» AUG. 1, 2015 VOL. 177 «



<pretend this is a good story>

The man in the trilby passed a small crowd outside an electronics store, catching a glimpse of the news station the televisions were turned to.
"… got reports of a stolen military vehicle on the loose. An unknown individual has stolen a M6…"
Not your usual Wednesday, he gathered from the voice. He would have stayed to watch the news himself, but he was already late and didn't want to waste any more time. Trilby walked across the unusually deserted street and spotted a phone booth in the distance, the blue trimming on the booth standing out from the dour San Diego evening. He quickened his pace to the phone booth, oblivious of the flight jacket-clad figure staying at a steady distance behind Trilby.
"Where is it, where is it?" Trilby asked himself. He was flipping through a small, black notebook when he found what he had been looking for. Several tones emanated from the payphone as the man dialed the phone number. 1-619-727-5465. He picked up the receiver and waited for the call to be patched to the other side.
"Hello, this is Sotherby-Charleston & Partners, how may I help you?" responded a male voice.
"Hello. I am inquiring about a Mrs. Amy Martins?"
"Hold on for a second." A click and a whirr was audible on the other side of the line.
"Does the Black Moon howl?" asked the now female voice.
"Only to herald the return of the White Sun." responded Trilby.
"You're late, Sloan. I was just about to leave!"
"Well, I'm here now Ame… err, Kabasic. You want me to report first?"
"Sure. Hit it."
Agent Sloan shuffled a bit at the phonebooth. Jacket was now at the corner of the sidewalk, curiously watching Sloan, who appeared to be intensely talking. Jacket fiddled with the object in their pocket.


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