The Supernatural Case of an Accidental Time Traveler

[Paul_Tromba]

"Well, that was boring," a disinterested voice bemoaned from the emptiness of space, sounding as if two beings were speaking in tandem. Amidst the nothingness around, the faint light from stars glimmered in the distance. Yet, the voice remained; Cold and distant, yet still alive, like a spectre of inconsistencies that shared a common purpose. Looking at the earth, the voice sifted the clamoring souls below till one of the many through the ages humankind lay barren and alone, chosen as the last by measure of chance.

"I wonder how this person will change the earth this time around? " the spectre-like being inquired in anticipation and curiosity, gazing upon a human soul. The being's tandem tone of devilish intrigue and a satirical simper made form in its expression of a sadistic humanoid smirk where the voice had previously bemoaned. "The last one barely had the others intrigue, let alone enough interest for one to intervene," the voice continued, forming from its tongue, a human-like form; The form of a mischievous yet blameless child with vibrant hair extending beyond its feet, dressing itself in a white cloth sheet similar to that of an ancient Greek chiton. Lacking the features to define it as a man or a woman, to all mortals it was simply a being that looked human.

"Really? Is this really how he subconsciously thinks we look?" the being said, looking over the perceived body it had formed. Holding its hand to the cosmos, starlight could be seen through the palm more beautifully than with the keenest of eyes. Satisfied and unbothered, a sinister grin formed before it decreed amongst the stars, "be it in present or past, Lou Barrett, be chosen for my purposes, to freely do with my power as he wishes, till rejection of this gift or death, it shall remain."


***


There was a dream. To say it felt more like a nightmare would not be an exaggeration. Though the scenery, a vast forest filled with floating lights filling the emptiness, alone sat a person with their back turned to me. A thick dark cloth, frayed and worn, rested atop their scraggly form. As I ventured toward them, my view of their hands, veiled in a purplish-black smoke, showed a crudely weathered longsword, being patiently sharpened with a wet stone. Hearing the snap of twigs and brushing of leaves from my feet, the figure turned its head toward me, its face hidden behind an expressionless white mask with a single black stripe running from the upper left corner to the bottom right. Locking eyes with the ironically eyeless mask, it formed an inhumanly wide smile, as if it were made of clay. Opening to unveil a row of jagged, broken teeth behind its lips, gnashing in agonizing rhythms like that of hundreds of broken clocks ticking out of time, I couldn't help but back away. Standing to face me, the cloth covering draped over it like a mourning shawl, and like the mouth, eye holes formed as curved slits of glee, crying from them fresh streams of crimson tears.

My breath became visible as chills of fear ran up my spine, telling me to run. I was already turned around, dashing through the stationary lights of the forest for what felt like all I could muster before I considered to look back and see whether I was being pursued. Gazing back over my shoulder, the forest began folding outward to reveal the night sky, filled with more stars than the mind can comprehend. Amid the stars approached not the masked figure of smoke but rather, a human half my size, draped in a plain white short-cut Greek-style chiton. Flashing a smile behind a raised finger, their gold and grey hair, flowing like a river between the chiton sheets creases, lifted towards the heavens. My attention drawn up to follow it, I stumble back in bafflement from the sudden replacement for the child being myself, standing in aloof confusion by the sight of me.

Straightening himself up as I usually would to seem more confident, the other me asked, "Who are you?" his voice just as curious as I was. Looking down at the ground, which had previously been dirt, now reflected a face that was not my own upon a mirror-like surface of water. Unlike my doppelganger, who bore a wider face, short dirty blond hair, and sunken eyes, I had a slimmer face with short grey hair. Taking it in, I shook my head.

"I do not know," I replied, lifting my head. "Who are you?" I asked for I truly did not know who I was in this moment.

"I am you, Lou Barrett, as are each one of them," the other me answered, gesturing around him to reveal an infinite number of the grey-haired me, scattered as if copied by a mirror illusion. Turning their faces toward me, each bearing different expressions and emotions from sullen to overjoyed, fearful to fortunate, each sank into the water beneath them in shock.

"Tell me, what is this place? Who were those people I saw?" I begged of the one before me, trying to reach toward him. Though my body was unable to move closer nor further from him, trapped in place by the waters reflecting this new me.

Before I could question further, he answered, "You are what you are, and this place is you. As for those beings, well, I cannot say."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked, confused.

"You will find the answer when you succeed," he replied as if he'd said it a thousand times before and were tired of it before falling through the water floor. Looking down at where he had stood, the water below me gave way, and I fell with a loud thump onto my back. My head was pounding, I felt physically drained, and my back hurt slightly worse than normal. In the distance, I saw a bright light, only to realize that I was just opening my eyes.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Opening my eyes, I realized the light wasn't nearly as bright as I thought it was. What a weird dream. The day started out normal, with me taking a shower, eating a crappy microwave breakfast, and heading to work with a tired demeanor. It wasn't exactly sunny out today, and there was more moisture in the air of the London streets than I would like. The morning sun ignited the red bricks of the various Victorian-style buildings that were either historical or built to match the aesthetic, as I walked… Though the sun happened to reflect perfectly off one of the distant glass-covered skyscrapers and straight into my eye like the bastard it is. Most of the shops had already opened for the bustling morning crowds that lined some of the shops' entrances for coffee. A mix of the salty moist smell of the English Channel, baked goods, and mild garbage wafted in the air. Cyclists, cars, buses, and lorries traversed the tarmac streets busily but it all felt like another day in London. Strangely, it wasn't foggy this morning.

Cutting through Whitechapel on my way to work, as usual, I ducked through an alleyway. The only thing decorating the brick-lined alley was a single blue dumpster, but as I strode past it, I suddenly felt dizzy... and the dumpster behind me was gone. The alley was no longer tarmac, but was replaced with dirt and cobblestone. The buildings on either side were made of red bricks as they were before, but the brick shading was much darker, and was plastered in spots with dried-out dirt. As I turned back to where I came from, some wooden crates were suddenly stacked up where the dumpster had been, and hanging a story above me were some clothes, hung to dry. Was I going nuts? The drying clothes weren't there before, and I could have sworn those crates weren't there a second ago. Strangely, the buildings were not the same as they were before. Some of the Victorian replica brick buildings had completely changed in colour schemes, or entirely in layout, while some of the historical buildings looked relatively the same.

"What is going on?" I asked myself as I spun around to take in my surroundings. At the end of the alley, there were people traversing past, so I inched over to take a look. Maybe my mind was just playing tricks on me. While I observed the area, I felt around and realized I didn't have either my phone or wallet. Did I leave them at home? Maybe… but I was positive that I'd put them in my pockets.

When I emerged from the alley, I was in utter shock. The glass building that blinded me was gone. Completely. The people waiting in line at the various shops had vanished and had been replaced by dust-ridden fog. Not only that, but the shops themselves had been utterly changed. What was once a coffee shop was now a tailor, and what was once a pub was… well, still a pub, but a shittier one. All the cyclists, cars, buses, and even the lorries had been replaced by horses and carts. What threw me off the most was that the people that were still there were now dressed like it was the late Victorian era. And there was dirt… there was dirt everywhere. Where the hell am I?

The bustling crowd didn't seem to care that a man dressed completely differently from them appeared out of an alley. My clothes were just a black collared shirt and black dress pants. It wasn't my style per se, but I had very few options since it was close to my laundry day. To be honest, I thought it looked a little too edgy. I wandered around the area, taking in everything I could. Vendors lined the street, unlike I had remembered. I assumed I was in some sort of marketplace, and everyone seemed to speak English... or at least some broken form of it. However, none of this was here yesterday, and I don't remember hearing anyone setting anything up in the night.

"Excuse me, sir, what is going on here?" I ended up asking one of the vendors. He was sitting behind a large table surrounded by bags of grains and lentils.

"What? Are you a muttonhead? This is a market," replied the man sitting behind the table. He was a shorter Indian-looking man, with muscles large enough to make his size irrelevant. On top of that, he had the facial expression of someone who was ready to beat the shit out of the next person to piss him off.

"I just came out of that alley, and I don't remember ever seeing a market here before. Was this set up last night?" I asked as I looked around. The more sights I took in, the more I felt like I was part of some movie set.

"What are you talking about? This market has been going on for a long time. So bugger off if you're not gonna buy anything."

"Then maybe I'm lost. Could you tell me where I am?" I asked, even though I could feel him getting more annoyed.

"You're in Whitechapel, London kid. You probably didn't realize it because this is the only part of Whitechapel that isn't littered with whores and beggars," he replied with a click of his tongue.

"So I am where I thought I was," I thought out loud. I was even more confused by his description of the place, but maybe he was just messing with me.

"Just get out of here," he glowered at me. If this was really Whitechapel, why did it look so different? Was it a historical reenactment festival or something? No, there's no way that Whitechapel would host something like that during this time of year. Maybe…

"Is there a festival going on?" I asked myself aloud before heading for work. It wasn't that far from here, so maybe my coworkers could tell me what was going on.

Upon getting to my workplace, I found that it was not the same. My coworkers had been replaced by other people. What was originally an office building was now a cobbler filled with shoes. I couldn't believe what I saw. What exactly was going on? Was I still dreaming? At the corner, I saw a young boy dressed in the same late Victorian-style clothing that everyone seemed to be wearing. However, he was holding a large paper with the current news on it. On it also read the date. Though, the date itself didn't matter much to me. What mattered was the year. 1888 is what it read. Then the realization struck.

I stood frozen. Everything lined up in my head, as I had either time-traveled or gone crazy. Either way, I was in such a shock that I meandered my way back to the alleyway that I had ducked through before ending up in this timeline. Once I was there, I slumped against the side of the building and thought. For what felt like hours, I sat there, thinking. What was going on? What was I going to do?

I don't have any money. No one is going to believe I am from the future, so what can I do? I do know that no matter where you go, you need money, so my first priority is that. Another thing is that I need shelter, and my other priority is getting some clothes that don't stand out. I can't exactly change, but I did see that most men in the market wore long coats. Most of which would cover up my clothes enough to make them look normal. Plus, I was feeling a bit chilly, unlike earlier.
Looking up at the drying clothes hanging above me, sure enough, there was a long coat. It was a worn grey coat with several holes, but it could work. Pushing some crates in the alley underneath the clothesline, I used them to climb up and grab the coat. Once I had it, I climbed down and threw it on. It was still a bit damp, but it wasn't as if I couldn't put up with it. Damn it, now I look even edgier than before. Whatever… it would be fine for now. It's not like beggars can be choosers.

Speaking of beggars, it was probably best for me if I got some money first, and I didn't have any clue how much money was worth during this time period. I swear… If I got sent to this time period by some outside force, then they should have at least given me some kind of ability, damn it. This was hopeless. I had no clue how I was going to get any money. Perhaps I could try begging on the corner? Wait, that vendor said there were tons of them here, so I don't think this is a charitable area.

I wandered around before passing shops with semi-reflective glass windows. I looked at my reflection and noticed that my body had changed. My hair was no longer a dirty blonde but instead a darkened shade of grey. I looked even edgier. Was this timeline trying to make me an edgelord or something? My face was still clean-shaven, and I still had a mole under the right side of my chin. The pupils I had were severely dilated, and my eye colour had changed from brown to grey, with a yellow ring around the pupil.

No matter what timeline it was, though, the bags under my eyes were still there from so many night shifts. My chin, which I wish was more chiseled, was rather rough, and my hair was still cut to be no longer than eight centimeters. Although that wasn't my choice either. I had wanted to grow my hair out, but I had to look presentable at work. The more I thought about it the more I realized I hated my job, so much that I don't even want to talk about what it was.
Enough focusing on the past, or future… It doesn't matter. I guess I better figure out how I am going to get some money. There seemed to be a lot of people wandering around, so there must be jobs that even I could do. I could read, write, and was educated enough, so it shouldn't be hard, right? Nope, I don't even know where to start. Though staying here with a stolen coat wasn't gonna get me a job, so I began roaming around.

