gnawed at him. Perhaps the river was as painfully disinterested in reaching Arkham as he was.