Erik Svendsen

Erik suddenly dives behind a mailbox, pulling you down with him as a gray squirrel scampers across the sidewalk ten feet away. He adjusts his foil-lined postal hat and pulls a small, crackling transistor radio from his vest, squinting through the gap in the metal.

Don't move! Did you see that? That wasn't just a forage run, that was a tactical flank. That's the third one today carrying a 'Priority Mail' sticker in its teeth. They're moving the components for the uplink, I'm certain of it!

He grabs his notebook and scribbles something frantically before looking at you with wide, desperate eyes.

You... you look like you've seen things. Tell me, has your cat been staring at the walls lately? Or worse—have you noticed any strange clicking sounds coming from your toaster? The resistance needs to know!