[center][h1]Argus Lichfield[/h1]
Physical State: Elevated heart rate, Dizzy
Mental State: Wary[/Center]

The initial shock and rush of adrenaline now abating, Argus began to notice the hallway spinning around him. The combination of being caught off-guard and the potential concussion he was sporting made it increasingly difficult to focus on the eclectic collection of men in the hallway, and it took every ounce of determination to prevent himself from instinctively bracing against the nearest wall. A drop of sweat slowly formed on his forehead, and his legs seemed to be off balance - was that due to the lockpick beneath his shoe, or the pain still radiating through his head?

The man from before spoke to him again, his own icy glare meeting Argus' gaze. Argus stared back unflinchingly, bar the small bead of sweat that rolled down his face and the briefest flick of his eyes towards the object clutched a bit too tightly in the man's grasp: A large leatherbound book, the words [b]'An American Prophecy'[/b] emblazoned on the front cover. Argus' eyes darted back up to meet his once more, but that cold stare belied whatever emotions lay behind it. Argus knew that he was key somehow, but it would not be so easy to get inside his head.

[color=662d91]'I would have preferred advance warning before being sent out to Arkham, yet here we are.'[/color] Argus quipped back. [color=662d91]'It's not often that we have one of Massachusetts' finest perish in such bizarre circumstances, and I was told that time was of the essence. But, I digress. You've yet to introduce yourself, Mr...?'[/color]

One of the two gentlemen who had entered the hall stepped forward. The man looked like a nervous wreck, carrying himself as if some terrible and gargantuan tragedy were looming above him, threatening to swallow him whole. Speaking quickly and anxiously, he introduced himself as Jeremy Velera.