The Diner

It feels good to be back on American soil, you think to yourself as you head down the New York City sidewalk, glad to see cars driving on the right side of the road once again. What would the Big Apple be without traffic?

Up ahead, you see the DINER sign hanging from an old brick building. Lloyd Collins, your contact in the underground organization known as the Kill Squad, called you less than twenty minutes ago, asking you – no, telling you to meet him there.

The diner is small and cramped, with a film of grease on everything and an odor of wet French fries permeating the air. Even in a bad economy, cheap eats like this maintain an adequate clientele, and the place is crowded. But it doesn't take you long to see Lloyd, sitting alone in the booth at the far end of the dining area.

As you approach him, Lloyd doesn't take his eyes off his menu.

"Sit down," he says. "You hungry?"

"Not really," you reply.

"You should at least take a look at your menu before you decide."

He looks at you significantly.

• Open the menu...