The city of London wasn't much different than the one I knew in terms of layout. As for its style, well… It was far less pleasant. There were more dirt and cobblestone streets than before, and it wasn't very bright out due to a low-hanging smog-like fog that reeked of coal, tobacco, and hot iron, along with a far more distinct sulfuric smell from the English channel. Various shop windows looked slightly tinted due to the smog, and more than a few people were having coughing fits. Beggars throughout the streets groaned and coughed as they stood around on the streets and slept in alleys. Others drudged around the less crowded streets, going about their business dressed in mainly dirty work attire. Most of them sported a cigarette in their mouths, freshly lit, to add to the morning smog. The sights and smell didn't bode well with me at all, but I kept on my way.

As I was passing through an alley, two burly men who were sparsely dressed in cover-alls and long shirts left a back alley bar absolutely drunk. Not only that, but they reeked of alcohol, fish guts, and tar. In order to avoid them I strayed towards the right side of the alley, but one of them decided to drift in front of me. Because of the alley's size, I stepped away from the wall to avoid him, but he meandered his way in front of me again. When I finally reached where he and his friend were, I tried to step around, but the boar of a man held his arm out in front of me.

"I'm sorry. I'll head the other way," I said, trying to avoid trouble. The two men seemed to find this rather amusing, as they began to chuckle. I started to back away, right as the man spoke in a humoured but threatening tone.

"No, you'll be handing over all you've got. We'll beat you otherwise," the man said. His buddy, still drunk as could be, stepped behind me to block my exit.

"I don't want any trouble. I am new to this area and have already lost all my money," I replied honestly.

"Don't be given us ex'uses," the man said, before throwing a very slow, drunken punch. I easily dodged it and attempted to punch him in the face. However, his friend grabbed me from behind before I could. I squirmed and kicked out to keep the other one from approaching. This only encouraged the grizzly man more, as he came toward me and his friend. Tucking down like a wrestler preparing to tackle his opponent, the man got close enough that I was able to accurately place the sole of my boot on his forehead in a downward kick. The drunken slob of a man's chin slammed into the dirt and cobblestone below with a loud crack.

Recognizing his friend being hurt, the man who held me from behind, angrily slammed me into the alley wall. The hard brick abrasively cut away at my face as he slammed me into the wall twice, before being thrown to the ground. I quickly and desperately scrambled toward the opposing alley wall as the drunken man started coming at me again. This may be it. My last moments will be filled with the foul stench of fish and sweat-covered drunkards. As I thought this, I felt my hand rub against a loose stone, which I quickly lifted up and chucked at the man who was less than half a meter from me. It slammed into his shoulder before falling on his foot, causing him to yelp in pain as he fell over awkwardly and hit his head against the wall. Since both were now unconscious, I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Adrenaline caused my whole body to shake with every heavy breath.

Since they had caused me so much trouble, I had an idea. Albeit, not a just one. Though I could probably justify it as compensation for my pain. My self-justification gave me enough reason to go through the men's pockets and raid their wallets with a smug but morally inquisitive look. Upon finding nothing of value, I slowly continued with my business before I heard the sound of an old man laughing. Sitting at the end of the alleyway was an old man dressed in a business suit with his tie loosened and some bread in his hand. He seemed to be laughing at me for some reason. Did he find me fighting for my life amusing? Was this normal entertainment in this era? No, it couldn't be.
"Why are you laughing, old man?" I asked, shaky and annoyed.

"Because that was the most entertaining fight I have ever seen in this alley, and there are quite a few of them, innit," he said between his giggles.

"Well, I aim to please. I am Lou Barrett," I said with a cocky bow.

"I am Harold Lewak. Now, come and sit. If I got my ass kicked like that then I would be hungry. The bread will calm your nerves." he said, gesturing at his loaf of bread beside him.

"Thank you." I said before sitting down and accepting his kind offering.

Although the bread the old man had given me was stale, it was far better than anything I had at the moment. The old man had a certain air to him that seemed to welcome me in. To be honest, though, he seemed a bit strange. He was dressed far better than I as he was wearing a full suit with his collar unbuttoned like that of a politician after getting home from work. Yet, here he was eating stale bread and sitting in alleyways.

"If I may ask, why are you in this alley, where so many angry drunks frequent?" I asked him in an attempt at sounding like I was from this era, or as a butler from a British drama because that's the only reference I had.

"To be frank, I'm getting up there in age. Thus, I've been laid off and have no desire to tell the missus yet. So I sit here, watching the drunks and pickpockets pass by, waiting for something interesting to happen. A real shame, innit." he said with a deep and solemn sigh.

"Do you not have the ability to retire? Or is it something else?" I asked before eating the last of the bread.

"I can retire when I so wish and I have the means. But I was hoping for just one adventure to come wisp me away before I end up settling down to die," he said whilst making a motion with his hands to show him being wisped away.

"Well, that's quite morbid," I replied.

"Indeed. But it doesn't make it any less of the truth. While I'm waiting, I might as well help a few people on the way, such as yourself," he said, before giving me a humourous glare. I couldn't help but respect this man.

"If you wish to help me, you have already done more than enough by feeding me, and I thank you for being so kind. So I don't wish to ask much more of you, but do you know where I might be able to spend the night or find a job?" I asked, somewhat awkwardly but with a hopeful expression. His face got rather stern for a moment, furrowing his brow deep in thought before finally answering.

"Your best bet would be to find someone down at the docks to work for and house you in return, but that would be long term, so they might not give you a room tonight. I would check with the Chapel first."

"Thank you, you have been very helpful," I said, getting up. "I do hope we meet again. I wouldn't mind having another chat." And with that, I was off.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Problem was, I had no idea where the Chapel was. Whitechapel itself was already big enough and I didn't know it well enough to find it on my own easily, especially since it was so different now. Maybe I should have asked that old man where it was? Sadly, I had already been traveling for nearly an hour. If I tried going back now, he might not even be there. I had no other choice than to keep looking.

After a good while, I finally found the Chapel. It was dark, and the watch I had showed 10:38 in the bloody morning. Despite that, it was nighttime in London, and I had apparently arrived in this time period towards the end of the day. The chapel, which I originally assumed to have grey-ish white-coloured bricks, had turned a disturbingly darker shade by the lack of sunlight. Despite this, it seemed like a beacon of hope in the otherwise awful-looking district. Its pyramid-like roof, sitting atop the rectangular building with a bell tower in the front, sat among all the other buildings with great contrast.

All around me were beggars who were attempting to stay somewhat warm with whatever they could find. Some of which dogpiled together in the alleys, while others were bundled up under layers of stuffed coats similar to my own under shopfronts. Prostitutes also hung around the street, attempting to seduce any drunk that passed them by. The Chapel seemed so much nicer since no one dared to do anything on their front stoop. It was hard to tell if it was out of respect, or fear.

Since I had come this far, I climbed up the stone slab steps leading to the Chapel's big plain wooden door and knocked upon them as hard as I could. After a few moments of me standing in front of the door, it opened just slightly. A man who was so old he didn't look like he should be alive anymore, let alone moving around, peeked his head out of the crack between the doors. Drool hung from his chin like a spider's thread, as he eyed me up and down with an unimpressed look.

"It's bloody ten, what do you want?" He asked me harshly.

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour but I could use a place to stay the night and I was told you could house me. It just doesn't feel safe out here at night," I said. He eyed me up and down with a judgemental glare.

"You're right about it not being safe, but that isn't my problem. Ye have a penny as donation?" he said as if looking down on me. This money-grubbing geezer, he just wanted to extort me.

"No, I haven't, and I do not yet have the means to do so. Someone has stolen my wallet, and I am new to London," I lied, as I knew he probably wouldn't believe that I was from the future. Though most of it was the truth.

"Well, then we have no rooms for you. Begone with ye." he said, slamming the door in my face.

"Well, that's not very Christ-like!" I yelled from the other side of the door.

I was ignored, so without anything better to do, I set off to find a bridge or alleyway that might serve as a temporary shelter. My luck, which I thought was getting better, ended up not being good at all. I had no home, no job, no friends, the list could go on and on. I was starting to feel rather depressed about all this. Nothing was coming as easily as I thought it would, but you live with what you got. Now that I think about it, am I even alive? Could this be hell?

With nothing else to do, I just kept wandering for what seemed like hours, but my watch only showed 11:27. Hearing what sounded like a metallic thump, I looked down to see a small cloth pouch resting next to my foot. Picking it up carefully, I looked inside to see five coins that I recognized from old coin collections. I considered going back to the Church but it was so late that I didn't care. Deciding that I shouldn't wander any longer, I found a random alley and laid down on a stack of old newspapers underneath a tarp-style roof, hanging from the top of the alley. It was starting to get damp from the natural fog that had been coming in all day, and neither the papers, nor the tarp did anything to prevent it.

Right when I finally found a comfortable position to sleep, I heard the yelling of a young woman, followed by her screams. Getting up from my spot in a panic, I began running towards the screams. After a few seconds of running, I arrived at the place the screams had come from, an alleyway that was slightly bigger than the one I had chosen to rest in. In the shadows of the alleyway was a woman, laying on the cold, wet ground, in a pool of her own fresh blood. She was still breathing and had lost consciousness, but what quickly caught my eye was the three men standing above her.

One held a blunt bat-like object covered in blood, and each of the men were somewhat muscular. They could definitely do far worse than the boar-like men that pummeled me earlier. Each of them was dressed in worker's clothes with thick coats over top of them, and two of them were wearing newsboy caps. Two of them were also older looking and had dense bushy beards, but one was bald, and the other had short oily hair. The youngest of the three looked like he was in his teens, with a soot-covered hairless face and short blonde hair. He turned and saw me staring right at them. He clicked his tongue and, as if on cue, the other two turned to look at me. The white in their eyes shone like daggers in the moonlight amidst the gory dark backdrop.

Without hesitation, I ran as fast as I could, but I wasn't someone who ever did cardio by choice, so the three attackers began gaining on me quickly due to my lack of exercise. I began wanting to buy them off with the little money I had so I reached into my newfound moneybag and began throwing two of the coins at them. Although the money didn't exactly have the effect I wanted, it did something upon hitting their skin. Each of the coins burned two of the attackers' skin as it hit their faces, causing them to slow down as they winced in pain. What exactly was in these coins?

Seeing their reactions, I grabbed the last three coins and started stuffing them between my fingers so that they were sticking out just a little. I didn't know why they burned them, but I didn't care. It was the only thing I could think of. As the youngest of the men was closing on me I leapt forward, wrapped my arm around a lamp post, spun around it, and struck him right in the jaw. To my surprise, rather than knocking him out, it knocked him back and there were burn marks across his face from where I hit him. The other two watched eagerly as we fought with entertained looks. They obviously thought I was going to lose and didn't mind not lending a hand.

He lunged at me again, so I quickly dodged to the left and with a right uppercut, and struck him in the chin from below. He held his mouth and cried out as burn marks had formed on his chin. His mouth started dripping blood as he opened it up, letting out a pained yell, before I struck him in the mouth again. When I did, one of the coins in my fingers, upon making contact with his mouth, slipped from my grasp and into his throat. He cried out in agonizing pain as he choked on and then swallowed the coin. Clutching his chest, he began to vomit a blend of char and blood before falling to the ground. The other two men and myself watched in horror and surprise as their friend's body turned into an ashen-dust.

This was definitely hell. The others were no longer surprised, as they were both now rushing at me with pure rage. With both of them coming at me, I couldn't block or dodge them. I was as good as dead, but before I could accept my fate, a new player entered the ring by kicking them both as he fell from the top of a nearby building. Upon landing, the man stood with an aura that made you want to back off due to his mere presence, or at least he did, until he pulled out a flask and took a huge swig.

Now he didn't seem any different from any other drunks that roamed the street other than that he was clean-shaven. His body was rather toned from what I could see, and he wore similar clothes to what I was wearing, except his coat was brown which clashed with his black leather gloves. Strangely, his gloves seemed to reflect glints of moonlight every so often. The strange man had short golden hair except for in the back, where he had a long ponytail that stretched down most of his back, and was tied with string every twenty or so centimeters.

