He woke up, legs stiff and arms sore, unsure of the night before. He raised his hand to his temple, which grazed the newly laid stitches that were the source of the pain in his head. The man stood up, red-eyed and hazy, and looked down the dimly lit alley to determine his whereabouts. The sound of his ringtone filled his weary head as he glanced down at his phone. His phone presented him with the name of the caller. Christopher. "Go to Wynyard Station. Be there in one hour." Hearing his cold ...