THE BLACK SIGNAL
Act I -- The Rain Hawk Hawkins' apartment smelled like bourbon and old circuit boards. Rain hammered the blackout curtains like handfuls of gravel. He was sitting in his armchair, which was more hole than chair at this point, reading a whiskey label by the light of a desk lamp when she walked in. No knock. No announcement. She was just there, sitting on the only other chair that wasn't covered...
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