Hackney Outer Wall

~3 weeks, 4 days until 2nd transmission

"...And that about covers all the excitement we've had over here the last few days, sir."

William gave a stern nod of approval to his new adjutant. "Very good. Any new developments in the little disappearing act our guest made?"

"Nothing in the cell itself, sir. Though, with a bit of pressing, we were able to wrestle some details out of that captain he was with."

"Oh? Do tell."

"Turns out, he's associated with some sort of… well… it sounds silly, but a band of treasure hunters, for lack of a better term. Artifacts, mostly. This is just our speculation, but it's entirely possible he was keeping a few tricks up his sleeve just in case."

So that's what Henry had shown up for, then. Evidently, his supposed benefactor wasn't as tight-lipped as he was.

"As far as we can tell," the adjutant continued, "The only thing that's been removed was himself. No signs of pilfering from the stocks, and everything in the recent acquisitions manifest that the quartermaster gave to us last night is present and accounted for. If you ask me, I think this guy was just looking to get out of knighthood."

Yeah, well, who wouldn't want that, William thought to himself.

"I see. That will be all, then. I have a report to give to Cavendish."

"Very well. The short-range radio in Booth 3 currently has the secure connection back to the estate. It will be changed in a few hours, if you intend on waiting."

"No need. I'd rather get this taken care of now."

"Understood."

With nothing else to address, William clanked off in the direction of the barracks listening post. At his back, the towering stone walls loomed, blotting out the view of the rest of the city just as effectively as the smog blotted out the sky above. The Air runes in both his helmet and his cannula worked overtime to filter out the pollutants that choked the sky, making his breath sound like a choked wheeze. Not overly concerning to someone who was familiar with the suit's maintenance, but definitely worrisome to the untrained ear.

He'd have to replace the mana batteries on this one, soon. His movements were starting to get a bit sluggish.

The more he thought about it, the more that descriptor was fitting more aspects of his life, actually. Sluggish. It was practically a perfect fit for life in the boringly-named Outpost 12. A population of mostly serfs with a few Earth mages sprinkled in, most people here dedicated their every waking hour to the production and repair of weapons for the Landed Knights. Rows upon rows of blank shortswords, ready to be enchanted by skilled metalworkers. Polished armor of all shapes and sizes, looking for just the right Knight to don them. And, for the more zealous of the bunch, their homemade batches of improvised explosives.

It was a testament to Cavendish's abilities as an orator that people still showed up to learn the ways of the explosive javelin, even after the rumours of the true mortality rates of the craft being downplayed. Or that Knights were being recruited at all after he returned with no way to hide his own losses.

Though, it can't really be said that any of us knew what we were really getting into…

No, the blame for all those deaths laid squarely on his shoulders, he felt. A tactical blunder on his part that had gotten his command slain to the man. If only he'd drawn the wolfpacks away sooner. If only he hadn't turned off his radio to focus solely on the enemy before him. If only he didn't mistake the Harpy for an enemy instead of an ally of convenience...

Elias never would've made a mistake like that. Curse the Mad Prince for taking him away in the Kennel Massacre.

The door to the barracks swung open, and a few Knights in fatigues snapped to attention at his presence. The position of authority, admittedly, still felt strange to him after everything. The salutes had been a novel concept to him at first, but hadn't taken long for it to get tiresome in his eyes. Not that he could ever show it.

He returned the salute casually, and told them to remain at ease before heading off to Booth 3.

The soundproofed door swung open. It was no Gentlemen Pirate Radio, but it kept the people under the Nobles' watch safe. Their communications were all done over wire, with a switchboard somewhere underneath that was changed on a semi-frequent basis at Cavendish's request. For the life of him, he had no idea why the man felt the need to secure the lines so tightly, but he wasn't in a position to judge. William shut the door behind him and locked it, then undid the clasps of his helmet now that the stinking ash in the air outside was being filtered out by the enchantment arrays of the barracks itself. He allowed himself a contended sigh in the privacy of the empty booth, barely getting the helmet off his head before he took in a deep breath of fresh air. It was exactly the sort of thing he needed to unwind...

