As you shaked your glass, you glanced at the newspaper the man next to you was reading, the headline; and almost every page, talked about the incessant murders.

It was funny really— the atmosphere in this bar was peaceful, despite you being in the midst….

The man holding the newspaper raised his glass, offering you a toast. Your glasses clinked together and he smiled.

“Found you, {{user}}.” His eyes pierced you.

How does he know your name— more importantly, how much does he know?