The Supernatural Case of an Accidental Time Traveler

[Paul_Tromba]

Three days had nearly passed since we saw the masked man, or even heard of anyone being murdered. Even with our strategic planning, we were still lacking a fair bit of information, so we were as prepared as we could be… which was... to put it in one word, poorly. Scott seemed to have a slight hangover, so he hobbled back to bed while I strangely had my best sleep in weeks. My personal belief is that this rest only came from the fact that Sela did not appear in my dream last night. However, I didn't get any of my additional questions answered because of this. Iscariot had left late last night for his home in order to gather some tools for himself. I was a bit concerned since he had yet to return, but he could be taking longer because of the time displacement in his home so that alleviated some of my worries.

Waiting for my kidnapper to give us some kind of sign for where to meet was driving me crazy. We had no idea where we were supposed to meet the masked man and it would soon be time. The thought that my kidnapper might bail was on my mind, but it didn't seem logical since he couldn't trap me again and he needed my compliance.

As I was eating some breakfast, there was a knock at the door. Getting up in a rush, I accidentally spilled my food on the floor whilst trying to get to the door. To my surprise, when I opened it, I was met with a young paper boy dressed in soot-covered coveralls. However, the boy was equally as surprised to see me in nothing but my skivvies and unbuttoned coat.

"I have a letter for you," the boy said awkwardly before handing it to me.

"Who gave it to you?" I asked as I took the letter. Looking it over, there was no sender or address, just a flat slab of wax sealing it.

The boy cocked his head to the side and bit his dirty lip as he tried to think. The expression on his face shifted a bit, as he couldn't recall anything about the man for some reason. Though the boy recalled a few details, "Some old crone with a mask," the boy replied in an attempt at sounding like he didn't forget.

Tossing the kid a penny, I slammed the door and ripped open the letter, whilst ignoring the inappropriate remarks the boy made on the other side. Written in red ink… or perhaps blood, was the meeting place and a threat. I didn't think this guy was one for aesthetics but to each their own. The letter read:

Meet at the bridge near Mitre square at 11:00 PM. If you fail or refuse to comply, then I will kill everyone related to the time traveler.

Charging over to Scott's door, I banged on it a few times. After a good thirty seconds, he opened it, showing me his tired face of death. He looked like shit, however, he looked to be a bit more concerned with the reason for my knocking than usual. With a slow and tired gaze, he looked more confused than anything, as he asked, "What?"

I held the letter out to him so that he could read it. However, he just gave me a look of expectation without reading the note. "I just got a letter with the meeting place," I said, ignoring the fact that he hadn't read the note at all.

"What time?" he groaned, before letting out a yawn.

Without a look of consideration, Scott looked like he hadn't a care in the world. "An hour before midnight," I answered with a serious tone.

"Alright, then I'm going to finish sleeping off this hangover. You can go get Iscariot sometime around eight. Until then, do whatever ya feel like," Scott said with a tired grumble.

"Are you worried at all?" I asked as I could tell that he didn't seem to care.

Giving me a questioning look as he swayed against the door frame, part of me felt as if he was about to vomit. However, he instead slurred his words slightly as he answered me in a fairly sarcastic voice, "The only thing I can worry about right now is this pounding headache, so no."

"Sorry. Sucks to be you," I replied with a monotone chuckle as he didn't care about anything at the moment.

"Ain't that the truth," he said with a humoured snort before I shut the door. Part of me felt bad about my response, but another part of me felt that he knew it all too well.

Deciding that the others needed to know, I bolted downstairs to Elysif's apartment and knocked on her door in the same fashion that I did to Scott's. A few moments later, she opened the door wearing her nightgown and holding a lit candle as if it were the middle of the night. The light that enveloped her upon opening the door caused her to rub her eyes in the same fashion that anyone who had just woken up would… Only her expression gave off the desire to return to bed immediately.

"What is it? Do we need to go to our deaths now?" she asked with a serious look that was interrupted by a shallow yawn. Her hair, which she usually kept up, was down and in a mess, resting upon her shoulders. Several cowlicks, which she had yet to notice, stuck out at random, like Medusa's hair.

"No, but I now know the date and times of our possible demise," I answered with a joking look. However, it didn't seem like she enjoyed my dark joke as she gave me a begrudging look of annoyance whilst listening to my answer.

However, she gave me a questionable look, before asking, "What time?" Her question hung in the air as if it were impossible to answer despite knowing it.

