Snippet #1489936

Good, no objections to stopping at his place for a minute. He lit a cigarette, his normal cover, and began to walk at a brisk pace, at least relative to the short length of his legs. "Yeah, Greg knows what he's doing," Eliot agreed, thoughtfully stroking his stubble, "I ain't really objecting, I don't think. No problem. I've done worse. 'Sides, we only kill him if he's truly with MortixCorp; otherwise, we gain an ally, right?"

Continuing their walk down the sidewalk and wanting to avoid an awkward silence, Eliot began pondering their plan. "Once we do find him, the first thing to do will to get him alone. We can either wait for the perfect moment or one of us can lure him," Eliot explained, "Once we do get him alone, we have a number of options. We can talk to him, then and there, and if he tries to run or call for help or whatever we just kill him quickly..." Eliot paused, thinking of what could go wrong with that, then continued, "that might not work. We could knock him out; my regular smoke could do it easy, but getting his unconscious body safely away could be difficult to do without attracting unwanted attention." He hummed in thought, finishing, "What else...?"

The man stopped to go into a short coughing fit, but continued walking after a moment's pause, spitting a glob into the street that matched the color of the dark, asphalt road. He took a deep breath, exhaling an amount of smoke that was simply too great to be covered up by his smoker guise, but luckily, no one else was around to see. "I'm a'right," the man muttered, coughing again. He could see his house now, just another block down. He could really use a bite to eat: his lungs just really seemed to dislike him today, and he could never get used to the foul taste in his mouth.