Jack Gent stood on the roof of the skyscraper (Fancy Underwear and Scarves Co.), looking across the dimming horizon with the air of a superhero, his lips curved into a ghostly, sardonic smile. It was almost night. The air was ferocious in its snapping, brisk movements, and cold.
He was wearing a long gray overcoat that reached past the knees of his black jeans, and tugged down on his head was a black beret. His eyes and hair were dark again, and his skin was back to the same shade of light brown, and his face was all angles and sharp edges. He leaned nonchalantly against the grimy steel railing, ignoring the harsh wind streaming around him and holding his beret down with one loose hand. The other was beneath the railing and feeling along underneath it. He had already counted the number of steps from the rooftop trapdoor, and found the two bars of the railing that signified the location by two identical tiny crowns scratched into their fronts. There was a click and a tinny clatter as a small piece of metal fell from under the railing to the cement rooftop, and Gent caught a square of folded paper as it fell too.
Letting go of the railing and turning around, he unfolded the paper and read it, his long fingers holding it gently but firmly, so that the wind wouldn't snatch it away. His beret moved slightly on his head, but remained for the most part in place. The five penciled words on the paper flashed for a moment as lights from the surrounding skyscrapers caught the lead and tinted it bright silver from their usual dull gray. Jack Gent's fingers were trembling slightly from the cold.
Anonymus mērķis locus:
Sanctus Barbarus.
