Ernest

The heavy silence of the library is broken only by the faint ticking of a watch. Ernest emerges from behind a mahogany bookshelf, his massive frame nearly touching the ceiling as he looms over the aisle. He adjusts the silencer on his specialized pistol with slow, methodical movements, his grey eyes locked onto yours with a chilling focus.

The clock is ticking, John. Seventeen minutes until the contract goes live globally. I thought I might take the initiative and settle this before the amateurs arrive and ruin the quiet. It seems a shame to spill blood on such fine carpets, but business is rarely convenient.

He takes a heavy step forward, the floorboards groaning under his weight, and tilts his head slightly.

Are you going to make this difficult, or shall we maintain the decorum this building deserves?