"An hour before midnight, tonight," I eventually replied just as I had told Scott before.

She squinted her eyes at me as if judging me. "Why did you wake me up, then?" she asked indignantly. It was nearly nine, so I had assumed that she would have been up, but it seemed that Scott's bad habits had rubbed off on her. To those viewing us, it may feel it was customary for people within this building to stay up late talking, before sleeping till midday. This is not the case. For myself, it had just become a common activity to pass time.

"I just thought you would want to know," I replied with a quaint smile.

She shook her head out of disappointment before yawning once more. "I would have rather you not. Please, only wake me up an hour before we need to leave," she requested as if it was common knowledge that she didn't want to be woken up. Although, now that I think about it… it might have been, at least for today.

"I'll wake you for lunch," I replied as she shut the door. As soon as the door had shut there was silence before she replied with a tired "Thank you, please do," from behind the door.

Turning around, I'd begun to return upstairs, when I saw Iscariot toddling through the door of the building with a large stack of boxes, or at least trying to. He was dropping stuff, and couldn't seem to get through the door because the items he was carrying were large and awkward. The monstrous pile of various items that he held painfully on his person looked as though they were about to fall. How did he manage to carry all of it here by himself? It didn't matter, because he was on the verge of dropping them all.

Turning towards him, I tried to figure out what the stuff was, but most of it was boxes of tools and old books. There were a few items that I didn't recognize, like a kettle with a stem on either side and a weird bottle full of what looked like galaxy putty. "Would you like some help?"

"Oh, Mr. Barrett. That would be wonderful," Iscariot replied in his usual squeaky voice as he dropped a box that made a sound like breaking glass. Under his breath, he cursed at the box before returning to his task of getting in the door. Taking several of the items from him so that he could then slip through the door, we slowly made our way upstairs. However, it took even longer because Iscariot kept having to stop and rest every few steps.

"What is all this stuff?" I asked as I set the last of the items that I had carried up here down on the floor of the apartment.

Upon setting down the stack of items that I was pretty sure he didn't actually carry here, Iscariot plopped himself down on the couch with a satisfied breath. He looked worn out to a regular person, but I've slowly noticed that this was faked compared to when he is truly tired. "Tools to help me make the anti-magic gate. I would have done it at home, but time flies there, as you can guess," he answered with a tired breath.

"What is this anti-magic gate, anyways?" I asked as I looked over the various tools he had brought. Many of them looked more like a drug dealer's stash than magic items, especially some of the glassware.

With his usual squeaky voice, he began to explain in simple terms. Though his voice made it difficult to listen to. "It allows me to temporarily stop the use of any magic so long as it has no sigils. Your knife would work just fine within it. However, if you were to attempt to manifest a magic flame then it would go out, or couldn't even be conjured in the first place."

"I see. Can anyone use this gate?" I asked as I plopped myself down beside him on the couch. Upon doing so, he gave me a look of aghast as if I had offended him by sitting next to him. However, he just clicked his tongue before answering my question as if nothing had happened. Nothing had happened, though, so I don't know why he acted this way.

"Well, yes. However, I am one of a few people that know how to make one, and it's a one-time use tool that breaks down faster the longer it is used for that once. The longest one can stay active is ten minutes," Iscariot answered as he lifted one of Scott's rum bottles from beside the couch, smelled the contents, made a disgusted look, and then put it back down before getting up to raid our pantry.

"Seems like that would be very helpful to the Table. Why don't they make them mainstream?" I asked curiously, ignoring the fact that he was taking out our mildly expensive dried sausage. Cutting himself a few slices of the dried meat, he put the rest back and plopped himself next to me once again.

"They would. However, crafting one takes so long that they would have to create an entire faction of the Table just to make them en masse. That would require a massive amount of funds, which the Table lacks," Iscariot said with an appealing smile, before passing me one of the slices of sausage. It was obviously a bribe since Scott would throw a fit if he knew that we were eating his fancy sausage. However, I couldn't deny his offer, as I had spilled my breakfast on the floor earlier. In fact, I hadn't cleaned it up, so I was pretty sure that my breakfast was currently underneath Iscariot's tools.

"When we visited the Table, they seemed fairly well off," I noted. He stopped chewing the sausage in his mouth and thought for a moment. With a loud gulp, he swallowed the piece of sausage he had chewed and turned to me.

