Through the doors was the entrance hall. Everything was stern and foreboding. White cement walls, curling staircases. Gleaming mahogany. Facing Snake was a massive marble desk, behind which sat an armed guard who served as the receptionist. There was a door on either side next to the desk. These doors led to the exchange auditorium. Snake thought of the hundreds of frantic traders behind the door, the frenetic energy, the sweat and the rapid pulses. Despite the expensive suit he was wearing, he suddenly felt naked. As he approached the desk, the guard held out a clipboard covered in a thousand hieroglyphs. "Name, group, signature," he requested. Snake found himself attracted to this dark young man. He wrestled down his primal urges in light of the mission that lay ahead of him. He took the clipboard. "Samuel Reiper, Columbus Trading Group" he wrote. He forged the signature perfectly and handed the clipboard back to the guard. When he took the clipboard from Snake, their hands briefly touched, and sparks went flying up Snake's arm. "Mr. Reiper?" The guard checked some records. "You're an hour later than usual. The exchange is already in full swing." That's because the real Mr. Reiper is tied up and unconscious in his closet, Snake thought. He didn't say anything. Just stared at the guard, soaked up his handsome features. God I'd love to fuck him. Stayed silent. "All right, go on in." Snake stepped through the door and found himself in frenzied Hell.