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GM Freedom City January 17th The Residence of Jennifer James... 'Twas a most mysterious package, sent first class. The motorcycle courier had looked out of breath, saying he the delivery company had been ordered to send it with every speed. Ordered. Perhaps threatened. The package, once unwrapped, was an ice box. And inside the ice box was a jar of frozen blood, complete with a note. It was handwritten, and elegant. Dear Ms. James, My name is Winston Welsh. I am not a well man. In my bold endeavours for health I have read much about less conventional medicine, the supernatural, and so on. And I have dug deep into my family history, in search of an understanding of my haematological ailment, for no doctor understands it. I have come to believe (although I may be crazed and clinging to delusional hope), That you are a distant relative, and, maybe, a potential cure. Despite the remote possibility of my conclusion being true (as opposed to birthed from a maddened mind), I cling to hope. If correct, I would hope that this jar would give you good road to New Orleans, where I currently reside...