"You would think that, as they have to keep up appearances. The Table has very few supporters during this age, and one of them is Mama Louise. Other than the fact that she is almost as terrifying as Mordred, she is also very wealthy and influential. Keeping her on good terms with the Table keeps a lot of us, including Scott, afloat," Iscariot explained with a serious look, before putting another slice of sausage in his mouth… And no, he did not chew with his mouth closed.

"Then how are we even getting paid?" I asked curiously, trying to ignore the fact that he had just spit sausage all over my lap and the floor. We weren't getting paid a lot, but we were getting enough to get by.

He thought for a few seconds, caressing his disturbingly shiny chin. Though, after realizing that some of the sausage grease had dripped onto his chin, I felt stupid for pointing it out. "I think there have been some budget cuts to some of the departments. One of which is the South American branch. I believe I heard from Scott that Compton became the director of that branch."

"You heard correctly," I stated before he handed me another slice of sausage as if it were a treat for answering.

"Well, he has his work cut out for him. The South American branch is currently the smallest of the branches, since it was just recently founded. On top of that, it only has seven agents currently working there. Since the South American people aren't too thrilled with some Europeans coming to their home, they have started making deals with different creatures that we have never even seen before to force the Table's agents to leave," Iscariot explained. His tone expressed that he was sorry for Compton. I expected that it may be a hard job, but Compton seemed excited about the job when it was announced. Did he not know what he was getting into?

"Sounds like it would be one of the most dangerous departments to be at right now."

Iscariot let out a light chuckle from my apparent understatement, before answering, "Oh, it is; and it doesn't help that their budget just got cut. Compton may be the Director of that branch now, but everything in the Agency is decided by a vote between the directors, with the Consuls having the final say. Director Langston and the Consuls have his back, but many of the other directors want him out due to his age. They have decided among themselves that he is unfit to be a director, because they think he is too young and lacks management skills. Compton got stuck with the hardest task of keeping South America in check. Sadly, many of the directors think this will be a prime way to make him look bad."

"It does seem like everything is stacked against him," I replied with a solemn look. I didn't know that so many people had it out for him. As I finished speaking, a gust of wind blew through the street outside, causing the widow shutters to slap against the side of the brick building loudly. Following the slaps from outside, we could both hear a faint groaning coming either from Scott's room or Elysif's apartment. The walls here are like cardboard, after all.

Ignoring the groaning, and with a pitying look, Iscariot let out a deep sigh, similar to a parent lamenting sending their child to war. "He has very little chance of staying in that position for long if the directors have their way. He's a smart lad with way too much experience for his age. He, and Scott. I know Mordred chose him for a specific reason, and I can assume it was a good one. Mordred has a good head on her shoulders. As for Merlin… he's a genius. When it comes to understanding people, however, he is an absolute buffoon."

"You think so?" I asked as both Merlin and Mordred were incredibly laid back each time I saw them.

He looked as if he didn't like me questioning him, however, decided to answer anyway with a spiteful tone that was strangely normal-sounding compared to his usual voice. "I know so. Merlin has always left matters involving people to Mordred while he, on the other hand, has handled the tactical decisions. Any time he has handled things with people, he has tended to scare them off. Especially women. Though I sometimes believe it may be an act; and that he understands people more than he lets on."

"I'm not surprised by him scaring them. How does Mordred deal with his behavior?" I asked as it seems like that would be a burden on negotiations and gaining allies.

"He was her father's best friend, and she saw that throughout her time as a knight. She respects him endlessly for that, seeing him as someone who truly cares for her, and someone who can always be relied upon," Iscariot explained as if he were reminiscing a part of his own past. On only a few occasions had I spoken to Iscariot alone, and this was the first time that he sounded sorrowful.

Not being able to piece together a single question to further this conversation, I simply agreed, "That does make sense." There was a moment of silence that felt appropriate, as neither of us had anything to add. Out of seemingly nowhere, though, a smile began to creep up on Iscariot's face.

"Now… there is the rumour that Merlin and Mordred once considered romantic relations at one point, since they were both immortal, but again, that is just a rumour. Don't tell anyone that I told you. Mordred may request my head," Iscariot said in a somewhat joking tone. Despite sounding like a joke, he seemed to be serious at the same time, which made me question it even more.

