Stratford Streets

<1.5 hours until clone death

From behind the wheel of the minivan, Henry's duplicate was getting a little worried at how their new companion had gone utterly silent. Evelyn, after dropping that giant bombshell earlier, had returned to her perch above without a word right after, and he'd been too preoccupied with navigating the road conditions to check back in. She clearly had something on her mind – that much was obvious – but now didn't seem like it was the best time to pry further.

If only he didn't have to keep his full focus on navigating what was likely the worst road conditions known to both God and man. Misty fog? Check. Frequent detours? Definitely check. Potholes, roadblocks, and other rubble that made navigating what should have been a straight line an absolute nightmare?

More than you could imagine, check. As it stood, they were on a course that took them more towards London Airport than it did Stratford proper.

Though, that was mainly at the behest of the recent updates on the radio than anything.

"As we wind out that last song, I'm receiving reports of wolf activity in and around the edges of Stratford, of all places! Seems to be quite a stir, from what our scouts can tell, and hot off the heels of the attacks that rocked the area not two days ago, at that! Must be the Knights doing another clearing expedition, pushing some of the extra packs our way in the process. Enemy of my enemy, and all…"

"Well, since we'll all need to close up shop and be quiet here for a little while, seems we'll be switching to the mellow tunes. Sorry folks, but the 'hunker down' playlist will be going on for a while, starting with… 'Fade Into You', it looks like."

Gentle acoustic rock strummed on the radio at low volume while he killed the running lights of the vehicle. Normally, in this circumstance, he'd be looking for somewhere to pull over and do as everyone sensible did in this situation. Find a nice, dark corner out of the way, keep an eye out and wait for this all to blow over.

Unfortunately, he was on a rather uncompromising clock at the moment. Best he could do was keep the engine running as slowly as possible and coast through the side streets with the windows up to keep the noise down as much as he could. That, and pray that this didn't turn into a chase.

He noticed Henry and Layla start to nod off as the lazy conditions began to take their toll. As they both started yawning and getting some shut-eye, he reached for the travel mug of coffee in the cup holder in front of him. Looks like he'd have to be vigilant for them, for now.

Not the worst thing, honestly. If it meant that everyone else was well rested and on top of their game going into this, it'd be fine if he was the one who took up the slack. It's what he was here for.

Come to think of it, did he even sleep the entire time they were looking for that artifact? Sure, he just switched to a body that had gotten some proper rest, but some of that still sticks around regardless.

Before he could ponder it further, the lights from the radio momentarily flashed the telltale lime-green of Tech Domain magic. The volume level of the music dipped slightly, as Evelyn's robotic voice came in from one speaker.

"Do you have a moment?", it asked simply.

"You can hear me?", he asked back quietly, raising his eyebrow as he turned the wheel hand over hand to make a sharp left at an intersection.

"A microphone is just a speaker in reverse. I hope you don't mind the switch from stereo to mono."

"Meh, it's not all bad. Anyways, something on your mind?"

"...Quite. I wanted to ask you about-"

"East Hammersmith, buried out behind the Premier Inn at the edge of the Shroud.", the copy interjected.

"Wha-?! How did you-"

"I didn't, but it was my first guess. I hadn't realized just what that artifact was that I'd taken off your hands until just now. Hell, I probably would have never figured it out if you hadn't dropped your name earlier. At the time, I'd thought it was broken or something, the way it kept repeating 'ev, ev' at me and flailing about like mad. So, sorry when I say this, but I stuck it in a low importance stash and nearly forgot about it."

"That is… disappointing."

"Right? You know what they say, hindsight's 20/20 and all. Though in my defense, your first solution was to hound me down for it and try to kill me."

She paused momentarily, before conceding the point.

"...That much is true. I was… not in a sound state of mind at the time. So, in a way, I suppose I'm benefiting from hindsight just as much as you are."

"Sound state of mind? Do you… want to talk about it?"

"Mm. Perhaps later. For now, let's just say that, as bad as my situation with the Gentleman's Club is, there was one benefit to being trapped in my own mind."

"And that is?"

"I had plenty of time to sort out my own issues."

"...That can't be healthy."

