Chapter 1 - 3

Reginald Archer, the Terror Above Fourth, didn’t seem very dangerous. He was tall and slim, and wore a fine dark blue three-piece suit. His hair was short but mildly styled, maybe a $40-50 haircut, he was cleanly shaven, and wore a pair of rectangular glasses. He walked casually, his plain black dress shoes clacking against the sidewalk as he idled forward with his hands in his pockets. Nobody really paid him much attention, as he glided through the foot traffic of the city. If anyone did see him, they probably thought of him as a young business professional out to lunch or on an errand, when really, Reginald hadn’t held a job in over four years.

He was headed for the stranger part of town, where the young hipsters shared studio apartments and kebobs were sold on the street, where the streets were dirty and empty except for the homeless and the listless. Reginald sympathized with them, and gave money to any homeless he saw, because he knew that he was in the same position, if under infinitely better circumstances.

After about an hour of walking from the Financial district, he arrived at his destination, a small Cuban restaurant next to an ex-art studio. He stepped in, said hello to the cashier (who didn’t recognize him and merely waved back), and headed to the back, where, as he was hoping, was the person he was looking for.

“Archer, you sly devil,” she said, jumping up and giving him a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“It's good to see you too, Tina.”