The First Page

You're about five blocks away from the warehouse when you stop and take a breather, leaning against the wooden facade of a building as you gasp for air. Shit, that went about as poorly as it could have gone. Five thousand gold coins down the drain and you didn't even get all the weapons and gunpowder you were trying to buy. Your partner had his head blown off by a blunderbuss and from the looks of it the men you were just shaking hands and doing business with are on your ass. In fact, stopping this long is the worst thing you could do.

As if on cue, you hear faint shouts and calls from behind you. They're picking up your trail. You have to find somewhere to lay low. The question is, where? This isn't a street you recognize. If you keep running, you might find an area you're more familiar with and some more spots to lay low. Still, you scan this street: the building you're leaning against to recuperate has a sign marking it as a butcher shop. Perhaps you could take refuge in there?