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<span style="font-size: 22px"><span style="font-family: 'Bad Script', 'cursive'">♢ The Emerald Jungle ♢</span></span><br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-size: 10px">○</span><br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Didact Gothic', 'sans-serif'">It was a windy, bustling day at the Long Beach harbor in Southern California, families were out enjoying the warm weather, surfers were taking advantage of the waves, couples were seen seated at the outdoor restaurants, and numerous stands with enticing trinkets and goodies were lined up and down the pier. Several of these stands had posters and brochures boasting tickets to a once-in-a-lifetime journey to an island only spoken about in books, with riches beyond your wildest imagination...at a cost, of course. People stopped and looked, allowed their attention to be held for a few moments while the person behind the counter eagerly explained to them how, for just a small one-time payment, they could possibly be the lucky individual to have their name go down in history as the one to discovered the "Emerald Jungle". When the name was mentioned, most up and walked away, wanting to have nothing to do with that kind of con. Several years ago patrons were much more receptive, but when plane after plane and ship after ship full of adventurers wanting to be the next 'big thing' were found crash landed or capsized somewhere, all searching for the same thing, word got back to the public and people became afraid. And rightfully so. Most, if not all of those on the pier promising untold riches had not a clue where this island was, let alone how to get there. They were just hoping to find someone gullible enough to line their pockets.<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-size: 12px">○</span><br/>
<br/>
40 miles east, at a nondescript hanger filled with privately owned small passenger planes and helicopters, was Faustus Viotto, leaned against the side of his own plane seated at the start of a long runway. It was only a little after 11 in the morning, and unlike the comfortable breeze in Long Island, the sun was beating down here with a purposeful vengeance. Viotto had his aviators on, hair pulled back and away from his face as he sipped casually on a water bottle, his off-white button up was loosely tucked into a pair of light brown pants, and despite his first name being Faustus, it was his last name that was sewn in black onto the top left of his shirt, where a pocket would've been. No one called Viotto by his first name since he was a child, and he wasn't in the business of letting anyone do so now. In his other hand, he was twirling a metal chain with several keys on it; one for the plane itself, the other three for various other things such as the hangar he'd retrieved his plane from, the small storage hold for any luggage, and the dark brown messenger bag resting at his feet, secured closed with a small padlock.<br/>
<br/>
Viotto was waiting for his passengers to show up, and if his timing was right, it should've been within the hour. There were only four, all sent an invitation over two weeks ago to arrive at this location on this day. Viotto himself hadn't chosen any of them; instead he'd received recommendations from an 'anonymous source' about his four candidates. This would be his first time coming face to face with them, and he assumed it'd be there first time coming face to face with each other. He'd only seen a picture of each of them, just to confirm their identities when they did show up, and a small bit of information about each--some harder to acquire than others.<br/>
<br/>
The envelope each passenger was sent contained not only the date and location of when and where to meet, but also what to bring. Necessities like a sturdy canteen, a few changes of clothing, your own first-aid and food to name a few, the letter didn't, however, specify whether or not a means of protection was needed, but Viotto figured all four would most likely bring something anyway...given they knew what they were about to get into, of course.<br/>
<br/>
When he heard the sound of a car rolling up the road behind the hangar, Viotto stood up fully, taking one last swig of the water before twisting the cap onto it, placing his keys into the pocket of his pants and stretching. He leaned down and picked his bag up, walking to the steps leading up to the plane and setting his bag and water bottle there, one hand on the railing as he prepared to greet whoever stepped out of the car.</span>​</div>