"I won't tell a soul," I answered with a chuckle.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Around two hours till midnight, we arrived at Mitre square so we could prepare ourselves. As we had planned, Elysif was sitting on the top of a nearby building with a good view of the area, ready to summon her familiars from a safe distance. Iscariot, on the other hand, stood behind us ready to activate the anti-magic gate. To most, he looked like an observer, so it wasn't bad to have him there. Pulling out his pocket watch, Scott opened it just in time to see it strike eleven. The moment it did, we began to hear two sets of footsteps approaching from the other side of the bridge.

From out of a fog-covered back alley, the masked figure stepped with a determined stride whilst the Changeling unhappily hobbled behind him. Much to our surprise, the Changeling was bound with a rope that the masked man held with little concern. Looking at the Changeling, its shoulder still looked bloody and possibly infected from where I had stabbed him. Like before, the Changeling looked like the same sleazy dude, however, there were various bruises and new wounds all over its body. The Changeling's hands had also been bound in rope and a gag had been stuffed in its mouth. Despite its bindings, the Changeling was snarling at the masked man with rage in his eyes. Much to its dismay, it couldn't seem to get any closer than a meter from him. It was as if some invisible barrier was blocking it from doing so.

Stopping at the edge of the bridge, the masked man stood with a smug stature. His rune-decorated robe waved in the fairly brisk breeze, revealing the plain dirtied work clothes beneath it. Clasping his hands in front of his waist, he began to speak with satisfied vigor, "I see that you aren't late."

Stepping over to the bridge ourselves, Scott and I stopped at the other side of it. Behind us, Iscariot stood eagerly, waiting to activate the Anti-magic gate. Although we couldn't see her, we knew Elysif was ready to assist us from above. "Of course not, we are men of our word," Scott replied with a serious tone so rare for him to use that I became a bit more worried than I already was.

"Then why bring that old man? Did you think he would be of any use to you?" the masked figure asked with a faint chuckle, as he pointed at Iscariot. From behind us, we could hear Iscariot chuckling at that slightly. Thankfully, neither the masked man nor the Changeling heard him.

With a faint click of his lips, Scott looked back at Iscariot, who waved as if he were enjoying himself, then back at the masked figure with a disputing sigh. "Call it insurance in case you don't want to follow through."

Trying not to make it seem like we weren't about to try fighting him, Scott stood in a less defensive way. "At least you're not stupid. Send over Barrett," the masked figure said with a wave of his hand. However, Scott did not comply, nor did I. The masked figure tilted his head in confusion.

"The Changeling first," Scott said with an unyielding look. Strangely, the masked man pulled his hand across his chest and gave a slight bow in agreeance. Whether we were bargaining or not, we weren't gonna complain about him giving in to our request. As he was bowing, I noticed a slight glimmer from the moonlight of a small bird-like creature stooping atop a building. The creature in question, upon closer inspection, was one of Elysif's familiars. A semi-invisible bird that stood around seventy centimeters tall.

"Of course," he replied, before he dropped the rope that held the Changeling. Looking a bit confused at first, the Changeling quickly realized that the only way out of this alive, was to go with us, and began to hobble across the bridge. As the Changeling reached the center of the bridge, the masked figure gave a quick snap of his fingers. Upon hearing the snap echo between the buildings, the cobblestone below the Changeling shifted slightly and a blade shot out. With a loud squelching sound, it pierced him between the legs, protruding out through his neck like a pike. Stepping back in shock, we watched as the Changeling's body turned to ashen dust and the blade returned to the stone.

Iscariot didn't seem to care that the Changeling had just been killed without warning. In fact, he seemed to be amused by the display. With a curious but unsurprised look, Scott shook his head. "I thought you said he would be handed over to us?" Scott asked the masked man.

"Yes, but I never said in what form. You can pick up the remains when we are done if you so wish," the masked figure replied with a crass hiss that seemed like it was meant to agitate us. However, neither Scott nor Iscariot seemed to be bothered by his comments. I, however, wanted egregiously to kill him that biting my own tongue was the only way I could stay calm. Elysif seemed to still be watching us with the familiar, but it seemed to be cocking its head like it was worried for us.

"Fine," Scott said, motioning for me to cross the bridge. Trying as hard as I could to remain calm and casual, I made it past the middle of the bridge. However, I couldn't help but scowl at the masked man, who in turn, just glared back at me through the mask's eyeholes. I think he was scowling back, but I couldn't see the rest of his face through the mask. Stepping within half a meter of the masked figure, I heard Iscariot begin a chant under his breath. It was faint but I could still make out the tone changes in his hushed breathing.