Then, all of a sudden, he stopped. His finger hovering over the send button, he noticed a shadow on the ground originating from somebody behind him.

"Back so soon, Constable?" He kept his voice even, but something in his gut told him this wasn't a social call. Discreetly, he activated the privacy enchantments on the walls to make absolutely certain he kept any more sound from leaking out.

Sure enough, as he turned around there the broad-shouldered man was. Same stupid hat, same stupider manic grin. He was adjusting the brim in front of his eyes, as if it was supposed to be at an angle that blocked his face a bit.

"Well, well, well," he greeted in turn. "It would seem that someone's not quite so keen on doing what's been asked of him. Steel collar starting to chafe, William?"

William schooled his expression into a completely neutral mask. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but ya do, see. I'd been hopin' you'd see reason in our little agreement, but I guess it's not surprising a bit of that bellend Henry's been rubbin' off on ya. How else d'ye explain letting the man run off like that?"

William rolled his eyes. It was a good thing he'd spent some time drafting a cover story, but as of late his little web of lies was getting to the point where it wasn't so little anymore.

"One odd clone does not a Devil make," he countered. "Sure, he might have known a few things, but nothing I myself could have acted on in the moment. If you haven't noticed, I've been dealing with some involuntary restructuring."

"Oh, so is that what yer callin' it?" The Constable's grin, miraculously, managed to stretch a centimeter wider. "Didn't know we were getting fancier names for excuses, now."

"Look, whatever problem you have with Henry Thompson, it's exactly that. Your problem. You seem to be able to come and go as you please, so if it's that important take care of it yourself. I've got an army to rebuild."

"Bah," he spat. "You just 'ave a soft spot fer him 'cause ya both survived Greenwich together."

"So what if I do?", William countered. "We've been very up front about looking after our own. Not to mention, as far as I can tell you're mad at him because he managed to do your job better than you could."

"Careful, William. I only just finished getting the Ammokan's blood out of this uniform. Now that he's dead, I have a lot more free time on my hands all of'a sudden. Wouldn't want to find yerself on the bottom of the testing list, would ya?"

William let out a single, barking laugh. "You really need a test to figure out if you can kill a cripple? Please."

Surprisingly, it got a chuckle out of the officer, too. Definitely not a nice one, but more than he expected in the first place. Strength recognized strength, he supposed, even when one of them was clearly stronger.

"You know," the Constable said casually after he finished laughing, "I never seem ta see you without one of those over-engineered metal coffins strapped over ya. Makes me wonder how much of being a cripple you really know."

William didn't like that threat one bit. However, there was neither a chance nor a desire to dignify that with a response. He blinked, and the man was there one moment, gone the next.

Those abrupt exits of his were always the worst part, he thought.

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"Fucking Devils…"

< -|- -|- >

The fog rolling in off the Thames had slowed their progress down to a crawl. Between restocking what little packaged food that had remained after the deal in the park, it had taken them the better half of a day to even catch sight of the river. Everyone's orienteering skills had been put to the test, blindly stumbling through wall after wall of mist hoping that this particular street wouldn't be blocked off or occupied by something or other.

One could never be too careful, as they'd all come to learn. Nobody wanted a repeat of the last wolf attack on a larger scale.

In spite of – or perhaps because of – those mistakes, the mages had come leaps and bounds in terms of overall survival skill level. In just a few short days, most of them were already moving like most scavengers just starting out in the business. A bit rusty in some places, but the important groundwork was all there. So long as they had the chance to practice, they were well on their way to reaching his own level.

He was… not quite sure how to feel about that. But regardless of where his opinion ultimately fell, they were absolutely putting in the hours.

