Post by MKULTRA on Jul 23, 2016 2:04:39 GMT -6
A knock on the door...
Two knocks then...
Three.
Four.
A bang then; loud and hard, but most of all desperate, like someone on the other end was about to die unless the door was opened right then and there...but what was going on? Who was banging on the door, and, most importantly...who's door was it?
To understand exactly what was happening--and, more importantly, what was about to happen--one would have to turn the clock back a few minutes.
It was exactly 11:47 a.m. on a Friday. The sky was clear, the weather was pleasant, and the streets were filled with commuters making use of both the sidewalks and their vehicles as they headed out to wherever it was that they happened to have been going. By all means, everyone seemed to have been walking at the same, brisk pace--after all, New Yorkers had a pretty recognizable walk--but if one looked closely, they'd be able to identify someone who had broken pace from the crowd...not because they looked different or anything, but because of one, simple reason...
They were running like hell.
This man was, of course, David...but judging by the way he was running, you wouldn't think that this was the same man. This wasn't a casual jog or anything like that; no, this was a real-deal sprint, with the male running as if though his life truly depended on it. In fact...it did. But where was he going? What was he running from? Those questions would be answered in time, starting with the first one!
Pivoting quickly on his feet, David darted and dashed around corners and through alleys until he reached his apparent destination, the male panting heavily and hoarsely as sweat leaked down his face and onto the pavement below. Without a second thought, he quickly ascended the three steps leading up towards the front door of the building he was facing and, with a great deal of strength, began pounding on the door, not even bothering to use the doorbell as he did so! But who's house was this? Who's door was he pounding on? That answer was simple, really.
This was the residence of Michael Carter Hammer, or just Hammer for short. As for why he was here...well, that answer would come as soon as the other male opened the door.
If he didn't within the next 3-5 seconds though, David was fully prepared to use First of the Year to bust it in! This was an emergency dammit!
Two knocks then...
Three.
Four.
A bang then; loud and hard, but most of all desperate, like someone on the other end was about to die unless the door was opened right then and there...but what was going on? Who was banging on the door, and, most importantly...who's door was it?
To understand exactly what was happening--and, more importantly, what was about to happen--one would have to turn the clock back a few minutes.
It was exactly 11:47 a.m. on a Friday. The sky was clear, the weather was pleasant, and the streets were filled with commuters making use of both the sidewalks and their vehicles as they headed out to wherever it was that they happened to have been going. By all means, everyone seemed to have been walking at the same, brisk pace--after all, New Yorkers had a pretty recognizable walk--but if one looked closely, they'd be able to identify someone who had broken pace from the crowd...not because they looked different or anything, but because of one, simple reason...
They were running like hell.
This man was, of course, David...but judging by the way he was running, you wouldn't think that this was the same man. This wasn't a casual jog or anything like that; no, this was a real-deal sprint, with the male running as if though his life truly depended on it. In fact...it did. But where was he going? What was he running from? Those questions would be answered in time, starting with the first one!
Pivoting quickly on his feet, David darted and dashed around corners and through alleys until he reached his apparent destination, the male panting heavily and hoarsely as sweat leaked down his face and onto the pavement below. Without a second thought, he quickly ascended the three steps leading up towards the front door of the building he was facing and, with a great deal of strength, began pounding on the door, not even bothering to use the doorbell as he did so! But who's house was this? Who's door was he pounding on? That answer was simple, really.
This was the residence of Michael Carter Hammer, or just Hammer for short. As for why he was here...well, that answer would come as soon as the other male opened the door.
If he didn't within the next 3-5 seconds though, David was fully prepared to use First of the Year to bust it in! This was an emergency dammit!