The head of Alastair Technologies stared out the window of his office. The view of Manhattan, usually bright and distracting, was distorted by the rain and darkened by the cloudy sky. Raymond Alastair sat quietly as loud thunder chased flashing lightning.

His secretary came in and dropped off some mail. Raymond waited until she left before swiveling his chair around to face his desk. The first envelope on the stack was almost blank: his name was in one corner, but there was no sender address, no organization seal, no postal stamp. He didn't think much of it: anonymous complaints from employees weren't all that rare, so he opened the envelope with a sigh, wondering what needed to be taken care of now.

Inside was a single piece of paper, folded in half. He unfolded it and smoothed out the crease and saw that it wasn't a complaint letter, it was a drawing. Of a snake.

He stared at it, confused, and flipped it over. The other side was blank. He looked in the envelope again to see if there was anything else, and he noticed that there was writing on the inside of the envelope.

He carefully ripped it open at the edges and spread it flat on his desk. It was a letter, handwritten in pencil, addressed to him. He read it warily, off-put by the strange presentation, and by the time he was finished, he was shaking.

The Snakes were requesting to meet with him.

Raymond pushed a button on his desk to lower the shades over the windows, plunging the office into complete darkness for a brief moment before the automatic lights turned on. He read the letter again, slowly this time, to make sure he'd read it right.

The Snakes were requesting to meet with him.

Being in a high position like his meant hearing things, so the Snakes weren't entirely unfamiliar. He knew they were cunning enough to evade the League and just about every authority, but that was all he knew. He assumed that they were careful and never made a move without thinking it through first, but contacting him was a move he didn't understand. What did they want? Money, some kind of endorsement? What else could he possibly provide?

This is ridiculous, he thought. It couldn't be the Snakes—why would they send a simple letter, without a threat?

Because their name is threat enough.

Raymond shook his head; he was not going to take part in this. He crumpled up the letter and the snake drawing but paused with his hand above the trash. The bin was empty except for one thing: a little origami snake, sitting there so perfectly that it looked like it was placed there.

He stared at it, heart pounding. He didn't make it. His assistant wouldn't do something like that. No one else had visited his office in three days, and papers don't spontaneously contort themselves into snakes.

He picked it up by the tail and unfolded it to find a plea written in bold marker: DON'T THROW IT AWAY, WE WORKED HARD ON THAT!

His phone buzzed. The word UNKNOWN flashed above an indeed unknown number. He hesitated, but ignorance often had worse consequences than compliance, so he reluctantly checked what he'd been sent.

It was a text message. We're watching you. Look up.

His head snapped up in fear. He thought there would be someone standing in front of him, but he was still alone. He turned in a circle until he figured out what the text was referring to: the security camera in his office. It was in the corner, where it should be, and its red light was blinking, as it should be, but it was aimed at his desk instead of at the door, and he knew they were watching him through it.

Raymond wanted to scream. It still might've not been the Snakes, it could've been someone using their name for an intimidation factor, but it didn't matter. Someone had slipped their envelope into his mail, broke into his office, hacked his security, and got his private number, all without anyone noticing. Snakes or not, this was serious.

His phone buzzed again, and he looked down to read the new message.

Do you really want to ignore us?

What Raymond wanted to do was throw his phone at the camera and break them both, but he swallowed his panic and typed back, Who is this?

The Snakes. We told you that already. Was the drawing and the origami and our sign-off in the letter not enough?

What do you want? he asked.

One minute passed, then two. Raymond stared at his phone, scared of what would come next.

After three minutes, the response finally came: You already have your instructions. We'll be waiting.

.....................................

Raymond's taxi slowed along the curb. He looked out the window with wide, fearful eyes. This was a dangerous, run-down neighborhood, full of potholes and graffiti. Just the thought of stepping foot out there made him uncomfortable, but this was where the Snakes told him to go in their letter. It didn't help that they wanted to meet after sunset—evil was more comfortable in the dark, it seemed.

Getting out of the car felt like putting a foot in the grave. Raymond took a deep breath as the taxi drove away. The sky was cast in a beautiful orange glow as the sun set. The summer air was warm. If they were trying to make him uncomfortable, they'd succeeded. He felt like a meek mouse, stuck in a trap that didn't yet feel like a trap. In a few minutes, it would be dark. He looked around, because if he'd gotten here early, maybe they had, too, but no one approached him.

After the sun fully dipped below the horizon, the street lights flickered on. A guy came and stood next to him, looking through the viewfinder of a camera that he had aimed across the street. What is he taking a picture of? Raymond thought. The fire hydrant?

The guy was young, somewhere in his twenties. A lollipop stick was sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He didn't seem like a Snake, but he didn't need to. Raymond could be meeting anybody: a Snake, a go-between hired to negotiate business, or someone else. But was this guy him, or was he a random passerby?