A lot of it, naturally, revolved around magic. Martin was using every spare moment to get them applying their talents towards something constructive. Mana reserves were regularly being tested and pushed against. Shaping exercises were slowly but surely getting more and more complex. Team drills had broken out briefly on a few occasions, honing in their doctrine for combat scenarios going forward.

It seemed they were going for a blend that angled towards technique just a tad more than raw power. The crowd control spells that they'd used against the lone wolf from a few nights ago, especially, were being refined upon after seeing how surprisingly effective they'd been at slowing the beast down.

Hopefully, they won't have to use those again any time soon…

Henry glanced over in the direction of the florist. She seemed to be doing okay currently, but that never was a perfect indicator in these circumstances. It was all too easy to pretend that nothing was wrong, he found.

He'd give her space for just a bit longer. For now, they needed to come to a decision.

"What do you think, Martin? Do we cross now, and rest on the other side, or wait it out here and cross when everyone's ready to go?"

In front of them, the highway dropped at a shallow angle into a tunnel leading under the river. The haze, already bad up here, would be nearly solid without popping a bunch of light talismans to compensate. By all metrics, it would be easier to give it some time to see if it would clear out, he reckoned.

Martin, however, had a different perspective.

"I'd say we go for it now. We haven't exactly been hard marching to get here, so everyone's pretty energetic still, far as I can tell. And, there's no guarantee that waiting will make things better, anyways. River always got foggy first, even before the Shroud."

"Will we have to worry about traps, though?", Robb cut in. "You said yourself that the Morlocks like to rig underground areas with as many tripwires as possible."

Henry shrugged. "Train tunnels are more their forte, and this one here would require going aboveground to reach. Add in the fact that those traps needed constant replacement, and I'd say it's pretty unlikely we come across anything like that."

"Well, that's good to hear, at least…" Robb scratched the cheek below his scar unconsciously, as he returned his focus back to the tunnel ahead. "I say we go for it, then."

"…Are you sure?"

"Why wait? This close to the river, we'd have to blindly check a bunch of buildings for a place to stay the night that might have vampires hiding inside somewhere. I say we cross, get some distance out of the fog if we can, and only look for a rest stop once we're as clear as can be."

It seemed the other two were in agreement. With a two to one vote – the other clones were neither eligible nor inclined to weigh in – the next course of action was immediately clear.

"Guess we're going in, then," Henry parroted. Everyone moved to round up the others, while he and the duplicates took point.

Heh, this is familiar... once again, here I am as the canary in the coal mine...

Approaching the lip of the tunnel, and already he could tell that it had seen better days. Large, jagged cracks ran across the length of the roof, still barely holding on but very clearly letting the occasional droplet flow through. A pool of still water not quite ankle deep pooled in the base, only obstructed by the wrecks of many overturned vehicles now rusting in the stagnant filth. Nobody had ever bothered with trying to scrap them; at this point they were too far gone.

One by one, they all began to make the crossing towards the darkened entrance, keeping their ears peeled for signs of trouble. First his own set of splashing footsteps, then the one behind him, and so on. On their own, there was a sort of staccato rhythm to it, but as more and more began to join in it started to sound more like one coherent mass. Like how pouring gravel didn't always sound like a collection of stones rattling against each other. After a point, it was just its own thing, rather than a collection of more basic noises mashed together.

There was one noise, however, that stood out from the rest once they'd nearly all reached the water at the bottom.

To his utter shock and dismay, his satchel began unzipping from the inside. Before he had time to react, or even mutter a curse, out popped the damn toy figurine again. Announcing its presence with a cheesy tagline and an old 80's jingle played off a speaker that sounded even older.

"Destiny awaits!", it crowed, somersaulting out from beneath the flap of the satchel and again stealing the pendant straight off his neck. With an uncomfortable yank, the chain popped free, much to Henry's chagrin. He let out a half-strangled groan in frustration.

