Gunshots, that's the first thing he remembered when he woke up. Then came the searing pain of a raw bullet wound in his upper thigh. "Ah!" He screamed in pain. "Oh God damnit! It burns!" he hissed out, nearly in tears as he hauled himself off the hardwood floor. Now, fully awake, he saw that he wasn't shot, and that there was no gunfire, and no bullet in his leg. It was just a very bad, very vivid dream. He rubbed his face as he continued to wake up, and as he did so he drifted toward the vanity he had in his room. He gazed in the mirror and flinched at what he saw.
He was ragged and unkempt with a shaggy beard and messily kept hair. "Okay Bram, it's time for a shave and a haircut, because you deserve it." He said to himself. So he went and bathed then dressed in his usual slacks, suspenders, vest and white button up shirt. After that he went to the local barbershop for a shave and a haircut then headed to work. Bram worked for a popular journalism company by the name of the New York Times and as Bram walked up the steps his boss came running out to him.
"Howitzer! Good news! You're going out in the field today to get out story!" Bram looked at his boss like he's lost his mind. "Wha-" was all he was able to get out before boss man was putting a journalist's fedora on his head and shoving a notepad and a pen into his hands. "Now get going!'" Exclaimed his boss hurriedly. "But boss! Where will I be going?" Bram said confusedly. "Don't try to force it, let the story come to you!" His boss said as he ran to catch the leaving bus as Bramberk just stared after him.
A little while later Howitzer was at a loss for what to write so he went to a local coffee shop for some sort of direction. As he sat there he quietly pondered on this "story" he was supposed to write, a passerby caught his attention. The male who walked by was tall and held him self in an authoritative pose and was handing out fliers to any walking person that would accept it, and these fliers were for the great floating city Colombia. "Well look at that, the story just wrote itself." Howitzer said as he paid his tab and ran out the door to catch the man for an interview.
"Excuse me sir, if I could have a minute of your time for an interview for our paper." Bram approached the man with caution while he pulled out his pen and notepad. The elder mad looked up at him "Ah, yes the Prophet told me that I would be interviewed today, although he did not specify at what time I'd be interviewed. My name is Patrick Henry." The old man said as Howitzer wrote notes about who Mr. Henry was, where he lived, what he did for a living, and so on and so forth. After a few questions Mr. Henry asked in a very soft tone "Would you like to come to Colombia? You'd fit in perfect there with all of us." Howitzer looked at him and nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe… Maybe I will."