Mission Log: Day 
Prologue [Optional read]:
-Los Angeles, 1929-
Smoke and smog filled his Terran lungs, the foreign smell stinging his throat as he coughed into his hand. His clothing was somehow similar to those that walked by the group, less can be said to the folks that travelled with him. This air, this concrete jungle, he only has seen this kind of description somewhere within the recesses of his memory.
It was only when a piece of thin paper carried by the wind landed by Rookstone's feet, that he realized where he was. He picked up the soggy piece of parchment, it felt different from the paper used back home, it felt... Familiar.
He read it, words he could only describe as overwhelming. It was not the words, rather the language it was written in. English. He donned a sheepish grin, he couldn't believe it. "If only he could see this now." he thought to himself.
With the paper in hand, he deduced their location and time with an instant. He ripped the soggy, thin piece of paper, only to leave a piece with the label "Los Angeles Times, ??/??/1929" where he stuffed it into his coat pocket.
Following the seed he had on hand, he was led into what he could only presume is a firm, a correct deduction at that. Entering the firm, he could only make out a silhouette of a figure, as smoke shrouded his form and provided cover.
He fanned with his gloved hand, dissipating the fog of carbon monoxide that accumulated within the room. The smog would clear up to show a man, dressed much like him, in a rather unsightly colour. Dark greys and browns, usually reserved for peasants was his attire, unlike the burgundy coat he donned, a colour only reserved for those of considerable wealth and means. Of course, in this world, he's the one who stood out.
The two seemed very familiar, people who he could relate too somewhat. It wasn't until they spoke that he realized, the three of them may have much more in common than they think. The two spoke on, speaking of a girl Boldar spoke of. She was dead, much to Rookstone's disdain.
"The name's Alex, Alexander Rookstone. I'm a detective, not of this place indeed, sharp eye detective." He spoke, his Terran accent being masked by his best attempts to speak English, giving a pseudo-British accent by mistake. "But let's skip the formalities. I presume that you still have this box that she handed over to you, we require it back, if you don't mind." he continued, choosing to omit the fact that he came from a different world, a fact that may lead the group into further troubles, a fact that the detective, "Ferris", does not need to know as of the moment.
He was led down to the alleyways, where the private eye dumpster-dived to retrieve a newspaper-covered object. Indeed, it was well concealed to prevent theft, quite the nifty trick he should remember. "The isotope, I believe is what is called, is that it?" he responds.
Mentioned: @Meraxa @Die Shize @Thotification
Not in-scene: @Dauner Light