The boy lowered his camera. "You're an idiot, you know that?" he said, the lollipop stick moving around as he spoke. "You came to a place like this wearing an expensive suit like that, looking around like a lost little boy, and you're pretty much begging to get mugged."

Raymond looked down at his attire, which he hadn't given much thought to. "I..."

The boy was focused on his camera screen as he shook his head, disappointed. "Mr. Alastair, I thought you'd be smarter than that."

"You're the guy I'm meeting? Are you a go-between?"

He was silent for a few seconds before looking up. "Yeah. I'm Jack," he said, holding out a hand.

Raymond reached out tentatively. He expected a threatening squeeze, but Jack shook his hand loosely and let go almost immediately.

"Follow me," he said, turning around.

Raymond hesitated—he may not like this neighborhood, but he would rather stay here than go somewhere unknown. He didn't have a choice, though, because Jack was already walking away.

Raymond hurried to catch up but slowed once he was a few steps behind. Jack spit out his stick into a trash can as he passed by it, never slowing down. Raymond slid his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around his phone. He hadn't called the police ahead of time because he knew the Snakes wouldn't have taken their chances if they knew they might fail; they would find a way to get to him, no matter what. Maybe he should call the cops now that there was an actual person to arrest...but if Jack was lying, if he wasn't just a go-between but a Snake himself, then getting him caught would send the other four out for vengeance. Being used as a tool was bad enough, Raymond didn't want to be on anyone's hit list, too.

He let go of his phone.

Jack slipped into a space between two buildings. Raymond had been praying they would go somewhere with at least a few witnesses, but it was too much to hope for. He took a deep breath—one of hundreds he'd taken today—and walked into the darkness of the alley, slowing down to let his eyes adjust. There was only a faint, hazy glow from the building's curtained windows, but it was light enough for him to see Jack climbing up the fire escape, going all the way up to the roof and disappearing from view.

This was the perfect time to run away, but Raymond knew better. He jumped to grab hold of the bottom rung and started climbing. With every second that passed by, his courage—what little he had of it—disappeared. He couldn't stop imagining his body being thrown off the roof and splattered onto the alley.

It took him a while to scale the building. He was nowhere near as young or agile as Jack, who was waiting across the roof, leaning against the parapet, one ankle crossed over the other. The camera was next to his foot, and he held up his empty hands, showing that he meant no harm.

"Do you know why I brought you up here?" he asked.

"No witnesses?"

Jack smiled. "Because the view's nice."

He wasn't wrong, but Raymond was still nervous. What scared him more than the straightforward criminals were the sensible ones that liked to play games. Jack didn't look threatening, and he didn't look violent. He was calm, even friendly, and it was terrifying.

Raymond cleared his throat. "How do I know you're actually representing the Snakes?"

"You should've asked that before you followed me up here." Jack shrugged. "And what do you expect? A tattoo proving my allegiance? If you don't trust me, then walk away." He tilted his head and quietly added, "See what happens."

Now he sounded less friendly. Raymond tried to keep his voice level as he asked, "What do they want?"

"Materials."

"What kind of materials?"

"The high-grade kind you use in your labs."

"What do they need it for?"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, and I don't care. It's the Snakes, why would you even want to know?"

Raymond's hand went into his pocket again. If Jack was so indifferent, then he couldn't possibly be a Snake. Calling the cops might not be such a bad idea; the Snakes wouldn't care too hard about a hired go-between, and the police might be able to take care of this before word of the failed agreement got back to them.

"You'll get the specifications later," Jack said, sticking his hand out. "Agreed?"

With one hand still in his pocket, Raymond used the other to shake the intermediary's hand. Jack smiled, his grip tightened, and he yanked his arm back.

Raymond was pulled forward, stumbling onto his hands and knees. During the brief moment they were close to each other, Jack had taken the phone, and now he was holding it up, shaking his head.

"You were going to call the cops on me, weren't you?"

Raymond stayed down and cowered. "No, no—I was going to, but I didn't actually..." He closed his eyes and exhaled. "They'll get the materials they need. I promise."

"Good."

Jack tossed the phone back to him and started pacing and listing off a few details, more to come, but Raymond tuned him out. He was too busy staring at the lump of broken brick that was right next to his hand. The roof was littered with them—small, dark-red chunks everywhere, but the one closest to him was a good size. He'd agreed to what the Snakes wanted, but was there any guarantee he would make it off this roof unscathed?

Raymond picked up the brick, stood up, and threw it at the go-between's face. Jack clearly wasn't expecting it, and his head snapped back when the brick hit his cheekbone.

Raymond ran past him and scrambled down the fire escape, cursing himself for what he'd done. The Snakes would get exactly what they wanted; all he did was put a useless bruise on their associate's face.

He was terrified, and he heard amused laughter that slowly faded away as he went further and further down the building. Jack wasn't following him—the maniac was laughing.

As soon as his feet hit the alley, Raymond ran away, leaving the go-between behind.