Without any warning, I grabbed the masked man's wrist who, in turn, stared at me in shock. Pulling out my knife in a hate-filled rage, I attempted to ram the knife into his throat. Had I waited to do so, then I may have won, but because I struck so early, a blade shot out of the cobblestone below me. Because Iscariot was still forming the gate under us, the masked man could still use magic. I attempted to jump back but there was barely any time, as the blade severed my left arm completely off. With a pained look, I stood holding my shoulder whilst my arm fell onto the cobblestone bridge. Blood dripped from the wound onto the stone like a gelatinous waterfall, before it eventually reformed the bone, flesh, tendons, and skin.

"That's it! I'm killing the lot of you," the masked man bellowed with violent discontent as several more blades erupted from the cobblestone below me. Barely dodging the longsword-like blades with several hops backward, I received a few minor cuts across my body, whilst my arm finished growing back. From behind me, Scott charged at him with thunderous speed to both back me up and to keep the masked man busy long enough for Iscariot to finish his chant. The masked man, however, saw Scott and a wall of blades burst forth to protect himself like a wall of sharp iron.

The metal wall gleamed in the moonlight, covering the entire left side of his body as a stationary shield. With his right side exposed, Elysif's familiar kamikaze bombed the masked man's head, exploding into a ball of blue flames. Unfortunately, that didn't phase him in the slightest, it did keep him still long enough for Scott to shoot around to his right side. Without a second to think about it, the masked man conjured another wall of blades around his right side. Smashing through not one, but two layers of metal with a barrage of heavy blows, Scott jumped back in pain. The third layer had been angled, cutting his knuckles despite the protection from his gloves, this allowed the masked man to refocus some of his efforts back on me.

Dodging more of the masked man's blades, I drew my gun whilst running away from him. Cocking the revolver's hammer, I aimed it between the shields that were appearing and disappearing based on Scott's attacks. Seeing that the masked figure was no longer focused on me, Scott dodged to the side to give me a clear shot. As my finger applied pressure to the trigger, Iscariot finished his chant. From the center of the bridge, a red light emitted, covering everything, including the water flowing below, with the same red hue in the shape of hundreds, possibly thousands of runes. The light expanded to cover the entire block, before fading, burning the runes into everything the light had touched. Even the water had unmovable char-coloured runes above it, as if it had made an invisible barrier over the flowing river.

At the edge of where the light had reached, several of Elysif's familiars appeared. However, rather than birds, each one was shaped like a knight, but they all had a strange bluish tint to them with a stature of roughly three meters. With ethereal halberts, they guarded every point of escape at Elysif's command. Having finished the gate, Iscariot sat down on the cobbled alley and focused solely on keeping the gate active. Each blade that had been erected from the cobblestone returned to the ground in the wake of the anti-magic gate, causing the masked figure to retreat away from both Scott and me.

Holding out his arms on both sides, the masked man stood with an overtly confident aura, making both Scott and I pause out of caution. "You had a good plan. It was far superior to most, but what you didn't account for, was that I had prepared for such events to unfold." Elysif, who was just beyond the gate, watched through the eyes of her familiars from the gate's edge. They were sadly unable to enter. Though, like Iscariot's job was to keep the gate up at all costs, Elysif's job was to keep the masked man from going beyond the gate.

Despite the overbearing show of superiority that the masked man gave, Scott lept towards him with the same incredible speed as before, punching the man's mask. The force of which resulted in a loud shockwave, forcing a plume of dust to be freed from between the cobblestones. As the dust was settling, Scott and I both stared in disbelief. The masked figure had caught his fist without any physical repercussions. Scott attempted to punch him with his free hand, while I fired two of my five bullets at the masked man's back. Like before, he caught Scott's fist with his other hand, and a shockwave was sent through the area with a wave of dust before I could see if the bullets did any damage. Hell, because of the smoke, I couldn't see either Scott or the masked man.

Within the cloud of dust, Scott inhaled some of it, causing him to have a coughing fit. However, he did not dare to close his eyes, as the masked man was still holding his fists. Without warning, the masked man pulled himself close to Scott. "You may have enhanced your body with runes, but I have plenty of runed items. You could say I have equal power to yourself," the masked figure said softly into Scott's ear before kicking him in the stomach hard enough to send him flying out of the dust cloud.