The two men quickly got up, as Mr. Ponytail put away the flask and raised his hands in a classic martial arts position. Both of them rushed at him, throwing a heavy fist each toward the ponytail man's face, but before the attackers could touch him, he dodged out of the way and in one fluid motion launched both opponents into the air.

Landing on their backs with a loud thud, they couldn't comprehend what had just happened to them, before the bald one received a swift punch to the throat. Now, most of the time this would just knock someone out cold, or crush their windpipe, but his strike beheaded him and the man turned to dust just as the other one did. The last one left alive saw this and ran off as fast as he could, causing the ponytail man to give chase.

"Wait," I called out, but he didn't listen. I was alone once again. Remembering the woman who they attacked, I ran back to her. She was still there, unconscious. I began to see if I could wake her, only to be called out from behind, by two cops.

"Come out of there, kid!" one of the officers said.

"It wasn't me I swear. I heard a scream so I came to check it out and she was like this," I replied as I came out of the alleyway.

"A likely story," the officer said, cuffing me as his partner ran up to the girl.

"She's still alive," the other said reluctantly.

"Get her to a doctor. I'll take this one in for questioning," the officer replied as he led me away.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

The cold hard bed of the London police station left me groaning with displeasure, as I couldn't seem to get comfortable. However, it was better than the cold and damp alleyway. Of course, this whole scenario was stupid. After getting arrested I was questioned for several hours without rest. I ended up telling them everything that happened short of how I thought I was from the future, and how I got beat up.

They, of course, assumed I was insane and locked me up. Although there was no proof, I had been discovered with the unconscious woman, and was assumed to be her attacker. Mainly because my story was too insane for them to think it was true. It's not like I blame them, they're just being rational.

Stretching out once more, I had hoped to get comfortable but to no avail. The officers did believe one thing about my story, but at the mere mention of it, they groaned. The man with the ponytail and flask. They refused to tell me anything about him, but they wouldn't deny that I saw him. The possibility of them believing the rest of my story wouldn't rise even if that man gave testimony to my claim, he just wasn't a reliable source, as they'd put it.

I wasn't even sure if what I saw was real either, and I sure as hell wouldn't believe me had I been hearing the same story. I had killed a man by punching him with coins and having him accidentally swallow one. What made even less sense was the fact that he faded into dust directly thereafter. It was definitely something that you wouldn't consider normal.

The same thing happened to the other man who faced Mr. Ponytail. How? I don't know. Maybe the coins and the guy's gloves were magical and shit. All I knew was that they died. Because of that, I was now under arrest, and suspected of attacking a woman. I had too many questions, but the more I thought about it, the more depressed I became.

It was now about three in the morning, and I couldn't get any sleep because of what happened. The police were kinda weirded out by my watch as it was digital and digital watches weren't created for a long time but they confiscated it. It might be the only thing I have from the future that could be considered useful.

It was then that I noticed the sound of footsteps on creaking wood coming towards my cell. Rolling over, I sat up just in time for Mr. Ponytail to stop at the door of my cell, followed by one of the officers that interrogated me earlier. "You're free to go," the officer said, as he reached the door and unlocked the cell.

"Really? And what about all that about me being insane?" I asked sarcastically.

"The woman we thought you attacked woke up briefly and said that she was attacked by three men that matched the description you gave us to the letter. She also said she never saw a man matching your description," the officer apologized.

"I told you that I wasn't lying," I said with a tired but prideful smirk.

"Well, we still think you're insane but this man here…" he groaned, as he gestured at Mr. Ponytail, "said he requires your assistance with a matter of importance that goes beyond our paygrade, as he put it."

"I'm standing right here, ya twit," Mr. Ponytail said, giving the officer the stink eye, before pulling out his flask and taking a swig.

"Alright, as long as it gets me off the street, I don't care what you need me for. My name is Lou Barrett," I said with confidence before standing up and outstretching my hand for a handshake. He eyed me up and down for a moment, before finally accepting the handshake with a grip that made me want to writhe in pain. He kept holding it until the pain started showing on my face.

"Scott Langston, and don't be so cheery," he said as he released my hand from his gorilla-like grip. I had plenty of questions about what happened earlier that night, but something told me that asking him in the police station wasn't the best idea. The officer gave me my watch back and apologized for the inconvenience before I left.

After we left the police station, Scott Langston heaved out a heavy sigh before trudging down the foggy London street with me in tow. Then, he began to speak. It caught me completely off guard as I wasn't ready, mainly due to my lack of sleep.

"Ya want to know what happened? I know that you're curious," Scott said confidently.

"..." I couldn't say anything, not because I had nothing to say, but because I was surprised that he knew what I wanted to ask.

"Cat got your tongue, or did you forget everything that happened?" Scott asked sarcastically.

"No, I just am not sure where to start. Someone turned to dust after swallowing a coin, then you came in and turned the other one into dust as well, and before I could get a word out, you ran off after the third dude," I spurted out.

"I was actually wondering how you managed that, most people wouldn't have been able to kill a changeling… Especially armed with only the silver coins you had in your hand. Also, the one I gave chase did look like he had terrible taste in clothes, now that I think about it," Scott said, as he placed his hand on his chin and looked up in thought.

"Did you say, 'changeling'?" I asked with a surprised tone while ignoring that last part.

"Yes, what you fought were not one but three changelings. They are capable of taking the form of any living being. Their weakness, as with all monsters, is silver, but a few are sensitive to iron. This is precisely why they reacted to some of your coins. The monarchy is slowly reducing the amount of silver in coins... You're lucky you had some of the old ones," he blurted out as if he were an English professor that was making a point. I was muted by what was just explained to me. How should I respond? It's not like I didn't just show up in this time period with no warning whatsoever. Noticing my obvious silence, Scott continued.

"Monsters and other supernatural phenomena are in fact real, for the most part. I work for the Table, a group created to keep the peace between beings of supernatural origin. We also hunt down and exterminate supernatural beings that want to destroy the peace. I had been hunting those three that you encountered for several days, and one is still on the loose as of now, since I could not keep up with it," Scott explained further.

"..." I still didn't know what to say. Either he's insane or everything he's saying is true and I can't tell which.

"That's where you come in. You were able to kill a changeling, a feat that would require at least some training to pull off, with just your fist and a few coins," he explained, before grabbing his flask and taking another swig, only to realize there was nothing left for him to drink.

"Funny, I could have sworn I filled this earlier… Well, want to get a drink?" I was surprised he still wanted to drink more. The closer I got to him, the more I realized he stunk of rum. He must be one of those lost causes with an iron liver. Knowing that I couldn't really say no, I agreed and followed. Plus, I wanted to learn more about this so-called Table. It seemed rather interesting.

The place that Scott had led me to was probably the only tavern in all of London, with all its majestic size, that was open at three in the morning. The walls were made of old wood that would have rotted away years ago had they not been on the inside of the building. The whole place reeked of alcohol in an unsettling way, and half of the tables and chairs were partially broken.

There was even a loft, but I wouldn't be caught dead up there, It looked as if it could come crashing down any moment. The only good thing about it was the fact that, other than us and the bartender, the only people here were passed out in strange sleeping positions. Scott seemed unfazed by any of this. He only really seemed to care about the alcohol that he was drinking. The moment we arrived here, he even had the bartender go ahead and fill his flask.

I assume he might have the ability to never get drunk no matter how much he drank. That in itself was a scary thought to me. Once he's had his drink, he should start telling me what exactly was going on, as he refused to say any more until he was back at drinking. Yet, he still wasn't saying anything, so I decided to initiate the conversation.

"So… monsters exist. Can you tell me more about this Table, and what the hell just happened?" I asked awkwardly. He looked up from his drink, and stared into my eyes for a second with a kinda dumbfounded glare, before finally turning back to his drink.

"I told you before. What you fought were changelings, one of many kinds of supernatural beings. I remove them if they get violent because that is what the Table does as a whole," he reiterated.

"..." He saw my silence as me waiting for him to elaborate, I guess, because that's what he did.

"Monsters and other mythical creatures have existed since the dawn of mankind, maybe even before. By studying them or mating with them, some humans received magical abilities, creating witches and sorcerers. I can introduce you to a few of the nicer ones later. The group I belong to is known as the Table, and has hunted violent creatures since the time of King Arturius, better known as King Arthur. Merlin, Arthur's aid, was a sorcerer, and many of his knights were creatures or sympathizers that he had befriended. Together, they were known as the Round Table. Since then, the Round Table has changed names and spread throughout the world, coming to be known today as the Table. Although there were people, mainly religious zealots, who hunted the violent creatures, the Round Table was the first organization gathered for that single cause, to protect the peace between the two sides," Scott elaborated with a tired and bored expression.

I wasn't exactly surprised that King Arthur had been brought up in this conversation, but I had no real response. So instead, I spat out the stupidest thing I could have said, but the only thing I could think of. I asked him about every mythical creature I could think of, and whether they were real or not,"So… vampires are real?"

"Yes."

"Changelings?"

"One tried to kill you earlier."

"Fenrir's?"

"Only in Italy and Denmark."

"Leprechauns?"

"They run all the banking systems in the British Isles."

"What?" I asked, stupefied.

"They can remember anything related to currency. And like dragons, they hoard wealth. And they also live three times as long as humans do."

"Werewolves?" He Kinda paused for a moment before answering, as if he was having a horrid flashback.

"They are nearly extinct, partially because of me," he said with a solemn look. I decided he had some kind of vendetta with werewolves, so I didn't pursue that any further.

"Booze Sprites?"

"If there is a Sprite in my booze, so help me God, I will lock it in an iron-silver cage and shake it around until it dies," after he finished his threat he set his drink down, and a small glimmer rose out of the cup and sped off with lightning-like speed. He had turned away just in time to not see it, but I nearly spat out my own drink. Noticing my reaction, Scott swatted out his arm and caught the ball of light in his hand. At some point, of which I had only noticed now, was that Scott had removed his gloves. Bringing his closed hand closer to his face, he whispered something into his hand. Then, with what looked to be a nod of agreement, he opened up his hand, and the light flew off.

"I'm surprised you could see it as it truly was. Most people can't see supernatural creatures that want to blend in," Scott said with an intrigued look.

"Why can't people see them?" I asked.

"Most intelligent supernatural beings have a second form that allows them to blend in with the human world. Changelings are some of the few that can have as many forms as they want. Though forms can be either flesh, which causes physical changes to their body, or mimicry, which alters people's perception of them. That sprite was the latter," Scott explained.

"I could never see that before," I said with a genuinely confused look.

"That's strange. Either people are born with that ability or they learn to see them. However, you do not seem to know how you came to be able to see them. That is interesting. Were you, perchance, possessed at any point recently?" he asked, though his face showed that he was joking.

"Alright, what about this Table? How do you function? Is it government-run or independent?" I asked, brushing off his question. In the corner of the bar, one drunkard who had been sleeping got up groggily whilst holding his head, and meandered out of the bar. Scott waited to speak till the man had left, admiring the natural foam of the drink until the drunk had left.

"There are a couple thousand agents worldwide, but we are not everywhere, only where we are allowed to be. Some governments would rather deal with monsters themselves. But because of a lack of personnel, I am the only true agent in all of London. Thus, it is entirely my district. There is also a sorcerer and a witch that I am on friendly terms with, and they help me from time to time… Otherwise, it's just me. That is why I would like to recruit you," he said, without a care for the fact that I had brushed off his question.

"So.. you want me to join this Table and help you fight monsters and protect London?" I asked.

"In a way, yes," he said, before taking a sip of his drink.

"Dope," I replied with an eager attitude.

"There will be no drugs," he stated sternly.

"No, it's an idiom. It means awesome," I tried to explain.

"I don't see what this has to do with religion," Scott said with a slightly confused look. I was starting to realize that some terms had changed over time. I can tell him that I'm from the future, right? He deals with the supernatural all the time, so he might not think that I'm crazy, right? He did save me as well, so I think I can trust him.

