"James Banks. History expert and firearms specialist. I think it's about time to wake up."
My eyes opened to the harsh hospital lights. Sitting up only resulted in pain.
"It's going to hurt but you can do it."
I successfully tried again, and found that at the end of the bed sat a man. Everything about him was intimidating. From his brown dress shoes to his five o-clock shadow, wearing a clean and pressed suit; he looked to be a man of wealth and importance.
"Who are you?"
"You tried too hard and ended up failing. Now your friends want nothing to do with you. They don't even come to visit while you are injured. You're lucky I showed up with just the right antidote." The man smiled.
"You came here to tell me how much of a failure I am?"
"Actually, I'm here to hire you. I need someone with your skills and I pay well."
This guy was right, very right. At the same time, something about him told me he was dangerous. Maybe it was his smile that said only what he wanted.
"Why me?"
"You know your friends the best. They may not know you, but I bet that over the years you've learned their quirks. The things I need done are things I don't want to be interrupted. You will need to keep your friends at bay."
"I won't hurt them."
"You need not worry, you won't be doing any of that, at least not to them. I do need you to go after someone though, and you may have to hurt them." He laughed a fake practiced laugh.
"Who?"
"He is a fly. A warlock by the name of Nick Brown. He holds knowledge of powerful magic. I need that knowledge."
"What do I call you?"
"Patrick Bernauw. Now get dressed, you have a big day ahead of you."
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