A house sat in the nondescript city-block, barely distinguishable from those around it. Its actual physical appearance was hardly worth describing, with an angled, red-shingled roof, two stories with whitish-grey walls, and glass windows whose shades were presently closed. The garage was off to the right (should one be looking at it from the front), and the front door sat behind the small porch to the left. Overall, very homely and comfortable, if nothing else.
A tall, almost lanky figure approached said house, bearing a white bowler-hat on his raven-haired scalp, a grey trench-coat around his average-sized shoulders, and a metallic briefcase that had clearly seen better days in his bare, bleached right hand. In the crook of his left elbow, an unlabeled cardboard box was held, the box itself measuring roughly four inches (or ten centimeters) to an edge. A slight drizzle was providing some darkened spots on the ill-protected package, but the contents would be no worse for