"It's a term from the future," I said matter-of-factly.

"What?" he retorted with a dumbfounded look. I kind of felt as if he were looking at me in a different light now.

"The future, I'm from the future, and those phrases are commonplace in the future. Specifically, the twenty-first century," I explained further.

"The future, huh… Guess I really have to take you to that sorcerer I mentioned, to see if you're telling the truth," Scott said calmly.

"Great, I can't wait. Though, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that monsters exist. Perhaps the alcohol will make it sound more believable," I said, before gulping down my mug. Scott and I drank for a good while, before I blacked out.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

When I awoke, I tussled around, as one who desperately wished to find a more comfortable sleeping position. The headache I felt was bad, but not the worst I've ever had. Even so, I had no desire to get up. I had yet to even open my eyes, believing in my subconscious that the last day had been a very lucid dream. That is, until I heard something familiar.

"Hey you, you're finally awake," a voice that sounded like a scratchy mix between an old man and a pubescent boy said.

After hearing this, my eyes shot open, half expecting to wake up in a moving carriage as if it were the most natural next part of my lucid dream. Instead, I was in a yellow, candle-lit room with no windows. A desk sat on one end of the room, covered in old papers and books, while on the other, a lavishly designed door stood with more locks on it than on that of a paranoid crack-head. Otherwise, the room had nothing but the cot I was laying on, and the person whose voice I heard upon waking up.

He was rather old, or at least I thought it was a he, with long white hair and a rather younger-looking face. He adorned a grey robe that made me think that he was a cosplayer, or part of a cult. Actually, with all that has happened to me recently, that would be the least surprising thing I would've seen. Along the linings of his robe were interwoven gold markings that looked like a mix of old norse, latin, and Greek. It stood out a bit, but not as much as the creepy smile that he wore.

"I was worried that you might be extremely hurt the way Langston brought you here, the drunk bastard, but you seem alright." the man said with a now more caring than creepy smile on his face. I sat up in a slight rush so as to not show him any disrespect before speaking.

"Where am I, and who are you?" I asked calmly but with a wince of pain from my hangover.

"You are in the safest place in all of the world, my bedroom," he said before waving his hands around to show it off, but I was not impressed. "And my name is Iscariot, master of sorcery."

To be frank, not much surprised me at this point, but something about this guy was giving me a ton of mental red flags. I don't know whether it's his insanely scratchy voice, pride in his bedroom, or the fact that he unironically called himself a sorcerer, but it was creepy. Instead, I figured I should ask why I was here. That's logical right? Just avoid the crazy and get straight to the point.

"What am I doing here?" I asked.

"Well, as I said before, Mr. Langston brought you here unconscious. Don't know exactly why, but I think it's because he wants me to look you over. What I want to know is, are you from the future as he said? Other than your watch, I could find nothing on you that seemed futuristic." Iscariot said with a curious and dubious tone.

"Yes… I am from the future. That watch is digital and solar-powered, something that isn't available in the 1880s," I said with a sigh.

"Okay, you're from the future. I believe that, but how can you obtain power from the sun?" he asked in the same way a science teacher would ask the class idiot. It was as if he was completely disregarding the fact that I was actually from the future and just wanted to know how the technology worked.

"... The sun generates solar rays, and that watch collects rays and converts them into electricity, or energy. It then powers the watch and shows the time on the screen, I don't know any more than that. I am not an expert on it," I said, hoping that would quell his desire for knowledge of future machinery.

"Fascinating, the future holds such great things. I just hope I will live long enough to see it," Iscariot said with mild enthusiasm.

"I doubt it. That's over a hundred years in the future," I said, instantly crushing his dreams. He kinda looked depressed when I said this. Maybe I should have encouraged him rather than stomping on his dreams, or so I thought. He got happy again, almost joyous even after a second. I don't know what made him so happy, but I could tell it wasn't good; Screw me for pitying him.

"If you time-traveled then maybe others could too?" he almost yelled. "What caused you to time travel?"

"I-I don't know, I kind of just walked through an alley and the whole world changed on me," I stammered out as I didn't have the slightest clue.

"Oh, well that's disappointing…" he said redundantly.

"Ya, sorry," I said, feeling a bit sorry for the guy.

"Mmm… So have we been across the galaxy by the 2000s?" Iscariot asked, reluctantly curious.

"No, we only got to the moon, and the Americans do it first," I said with the thought of that giving him some hope for the future.

"Really? How did the colonies get more advanced than us?" he asked angrily but his scratchy voice made it sound utterly hilarious, like a bog witch shrieking about not getting tax benefits.

"I don't know, I'm not a history nut," I replied, as I wasn't exactly a model student. At this point, the conversation had gone in a strange direction and the news about the space race seemed to anger Iscariot, thus I wasn't going to continue. Thankfully, a knock at the door ended the conversation.

"Who is it?" asked Iscariot.

"It's Scott, the code is rapture," replied the knocker, who I was not pleased to hear was Langston. After hearing this, Iscariot hobbled over to the door, spending roughly thirty seconds unlocking the insane amount of locks ordaining it, and opened it. In stepped Scott, smelling of booze, his clothes ragged, carrying a faint scent of the docs' water, and looking fairly tired.

"Well…, is he from the future?" he asked with a raspy tired voice the moment he was inside and the door was shut behind him.

"Yes," Iscariot replied with a very monotone voice. He barely asked me any real questions, yet he was so willing to accept it as fact... Was he actually crazy? Scott sighed, took a deep breath, and as he released his breath, a word escaped his lips.

"Bollocks…"

The room was quiet for a while, too long, actually. Iscariot and I could tell that Scott was contemplating things, and neither of us was going to interrupt. I thought about asking Iscariot if he was up for a game while we waited, but that didn't sound very mature, and I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of a sorcerer and a monster hunter. The good news was that Scott finally spoke before I had the chance to make a fool of myself.

"Iscariot, what have you learned from him?" Scott asked.

Iscariot turned from facing me towards him before saying, "Not much. He has a watch that works far differently than anything I have ever seen that was either magical or normal. Also, his knowledge of machines from the future is rather small, as he can't tell me how to recreate them, but his basic knowledge surpasses that of common scholars of today."

"So he's a bloody genius here, but in the future, he's an idiot?" Scott asked rhetorically.

"Hey, I'm right here," I protested.

"And I couldn't care less," Scott replied with more sass than a mom after their child talked back.

"Yes, you could say he is a genius to us because of his future knowledge. Although, that doesn't matter. The fact that he is from the future in itself is a danger to the universe. He could accidentally alter the timeline without us knowing that it was even altered," Iscariot said to try and get the conversation back on track.

"Then he needs to be quarantined until he dies, is what you're saying?" Scott asked.

"I don't wish to be quarantined," I interrupted.

"You don't have to go that far. He is dangerous as an existence, but nothing happens without reason. I believe it would be more beneficial to have him join the Table and shadow you until we can figure out who or what caused him to come to this time period," Iscariot said. Scott looked like he was about to say something, but then he stopped, taking a long pause before speaking.

"Well, I was already planning on taking him on as an apprentice. I want him to join the Table, but I want to send him to the Table for his training. I already know that I would be an awful teacher," Scott finally said. I was starting to think that his slower reaction time was due to him being drunk.

"You do realize if you don't train your own apprentice soon, the Table heads are going to force one on you. Your father-in-law can only bail you out for so long," Iscariot replied.

"Don't talk about that, please... I get it, I will contact the Table about registering him as my apprentice. But he needs to stay here until then," Scott said, finally giving in.

"That's fine. You know time is altered in this room," Iscariot said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, not because of the Table discussion, but because of the comment about the room I was currently in.

"This room was created in a synthetic dimensional space where time is far slower than the outside. Just since we started this conversation, which has only lasted a moment, an hour has passed outside. It also cannot be opened except from the inside or by using a magic key, which is why this is the safest place on earth," Iscariot answered. I was unsure of how to react to the bomb that was released from Iscariot's mouth; it was something that seemed impossible except to the imagination of theoretical physicists.

"If you think that's amazing, Iscariot should tell you the story of why his voice is that of an old man who somehow hasn't reached puberty," Scott said with a chuckle.

"I don't think I want to tell him that story, for my own pride's sake," Iscariot replied sheepishly.

"Well, now I want to hear it," I said hoping to coerce Iscariot.

"Yeah, tell the twit your bloody hilarious story!" Scott said, encouraging him more.

Iscariot sighed. "Fine, I was messing around with an alchemical experiment and caused an explosion that sent my family jewels into my stomach permanently. This gave me a very high-pitched squeaky voice and the older I get, the more insane I sound," he said with an almost reminiscent tone.

"But you are insane, so it's more like a warning siren," Scott said jokingly.

I did everything I could to not chuckle, so instead, I just acted concerned. "Remind me to never mess with magic," I said with a pained look of warning.

"Oh, I wasn't using magic. I was experimenting with gunpowder," Iscariot corrected. Well, now I think he might just be more idiotic than he is letting on, or maybe he's just eccentric, as Scott said.

"With that, I will take my leave. I leave the future twit in your hands, Iscariot. I will return with news from the Table," Scott said, adjusting his coat and then unlocking the many locks on the door. Once he had left it was just me and Iscariot in an uncomfortable silence yet again.

"Want to play chess?" he asked, to finally break the silence. Apparently, when I was wanting to ask if he wanted to play a game, he was thinking the same thing. Wait, if he's thinking the same thing I am, and he's insane, what does that say about me?

Nearly four hours had passed since Scott left, three of which included an impromptu lesson on how to use a magical chess set. It's pretty much the same as regular chess, except the pieces are controlled with your mind. Of course, this also came with an explanation of how magic worked. The way how Iscariot explained it, was that magic and science share one commonality.

They have a mathematical formula explaining their existence. For example, if fuel is equal to F, the air is equal to A, and ignition is equal to I then would produce a form of Fire. The only difference between the two is that the fuel used by magic is an energy that flows through all living things, whilst in science, the fuel can be practically any flammable substance. By imagining the formula and focusing my energy on an item or a certain area I can create or control what the given formula allows for.

Although, there are many tools, like the chess pieces, that have formulas inscribed into them, making it so that you don't have to imagine said formulas as you use the magic every single time. These are usually wands or staffs, though, that can be used to cast spells. Of course, Iscariot explained that magic items are not tools with multiple capabilities, so they can only have one single purpose. That and these items can only be used by someone who has fused their life with the item. In other words, they have to rub some blood, or other vital substance, on the item in order for it to become theirs. I had to rub some of my own blood on the bottom of each chess piece before I could use it. Controlling a specific piece with my mind was a lot harder than I had originally thought.

I tried moving a rook, and instead I ended up flinging a knight across the room. What's worse is that the chess pieces cannot be lifted from the chessboard without magic. The chessboard itself was a magic item that was imbued with energy beforehand, kind of like a magic battery. Honestly, I think he was trying to gauge my magic power, like at the beginning of a video game. The only difference was I couldn't control shit, unlike every main character ever.

As we played, I wondered aloud if Scott used magic. Iscariot frowned dismally and told me that Scott hated magic, not because of religious or moral reasons, but because he couldn't imagine the formulas properly. Scott also refused to use magic tools because his body couldn't handle them. He didn't seem to be telling me everything about Scott's refusal of magic tools, but I didn't think it was wise to ask what it was that he was hiding. Eventually, I got the hang of it and was able to actually play the game. I lost due to being so focused on moving the pieces, rather than the game itself. During the game, though, I had a thought.

"Hey, Iscariot, if I'm going to be hunting monsters, shouldn't I have a weapon?" I asked, as it was something that would probably be necessary.

"Yes, but I am not going to give you one. That's Mr. Langston's job," Iscariot replied.

"I understand but once I have a weapon, could you place a magic formula similar to that of the chess pieces on it for me?" I asked.

