Garrick awoke on a hard, flat surface, his neck sore and stiff after what must have been hours of fitful sleep. Above him, a square fluorescent light fixture bathed the room in its weak white glow. The walls were a faded blue - the work of a shoddy paint job which was coming to pieces in several places - and their most notable features were a rusted door and the remains of a paper bulletin that had long since become illegible. There were no windows, but a very slight breeze still blew throughout the room. A narrow staircase led downwards to another door.<br/><br/>He sat up, running one hand across the blind spots behind him to retrieve... something. When his fingers failed to make contact, he twisted around to look, but only dust and concrete greeted him. He pushed himself off the ground, noting for the first time that the room was rather claustrophobic for his tastes, and searched his clothes. There was nothing. No identification, no wallet, and most distressingly, no weapons. Even the holsters for his knife and sidearm were missing, which drew him to the conclusion that he had been captured and disarmed. If so, the location he was being held in was almost definitely improvised.<br/><br/>That could mean several things, were it not for the fact that he had no memory of where he was, how he had arrived there, or several other pertinent details like who his employer had been for the past two decades of his life. He didn't have much experience with concussions, but felt around the back of his head for any signs of an injury. Nothing seemed bruised, bloody, or otherwise out of place. Sighing heavily, he took a second look at his surroundings.<br/><br/>Beside the wall furthest from the stairs, there was a table supporting little more than a few papers and some writing tools, and next to the door on the same level was a backpack that seemed too large for a normal person to carry. Familiarity drew him towards the latter first, and he was not disappointed. It belonged to him, but perhaps more surprising was the fact that nothing was missing from the inside. All of the parts for his rifle, their replacements, his sound meter, maintenance tools... even the boxes of ammunition were still there. A small card stood out as the only<span style="font-style: italic">addition</span>to his possessions, which he turned over and read carefully.<br/><br/>THE WATER IS THE WAY<br/>BEWARE WHAT LIES IN THE VAULT<br/><br/>A coded message, perhaps? The phrase meant nothing to him, or he had simply forgotten what it was supposed to mean, but he still tucked it into one of his coat's pockets on a hunch. His attention turned towards the door nearby, and he found that it was surprisingly unlocked, opening up onto the roof of a high-rise building in a city that he was completely unfamiliar with. After a few furtive glances outside, he hefted his massive backpack onto both shoulders and stepped into the open air.<br/><br/>The first thing which occurred to Garrick was that he was exposed without serviceable cover from such a vantage point. The second was that he could see for over a mile in almost every direction, and there wasn't a single sign of life from where he stood; cars lined the streets but the roads were empty, the sidewalks were devoid of pedestrians, and despite it being early into the evening, streetlamps were the only source of artificial light, save for a distant neon sign somewhere to the east.<br/><br/>While doing his best to keep a low profile, he searched the city for any hint that it was inhabited for several minutes without success. His efforts were interrupted only by an automated broadcast that echoed through the empty streets.<br/><br/>"The time is seven in the evening. Thank you for choosing to be here with us in Ivy City. We hope you enjoy your stay."