Wet salt wafts over from the window as you step into a small, broken office and let the door swing shut behind you. It's a God-forsaken mess if you've ever seen one--papers scattered about, a desk overturned, and a prominent skeleton splayed out in the center of the floor, impaled on a steel-poled American flag. A no-nonsense Grifter sits in the corner typing away on his typewriter, paying you, and the corpse, no mind at all. To his right are piles upon piles of thousands upon thousands of papers, all seemingly typed by him.

You could be greeted, if it mattered, but you won't be. He's far too enamored with his typing.

A thought occurs to you, "Can you reclaim it?"

It's not one you fully understand. Luckily, the thought continues, "Read the entries."

You nod to yourself, not quite sure what you're doing.

The entries are as follows:

It's a pleasure to have you,

but don't stay too long.

-₩.C.