The first thing that hit her once she got off the train was the cold. The city was situated on the north bank of a large lake, with gales of air breezing across the lake, adding to the cold weather. Snow had piled up to about a foot off the sidewalks and roads, which were plowed more often because of the daily use of commuters. Zurich was a surprisingly quaint and peaceful city, with only a few people willing to brave the icy chill for food or a quick commute to work, where they would stay inside for the rest of the day like all the other sane people. Most of the people she saw as she walked down the street wondering which bank to go to, were wrapped up in heavy coats with hats and scarves covering their faces, making the individual indistinguishable in the thin crowd. This only made her stand out more, with only a thin sweater and light coat she managed to snatch from a vender for a few francs. She was cold, cold enough to make her fingers go numb, but she managed to look completely calm and collected, as if she were taking an evening stroll down a caribbean beach with the warm sun at her back.

The sun here seemed to contrast greatly from the image in her mind. Instead of the soft red glow of the setting sun at a beach, it was pale, and seemed to almost flicker out as it fell from the sky, dipping below the horizon in the distance. She had to figure out where she needed to go. Shuffling down the cold streets in the dark with no destination in mind wasn't a good idea, especially if you didn't have the proper weather gear to combat the deadly silent snow. She needed to find the bank, but she didn't have the name of the bank or knew what it looked like. But she did have one thing. Most banks knew a customer by a name, not an account number. Judging by what she remembered the smiling man saying, the bank wouldn't know her face, but would let her see the account because she knew the number. She didn't have to write it down. She had ingrained it into her mind enough that she could recite it backwards.

The sun had now set, creating a noticeable decrease in the already cold temperature. But she had an idea. She kept walking until she had reached a street corner, where there was a telephone booth. Stepping inside, she pulled out the battered telephone book with all the numbers in the city. With a little luck, she would be able to find the bank in only a few calls. Opening it up, she flipped through the book, smiling at the fact that the book was divided up between different types of businesses and personal numbers. This made her job way easier. All she had to do was call each number under the bank tab and ask a few questions to see if she could identify the bank. She glanced through the pages. There were only about 200 different banking numbers in Zurich. Well shit, she thought. Time to start calling.

She entered the first number and a sweet but tired sounding voice of a woman started speaking in German. "Hello. This is Zurich Public Bank. How may I help you?" She was preparing to speak in Italian, not German so the sudden switch through her off. She stuttered for a second, "Y-yes, I'd like to know a few things about the bank." Cursing her stuttering, she came to a realization and added in a more confident tone, "You see, I'm not from around here and would like to figure out the differences between the banking procedures I'm used to and the local ones here." She shuffled her feet, hoping for an answer quickly. It was getting colder.

The telephone operator replied "Ah. Yes! Of course! What would you like to know?" The unknown woman answered in a slightly unsure tone. "Ahh, I've heard there was a bank in town that identified customers with account numbers and don't have any record of names." She could hear the woman on the other end of line hum in confusion but still answered. "You must be talking about Gemeinschaft Bank, the most high tech and protected bank in the country. Why are you asking about it? Only the rich use that bank." Taking in the information, she talked without thinking, "Well, a friend of mine asking me to get him some cash from his bank because he can't go himself. You see, he took a bad fall skiing the other day and broke his leg, actually fractured his thigh bone!" She added in a little laugh, trying to make it sound like she was unsure of herself, which was easy enough. She had no idea what she was doing. "And all he gave me was an account number and I don't know what to do with it! I've tried calling him but he won't pick up! It's infuriating!" She rambled on, hoping to get the operator annoyed and just give her the address. "And I have no clue where to go or what to do…" She was cut off. "Okay! That's alright! The place it sounds like your wanting to go is Gemeinschaft. It's just across the street from the old railways. You can't miss it!." She abruptly hung up, ending the call. She now knew where to go.

The bank was an old stone building made to resemble a castle from medieval Europe. It looked worn down, but once she stepped inside, it completely changed its characteristics. Everything was smooth tile and granite, with bright lighting and a large front desk, behind which sat two women clerks. It was like stepping through time. Taking it all in, the clerk asked "Can I help you, ma'am?" She jerked her head to look at the clerk, and smiled. "I want to access an account. The clerk reached down under the table, the sudden movement alarming her, shooting warning lights in her brain. She tensed noticeably, but the woman came back up with only a small scrap of paper in her hand. "Sign in please." she said. Pulling the paper towards her, she looked at it. The slip had only the name of the bank and 13 lines to insert the account number onto. Reaching for the fountain pen, she held it in her hand delicately, as if anything more would break it. In narrow, curved handwriting, she wrote 000-7-17-12-0-14-26. The clerk took back the paper, glanced at it, and then smiled brightly. "You may continue."

She was led down a set of stairs to a large room, with iron bars lining one wall and curtains lining another. She counted five guards, all with guns. The telephone operator wasn't lying when she said this was the most protected bank in Zurich. Walking forwards, one of the guards put a light hand on her shoulder, pushing her back some. She glared at him in anger, but pulled back when she saw him motion to a small panel at her side. It was a hand scanner, designed to identify people with hand prints. Panicking slightly, she started making a plan for when the scanner denied her entry. She pressed her palm down, and for a second thought something had gone wrong. The scanner beeped, and she pulled her hand back. The screen was green. She was in.

One of the workers led her to the far most curtain and pulled it back. Behind it, there was a small room with only a table and a red bag in a bin. She glanced around quizzically, but the worker brought in a small metal crate. She quickly realized something. The bank wasn't just a bank. It stored safety-deposit boxes. Nodding her thanks, the worker left and closed the curtains. Breathing deeply, she moved to open the box. Whatever was in here could tell her who she was. This would define her past. She opened it.

It was half empty. Someone had already been here. The layout of the box suggested it should be full to the brim with items, but there was an obvious large gap where items should be. What was missing wasn't as shocking as what was there. She stared down into the box, eyes widening at a passport, behind which sat four more. She reached in and lifted them out. The first was an American passport, with the name Daria Trent typed in. The address was listed as Paris. She lived in Paris. But she glanced at the others in her hand. Elizabeth Kane, Emily Briggs, Nikola Rovana, Ava Brodeur, all from different countries with different living addresses. Her mouth was open, completely in shock of what she saw. Tearing her eyes off the passports, she noticed large amounts of cash, all in different currencies from around the world. A black pistol sat there menacingly next to a large knife. She recognized them instantly, although she didn't know how. The pistol was a SIG Sauer SP2009, a short barrel, heavy handgun that fired 9mm ammo. The knife was a USA1003 Army Fixed Blade, made of 100% pure steel and sharp enough to cleanly cut through a small block of wood, or bone depending on your needs.

Feeling the sudden need to leave and breath fresh air, she lunged over and grabbed the bag from the bin. She shoved all of the cash in, roughly $100,000 total in US dollars, grabbed all five passports, and then hesitated. She looked down at what was left in the box. The pistol and the knife. She envisioned no situation where she would need to hurt somebody, but she gingerly picked up the knife and slid it into the bag. She yanked open the curtains and hurried out of the room, towards the lobby and the front doors. If she would have taken her time, she may have noticed one of the guards, still shocked, whisper into his wrist where a microphone was, "Confirmation. She's been sighted."