Iscariot arched his brow at this, then smiled. "I'm interested in your train of thought. I will do that for you, but only if you can learn to control this chess piece," he said, pointing at the queen. So, I spent the rest of the time trying to make the chess piece float around and fly through the air with decent control. I had figured out how to slide pieces around, so that wasn't the issue. He was trying to gauge my control, of which I didn't possess much.

I did end up controlling the piece fairly well but only after nearly shitting myself just trying to magically spin the damn thing in a circle. Iscariot told me after that I didn't need to strain myself… that it was a matter of mental focus, not muscle focus. I think the training would have gone a lot smoother had my teacher not sounded like a helium-inhaling crackhead grinding his teeth on a chalkboard. I had to stop myself from laughing multiple times, which made me lose my focus.

We were in the middle of learning how to make the chess piece spin like a saw blade when Scott finally knocked at the door and gave his password. I slowly lowered the chess piece back to the board while Iscariot started unlocking the door. Once Iscariot had opened the door, Scott stood there looking more disheveled than before. This time, there was another smell coming off him too. It almost smelled like stale vomit. Neither of us knew what to think.

"What happened to you?" we both asked.

"I rode the train to Warwick in order to speak with the European leader of the Table about you. But I couldn't sleep on the train, even on the way back. I haven't slept in three days," Scott said before sitting on the cot, pulling out his flask, and taking a swig.

"Oh, that's rather unfortunate," Iscariot replied compassionately, but it only sounded sarcastic.

"Wait, it's been three days? But it's only been a few hours here," I said but they both looked at me with a look of dumbfoundedness.

"Did you forget that this room is in another dimension where time is slower or did Iscariot hit you in the head?" Scott asked as if I were an idiot.

"I did no such thing, although I did consider it," Iscariot refuted in a way that made me warier of his presence whilst alone.

"Anyways, here's a silver knife," Scott said, handing me a hunting-style knife in a leather sheath.

"Thank you," I replied as I looked it over.

"You can get a different weapon once I decide your training is far enough along, or I decide to fully trust you," Scott said, stating his expectations.

I was fine with that because now, Iscariot would have to hold up his end of our deal. Thus, I handed it to him and he, knowing what I wanted him to do, started carving on the handle. I think Scott saw this but did nothing to stop it. Probably because he was too tired to care. Within a minute, Iscariot had already inscribed the formula on the hilt and started to hand it to me, pausing for a moment right before.

"Grit your teeth," he said in a monotone voice.

"What?" I started to ask before he stabbed my hand with his carving tool and placed the knife handle in it. This stained the handle a dark crimson but I was in far too much pain from being stabbed to care at the moment. All I could do was let out a pained yell.

"Why would you do that, you prick!?" I asked in a panicked tone.

"I gave you plenty of warning," he said, obviously not sorry about it. What annoyed me more was that Scott was chuckling at my pain. Now that I think about it, he may not have stopped Iscariot because he knew that was going to happen. That bastard!

"Alright, Iscariot, I thank you for taking care of the kid for a while. We're going to head to my flat for the rest of the day so I can sleep and then I will begin his training," Scott said with a yawn.

"You're welcome, and please don't bother me for about a week, I would like to sleep for at least a few hours before you come knocking at my door again," Iscariot asked with an equally tired, but slightly more energetic, sigh.
"That's fine with me, and do you have any of those magic keys you can give the kid so he can find your room if he needs to?" Scott inquired.

"Of course. Here you are," Iscariot said, handing me a ring from his pocket. "This is the key to my room. You will not be able to open the door, but I will know that it's either you, the Witch, or Scott at the door," Iscariot said, explaining it to me as if I didn't just hear his conversation.

"Thanks," I replied. Wait, what did he say about a witch? Is it the same witch that Scott said he knew?

 

[Daddycool101]

The following story is about Lou Barrett, an accidental time traveler sent to London in the year 1888. Supernatural creatures from myth and ancient legend roam freely during this period, including Jack the Ripper. I hope you enjoy reading through his journey!

New chapter every day until the end of the first arc.
This is my first thread so if I make a mistake with the UI, please let me know so I can fix it.

Click to shrink...

You put the summary in the chapter's place and the chapter in the summary's.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

You put the summary in the chapter's place and the chapter in the summary's.

Click to shrink...

Thank you! I fixed it.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Once we were outside of Iscariot's building, I noticed that we were in the same place I had passed through on my way to the Church. Although it was now midday, the streets had a similar air to them as before. There were a lot more people going around town than yesterday. Four and five-story buildings stood towering on either side of the brick road. Various shops that you would rarely see in the modern day were quite busy, while others sat vacantly. People of all ages, were distributed along the streets with carts to sell homemade goods. It was much nicer than Whitechapel.

"Where are we?" I asked, as I had yet to learn the full geography of London.

"Farringdon, just outside of Whitechapel, my flat is only a short walk from here," he said turning east, I think; I'm bad with cardinal directions, especially since now I had a very vague sense of where we were. Nonetheless, I followed him.

The building he led me to, a two-story brick building that looked like a crack den, seemed as if it were about to fall apart from the deteriorating brick walls to the cracked windows. Not to mention the horrible design choice of having a partial balcony on the second floor. The front door of the building was of an old and decrepit wood that creaked and moaned every time the wind would ever pick up. With every new surface that got into view, I was finding something about this place that I was fearful of. How was this up to code in any way? It could have just been some simple weather damage that hadn't been taken care of, so I didn't complain. He was letting me stay here, so I think I'll be fine.

Following Scott the rest of the way in, he led me up the creaky and partially broken stairway to a door that he unlocked to reveal his apartment. It was small, with two rooms and a living area that was also the kitchen. Each room held a bed with no sheets, only blankets, and a single pillow. The walls were grey and barren. On top of that, the wallpaper was peeling badly in some places. In the living area was a couch, a wood stove, and a table. The wood stove, which also acted like an oven as far as I could tell, had but seen little use. In the center of the room, the couch sat with several holes in it, and oh my God there is a dead rat being eaten by a living rat underneath it. To add to the mess, the room was littered with rum bottles, empty and full. Scott lived here and didn't even seem to care, he just strolled into the room on the far left of the apartment and shut the door.

"This place is a mess," I yelled toward his room.

"Then clean it up," I heard him say back, albeit muffled, through the door.

Grabbing the only broom I could see, which was covered in dust, I began sweeping out of spite, starting with the rats. I swatted the live one away and swept up the dead one. Damn, there was a lot of dust in here! Because of the dust I was kicking up with the broom, I decided to open the windows and allow myself some breathing room before continuing to sweep. After a good hour of cleaning, I decided to lie on the couch and mess with my new knife. The knife itself didn't seem very special, although it wouldn't be legal in London during the time period that I was there.

Due to the magic formula, I could make the knife fly anywhere I wanted with my mind. Kind of like another appendage that was attached to my body with a magic string. I could make it spin like a saw blade just as I made the chess piece do, and even make it fly around the room at high speeds as if I was a planet with a knife-shaped satellite. Eventually, I stopped because I accidentally launched it into the wall a few too many times. Getting bored of knife practice, I decided to take a nap on the couch. A few hours later though, I was awoken by the sound of Scott telling me to get up.

"No, fuck you, let me sleep," I replied groggily.

"What was that? I said get up!" he yelled as he kicked the couch from behind, making me fall on the floor with the couch laying on top of me. Damn, this couch is heavy… How in the hell did he even kick it over?

"It's time for your training," he said, as I slowly climbed out from under the couch. He then meandered out the door of the apartment without me, only to open it after a few seconds just to tell me to get my ass moving. I complied with a tired roll of my eyes and followed after him.

"So, where are we going, and what kind of training are we doing?" I asked as I rubbed the crust which had formed in the corner of my eye.

"You ask too many questions. We have to keep a lookout for the changeling that attacked you. We also need to check out a rumor that a succubus has been killing people who have refused to help her with their work," Scott explained as if I should have already known this.

"Succubus, as in a demon prostitute? One is attacking people who won't sleep with them?" I said with an unconvinced tone as I followed along.

"They aren't demons, they are a subclass of the Amazons. Immortal creatures, so long as they feed off of the life force of humans. Usually, they are peaceful, but when they are desperate, they will likely attack people," Scott corrected.

"And if we find this Succubus, do we have to kill it?" I wondered out loud.

"Not really. Although succubi will attack humans when desperate, they will not kill them. Thus, we don't need to kill it, just detain it and hand it over to Mama Louise," Scott said with an almost reluctant expression.

"Who is Mama Louise? Another member of the Table?" I asked curiously. It kind of sounded like the name of a mafia head.

"No. She runs all of the Succubus brothels in Whitechapel, and several all over London. She can get the Succubus stabilized or kill it, it's up to her," Scott explained. So she was kind of like a mafia head.

"Umm, okay then. Now, you said before that you watch over all of London. If you're going to be strictly in Whitechapel for a while, then who is watching the rest of London?" I asked with a worried expression.

"Good question. I asked the Head Consul of the Table if they could send someone to watch over it for me. Whether they did or not, I have no idea," Scott said. I was starting to think that this Table was very poorly managed.

"You're really just going to leave it at that?" I asked due to the shock of learning that anything could happen in the rest of London and we would be none the wiser.

"There's not really much else I can do. Although the Table is spread all over the world, that doesn't mean that we have infinite resources and people. We are spread thin as it is, and we are trained with that in mind. So we make allies with the supernatural any chance we can get. That way, they can deal with a lot of their problems without us, but when something goes rogue, or when there's a conflict that needs a third party, we are always called upon," Scott explained.

"Okay, then. if that's how it is..." I said. We continued on silently the rest of the way.


***


We were currently at Mama Louise's, a high-end brothel at the edge of Whitechapel. Lining its walls were regal lamps and fine purple and red colours. Each room that we passed by on our way in was fitted with a hot bath, bed, and various amenities. Though, where we stopped was the private lounge in the back. It featured a fully stocked bar, several couches, and a sinister but noble villain aesthetic. Mama Louise, the owner, was an older-looking woman whose body was quite robust. She wore a purple gown, and was smoking a long thin pipe as we sat across from her on one of the red couches. The smoke from her pipe matched the colour of her long white hair that was poorly put up. Even if I was into older women, she wouldn't have really appealed to me. I had thought that Succubi could seduce anyone… Guess not.

"State your business, Scott. You and I both know you don't have all day," Mama Louise finally said to break the silence, letting out a dramatically long fume of smoke from her mouth upon finishing.

"Mama Louise, we would like to ask you about the rumors of a Succubi that has been attacking people lately. Are they true, and if so, where can we find this Succubus?" Scott asked with more respect than I had ever seen him show anyone up till now. It almost seemed like he was afraid.

"Is that what I was woken up for? The Table is becoming rather rude; and yes, I know who you are referring to," Mama Louise asked back and responded, obviously annoyed.

"That is great. Then, if we could know who it is and where to possibly find her, we could detain and return her—" Scott said before Mama Louise raised her hand as if to tell him to shut his mouth.

"I want you to kill her," Mama Louise stated without a hint of mercy on her tongue.

"May I ask why? I thought the Succubi protect their own?" Scott asked with a confused look.

"We do protect our own, but she is a traitor. She has killed one of my clients and that is considered punishable by death among us Succubi. It has worked out perfectly that you would arrive before I could kill her myself," Mama Louise replied with a partially threatening gleam in her eyes.

"Mama Louise, we are here to stop her from attacking humans but we cannot allow ourselves to be caught up in the affairs of the Succubi. She will be captured and brought to you so that you may deal with her. Only if she attacks us will we kill her," Scott stated slowly, as he seemed to be trying to not say anything incorrectly or that could be taken in the wrong light.

"That is understandable, considering the pact we Succubi made with the Table... So be it. She was last seen hiding within the Chapel here in Whitechapel. I will await your return with her, dead or alive," she said, waving us off with faint annoyance. I could only watch. I knew nothing of what was going on. That woman knew this, and acted like she didn't even notice me. To match, Scott also ignored me and spoke to her like he was at a peace meeting that could go sour at any moment. From the way she acted, it felt like I was definitely sitting in front of a mafia boss who wasn't pleased with our visit. I was right to assume. Once we were outside Mama Louise's, Scott released a heavy sigh before reaching into his coat pocket, grabbing his flask, and chugging half of the contents.