She chuckled. "I know, right? But it beat resigning myself to my reputation entirely."

He laughed a little too. It was comforting, having someone to gripe about the world with. And, as it turns out, they'd both come to the same conclusion: that it was better to do something about it than let the world take you where it pleased.

"You sound better when you talk like that," he replied

"...Sorry?"

"When you speak naturally like you just did there. Most of the time, you're doing the whole precise diction thing, like you're choosing the most efficient word for the sentence? But for a second, that dropped away. And it sounded like… well, you."

"…You would make a killing as a therapist."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Noted. And, glad you liked it."

Funny she would say that, actually. He'd just been doing his usual bar routine there. Keep them talking, give them a space to bemoan their problems, and let them confide in him for a while so they could finally get that weight off their shoulders. It had worked on everyone from the local football hooligans to that one centenarian veteran of the Great War that would typically show up to swap service tales with Randall. It had a way of slipping into his conversations, but what did that matter if it made things better?

Guess it's just part of who I am…

They talked of nothing important for a while longer over the radio, just idle chatter while they slowly made their way back. It was good for keeping him awake, but with that added clarity came a slight sense of unease.

As of yet, neither of them had noticed even a trace of a werewolf in the area. If the area was supposedly crawling with them right now, where had they all gone?

"Careful, Henry."

"What? Is there finally a pack nearby?" He immediately went into high alert.

"No…" Evelyn responded in the negative. "Up ahead, there's a man. Standing in the middle of the road, alone."

"Really? That's strange… The only time I've seen that happen before without it ending badly for the person doing it was when… oh shit…"

"What? Who is-"

The duplicate powered off the radio and rolled the window down all the way. Could he be wrong about who this might be? Maybe. But if there was anyone who'd be crazy enough to try something this bold, it was the man who'd done it to him once already.

Sure enough, at the edge of the mist he could now see his rough outline. Broad shouldered, wearing a heavy overcoat and the instantly recognizable capsule-shaped hat of a police officer. That was him, alright.

Bloody hell… at least he's looking to talk rather than fight, or he'd have charged in already.

"Be quiet for now," he muttered to Evelyn as they slowly approached. "He might attack you on sight if you try anything. I'll take the lead on this one."

He didn't see a response, but that probably meant she was following his advice. The minivan rolled to a stop just a meter from where the man stood, feet shoulder-width apart and with his arms clasped behind his back.

Slowly, deliberately, his heavy footfalls clicked against the asphalt as he walked around to the driver's-side window. Almost instinctively, the copy put both his hands on the steering wheel, at rest where they were clearly visible.

Stifling a put upon sigh, he turned to face the new arrival as both Henry and Layla began to stir.

"Evening, Constable," he began. "What seems to be the trouble?"

The stern-faced officer stooped low, glaring from behind thin, wire-rimmed specs that glinted bright white under the light of the moon. Paired with the man's imposing height and brick shithouse physique stuffed inside the confines of his officer's uniform, he cut an intimidating figure by every stretch of the imagination.

It made the most important detail of the man feel like complete overkill. Where his badge number would normally have been, the digits had been scrubbed and replaced with 4 numbers that seemed to waver just so in the pale moonlight.

0002.

"Matter of fact…" Henry's duplicate continued, after the lack of response stretched on just a bit longer than he liked. "What brings you out towards Stratford, anyways? Thought you were still scrapping with the Ammokhan, last I heard."

Everyone was fully awake now, and deathly silent aside from him. The Constable rubbed his nose with a gloved finger, brushing against the neatly trimmed trapezoidal mustache that he was sure had an official name, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it was.

"The Ammokhan is off licking his wounds in his little rat hole," he replied bluntly, hints of a Schottish accent working into his diction. "He was tested, like all Devils must be. He failed."

Henry gulped audibly from the back seat. This conversation was off to a great start.

"Well, that's… good to hear…" the duplicate ventured. "I hope you're not here to… test us while you wait?"

"No. As a matter of fact…"

The Constable broke out into an unsettling ear to ear grin. Corners pulled all the way back, gums visible, the works. More like showing his teeth than smiling. It didn't help that the light reflecting off his glasses made it impossible for him to see the man's eyes. He looked less the friendly neighborhood officer, and more like…

Well, a Devil. Guess that was the point.

