The Old-Time Hole, New York. One of the lesser-known "historical" diners still operating in the area, it was a haven for anyone looking to escape the prying eyes and constant attention provided by the outside world. On any given day, people of all shapes, sizes, races, and occupations gathered within to pretend to be someone else, to carry on their private business without ever being noticed.
One such individual was Adam Tordelli. According to his business card, he was a private supplier of IT equipment and expertise. Few would have guessed that he also made a tidy sum each week processing stolen information for identity thieves.
That day, there were only a few other customers. Two were men in suits having breakfast together and making light chatter directly behind Tordelli's seat at the counter. Another was a large man in a tight hoodie dazing off in his booth. The diner was running on a skeleton crew: one bearded busboy was clearing some tables from earlier, and a waitress wearing way too much concealer and her blonde hair in two messy buns was retrieving coffee for the suited men. The other waitress on duty, a young woman who clearly forgot to shave her brows, asked Tordelli if he wanted a refill in an accent that appeared to be a strange cross between British and Midwestern.
"Sure. Oh, and you mind bringing my check?" Tordelli started packing his bags. He needed to drop off the stick holding the data if he expected to be paid.
Finishing his drink, he had just reached for his wallet when his head began to spin. Without thinking, he stumbled towards the exit.
The busboy, a knife under his sleeve, grabbed his arm. "Follow me unless ya want to die, boy."
He was escorted into the diner's storage locker, blindfolded, and chained to a pipe. Voices began chattering as he sat there, terrified.
"He's the one. I know it."
"You sure? Cause' to me, he looks like a damn nerd."
"Croc, Captain, go and check with Katana. We need a clean getaway."
A door was opened and closed. The voices resumed their conversation.
"I say we knock some into him. They always talk, trust me."
"Perhaps I could use my powers to compel him?"
"No, no, no. We don't need him to know who we are or why we're here. All we need is the flash drive he has."
At this, Tordelli perked up. "You want the drive? It's in my laptop case. Take it and just let me go, please! I won't go to the police, I swear!"
"Kid, if you don't shut up right now, you will die. Do you understand?"
Tordelli nodded.
He heard the sound of hands ruffling through his case. "Found it."
"Now then, we just need to clean up the scene. Quinn, take care of this-"
Overwhelmed by fear, Tordelli screamed his lungs out. "Help me!"
His cry ended as soon as it began, with a single shot to the head.
"You woulda done the same, Flag."
Just then, three people entered the room, wearing dark clothes. They passed out additional pairs, and then split up and wandered off into the city.
The rest soon followed, making sure no one was following them. A figure stood on the rooftop, watching the whole scene. He alone knew who they were and why they had killed Tordelli for the drive.
At last, he had found them. The only people who could help.