It all started in a diner, well after midnight. They'd spent countless hours in that same place, or some similar dump, devising stories of intrigue and danger, never once relenting. That night was different, though. That night, there came a pause- a question to break the freight-train drive of their hallowed work…
…Where would they stash it all? Surely there were countless scoundrels abroad in waiting, but where would those hungry souls go to find such tales of deviance and detriment? They saw the lay of the land- the market, its constituents. Even more so, they knew that people were out there- people just like them, latently seething to pick up what had been put down in the name of security.
They had conjured the will. They had finished the work. A place was what they needed.
...A safe deposit box for the unsafe...
The two conspirators immediately resigned to their default dilligence- pooling resources, curating product, calling in the muscle. Within no real time, they had made their place, fully stocked with shocking tales of lawless exercise, and growing. You are in that place…
…Be warned…