<hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;"><strong>Game Master</strong></span></span></div><hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://prohairstylist.com.au/wp-content/gallery/american-crew-winners-face-off-2011/model-winner_hair-machine-carlo-ceravolo.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>City | Date | Time:</strong>Madrid, Spain | August 7, 2017 | Around Noon<br/><strong>Tagging | Mentioning:</strong>Colette Delcroix<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Mysterious mysteries.<br/><hr/>It really was looking to be a pretty average day in Spain – nothing of note was going on. Even the weather was pretty dull, split between cloudy and sunny; a couple of solid cloud bans rolled over head, occasionally casting shade over the world, but the sun still managed to shine through and heat it up to a comfortable 86 degrees. For the working folks it was just about time for lunch, some a little earlier, some a little later. Right now was a busy time though with the flood of people who got out right now.<br/><br/>That was, no doubt, why the individual had chosen this hour to meet his soon to be client. How he knew she was going to be are this cafe of all the places in the world was anybodies guess, but in the end it didn't matter. He did, and now he was there. He'd approached pretty casually, walking right by her from behind, but instead of passing by the little wire table where he lunch was yet to be served, he turned around and slid out the chair across from her and sat right down into it – very assumptively. He was a younger man for sure, easy to tell be the detail in his face. High cheeks, no wrinkles, smooth skin. Big ears. A fluffy wave of dark brown hair crowned his head; his eyes were obscured by wide lens shades that seemed about six shades too dark with thick frames that slipped behind his ear. Everything about him screamed government agent; if not the shades the nice looking suit that he wore certainly did. Not Italian, so he was no businessmen, but not a cheapy either. No ear piece though, so at least there was something going for her.<br/><br/>“Miss Delcroix.” He said, knowingly.<br/><br/>He was clearly right handed, the way he wore his watch gave it away, but he held a heavy steel briefcase – that looked more expensive then everything he was wearing combined – in his left hand. His fingers were threaded through the handle, and holding tight enough that there was white in his knuckles. His right arm came up to the table and folded before himself. His lips curled into a smile and he gave her a small nod. “Before you call in your friends, Colette... Do you mind if I call you Colette? Either way, I think that you should hear me out. My employer believes that we can be mutually beneficial to one another, and I am inclined to agree.”<br/><br/><hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;"><strong>Game Master</strong></span></span></div><hr/>