The Thief -3- The next day, Rob stood across the street from his next target. It was a small, comely department store crammed in between a jewelers and a bank. He never went for banks, he felt it was too classic. People would expect it. At exactly twelve o' clock he made his move. A small bell jangled as he entered. The clerk was wearing dark sunglasses and staring intently at a thick black book. Drawing his pistol out from underneath his long dark coat, Rob made nod to the cash register. The clerk didn't bat an eye. Perhaps he didn't notice, thought Rob, and cocked the gun for good measure. As he did, the runes running down the sides of the barrel lit up a dark green. Still the clerk continued reading. "Must be one helluva book," Rob commented. "Indeed." Something was wrong. No one had ever reacted this way. The hair on Rob's neck stood up as he felt the cold metal of a handgun against the back of his neck. A blunt thud resounded throughout the shop as an elbow made contact with the back of Rob's head. ---- He awoke in an interrogation room. But this one was different. The floor was a dark, smooth stone material with a large ring around a simple table and various markings carved into it. A single lamp hung from the ceiling cast shadows on the wall and provided barely adequate lighting. Across the table sat a muscular yet ragged looking man with stubble on his chin and a distinct stench of coffee trailing off him. "I'm Detective Mark Donahoe. I will be performing this interrogation." "Detective?" questioned Rob, still feeling an ache where the blow had landed. "With who? Police? FBI?" "Doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have been getting into quite some trou--" "You're with The Order, aren't you?" Rob interrupted. The detective hesitated, then nodded slowly. "And you're not here about the robberies, either. No, you could have come long ago, when I first started. But you didn't. Tell me, detective, why am I here?" The detective again hesitated, then spoke, quietly and gravely. "Because we need you."