"Ugh, I was too sober for that. I swear she was staring daggers into me the whole time. Glad I talked to her when she was in relatively good spirits," he said with a deep gasp after taking that all in.

"Is she that scary? She just seemed annoyed that we were bothering her..." I asked as she just seemed to be playing with him.

"Kid, if you ever get on that woman's nerves, there is no place on earth that she couldn't find you; and once she finds you, you will be tortured and killed," he said with the straightest of faces. I was now terrified, and could see why he acted the way he did in there.

We strode through the streets of Whitechapel with an aura that seemed to attract a lot of attention from my point of view. Scott, on the other hand, didn't seem to care. It was as if there was nothing that could bother him. At least, I would think that if he hadn't shown that he was terrified of Mama Louise. The people around us would stare as if we were circus performers that had gone out for a drink while still in costume.

"Why are they staring at us?" I asked Scott.

"Well Lou, I am wearing much nicer clothes than they are, and reek of alcohol, so many of them assume that I would be perfect to rob. They don't care much about you. They probably think I paid you chump change to be my bodyguard or you're a beggar, hoping that I will give you something," Scott explained as if he was looking down on them. However, that was not his intention by any means. He just naturally seemed like a dick, from what I could tell. Though I was aghast... Did people really think I was dressed like a beggar? I thought it looked cool, although many people in the 20th century would call me an edgelord.

"Do you really think I dress like a beggar?" I asked with a tone of uncertainty.

"You do. And you have no money anyway, so you would be a beggar had I not taken you in," Scott stated honestly whilst eyeing the headlines of today's newspaper being handed out by a young boy on the street corner.

"You have me there," I reluctantly replied.

"Anyways, we're here," he said as we arrived at the chapel. It wasn't that far from Mama Louise's at all. Scott hopped up the stone steps and began knocking on the door. It echoed a bit inside, before we heard footsteps moving quickly from behind the door. A moment later, the door opened just enough for the Priest to peek his head out. It was the same old man who had refused to house me. He looked at Scott and I swear I heard him say "oh shit" before pulling his head back in and attempting to shut the door. Scott reached in before he could, and opened up the door completely.

"M—Mr. Langston! You surprised me. What brings you to Whitechapel?" The Priest asked, but as he spoke, he seemed out of breath.

"We are on the hunt for a succubus who is suspected of being at your chapel, Father," Scott said as an interrogator would. With every word, Scott inched in closer to the Priest, making him quite uncomfortable.

"There couldn't be any creatures that you hunt here, these grounds are consecrated," he replied with an awkward smile. No matter how you looked at it, the Priest looked like he was trying to hide something.

"I think these grounds need to be reconsecrated, because if it was, then this vampire charm would be red hot," he said, pulling a small medallion out of his pocket.

"I see, I will have that done, but please leave. I am busy," the Priest stammered as he tried to hurry us out.

"Lou, search the chapel," Scott said to me sternly, as he looked around. I wasn't sure what I was searching for, but I started to amble toward the end of the chapel.

"You cannot do that, this—" the Priest tried to make a rebuttal, but was hastily interrupted.

"We can do anything in our jurisdiction so long as it is to keep the peace, and you fall within mine. The Church of England has agreed to let us handle supernatural problems in or around Churches as we see fit," Scott said with a glare that could stop a bear in its tracks. The Bishop shut his mouth and didn't say any more, despite looking like he wanted to cuss Scott out.

Approaching the back left end of the Chapel, I found a door that was ajar. As I stepped towards the door to open it, there was a crash from the other side. It was loud enough that Scott came running towards it. Charging through the door into a long hallway spanning the side of the chapel, I saw a red haired woman around her mid-twenties, dressed in 19th-century lingerie bolting towards a door at the end of the long hallway. Running back there towards the front of the Chapel, the hall only held a confession booth and a few candle stands, so there was plenty of room to chase her. Rushing after her, Scott came running up behind me. I pulled out the silver knife and started forcing as much energy I could get into it, before chucking it at her. Because I had only received it today, I didn't have enough control to hit a specific part of her body, so instead, I aimed for the door.

To my surprise, it lodged itself in the door right next to the handle as she attempted to grab it, stopping her in her tracks. The girl turned towards us as if ready to fight, but her face showed that she was scared. It seemed as though she thought we were going to kill her. Of course, in her defense, I would think someone was going to kill me if they flung a knife at me as well. The girl stood completely still, as if she were despairingly weighing her options. Although there was a door right behind her, she didn't dare flee toward it. Probably because she was waiting for us to make the first move, or perhaps she'd just given up? I didn't know what Scott was waiting for, all I knew was we had to capture her. Then Scott finally spoke with a kind and caring voice.

"Listen, if you come quietly we will bring you to Mama Louise without a scratch on you," Scott said.

"I can't go back there, they will kill me," she pleaded desperately but with a stoic look reminiscent of a cornered snake.

"What caused you to kill your client?" I asked, hoping to learn her side of the story.

"This isn't an interrogation, kid," Scott snapped at me, giving me a sharp glance.

"He wanted me to join him and help kill Mama Louise. He was a collector for a small branch of the Leprechaun banking system that wanted to use the Succubi to make themselves grow in power," she said. This caused Scott to cautiously step toward her. She cowered in fear but instead of attacking her like I thought he would, he questioned her in a calm tone.

"We will not hurt you, but I want to know more. If what you're saying is true, then we could clear your name with Mama Louise and stop this branch group. I apologize for being so rude. My name is Scott Langston as you may already know," Scott said as he stripped off his glove, extending his hand to her. She looked up at him and nodded.

"Isabell," she said with suspicion, before shaking his hand.

Isabell laid out what happened, and why Mama Louise thought she was a traitor. Her story was fairly simple. A collector disguised as a client offered her a deal to kill Mama Louise. Refusing to betray Mama Louise, Isabell turned down the offer. The collector realized that she needed to die, lest word would get out, and attacked her. However, she ended up killing him in the process. One of her coworkers walked in on this and chased Isabell off even after she had explained the situation.

Her coworker then told Mama Louise that Isabell had killed a client, but not the part about why. She must have already sided with this branch group before then, and Isabell not being there made her coworker's story more believable to Mama Louise. Not knowing what else to do, she fled to the Priest, who was one of her best customers, to hide until she escaped elsewhere.

After hearing Isabell's story we ended up heading back to Mama Louise's with Isabell, but not until after we had the Priest give her a nun's robe. We couldn't go back there with her in lingerie, could we? Scott wasn't too happy about the Leprechauns doing shit, but that wasn't his job. He only kept the peace as he put it. Anything between monsters that didn't involve humans wasn't his domain. Despite that, he was still brought in to be a third-party mediator by monsters all the time.

"Hey, Barrett?" Scott said, gaining my attention.

"Yes?" I answered curiously.

"How did you get so good with that knife even though you've only had it for less than a day?" Scott asked.

"I practiced at the flat, but I can't do much at all without a ton of focus. Though I don't think I'm that good at it," I replied honestly.

"Maybe I should introduce you to my witch friend if you're that good with that thing," he said.

"Are you going to get me drunk and put me in their house, like before with Iscariot?" I asked jokingly.

He chuckled for a second. "No, I am good friends with Iscariot, so I can do that kind of stuff with him. I can't do that stuff with the witch, since she would most likely experiment on you," Scott said.

I chuckled. "She's that bad?" I asked with a bit of disbelief.

"Yes'sir," he replied with a smile and, as usual, he pulled out his flask and took a huge swig. I was starting to get used to his alcohol addiction, which isn't good. Isabell started chuckling at us from up in front.

"Why do you seem so cheeky?" Scott asked curiously.

"Have you two been working together long? You seem like you've known each other for a good while," Isabell asked.

"No, today is the kid's first day," Scott said, throwing his thumb to his side in order to gesture at me.

"You two just seem to work well together," Isabell stated.

"Thanks, but that doesn't make the job any better," Scott replied, as if to put down her opinion.

"That's strange to hear from the wolf slayer of London," she said. Scott's eyes seemed to snap at the mention of that name.

"Don't ever call me that again, or I will kill you and leave your body for the birds," Scott said with a threatening glare before tramping ahead of her and drinking more from his flask. Isabell slunk back next to me and seemed even more terrified now than when she was cornered in the chapel.

"What were you talking about?" I asked her.

She looked at me as we strolled and said, "Did no one tell you?" As soon as she realized I had no clue what she was talking about, she latched onto my arm, getting close to my ear. "He single-handedly murdered the werewolf population in London for some reason a few years back. Rumor says, he was avenging his old partner, or his wife. The rumors aren't clear about which one, though. Now, no one who wants to live messes with him. It's the only reason London is so peaceful. No one wants him to snap again," Isabell explained.

"Jesus, he killed every werewolf in London? By himself? How many lived here?" I asked in a hushed voice so that Scott wouldn't hear it.

"Over two thousand in total," she said. Jesus Christ! That's a lot, and yet, he's scared of Mama Louise.

"Fuck," I said out loud. It was the only word that came to mind, but it fit.

"I mean, if you truly want to, you could just ask me," she said, changing the subject and latching onto my arm with seductive puppy dog eyes. For some reason, I felt compelled to accept. Was this a succubus trait or was she just that good at her job?

"Thanks for the offer, but sadly, I don't have any money." I answered honestly. "But I'm probably lucky for that…" I mumbled to myself. No offense to her but I was fairly sure that STDs weren't taken very seriously during this time period.

"What?" she asked, confused by my incomprehensible mumbling. Letting go of my arm, she seemed offended that I had turned her down… or maybe it was my response?

"Nothing, let's continue," I said, taking bigger strides to move a bit faster as we went on our way to Mama Louise's.

Behind us, a pale set of eyes watched us from the rooftop of an old building. The figure wore a newsboy cap, a white shirt, and grey pants that were held up with suspenders. He wasn't very fashionable, but for the time period, he fit in perfectly. The figure then disappeared into the dusk light and fog. Looking up from the ground, I tried to avoid Isabell's eyes only to see that Scott had stopped.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"We're alone," Scott said, before taking a protective stance as if guarding Isabell.

Looking around, I saw that what he said was true. The streets were empty, not even a rat was around. The fog that had started forming in the streets began to get thicker and thicker. Isabell latched onto my left arm even tighter as she noticed what Scott meant. I drew my knife with my right hand and was prepared to fight. Or so I thought.

The silvery glint of a blade struck Isabell from my left, revealing a shadowy figure from within the fog, jamming a dagger deep into her back before I could react. Isabell gasped in pain as she turned to dust just like the changelings had the other night had. Scott charged the figure but I was between him and it; so still in shock, I desperately swung my blade at the figure with my right hand. He ducked under my blade and effortlessly stabbed me in the stomach. The tearing of flesh, muscle, and internal organs echoed up through my chest and into my head. Gasping for air, I couldn't think. I couldn't move. Eventually, I thought "That hurt like hell," before falling to my knees with the knife still wedged in my stomach. As I fell, Scott jumped in between me and the figure, but the shadowy assailant jumped backward at the last second, avoiding a kick in the face from Scott.

"You okay, kid?" Scott asked with a gritty but worried tone, as he looked back towards me and then at the figure.

"Yeah, just fucking great. If you beat him, could you let me kill him? I want to give him some payback," I said between pained gasps for air, gritting my teeth. With every word, I felt a chill down my spine. Beads of sweat dripped from my brow. All I could do was clench the knife stuck in my gut with my left hand for dear life.

"Sure thing, kid. Use this to clean the wound. It's high strength," he replied, as he threw me his flask.

