There he is, the man himself, Asa Sweet, sitting in his chair behind his sleek wooden desk. On his desk lies various paperwork, a telephone, and of course, a glass half full of whiskey. He has a cigarette clenched in between his teeth, as he usually does. He inhales, takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and blows out the smoke. "Ah, and who might you be? Why would you come to the office of good ol' Mr. Sweet?" He chuckles, and then looks at you expectantly, expecting an answer.