"What's wrong, is it strange?"
The man in the trench coat took off his blood-stained coat and casually tossed it over the back of a chair:
"I got the inspiration from watching a TV show back then. An idea sprouted, so I mentioned it to the higher-ups."
"Lord Claude couldn't praise my plan enough, immediately made a decision, and started working on this capture operation."
He sat with legs crossed, a hint of pride in his voice:
"Although I'm not the official commander of this operation, I have been a strategist of sorts, and I'm fully aware of the entire setup."
"So you can rest easy; everything is according to plan. It's just a matter of going out to hunt a few unlucky ones now, nothing too drastic."
"If you're interested, next time I'll bring you some fresh blood to try, to change your taste."
The fat man heard this, his face scrunching up, laughing:
"Hearing that, I'm relieved. Staying in this godforsaken place, my mouth's all dried out."