As soon as I saw Scott tumbling backward out of the cloud of dust, I fired the last three bullets from my gun. One after the other, each bullet penetrated the dust cloud, but as it cleared, I realized that they had no effect on him at all. Two of the bullets landed on the cobblestone by his feet, and the man didn't look phased at all. Looking at me, he began marching towards me with a threatening stride. I attempted to fire another shot out of disbelief, only to hear a click from the hammer hitting an empty chamber. Before I could run away or try to fire the empty gun, he was already in front of me, grabbing the barrel and ripping it out of my hands. Beyond him, I could see Scott lying unconscious at the edge of the bridge. Iscariot sat with his eyes closed, focusing on maintaining the gate instead of noticing us losing, whilst Elysif's familiars shuffled around, eager to fight, but stuck beyond the gate.

With everything I had, I tried to stab him with a right jab. Upon hitting him, the knife was knocked from my hand and the masked figure clenched his hand around my throat. As his hand choked me, an invisible force slammed into my throat from his palm. The breath I had was knocked out of me as I barely stayed conscious. Unable to fight him in this state, the masked man lifted me up by my neck until my feet couldn't touch the ground.

"You can't hurt me, time traveler. I had planned on beating you with my power alone, but you forced me to use one of my trump cards right from the start. I can absorb physical attacks as power, and then release it at any point through any means that I wish. When I kicked your friend, I released the force of his punches back at him. Now, be grateful that only two of your bullets hit. It will make the old man's death a little more painless," the masked man said with an amused sense of rage, before throwing me against the bridge wall like a ragdoll. As my limp body folded over the side of the bridge, I released my dinner into the water below. I could barely lift my head, let alone fight anymore, despite my collapsed windpipe being healed by this point. Even though I had a hard time feeling pain, my body had been worn out, so I just hung over the side of the bridge, barely conscious.

Realizing that I wasn't going to be moving for a bit, the masked man turned to Iscariot. "Well, I guess I better deal with this barrier," he muttered under his breath. With Iscariot too busy chanting in order to keep up the barrier to notice, and Scott out of commission, he strolled across the bridge toward him. Though, as he passed by Scott's body, the masked figure was stopped by a hand grabbing his ankle. Looking down, he saw that Scott had a firm grip on him, despite the rest of Scott's body being limp, like some kind of last-ditch effort of strength that was greatly hindered by internal bleeding and broken bones.

"I see that you're still conscious. You must be in so much pain, and yet, you bear it so well," the masked man said with condescending praise, before kicking away his hand. "However, I don't need you alive, do I?"

As he finished speaking, an explosion of gaseous fumes covered both the masked man and Scott. The masked man coughed and wheezed, grabbing his throat as he ran out of the smoke in a stupor of coughing fits, whilst Scott painfully dragged his way out of the smoke with a cloth covering his mouth and nose.

Once he had crawled his way out from under the rising smoke, Scott began to painfully chuckle through a coughing fit. Looking at the masked man who was currently hunched over uncontrollably coughing himself hoarse. "You may be immune to our attacks on… the outside—" Scott stopped, coughing before continuing his sentence. "—but what about on the inside?"

Taken aback and rather confused by the effect such a tactic had on him, the masked man looked at Scott with cursing bloodshot eyes. "W—what was that?" he asked the moment his lungs gave him the slightest break. Quickly returning to his convulsive barking after asking.

"A toxic smoke bomb that Elysif made for me. It burns the lungs of anyone who inhales it. I have plenty to spare, so I hope your lungs are ready," Scott answered sadistically, as if he were a child tormenting ants. The smug grin Scott gave despite his pained look enraged the masked man, who could do nothing but attempt to expel the toxin from his lungs.

Clutching his chest, the masked man held himself afoot only by a fleeting narcissistic pride, as he looked at Scott's broken body. With gnashed teeth and between breaths, he spoke hatefully to Scott, "You… are an absolute… pain," the masked man spat, before running over the bridge towards one of the alleys that one of Elysif's familiars was guarding. With a bewildered look, Scott watched from where he lay as he realized that the masked man decided to run away rather than continue to fight, despite having such an advantage. As he rushed past my limp body, I shot up and latched my body onto him like a human octopus.

Surprised by my sudden revival and entrapment, he yelled out angrily between coughs. More annoyed than anything, the masked man yelled out as he tried worming his way out. "What in the blithering hell?! I thought you were unconscious!"