"…A little bird told me you cheeky little buggers had plans to kill one Mr. Dufresne. Is this true?"

"Wait, what?!"

How can this guy have known?! I didn't even know about it until I talked with myself at the station!

"Henry, don't tell him anything," Layla whispered in the copy's ear. A seemingly fruitless endeavor, considering that the Constable picked up on the words immediately.

"Oh, well that confirms it now, doesn't it? Now, don't go speeding off just yet-" he clamped a hand down on the side of the van, grabbing inside the empty pane and visibly denting the metal. "-Today's your lucky day! I have a proposition for you four… ah, three? Whatever, you lot – that I believe will benefit us both."

Yep, just as pushy as he remembered him being. Didn't take no for an answer, and willing to back it up with his own considerable personal strength. Back in the Palatial Remnant camp, there'd been a betting pool for a time on whether the guy could wrestle a wolfpack alpha into submission before dying. One of the men who threw money in the pot jokingly said that he might be able to beat the whole pack on his own.

One particularly nasty wolf attack later, and that same clown became so stinking rich with supplies they'd needed to allocate a whole shelf of lockers with the quartermaster to his name alone.

Nominally, the Constable was on their side. Presumably. It was hard to tell sometimes, he liked to act as a rogue element for the most part. One that mainly focused on hunting other rogue elements, like the Ammokhan. Or, technically, Henry himself.

Man, grey areas can get messy sometimes…

"Now then. You want the Eighth Devil dead. I need to make sure he meets my standards. Unfortunately, I've got a whimpering little gun nut to finish off in the meantime, so I can't take care of him myself just now. See how this works? I can take care of him, but don't have time. You all have time, but won't be enough to take care of him, I'll bet."

Layla frowned at the insinuation. "Are you saying we can't handle ourselves?"

"Hmm…" the Constable stroked his chin with his other hand, looking up towards the sky for a moment. "Undecided, for now. But, I can give you something that will be acceptable as a stand-in for my presence, and in return I'll bump you all to the bottom of the hit list. I scratch your back, you scratch mine, you hear me?"

"Oh! Uh…"

Henry's clone began to speak, but the Constable was already fishing through a pocket of his greatcoat. For someone who'd done the whole dramatic entrance thing earlier, he seemed in a bit of a hurry all of a sudden.

"I'm sure you know already," he said as he stared the copy dead in the eyes, "but my gun never misses. Take these, and make them count. If he's still alive and doesn't have to run away after that… he passes."

Into his palm went 6 pistol caliber bullets, layered with an unfamiliar enchantment and matching the cylinder of his own revolver perfectly. He'd never mentioned his gun to the Constable, and currently it was stowed under his seat so that original Henry could draw it quickly if need be. Out of sight entirely. Hmmmm.

"So is that it, then-"

The Constable was already gone. Disappeared, like he'd never been there to begin with. It was a strange notion that the burly man could simply disappear like that without even a whiff of Domain mana, but there they were. Both Henry and his copy let out a weary sigh at the antics.

Bullets got passed back to Henry, and the clone tried rolling the window back up. It got about a few centimeters before it hit the bend in the track and got stuck, to which he sighed a second time and just started the car up.

"Well…" Layla muttered. "That was… something."

"Mm-hm."

"Is that what he's like in person? I only know him from his part in the Kennel Massacre."

"How should I know?", the copy complained. "Only times I've seen him before, he was either busy wiping the floor with someone else or busy wiping the floor with me. Said he was toughening me up for when I became a, quote, 'proper Devil' like the rest of you all."

"As in, recovering your body from the Mad Prince?"

"Yeah. Not like he'd ever help me with that. Too busy testing every Devil other than the one that was able to fight him to a stalemate at the Kennel, you know."

"He just… starts fights and judges you based on how hard you get beaten."

"Yyyup. Completely lets that mass-murdering spider son of a bitch live, just because he won't finish the job he started. Some test," Henry snorted derisively.

She didn't respond verbally, but her expression showed agreement.

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