Pt. VII. Don't Look An Iron Horse In The Mouth.
Four identical, white, non-descript-to-the-point-of-sticking-out-like-a-sore-thumb vans parked in front of the coffee shop while Vincent Harris and Agent 34 were finishing up their coffee break.
"How do we know you're right?" Harris asked. "Don't get me wrong. Your idea makes sense and I really dig trains, so I'm in. But what if you're wrong?" Harris ignored the four assault vans. He assumed they were full of government agents who were used to hanging out with aliens and didn't seem to care too much for the Constitution.
The white vans shut their engines off, not in unison but almost in unison. It was close enough to make it seem creepy and slightly unnatural.
"I'm not. Watch this."
Agent 34 stood up and waved right at the vans like they were full of co-workers who liked her and not co-workers that tried to kill her earlier in the day.
"You should come with me so you can see how right I am," She said while walking towards the door.
Vincent Harris followed, slightly puzzled. He mentally made a few plans as to how he'd kill everyone in the vans if it came to that. He was sure he could do it without making too much of a fuss. There might be some goo puddles and limbs leftover, but he was certain he could make it look like an accident. He was even fairly confident Agent 34 would survive; she'd been pretty good at not dying so far.