I shakily dumped half of the contents on my wound. The burn was gut-wrenching, so I drank the rest of the contents of the flask, attempting to numb the pain. Holding the wound as tightly as possible with my left hand, I used my right hand and teeth to rip my shirt to tie around the wound and increase pressure. While I was tending to my wounds, Scott had started to fight our attacker under the streetlamp, who was revealed to be a man in his late twenties. Though, he looked to be a street boxer, or a fighter of some kind.

Scott began throwing punches at the man, but he was always a step away. It must have known that his gloves were lined with silver, or it just didn't want to be hit. Once the figure saw an opening, he punched Scott in the jaw. Stumbling back for a moment, Scott almost looked impressed.

"You can hit," Scott remarked respectfully before spitting out a small bit of blood from his lip.

"Well, you can take a hit," the man said in a thick Welsh accent.

"I'm a drunk, I don't feel much anymore," Scott replied sassily.

"Perhaps, but do you know who or what I am?" the man asked.

"I don't know and I don't care," Scott said before running towards the figure. But it was ready, and as Scott threw out a punch with his right hand, it dodged to the right. Our attacker grabbed his wrist and struck out its palm into Scott's stomach, flipping him onto his back with practically no effort. Landing with a grunt, Scott stopped moving.

"Stay down for a moment while I get my knife," the man said, as it began sauntering towards me.

"Who are you?" I asked as I scooted back towards one of the buildings. Holding my knife with my right hand, I extended it towards him threateningly, while my left hand desperately held the other knife in my stomach. Beads of sweat began pouring down my face as I do, and I can feel my arm getting heavier.

"Ah, yes. I am in a new body so you wouldn't recognize me. I am the changeling that escaped from you before, and now it's time for you to pay for killing my kin," the man said, kicking the knife from my hand and stomping the same foot down on my left hand. His foot pushed the knife even farther into my gut, as blood gushed out. I yelled in agony before finally passing out.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Scott came to his senses as he witnessed Lou yell and fall on his side. As he lay there, trying to get up, a person wearing a white mask with crimson tear-stains dripping from the eye slits and long mud-stained silver hair rushed in from the dense fog. Grabbing the changeling by the back of the neck, the masked man threw him away from me with ease. On his hip was an arming sword, barely hidden under the side of his torn and tattered coat. His arms and shins bore plate armor that glowed a faint purple' as if they were magical.

"What the hell!? Who are you?" the changeling asked, as he got up, but the masked man said nothing. He only drew his sword dramatically and strided towards the changeling with a haunting aura. The changeling, realizing that it probably didn't stand a chance, got up and ran away, morphing into a cat as it made its escape. The masked man stopped his stride as soon as the changeling was beyond his sight. Because Scott was awake, he saw most of it. Sitting up as the masked man strolled up to him, Scott tried to look as if he were minding his own business in an attempt to avoid him.

"Forget you saw anything, for your own sake, if not his," the masked man said to Scott, before gesturing at me and disappearing into the fog like a phantom.

Quickly standing up, Scott ran over to my body. "Please stay alive till I can get you help," he said, as he picked me up and carried me off into the foggy London streets. My blood dripped slowly onto his coat, as his shoes clicked on the cobblestone street.

***


I heard voices, one I recognized as Scott's sarcastic voice, and the other was a woman with an equally sarcastic tone, but it almost sounded angelic in comparison to Scott's gruff one. The two were discussing something, but I couldn't hear what. The only words I could hear were "mask" and "disappeared". Opening my eyes, I saw a strange light hanging above me. It was similar to a lightbulb, but those hadn't been invented yet, so what was it? It blinded me momentarily, before the woman whose voice I had been hearing stuck her head between me and the light. "Ahh, you're finally awake," she said in a calm voice, very unlike the sarcastic tone I heard earlier, before she pulled her head away.

"Where am I?" I asked, trying to sit up, but instead was met with a lot of pain in my gut. Having forgotten that I had been stabbed, I laid back down with a groan and a pained chuckle.

"I see you're feeling better already," Scott said sarcastically with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Well, fuck you too," I replied as we both began to chuckle. It was now that I realized the doctor wasn't wearing the normal clothes that women of this era would normally wear, but in fact, was wearing a dark brown suit. Was that common doctor attire in this time period, or was it a personal choice? I couldn't tell, and didn't really care.

The suit itself was similar to that of a businessman or a banker, except the coat was hanging on the wall and she had no tie. She was standing beside me at the bed, table, or whatever I was on whilst rolling her eyes at our attempts to laugh off the pain. Although I couldn't see her face, due to the strong light, I could make out a slender frame that was around a full head shorter than Scott's.

"I don't believe we've met. I am Lou Barrett," I said, extending out my hand for a handshake as I was laying down. It wasn't very proper, but I couldn't sit up, so this was the best I could do.

"Elysif Avian," she said, shaking my hand. "I am surprised, you're the first person I have worked on who didn't ask if I was qualified to heal them," she said before turning to Scott. "You bring in some weird people."

"I don't see why anyone would ask if you were qualified? Should I have?" I asked with a confused and subtly worried look.

"Usually, they're concerned that a woman is a doctor," Elysif replied with a matter-of-fact huff, before stepping away from the table-bed-thing.

"I don't see what that has to do with your qualifications," I said honestly. She smugly turned to Scott, revealing to me her tired and darkened eyes.

"I like him," Elysif said to Scott with a proud look.

"Whatever, can you fix him or not? I know you've stabilized him already, but will he pull through?" Scott asked. I was worried now that my life was being brought up. I thought she had already taken care of me?

"I am a witch, not God. I can only heal him to a point, he will need rest to heal what I cannot," Elysif replied.

"Okay, do what you can. Kid, I am heading to Mama Louise's to tell her what happened, and then to Iscariot's to see if he can track the changeling. I'll be back in a couple of hours," Scott said, before stepping out the door. After a few minutes of watching Elysif mix ingredients in a bowl, I decided to speak up. "I thought you were a witch. Aren't you just practicing normal medicine and doing what doctors do?" I asked, as it was probably a normal practice for the time.

She continued with what she was mixing as she replied, "Doctors make medicine from what they find in the realm of humans, such as plants or minerals. I mix parts of magical creatures and the supernatural to make powerful cures and potions. I also throw in a little of my own magic to enhance the medicinal properties and speed up the healing process. If I wanted to, I could cure you with magic alone, but I would be so tired from it I would probably sleep for a week," Elysif explained.

"I see… So that's the difference. How long do you think it will take to heal?" I asked now that I understood what she was doing.

"I have already stopped the bleeding and sutured your organs back together. As for completely healing your damaged organs? It will take a splash of this potion that I am brewing and a few days of rest," she said without any doubt in her voice.

"Well, that's good."

"Now a question for you. How did you meet Scott?" Elysif asked curiously.

"He saved me from some changelings, and I killed one of them, so he took me under his wing, I guess. All this supernatural stuff is new to me, so it's a little strange," I replied. It was the honest truth, weird as it was.

"You killed a changeling without ever knowing they existed in the first place? That's impressive," she said, her eyes bulging in response with disbelief.

"Yeah, well... Now I know that a ton of monsters exist, and so does magic. It's a lot to take in," I said with a tired sigh.

"I would expect that it would be. I was raised in a witch's coven, so I knew about all that stuff from birth. I guess I can't relate," she said before standing up from her workspace and sauntering back towards me. I didn't realize it before due to the lighting, but she was quite beautiful. Elysif sported short brown hair that hung down to her shoulders in the front, with a ponytail at the back and a tanned face. Her eyes were a light brown, but seemed to glow orange in the light of whatever that device hanging above me was. Her mouth was small, and her lips were naturally a bright red that faded perfectly with her tan face. She was like an angel.

"Well, it's not too much of a shock… Aagh—" I shrieked as she dumped the contents of her potion onto my wound. It burned like fire on a petrol soaked carpet.

"Maybe, I should have given you an anesthetic?" she asked herself aloud quizzically.

"You think!" I shrilled sarcastically as the burning sensation continued. When it finally stopped, I sat up without any pain and looked over my wound. It was gone! Why am I even surprised anymore? I found out that magic was real. At this point, I could probably meet God and not be fazed.

"You scream like a bitch," she said, whilst poorly attempting to cover her smile with her right hand. I take back what I thought. She was no angel, but the devil.

***


Scott Langston stood in front of the old battered door of a second-floor apartment building in Farringdon. If he had opened the door, it would have opened up to a small family enjoying dinner, but instead, he inserted a key into the lock on the door, and turned it to lock the door. Rather than a click of the lock, he heard a cackle that still freaked him out no matter how many times he heard it. However, it signaled that if he knocked on the door, Iscariot would hear the knock instead of the family. Knocking on the door, Scott waited along to the sound of what sounded like a thousand bolt locks being slid away, and the door opened. Standing in front of him was a very annoyed and tired Iscariot.

"What did I tell you, Scott? You have only been gone for a couple of hours in my time. I need my bloody damn sleep," he said angrily before letting out a tired yawn.

"I know and I apologize. It was urgent that I spoke with you," Scott said.

"What could be that important?" Iscariot asked grouchily.

"We were attacked, and the kid was injured by the changeling," Scott said, making Iscariot regret his words.

"Did you take him to that witch, Elysif?" Iscariot asked with a somewhat distorted and urgent tone.

"Yes, he should be fine. Although, he would have died otherwise," Scott said.

"I feel like death would have been better for him than leaving him with that witch," Iscariot said sympathetically.

"Don't worry, he passed her test. She will go easy on him… I hope," Scott reassured him… somewhat. The two sighed as if to give their condolences, before Iscariot gave him a groggy but stern look.

"But you didn't come here just because of that. There's more?" Iscariot said, knowing that he wouldn't have come here just to tell him that.

"Yep, that changeling might be connected to a scheme against Mama Louise, hatched by a splinter group of the Leprechauns," Scott explained.

"So, why should I care about that? Take that to your higher-ups. It's none of my bloody business that a brothel and a bank are at war," Iscariot stated firmly as he waved him off.

"... Sir Micheal was there too," Scott finally said, the image of the masked man he saw was vivid in his mind.

"..." Iscariot just stood there contemplating the words that left Scott's mouth. Then, he finally spoke with a very concerned look on his face, "Did you get struck in the head?"

"He saved me and the kid from the changeling. Then, he disappeared before my eyes, unlike any supernatural being I've ever seen," Scott said with the most bewildered look.

"I think that you're losing it. Sir Micheal is a Table legend, a story to make the Table more wary of situations when they don't need to be. However, if Sir Micheal has actually appeared, then I can only assume that something interesting is about to happen within the Table. Legend states that he was the last of King Arthur's knights. An immortal man who is believed to have killed Arthur himself. So, before you say it was this legendary boogeyman, you should make sure it was him?" Iscariot said as if lamenting a past that he would have never seen.

"I do believe that it was him. He matched the old paintings and his descriptions to the letter," Scott said to affirm Iscariot.

"Then we should do nothing except protect ourselves," Iscariot said, climbing back into bed.

"What the hell!" Scott said with a confused look, grabbing Iscariot and pulling him out of bed. "What do you mean, nothing? We should tell the Table at least."

Iscariot got up from the floor, dazed, and stared him in the eyes as he tried climbing back into bed again. "Sir Micheal has appeared in the legends very few times. All but the times during the Round Table's existence are skeptical sightings by the Head Consul with few casualties, so we should do nothing. It could be related to Mr. Barrett and his time travel accident, or it could be completely unrelated. Who knows? Just protect yourselves and don't worry too much," Iscariot said as he tried to get comfortable again under the covers.

"Fine, but the Table needs to know about this little war. I spoke to Mama Louise about the situation and she had one of her own executed in front of me to show that war was beginning. Although the one she executed was a traitor, I did not want to see that. She is a terrifying lady," Scott said with a winded expression.

"So are you when you need to be," Iscariot said with a yawn, as he got snug underneath his blanket.

"Well, I will see you in a fortnight, my sleepy friend," Scott said as he got up and left, shutting the door behind him and taking his key from the lock. Returning the door to that of the families who were now behind it, cleaning up from their meal.

