[h2][center] Fremont Lundgren [/center][/h2]
[i]Who do you want me to kill? ‘Oh, you’re not allowed to know.’ Fan-fucking-tastic.[/i] Lundgren stopped beside the car, watching Fan walk away. Now that he had spoken with his ‘legal representative,’ everything was so clear. Of course they wouldn’t tell him who he was supposed to kill, that would make life [i]simple.[/i] That, and [i]days[/i] without lifting or reading, he was gonna go fucking insane.

Lundgren growled to himself as he entered the old, grey apartment high-rise before him. He growled at the attendant at the front desk, a bored looking teenager wearing a uniform. He growled when he reached his room, and opened the door to find… it was actually pretty damn nice. The interior was nothing too special, but there was a bed big enough to accommodate his hulking form. A few chairs, ceiling fan. There was a small bathroom, a sorta… closet type deal? Freestanding though, he wasn’t sure what to call it. And more than anything else, what caught his eye was a small countertop with an oven, a stovetop, fridge, and a dishwasher. He had a fucking dishwasher in the middle of town! 

“Well I’ll be goddamned…” Fuck, a helluva lot better than he had expected. Maybe it was the only place they could find that would fit him? That king bed couldn’t have been cheap...

...Or maybe it was meant to throw him off his guard. There was no way this place wasn’t bugged to all hell. Fremont was dangerous, they were hiring him to beat up fucking demons. A small potted plant in the corner caught his eye, one of two. He strode up, shoulders back, teeth bared, and lifted the tiny thing. It fit in the palm of his hand. 

A close inspection revealed nothing obvious. Ever so slightly, the curling snarl on his face relaxed. Lundgren set the plant down. It was slightly wilted.

Lundgren took a glass form the pantry, watering the pair of houseplants, then turned to the closet. Nothing QUITE big enough, but there was a check coming his way at the end of the week. He’d fix that soon. The former inmate turned, heading towards the door when his stomach growled like he had earlier. 

The fridge was empty, save for a pair of icemakers in the freezer.

There was no mess outside the pen.

[hr]
An absolute monster of a man exploded through the front of the bookstore, slamming the door open with a manic gleam in his wild eyes. A small amount of drool was leaking from the slit edge of his mouth, wiped away by a well-scarred hand. His clothes were tightly wrapped around his body, a pair of surprisingly clean steel-toed boots on his feet. The sleeves of what was once a relatively nice plaid button-up were missing from the shoulders down, along with a good portion of the front buttons. A wifebeater preserved his modesty. 

“Alright kids, I smelled this joint from a mile away, and I got 20 bucks to my name. Fan told me this was a bookstore, but so help me if you sell food you're gonna be my best goddamn... Why are there rabbits everywhere?”