"I almost was, but remember that you tortured me so much that pain means nothing to me. I was just resting while waiting for you to take your eyes off me," I replied with a smug grin. From my pocket, I pulled the pin on one of Elysif's smoke bombs. With loud cries of pain between violent coughs, the masked man inhaled the smoke that rapidly filled the area around us. I too was coughing horridly from this, but wasn't that concerned considering my healing. Actually, could my body heal toxin damage? Oh shit!

"Why, you little," he coughed out before slamming his elbow into my face. The impact had no additional force behind it, but it was just hard enough to knock me off him. With a near-Scott-level speed, the masked figure spun around to face me before breaking my jaw with an enforced blow. As I was falling to the ground, Scott, covered in bruises and blood, charged at the masked man, punching him as hard as he could in the chin. Scott looked broken and beaten without remorse, to the point that he couldn't actually tolerate the pain. Despite this, he wore a twisted smile that bore the joy he had in doing what he was meant to.

The masked figure didn't flinch in the slightest. In fact, he seemed confused and enraged by our repetitive annoyances. The sheer stupidity that he believed we had, based solely on our desperate style of fighting. "You already tried that, and it didn't work. What difference is it going to make now? Are you enough of a dunce to try the same attack, time after time, in hopes of a different result?"

Whilst standing back up, I watched as Scott pulled his fist back from the man's face. With a heavy step back, he stood there like a tired boxer after the bells rang in the last round. The fact that he was in so much pain that he could barely stay conscious was reflected on his face, dripping blood from his nose, lips, and right ear. Yet, he still bore the same smug grin as if to mock the masked man in his last breath. "No… I just needed you... to stay still long enough."

We could do nothing but stand there as he scoffed at the two of us before bursting into maniacal laughter. His body contorted back as if trying to view the moon overhead. "What for? This barrier stops magic other than that of runes, so what other than that gas could hurt me?" he mocked between his laughter.

Looking at me, Scott nodded, to which I nodded back. Reaching into my coat pocket, I held onto one of Elysif's gas bombs, and the biggest smile Scott could produce grew. "The Dimensional Demon Sorcerer," Scott replied with a mix of disdain and joy. The laughter stopped and the masked man contorted his body back to face Scott, his back cracking and popping as he did.

"What?" he asked threateningly, before an ethereal arrow pierced through his leg from the cobblestone below, making him fall to the ground. "The old man…" Looking at Iscariot, he snorted hatefully. "I thought he was maintaining the barrier. Perhaps I underestimated how powerful a foe he is," he said under his breath as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

More and more ethereal arrows impaled the masked figure. Each time, they caused him to flinch in a similar manner to when a nerve is being electrocuted. Scott and I both looked with thankful, yet tired eyes upon the masked figure as he crouched down in agony, crying, unable to defend himself. "This barrier, as well as your coat, only affects one plane of existence. But we can still use whatever tactics we need to on another plane," Scott said with a chuckle, before stepping toward our ensnared enemy.

Grabbing the masked man's coat, Scott began to undo the fastener bound in a hilariously over-tied knot. A ways back, I watched him closely with the smoke bomb in hand. Whilst I examined the masked man, I watched as the arrows pierced his body, leaving no sign that they had actually penetrated him. His cries were somber and frequent, like a madman experiencing all five stages of grief, gasping for minuscule amounts of air. No… it was not weeping that I heard, but a faint chuckle.

"Scott, get back!" I yelled, throwing the smoke bomb at the masked man, but I was too late. Despite the continuous volley of arrows, he lunged at Scott and punched him in the chest. The shockwave it created blew the toxic smoke over my body, whilst Scott was sent flying back into a building, toppling to the ground, and coughing up a small pool of blood. Laying there, his only sign of life was the twitching of his fingers, as he collapsed to the ground. Elysif's familiars began shuffling with rage. I could only imagine Elysif's level of hatred for this man after seeing Scott like that. Iscariot, still focusing on casting the ethereal arrows Into the masked man, probably had no idea that Scott was out of commission… and that soon, I would probably be as well.

Frozen, I couldn't run, but I couldn't fight either. He was probably going to incapacitate me or kill me if I stayed. If I ran to another time period, then what? I wouldn't be able to live with myself. "Even though I may feel the pain of these attacks, did you really think that I still wouldn't be able to absorb the energy from them?" the masked man asked with condescending pride as he turned back to face me.