***



As I looked around at Elysif's home, I saw that it was a mix of clean and messy. The area we were in was as pristine as any hospital, and it even had that rubbing alcohol smell, but in the corner was a large stack of files, books, and random papers. Other than us and the operating table, there was a lone desk and a counter covered in surgical tools, along with another counter covered in herbs and spices for her medicines. Much of the dining room sat vacant, other than a table and various dirty pots and pans. As for her bedroom, I didn't know. The door was closed, and I did not have any reason to check inside. Then, there was the living room, which wasn't that bad. In fact, it looked to be rather homey.

Elysif sat at her desk with a mostly bored face, or she was deep in thought... I wasn't sure, but she looked as if she was staring off into space for no real reason. I was about to ask her about witches, when she turned towards me with a smile. Despite my more recent opinions of her, she wasn't bad at all. In fact, she seemed to be a regular person who just happened to be a magic doctor.

"Would you like some tea?" she finally asked to break the silence of our mutual boredom-induced dissonance.

"Yes, please. If you need any help with anything, tell me, because I am rather bored," I replied eagerly, as I was parched, but far too nervous to ask for a drink.

"As am I. I wouldn't be making tea otherwise," she replied in a snarky tone.

"You don't fancy tea?" I asked questionably, as I assumed that most British people enjoyed the drink; it was odd to meet one who didn't.

"I enjoy it. I just don't enjoy making tea. It takes several minutes, in which you are eagerly waiting for the water to get to the right temperature. During those few minutes it feels like an eternity, and I hate moments like those," Elysif said with a relatable aura.

"I can agree with that, when time seems to slow down, it feels like forever, and that isn't the best feeling. I think Einstein said it best, as time is relative. Sometimes it's relatively slow," I said, hoping to further the conversation.

She gave her head a curious tilt as she raised her voice, "Who's Einstein?"

Oh, right... Einstein probably hasn't been born yet. I should have thought about that. "He is a famous physicist from the future. You wouldn't know of him, sorry," I said. Why did I keep forgetting that no one is going to understand my references?

"Scott did say that you're from the future. I don't believe him, but he rarely lies… at least, not since I've known him. Are you really from the future?" Elysif said as if she was thinking back.

"Yes, I just sort of walked into this time period," I said, throwing my hands up in an "I don't know" gesture.

"Could it be magic that sent you here?" Elysif asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, but I don't know much about it," I replied. There really was no way for me to know at the moment.

"Could you describe the experience?" Elysif said in a professional doctor's fashion.

"I walked through an alleyway and ended up in 1888," I said frankly. I didn't know what else to tell her.

"Well, then do you mind if I cut you open and see if I can figure out what sent you here?" Elysif asked with a look that I could only describe as pure desire. Did she actually want to cut me open? I really hope not.

I gave her a dumbfounded look as if I had just heard someone tell me they were God. "What? No! Are you crazy?" I asked blatantly.

"That's not a very nice thing to call a lady," she said, almost taken back.

"Hey, I am gonna speak the truth. Because it doesn't matter what gender you are, if you want to cut someone open just to figure out something, then you're crazy," I said earnestly as I stood up. She lowered her head into her hands as she sat in her chair. Oh, no, is she crying? I could hear her crying through her hands. Shit. I just met this girl and I already made her cry, even after she just saved my life. "Hey, look I didn't mean to sound so aggressive," I started to say, but then she raised her head from her hands and she was laughing like a madwoman. She wasn't crying, damn it, she was actually crazy.

"You are an odd one. No man in this time period would act that way. Even Scott, who is as callous as they come, treats women differently than men. You, on the other hand, are the same to both with no difference between the two. You didn't even care that a woman was the one doctoring you up." She cackled before calming down.

"Why would I care? It doesn't matter who you are, people are people, and you treat them all the same," I said.

"Ah, I wish I could live in your time. What year did you come from, again?" she asked.

"Late 2019," I answered.

"Well, that sucks. I'll be dead by then. Are you sure you don't want to try an experiment to send us both to your timeline? It could only require me looking at what's inside you?" Elysif asked, as if she were pleading in a roundabout way. Though something about the way she said that last sentence had me concerned.

"I am sure," I said. Scott, please come pick me up, this woman is freaking me out.

***


Not even three hours later, Scott opened the door to Elysif's flat and instantly was greeted by me running in front of him. "Scott, stop him!" Elysif shouted from across the room.

"Why?" he asked, wandering in and hanging his coat on the coat rack calmly.

"She has been trying to dissect me for the past hour and a half," I yelled as I ran around a table to avoid her.

He cocked an eyebrow and pulled out his flask. Taking a swig, he let out a deep and heavy sigh. "I am too sober for this," Scott mumbled to himself, before yelling to Elysif, "I'm disappointed in you, Elysif. I would have thought that you would have caught him by now?"

"Scott, you ass! Help me!" I shrilled at him, as I dove out of Elysif's way, while she attempted a tackle. Rather than tackling me, she crashed into a loveseat that sat in her living room with a mix of annoyance and pleasure. Because of this, she got up and began to chase me again.

"Well, he is a slippery bugger," she replied to Scott. Scott reasonably ignored her and meandered into her living room so he could sit down, only to turn right back around and strut towards her examination room that I originally woke up in. Her living room had become a mess by this point, due to me trying to avoid being dissected. There were several pieces of furniture flung around and currently resting in some odd positions.

"I'm guessing that you now believe that he is from the future, so you are trying to dissect him?" Scott asked Elysif from the examination room as he pulled out a pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco.

"Well, I won't believe he is from the future until I see some proof; and that watch of his isn't enough proof," she replied as she chucked several scalpels at me.

"I don't care if you want proof that I am from the future, just please don't cut me open; and Scott, don't smoke in here!" I yelled as I avoided the medical blades flying in my direction.

"Why can't I smoke? It doesn't hurt anyone. In fact, it's medicinal," Scott said before lighting a match.

"Actually, smoking causes asthma and cancer. On top of that, it's worse for nonsmokers to be around smokers due to secondhand smoking," I explained as I ran past the examination room. Scott stopped the match right before he touched it to his pipe bowl. Setting the pipe down, Scott blew the match out and marched into the room that Elysif and I were currently in. Just as Elysif ran towards him in an attempt to get closer to me, Scott flung out his arm. In one swift motion, he grabbed her and pressed her into the wall. Planting his right arm beside her head, he looked her in the eyes.

"You lied to me. You said that smoking would stop my cough. But I find out from future boy that it's the exact opposite. Did you do that on purpose?" he asked in a soft but furious tone. To me, it was like watching a romantic drama or perhaps a detective show. She stood there for a moment, fidgeting before stuttering out.

"Do y—you really believe he is from the future?" Elysif asked in hopes of deterring the conversation, and also to gauge whether Scott was willing to believe me or not.

"Iscariot believes, so and that's good enough for me," Scott replied.

"W—well, you know medicine isn't an exact science. Doctors learn new things every day and... sometimes they're wrong," she stammered out.

"Well, there goes one habit," he said before stepping away from Elysif in a show of disbelief. "What's next, that my booze is killing me?" Scott asked sarcastically.

"Well, it kind of is. It is easily destroying your liver, especially with how much you drink," I replied.

"I… Well, then my liver is going to die," he stated stubbornly as he lifted up his flask, taking another swig of his booze. "Hey Elysif, do I need my liver?"

"Yes," she said, as if it were a stupid question.

"Can you get me a new one if I destroy this one?" he asked with absolute deadpan.

"Yes, but I don't know if you would survive," Elysif said with a fairly concerned expression.

"That's good enough for me. Come on, Lou, we're going to the flat to rest for a while, then it's back to Whitechapel," Scott said, grabbing his coat from the coat rack and then turning to Elysif and saying, "Thank you for watching him."

"You're welcome, but don't come back here unless you're dying, got it?" Elysif stated with an annoyed look.

"Yes, I know," he said, as he stepped out the door which happened to lead to the bottom floor of our apartment. I trailed behind him out the door and waved back to Elysif.

"Thank you for not dissecting me," I said to her sarcastically, only to get another scalpel thrown at me. There was barely any time to dodge it, but I avoided it other than a small nick on my hand. It was the same hand that Iscariot stabbed too. Man, what did my hand do to deserve this? The magic potion she poured on me healed most of my wounds, but this one was stubborn and was only scabbed over.

Because Elysif was on the first floor of the apartment building, all we had to do was go up the stairs. There was also a second flat on the second floor, but it was just used for storage. Due to this, Elysif's place was much larger than ours. I wondered if the Table gave shitty pay, or if Scott just spent it all on booze? I will probably never know. Of course, I was just happy that I didn't have to walk too far, my intestines still burned like Hell, even though they were technically healed. Only realizing it now, I was in a lot of pain from running. She did give me a lot of pain relievers after I kept whining about it, though, telling me that it would hurt like a bitch in a few hours. She also said that if it did start to hurt, I should start drinking heavily as she wasn't going to be giving me any more pain relievers for a while. Upon entering Scott's place, I was greeted with the same couch that I slept in earlier, and on it, a pile of sheets, blankets, and pillows.

"What are these?" I asked.

"They're yours. I bought them for you to use on the bed in that other room, but it's coming out of your pay," Scott said with a crass but somewhat thoughtful tone. It felt distant, but I couldn't figure out why.

"Aren't there blankets and pillows on the bed already?" I asked, wondering why he had got them for me.

"There are, but they are covered in stains, and I don't even know how old they are anymore," he said, trudging over to his desk and reaching for a bottle of booze underneath it. Chugging some of it from the bottle, Scott let out a refreshing "ah", before pouring some into his flask. It was very noticeable that Scott has a serious drinking problem. Have AA meetings been invented yet? I didn't know, but after filling his flask, he meandered into his bedroom, followed by the sound of him almost body-slamming the bed.

"I see," I said, as I was also tired, so I grabbed the pile of pillows, blanket, and sheets to make my bed. After making the bed, I laid down for the first proper sleep since I had arrived. There weren't going to be any more crazy old people, changelings, or psycho doctors waking me up.

***

A few days had passed by with nothing notable to mention. Scott has been giving me combat training in the afternoons, and then we scout out Whitechapel until four in the morning. It took me a few days to get used to the new schedule, but it's not that bad. As for my training… Scott is near impossible to hit, even when he is drunk. Which is all the time. It's like he uses that martial art skill from the movies that only drunk people can master. Whatever it was, my training consisted of me getting my ass kicked for a while, and then me teaching myself how to control my knife when I'm alone.

We had our usual patrols around Whitechapel, which are all-around boring. The only thing we have to worry about are drunks looking for a fight, and prostitutes trying to get in our pants. Of course, you show them a badge, and they back off... even if it isn't a police badge. The Table did send me a badge of my own a day or two after we started this routine, and Scott showed me his. They looked the same as both were made of an iron and silver blend with bold letters inscribed at the top which read "Table Officer'' along with my name. The only major difference was that mine had one star at the bottom, while Scott's had four. There was enough room for five stars in total on each badge.

"What are the stars for?" I asked.

"They show your rank. You only have one star because you just started, while I have four because I have been with the Table a while," Scott explained.

"How do you move up in rank?" I wondered out loud.

"You could either be with the Table for ten years in order to move up one star, or you could do something that catches the eyes of a higher up. You could also be shady and be granted a higher rank due to a job being too difficult, so that if you die it looks like you were competent. I used to be five stars along with my wife, but that was a long time ago, before she died," Scott said with a solemn look that had me pitying him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you to think about something as sad as that," I said apologetically.

"Don't be, I love thinking of my wife. She made me happy and it reminds me of a time when I didn't want to forget everything," Scott said with a rather fake smile.

"I somewhat heard about what happened from Isabell... That either your wife or your partner was killed by a werewolf," I said, bringing up what Isabell had told me before she died.

He stopped and looked at me. "It was both my wife and my partner. They were one and the same. I know where this conversation is going to go, so let's stop," he said sternly, continuing down the road with a quicker stride. That was the only notable thing I could get out of him at the time, but it was something, at least.