[center][h2]Chicago, Wednesday, November the third, 4:43am[/h2][/center]

Despite popular opinion it is not always windy in Chicago. On this day it is actually incredibly quiet, while normal people would not really recognize the silence, for the supernatural inhabitants of the city it is quite different. It was not a normal silence, it was a silence before a storm. The streets were still quite empty and the sky was as black. 
The small hand drawn sign for a local funeral home was bathed in the light of a bar on the other site of the street. [i]"For our dearly missed"[/i] it read, the rest of it was to withered to be readable. But still this place was a beacon, a beacon for beings that were born of death. Psychopomps, Reapers or Revenants whatever you would call them here they were drawn to. A small group was actually destined to arrive there at any moment, they slowly walked through the door one after another, each together with their Memento Mori. 
Everyone of the Revenants that just arrived walked or otherwise travelled to this place in a state of complete apathy, without eating or drinking or resting. 
And now they came through that door and their minds got out of that haze, they finally arrived. They truly realized where they were. And they saw an unfamiliar face sitting right in front of them. A old white man in a black suit and tie sat on a small couch in front of several chairs. 
[color=black]"Hello my children, I am George. Please, take a seat. Rest a minute. You must have questions and I have answers. But first, how about you tell me something about yourselves? Now don't be afraid..."[/color]