Billy Baker, the sixteen year-old wunderkind, walked into the basement. His plan was to once again steal Merchant Mariner’s beer, but as soon as he got down there, he noticed that The Golden Man was missing.
“Guys, what the fuck!?!” he yelled.
“I’m going to have to call you back!” Prometheus yelled into his cell phone. “We got a problem?” he asked Billy, “Should I get suited up?”
“Probably,” Billy said, “though I don’t see any immediate danger, so don’t pull the alarm.”
Billy scoped out the room, relying on his photographic memory and acute mental acuity to surmise that The Golden Man was not in the room, and that nobody was in immediate danger.
Eventually Prometheus let the Merchant Mariner know what was up. The two of them entered the basement.
“No damn way The Golden Man got stolen while we were in the house,” Merchant Mariner said.
“I think he was stolen before,” Billy explained, “Makes the most sense.”
“And got past these eyes? I was down here earlier. No way.”
“You’re probably right,” Billy lied.