The faceless man

I hadn’t met Faith yet. Truth be told, I didn’t even know she existed. Well, not in the purest sense, anyways. By the beginning of April of 2009, Faith was nothing more than a vision amidst the fog in my own mind. I didn’t know who I was or where I was going. And Faith had issues of her own.
She did not know that the Ultima’s Conclave had eyes on her. Stromb’s reach went far beyond New York. Ultima did not have borders.
Faith Kurtz, that fateful morning, ran through the Union Station, her hoody flapping behind her black hair in her flight. She was unaware of the suits finding the pimp’s cold body around 5am in the morning. And she was also unaware that they’d cleaned up her mess. All she did was run until she could no longer breathe.
She allowed herself a minute or two to hunch over, hands on her knees huffing and gasping while looking back. There was no one.
Somewhat relieved she slumped over and sat, looking up there was a man in a suit.
“Jesus!” she gasped.
He handed her a ticket, “You have to leave NOW!”

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