From an abandoned cannery on one of the docks of New York, a rather unsettling scream rang out, one that, were it not for the fact that the nearest building was at least ten blocks away, and people tended to avoid the area due to gang activity, it was highly likely that police officers would have been called. A pair of men sat in two folding chairs, one, a young man who looked as though he would seem more at home in Abercrombie & Fitch, was sitting in his backwards, while the other, a middle aged man with thinning hair on his head and a shaggy beard, was faced correctly and bound to his chair. One of these men was John Hawkins, an intel operative for The order, scratch that, a tired intel operative for The Order. "Come on Sol, I can call you Sol right? Anyway, Sol, we've been at this since last night. I dragged you all the way out here so we could do this mano y mano rather than at headquarters, so just tell me what I need to know so I can go home and go to bed. Hey, if you give me everything I need to know, I'll just take you down to the registration office and have you registered rather than just locking you up or killing you when I get what I need. What do you say?" John asked his captive. The bound man, Sol, looked up at John through a pair of bloodshot eyes, and promptly spat on John's cheek. John kept his composure surprisingly well, and wiped out a handkerchief to wipe away the saliva, "Fine, option B it is then. I'm impressed that you managed to endure five mind breaks and a blackout without going insane, but this stubbornness is wearing thin on my patience. And my mind...". John reached over and touched Sol's head, much to the other man's displeasure, "Commencing intel extraction. Hey Sol, penny for your thoughts?". To anyone walking in, it would just appear that John was touching Sol and nothing more, however behind both men's eyes there was a transferring of memories and information occurring, each one flashing quicker than the last into John's mind.
The intel operative sat back and growled a bit as his head started to throb, "Jesus Sol, you know you really should have just told me what I needed to know. I'm really not going to enjoy sorting through the memories of what you ah...did in your spare time...." John said with slight disgust. John got out of his seat and began waving his hands a bit in the air to activate his O.H.M.D.G.s and quickly typed out a message to Viktor Kalishkakov, about how he'd obtained information regarding an outlaw hideout and how he and Noctis could expect the details in a few hours. John sent his message, yawned, and slipped his hand into his jacket before producing a SIG p226 with a suppressor and casually unloading two rounds into Sol's head before heading for the exit. The intel operative couldn't care less now that he had what he needed, after all on the off chance that the body was discovered by a gangbanger, no one would say anything. And at any rate Sol would've just been incarcerated or executed for his refusal to register his magical abilities anyway. John walked out of the building and began to half heartedly hum as he walked back towards the city, "Here's hoping I can find a cab at some point. This walking shit is for the birds...".
