The Shadow

The Shadow has not gone to be promptly since he was ten years old, but his injury has been forcing him to catch sleep at fairly regular intervals. There is nothing like mild oxygen deprivation for wearing one out. He nods, and reaches for the PINpoint as it softly beeps. His earlier fit of anger has passed, or at least been forcibly stifled, and he seems himself again. "I'll be ready, and you can come here. If anyone asks, I'll say you're a niece or something..." His tone is mildly distracted as he reads the text across the PINpoint's screen, but once he has read it he merely puts the device aside again. Burbank's informational reports come in fits and spurts, feeding him in pieces what would ordinarily be saved for a batch report over the phone.