Monday, September 19, 3 AM

                                    Post Office in Monaco

Fog rolls in from the coastline and shrouds the streets of Monaco. A distant foghorn alerts ships coming in from the sea to be careful. Only the streetlamps appear visible through it. Unaware of the fog’s arrival, tourists cling to their dreams of winning and/or losing fortunes at casinos, while natives lie in anticipation for profits. The silence outside nearly overshadows a diminutive man walking.

He wears a long flowing trench coat with a bowler hat topping his balding head. A mustache guards his face, while sunglasses and a scarf guard his eyes and his neck, an unusual attire for a warm coastal destination. Despite appearing elderly (which he is). Despite his arched back and graying hair, he speeds down the sidewalk.

He stumbles twice on his trench coat as he runs towards the post office. Out of his left pocket, he pulls four envelopes with red wax stamps. Each one has an address for one specific person, and within them is a letter and a miniature deck of playing cards.

The man finds a mailbox near the entrance, and one by one drops each envelope into it.

A sudden crashing sound sends the man sprinting down the sidewalk. He turns around and notices a large grey cat strutting from the candle shop across the street.

The man sighs and continues his way, failing to notice the knife that cuts through his leg.

Morning arrives, and locals and tourists go about their business. No one notices a patch of liquid scarlet that has been drying up under the sun for several hours.

Meanwhile, the letters go to their separate destinations — one for the United States of America, one for Europe, one for Asia, and one for Africa.