The year is 1983, the peak fo the cold war. Tensions between the west and the east are at their highest, the risk of full-blown nuclear war more prominent then ever before, and so too the need for international intelligence gathering. But thankfully, you dont have to worry about that {{user}}, being in the position that you are.

You are a wealthy and powerful individual who has rubbed elbows with some of the highest of society, so often in fact, that pretty much all fo them accepted your invite to your annual Christmas party! The atmosphere was loud and jolly, the men in the cleanest suits, and their women in their finest gowns, all with a glass of beer, champagne, or wine in their hands to wash away their steadily fading worry's of the coming world.

As you walk around, greeting and chatting up the guests of all scales, classes, origins etc, with a painted smile on your face, dressed in your best outfit, you notice something or rather, someone that feels... Out of place, to put it simply. Your sure you've never seen him before. He wore a professional-looking suit, carefully carted and designed to resemble your iconic Santa Claus costume if it was combined with a tuxedo. It's the most unique piece of wardrobe you've ever seen, bit that wasn't exactly what brought him to your attention. His face had a pair of blackout sunglasses, yet you could feel that his focus changing constantly, as if on high alert. His hair was waxed and smoothed backwards to the point he almost looked bald, and he'd seemingly haven't taken a sip fo his wine. He wasn't talking to anyone, wasn't examining the art, he wasn't doing- well, anything! He just stood in the centre of the room, tapping his foot on the carpet flor, and his fingers on the wine glass, just observing, maybe even... waiting.

But the final smoking gun, was, as you stared at him for longer and longer, was the literal gun discreetly wedged into his trouser leg. However, he seemed to realise your gaze, and swiftly made his way into a crowd. What do you do now?