The old man sits in the office of his small discreet family restaurant flipping through a catalogue of young women and marking certain pics with a red X in thick permanent marker.


A knock at the door and a fat man opens it saying "boss someone says he's from that Verloren guy"....the old man stumbles and throws the book under his desk....."well let him in......er er er take a seat my friend" as Amnesia walks in the room, his face barely visible "no need this will take a minute....you either stop what you are currently doing with great haste as was agreed when you took over or you'll face the same fate as your predecessor.....no ifs or buts....one more mention of the syndicate and you'll only wish you were in hell....the syndicate died now let's keep it that way" Amnesia turns and walks out.....the old man furiously picks up the landline and starts typing a number but his trembling hands are pushing everything, he starts to hyperventilate then slams down the phone n struggles to say...."get me that fucking posh cunt" before the fat guy runs over with an inhaler and the old man snatches at it, gasping for breath as he inhales it.


Wilhelm walks into the old man's office and sits down....."did I say you could sit" says the old man as he lights his thick cigar.... Wilhelm goes to stand up .."I'm joking with you, here have a drink (he passes him a generously poured cognac and smiles before his face changes to an evil grimace) sit down you stupid ignorant fuck......it seems my actions have gotten the attention of a problem that wouldn't have been a problem had you been a man of your fucking word....have you heard the name Nascere...." Before he could finish..." That guy's not real...." (he laughs and the old man leans forward swiping the glass out of his hand) " Now listen here you fuck" ....as he wipes the bits of brandy off of Wilhelms face.... "48 hours, 48 fucking small hours before a ship lands at the north port with more pussy onboard than cat city and if (whispers and leans forward) Nascere cannot be tempted with the power of the great British monarchy just because I don't have it, simply because you chat fucking shit then you my friend will suffer the fate of your treasonous ancestors.... flayed, drawn and quartered.....fuck it I'll get my grandson to tik tok live it....."


Wilhelm, now sitting in his own piss...."he'll be at his tailors later today"..."how do you know this?"....."the old fool wouldn't take me and there's only a handful of people who could jump in line before me....it's definitely his appointment"


The old man gets on the phone.... "Patrice, get everyone together, forty five minutes, pack for heavy rain" and hangs up.


Wilhelm..."no no no, we have to be subtle....look...he has no security...nobody even knows who he is for Christ sake".....the old man jumps in....."so it will be easy to ambush him"...."no no you don't get it, everything you're working toward will be impossible....I'm talking nationwide lockdown......erm erm ......growing up he was in hospital all the time....some sort of blood thing...". ...."we poison him!!" ....."exactly....but Joe..."...."Joe what?"....."no Joe!" ...what you mean Joe??"...."Joe!! What else could I mean?".....the old man frustrated "Joe what!!!?? Like yo!! Come here? Like yo I got an idea!!"...."Joe, Joe, it's a fucking name, J-O-E Joe!!" ....."oh, so who is this Joe?".... "The family tailor"....."we kidnap his kids"...."no kids..."...."then we kidnap his wife"....."no wife"......."then we kidnap his fucking dog!!!!"


Joe is sat in his fire lit living room in his favourite reclining chair asleep with the TV on playing Rasputin by ABBA, a blanket on his lap then his little chihuahua on top of a pink cushion with tassels. His doorbell rings.