<strong>Cassie</strong><br/>“Oh!” Belinda chuckles nervously, glancing between you and the empty booth. “Cassie, you’re so /funny/ sometimes, have I told you that? You really should be a standup comedian,” she clicks her tongue, some combination of perturbed and amused by your story. “Oh, you know, I do remember that jerk, I think–” Someone calls for her and she turns away, bustling over to assist a guest.<br/><br/>Steve, if anything, looks a touch more crestfallen, like you’d hurt his feelings somehow. But then your field of view is taken up by one of the crew cut guys who’d sauntered in moments earlier. He’s a big guy, all muscles and the possibility of steroid abuse, wearing a button-down shirt that is stretching across the shoulders. “Scuse me, Miss,” he says, in a surprisingly tenor voice. “Don’t suppose you happen to know a Steven Lane?” He pulls out a picture and yes, that is Steve, looking handsome and flashy in a picture set at night, under a street lamps. Weirdly, it looks like it was shot from kind of far away, maybe with a long-range lens of some kind. “Some people said they saw you leaving with him from here last night?”<br/><br/>“You don’t,” Steve murmurs. “You don’t know me.”<br/><br/>What do you do?<br/><br/><br/><strong>Bryn</strong><br/>There is a satisfying moment where the gun shifts into your hand into a weapon more akin to a form it might have taken in a past life–then you’re shoving the man–creature?--back with a baseball bat to the gut. He falls back against the desk, and at least he’s no longer touching Tizana. But he’s too fast for you to get a good swing on him and he’s lunging at you with a long, medical pair of scissors that he seems to have pulled from thin air, his strange, slit mouth falling open in a giggle. “Knew it,” he singsongs. “I knew you were one of them. Going to slit your face open like all of the others. Make you as pretty as me.”<br/><br/>What do you do?<br/><br/><strong>Xiaofu</strong><br/><br/>You’re as silent as always and in the chaos, you slip into the office without either of the two men noticing you. As far as you know, no one has noticed you at all. What you’ve walked into, though, seems to be a fight of some kind, one man with a baseball bat and the other with a pair of scissors.<br/><br/>What do you do?<br/><br/><br/><strong>Ellie</strong><br/><br/>For a moment, you actually think fear of your sister might overwhelm Giancarlo, that he might hesitate or try to deny you–but then your hand is against the skin of his face, which heats up under your touch and you know he’s yours. “Of course, principessa—that does make sense. Just–you stay close to me, all right? I would die if something happened to you.” He clearly means this in a romantic or poetic sense, but it’s also literally true–your sister would have him killed in an instant, with just enough time to slip in a light round of torture.<br/><br/>A few minutes later you’re dressed in your coat and out the door, your bodyguard driving–putting on whatever music you want—and before you know it you’re at the office of the detective. It’s a quiet little building and Giancarlo paces next to you, protective. “We’re going to show this bastardo no one messes with the family,” he murmurs–but as you turn the corner, he freezes. You both see a young Asian woman push open the door to the detective’s office. “Triads,” Giancarlo says with certainty, as though there was no other possibility. He’s already got his cell phone out. “If they’re behind this, we should call for backup,” he explains to you, his tone taking on a touch of condescension, the way people seem to sometimes think that just because you’re pretty, you can’t also understand the way the world works. “Catch both of them at it.” What ‘it’ is or why he’s so sure that an individual you both saw for only a few seconds is a Triad, he doesn’t bother to clarify.<br/><br/>What do you do?<br/>