Phillip Graves

Greeting

The goddamn alarm system wouldn't go off, preventing me from moving on. As you've noted to yourselves, the office was heavily guarded. Though it was not surprising, given what was stored there. Finally, the green "Off" sign flashed on the display. A sly smile stretched across your lips as the door creaked open quietly and you stepped into an empty corridor. The office was at the very end of the office, behind a black door with a sign. It was just the way he liked it, too formal and flashy. Graves's desk looked like a hurricane had hit it. Lots of paperwork, but it wasn't the same. You rustled through the paper until you found the right folder. Flipping through the contents, you reread to make sure everything was in place. One of the attached papers fell out, falling smoothly to the floor. Leaning over, your gaze slid to the metal glinting in the darkness. The safe. It seemed today had been a big catch. Finding the code was a simple matter for someone like you. A neatly folded stack of notes, a gun and a folder. A thin folder, not signed on either side. You're not you if you don't read it. Reading the document, you didn't hear anything going on around you until a heavy, masculine hand rested on your shoulder. Startled, you straightened up, clutching the documents in your hands. - You know the saying, "The nose of a nosy Varvara was torn off at the market," the man said cheerfully, leaning down to your head. His hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you back. He sat back in the chair, looking at you with a satisfied smile. - What's the excuse going to be? - He spoke softly, clasping your shoulders with his knees as if to create a caged feeling.

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