August 22, morning.
The morning sun was bright, casting its light on the skyscraper district of Shinjuku. Jack looked out at the scene through the floor-to-ceiling window.
The blue sky indicated it was going to be another good day.
He held a square whiskey glass in his hand, filled with ice.
Every morning, looking at the street view outside, the busy traffic and pedestrians gave him a sense of the exquisite feeling of holding power.
But this wonderful feeling could be suppressed by the news that power brought.
Thinking about the latest intelligence coming from above, Jack sighed and finished his glass of whiskey.
He wouldn't drink himself into a stupor like in the past, but he had developed a habit of having a few drinks every morning.
A few drinks during breaks, a few drinks in the evening.
In the increasingly severe situation, only alcohol and women could numb his nerves.
He had to relax tonight again.
