In a room at a corner of the city, an old man and a young man sat opposite the Mayor's secretary.
The two were dressed very ordinarily, indistinguishable from ordinary people. If they walked on the street, only a moment of distraction was needed, and they would blend in with the whole street.
They were the most standard of pedestrians, ordinary in attire, appearance, and hair, but they held extraordinary identities.
Assassins.
Assassination was a very ancient profession that had been active on the stage of history since the dawn of human society.
They, along with priests and prostitutes, were deemed some of the oldest professions.
Between them on the coffee table sat a photograph, a frontal portrait of Lance.
His face bore a smile, looking quite handsome, and a touch shy, making it hard to associate this sunny, handsome young man with the name "Lance family."
Even harder to associate him with "one-pound bullet!"
