Kid took slow, shaking steps backwards, the gun quivering at the end of his outstretched arm. The oily stench of the warehouse made his eyes water, but he struggled to keep his sights on the stranger.
“You’re with the Agency, aren’t you?” Kid snapped, more shrill than he had intended.
The stranger shook his head, infuriatingly calm. He held his hands up by his head, as Kid had insisted, but in such a relaxed manner that he could merely have been stretching.
“No, the Agency are out for me as much as you,” his voice was gentle too, as if they were talking over coffee. “Lower the gun. I have a lot to talk to you about and we’ll both get tired arms standing about like this.”
“The military then, you’re working for them! You want what I know.”
“No and yes respectively,” the stranger gave a pleading frown. " I need you to do one thing: trust me, Kid. You have no idea who I am. You could be guessing all night. I know you have no reason to trust me, but all the other options are worse."
Slowly, Kid lowered the gun.