Crossroads of the World
For the city that never slept, dusk at Times Square felt like a ghost town.

Everyone was on pins and needles. The curfew in effect, the spectre of boogeymen looming under sewer grates, New Yorkers reluctantly learned to adapt to the change, hopeful that soon things would turn back to normal.

Whistler stood staring at the news scrawl as it wound its way underneath the Coca-Cola advertisement. 'Envoy to Speak with United Nations Tomorrow'... 'Explanation of Current Crisis'...

That was him, wasn't it? The Envoy. Huge fuckin' letters letting everyone know answers were coming.

God he hoped he didn't flop sweat on camera.

But if the delegate from Uganda decided to lob a tomato at him, Rhiannon had his back.

And for the Agent, that was enough.