Would getting a stronger chain even be worth it if this was going to keep happening? He honestly didn't know one way or the other. The figurine landed in the shallow pool with a splash, skittering away towards the junked wrecks ahead as fast as its little legs could carry it.

So much for anything being straightforward.

"Ugh…I'll deal with this myself…" he volunteered dejectedly. "Make sure everyone else hangs back, in case we're about to have a repeat of last time it ran off like this…"

The rest of them nodded, giving him space as he took the first steps into the shallow pool. The other copies remained behind, and he trudged his first steps into the water after it. Ripples echoed out as he moved, traveling in concentric patterns until they met surfaces to bounce off of in predictable, yet chaotic patterns.

"So, this is my life now," he grumbled to no one in particular. "The world's gone crazy, and I assume by now I must have too, since I'm chasing after a living piece of cheap plastic. It steals my shit constantly, gets into trouble just as often, and no matter how this turns out, my socks are wet."

Just how he wanted to be spending his evening, really.

On the upside… it at least wasn't making the task of tracking it down difficult. Even with only his own lights to navigate by, the little blighter was being anything but stealthy. That same grating electronic chip jingle could be heard echoing off the stonework walls ahead, and from the sounds of scraping metal and other sounds of material distress, it had found something to busy itself with rather quickly.

"That's it… don't mind me… I'm not even here…"

Approaching one step at a time, he made sure to be extra quiet. With each careful footfall, the picture in front of him cleared up just that little bit more, and before long, he'd managed to spot where it had gotten off to. One of the cars that was in better condition down here, the bonnet popped wide open while something rattled around within and let off the occasional lime-green spark. Impressively, the little mech's movements were enough to make the whole vehicle tremble.

What on earth is it even doing in there…?

He decided it would be best to shoot first and ask questions later. Metaphorically. For now.

One arm plunged into the excavated bowels of the engine compartment with lightning speed. There was seemingly nothing left to be found inside, save for the very thing he was looking for, so at least that was easy. Also came with not needing to worry about bashing his hand against some heavy metal bit. That would suck.

His fingers clamped around the waist of the toy, and he pulled it out from the depths. Already, it was somehow covered head to toe in motor oil, and there was a part of what looked like a drive shaft clutched comically between its arms. It held onto both the hunk of scrap metal and the pendant like its life depended on it, squirming uncomfortably.

Cheeky bugger was even trying to play keep-away with him.

"Ugh... What am I going to do with you…"

He pinched his nose bridge with his one free hand. Letting it roam free was absolutely not an option, that would just backfire on him the moment he least expected it. The satchel, apparently, also wasn't good enough to keep it in check. Duct tape mummy, perhaps? Might be possible, if they actually had any…

He legitimately was drawing a blank on this problem, and it was frustrating him even more.

"Guess for now, just keep an eye on it myself and stay close to the group…"

There would be time to think of something more permanent later. Maybe the mana batteries would run out after a while. That might work.

Splashing his way back up the tunnel, he found that he didn't have to walk as far back as he expected. Up ahead, the lights of everyone else's disposable talismans were visible through the thick clouds.

"Hey, it's me," he called out to them so he didn't accidentally eat a fireball on top of everything else he needed to deal with. "I'll be over in just a moment, I've got him right here-"

A flash of movement caught his attention, above and to his right. On the very top of one of the overturned lorries. Not quick, by any means, but very noticeable against the off-white backdrop provided by the illuminated fog around him.

Almost lazily, a black cat with white spots below one eye peered over the edge, and his eyes went wide with recognition.

As well as equal parts terror.

"Mrrrrau."

Of course, that was the time everyone else decided to show up.

"Hey, Henry? You coming yet or wh-"

"Nobody move," he said in the most dead serious tone he could manage. "Nobody fucking move, or we're all dead."

The cat stared down at him with curious eyes. The silvery birthmark on its face shimmered slightly, taking on a shape that he could read, from this angle.

0007.

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