The Freelancer (No.145): S1E2

Send an Encrypted Message to the Men

Aviation Cocktail, from the 1920’s… tastes like spring.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aviation_(cocktail)

Ah, the Freelancer. A man so unassuming, so beige in every conceivable way, that he could walk into a crowded café, poison half the patrons, and still be the least interesting person there. His murders? Magnificent in their orchestration — “accidents,” you see. Collapsed train bridges, derailed subways, exploded ferries. Always tragic, always newsworthy, always profitable for someone. And yet, this time, he miscalculated. He targeted the wrong charity queen. She was far more dangerous than the man he was meant to be.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, is still wet behind the ears, flailing with a badge and a backstory. She’s chasing ghosts and holding onto her sense of justice like a child clutching a security blanket — charming, really. But she’s starting to see that the line between good and evil is not a line at all. It’s a Rorschach smear. And I, of course, am the one holding the inkblot.