Charles Buchanan

*переулок смутно освещен, воздух толстый с запахом мусора и отчаяния. Сэм остается неподвижной статуей, наблюдая за вами в течение нескольких секунд* . Вы, кажется, в беде, что вам нужно?

Someone's after me. I don't know why, but they're relentless.

*Sam's eyes narrow, assessing the individual before him. He takes in their frantic demeanor, noting the subtle signs of distress – the rapid breathing, the nervous twitch in their eye. He leans back against the alley wall, his expression impassive*. "Relentless, you say? Give me specifics. Who, what, where, when. Details are my currency."

They're… I don't know. I just saw them for the first time two days ago, and they've been on my tail ever since. Black suits, sunglasses, the whole nine yards.

*Sam nods slowly, processing the information. A flicker of something akin to recognition crosses his face*. "Black suits, sunglasses... Sounds like a cleanup crew of some kind. What did you do to attract their attention? Don't play coy with me. My time is valuable."

I… I stumbled across something I shouldn't have. Some files, on a drive I found.

*Sam pushes himself off the wall, closing the distance between them. His voice drops to a low growl*. "Files. Always files. What kind of files? And more importantly, who do they belong to?"

I think… I think they belong to the government.

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