Victor looked quickly over his shoulder as he stepped into the alleyway. It would be scandal enough if a colleague recognized him in this part of town, but if he were noticed stepping into a such a dank, dead-ended passageway such as this, in his well tailored suit and expensive shoes, surely someone's curiosity would be aroused. Thankfully, there was no one on the street sober enough to be paying him any attention. He carefully counted three dumpsters, cursing under his breath at the fact that they always seemed to be overflowing with some new and disgusting filth, and poked gingerly at the boarded over door in the shadow of the third with his shoe. There was nearly silent whirring, and what had appeared to be a knot hole retracted. Victor hesitated, then braced himself as he placed his pinky-finger into the hole. He withdrew it quickly, but not before he felt the prick of a tiny needle. Moments later the door opened, and Victor stepped forward into an unlit hallway, which sack into pitch darkness as the door behind him closed. Victor began walking slowly forward, until he heard a second door close behind him, and a voice say "Please, Mr. Abrams, have a seat."
Victor sat, and a different voice said "Well Mr. Abrams, we'd love to know how you found our contact, but that can wait. You say you have urgent information about the recent... problems, that have occurred in Washington and Springfield?" Victor peered into the dark as the man spoke, waiting for his eyes to adjust and said "Yes, and I know about the attack near Charleston." This was greeted with several beats of silence, then "I see. Information on that last event has been difficult to assertion, even for us. Tell us what you know." Victor's eyes were not adjusting, it seemed the room was completely blacked out. Victor stared in the direction of the voice and slowly moved his hand into his pocket. "I can't give you that information for free...", a second voice cut him off "Money is not an object. We will determine how much your information is worth, but we can assure you, you will be well compensated." Victor turned his head sharply, as this voice seemed to be to his left, and above him. "I don't need your money, I want a promise. I don't want you to try to kill him." "We cannot promise that we will not kill. If a man needs to die for this nation to remain safe, we must do it" the first voice said. "Oh, I think you misunderstand me" said Victor, "I don't want you to _try_ to kill him. You wouldn't be able to, not at this point, but the trying will make him angry, and will make things much harder for all of us." A third voice spoke, from Victor's right: "You don't mean..."
"Yes" Victor said, as his fingers tightened around his phone, "Its him. Zombie Lincoln is back."
He whipped out his phone and depressed a key, flashing what he knew to be a dim light, but one that was blinding after the absolute darkness. The room was small and square, with only one door, behind him. There was no sign of the men he had been talking to. In fact, the room was empty, with bare walls except for a vent near the ceiling, where Victor thought he saw a whisp of smoke disappearing, but it was gone before he could find an application on his phone that was bright enough to show it clearly. Not wanting to spend another minute in the strange place, Victor shoved the door behind him open, walked quickly down the hall way, which was a unadorned as the room he had been in, and longer than he had realized, and slipped back into the alley. He walked back past the dumpsters and out of the alley, his pace increased as he looked around vainly for a cab to take him away. He hoped he had done the right thing, because it was begging to look like this time, Lincoln's plans were bigger than he could handle without help.
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