“This wind is kicking my ass” grumbled the shorter and stockier of the two hooded figures crouched in the bushes to the side of the dirt road that wound through the eerie woods. “How long do we have to wait here, Arturo?”.
“Man up, Scoria” snapped the other dark silhouette. “The caravan should be along any minute now.” It wasn’t that Arturo wasn’t experiencing discomfort similar to his brother’s, — the wind whipping his skin raw made sure of that — but the intensity of the impending skirmish was making him tense. The brothers had done a wide variety of jobs (usually threats or robberies) for a wide variety of clients, but this time was different. This time, he had been contacted by an anonymous customer offering to pay him a ridiculous sum of money to steal a small locked chest from a Scissor Enterprises caravan. The brothers were not to ask questions, only to acquire the box by any means necessary. Arturo wondered what could be so important, but he decided that he really didn’t want to know.

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