Robin Kenbridge was pleasantly surprised by the way the day had gone so far. It was cold, but not raining, although she wouldn't have minded if it did rain, and her landlord had been flexible with her rent on the condition that she read through his term paper. She'd gotten her law degree two years prior, but was never able to move more than ten miles away from the university. She'd grown attached to the place, and attachment, for Robin, was extremely uncommon.
She was walking home, the only one on the sidewalk as far as she could see. Robin despised going outdoors for any reason whatsoever, but in order to stay in shape, she forced herself to walk from her apartment to a magazine stand down the street, where she would buy copies of whatever magazines she hadn't read, skim them, and when there was nothing of particular interest, which was most of the time, would throw them away before she reached her apartment. She'd managed to keep up this habit for the past three months, and although throughout that time period there had been interruptions; cat calls, poorly trained dogs, joggers under the impression that they had the right of way, etcetera, she had never been threatened by any means. So when the sleek black BMW pulled up to the curb, she ignored it, and continued walking, arms crossed against her chest, gaze turned downward, long after she noticed that it was slowly coasting behind her. Most people, in this situation, would break into a sprint or run or at least have harbored some sort of suspicion, but Robin was quite sure that even if the driver of the car had the worst intents, (which was unlikely when the government plates were taken into account) she would be able to defend herself. She leaned over and peered at the tinted window, unable to see through until it began rolling down. Inside was an odd, pigeon-like man with cowlicked shiny brown hair, a hooked nose and an odd, pert scowl. He turned towards her and his thin lips drew up into a sort of disdainful smile, and try as he might to sound warm, he could not.
"Hello Ms. Kenbridge, could you please get in the car?"
"I suppose I could." She remained fixed in place.
"Would you?" He said, drolly.
"You have a gun in the glove compartment." It wasn't a question, but he answered.
"Yes."
"May I see it?" The man proceeded to unlatch the glove compartment, and withdraw the sleek black pistol. As he was about to close the compartment, Robin reached a hand in the window and hooked a finger around the trigger, fishing it back out the window and transferring it into her other hand.
"And the other one?"
"Ms. Kenbridge, don't you think it would be rude to leave me with no means of defending myself?"
"It's under the seat, then." He muttered,
"I can see now why he was so persistent." In the very same breath, he added,
"My name is Mycroft, and I'm here to offer you employment on behalf of my dear brother."
Robin took one look over her shoulder and opened up the car door.