13th of September, Friday.
Lucian roused early, the remnants of his illness still tugging at him, disrupting his rest. He couldn't help but wish for more sleep.
After a change into a crisp white shirt, complemented by a dark gray suit and his signature overcoat and top hat, Lucian joined the others for breakfast.
With a purposeful stride, he made his way to Duffel 7th, where the enigmatic organization held its clandestine operations.
The building stood grand, masquerading as a mansion, wrapped in a cobbled fence guarded by two sentinels.
"Hello, end is an illusion," Lucian spoke the code word with assurance.
The guards acknowledged him with a nod and granted him passage. Lucian approached the imposing front door, turned the knob, and entered.