"T-that's bullshit, right? The-ere's no way that something that convenient exists," I stuttered, unable to comprehend the absolutely overpowered bullshit that he was spewing. What could I do? I couldn't even run away out of fear.

"Now… it's your turn," he said, grabbing my collar. I tried to escape his grip, only for him to punch me in the chest with his free hand, the force of which sent me flying into the wall of the bridge again, with possibly shattered ribs and crushed lungs. However, the force flipped my broken body over the wall, falling onto the water below. Because of Iscariot's barrier, I didn't sink, but rather, slumped over top. Conveniently, the effect of the running water caused me to be dragged by the current, like a water conveyor belt.

Floating away, I could hear the masked man talking to himself, "I can get him later. For now, I better take care of that sorcerer, this barrier, and then the witch behind these familiars." Shit! I need to get up. Though my consciousness was quickly fading away, as I was carried downstream. Only to find that I was among the stars. Wait… why was I in the Realm of Stars?

Turning around, I was faced with the Time god, Sela. Without a beanbag chair this time, the being was pacing around the Realm of Stars deep in thought. "Sela, why am I here?" I asked in a philosophical manner. Stopping immediately, the deity gave me a whimsical, unsure look. The stars flickering above reflected off Sela's vibrant hairs, hanging low from the left side of the child-like being's head with an irregular divinity.

With a sincere smile, Sela spoke caringly. "You are here because I thought you could use a break. Also, you fell unconscious… so I thought I would talk to you till you woke up. There isn't much else you can do at this moment."

"What the hell does that mean?" I asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the fact that I was chilling in the Realm of Stars while everyone else was fighting that masked freak. Scott was possibly dead, Iscariot may be able to handle himself, but he won't be able to keep up the barrier for much longer, and Elysif couldn't do anything else while controlling her familiars, so she'll be a sitting duck. Even if I couldn't win, I had to try and at least give them a chance to escape.

"Simple…" Sela began to say, as a devilish grin formed upon the being's child-like face, sending me into a stupor of unease. "... someone much more powerful is about to show up."

Did this being see this as a joke? My friends are about to die and they stand here, entertained by our fight. The lack of care this deity held for humanity was exemplified by its enjoyment of someone stronger entering our fight. My biggest question was whether it was a friend or foe. "I thought we were going to win? the note from the future said so," I asked, confused as to why the future would possibly change after Sela said it couldn't.

"It did, but it didn't say how. Didn't that note also warn you to watch your head? You should have been more prudent about that. Your jaw might not have been hit so many times," Sela said with a mocking, yet giddy look. Sitting down cross-legged in front of me, the time god gave me an empathetic but innocent look that only caused me to sigh in defeat. I was stuck here so there was no helping it. Plus, most of my fears had been alleviated.

Sitting down across from Sela, I crossed my legs over the water-like floor below me. Ripples formed in the water as I did, expanding out into the stars until I could no longer see them. The sight grounded me, calming me before letting out a tired sigh, "So nothing has changed?"

With a vaguely annoyed look, the time god rocked back and forth. "Of course. It has already affected you, so it would have eventually happened," Sela replied as if I should have already known this. Technically, I did know this but I guess I was still having trouble fully comprehending it.

"So who exactly is this powerful person that is gonna show up?" I asked curiously, figuring that Sela wouldn't give me a straight answer.

Sela began to look excited in a proud kind of way. Strangely, the excitement radiating from the time lord felt accompanied by an empty sadness, barely hidden by its pride. "The one your captor has been imitating; Sir Micheal,"

"What?!?"

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Iscariot stood at the edge of the gate, eyes closed and completely tuned out to the world. His sole focus was on the gate and attacking the Elder One from an alternate plane of existence. A feat in itself, yet he let out a sigh, breaking the gate and his attack. Unable to continue the task, he assumed that Scott, Lou, and Elysif had already killed or apprehended the Elder One. He was not greeted with such a sight. Before him, lied Scott, barely alive at best, with no sign of Lou, the masked figure of the Elder One menacingly approaching, and each of Elysif's familiars charging at him with a vengeful fury. "Oh, bugger," he muttered with a distraught but stoic expression, for he was too mentally exhausted to do anything magical for the time being.

Elysif's familiars rushed the Elder One, ethereal knights in blue light. Each of the thirteen held their halberts for different swinging and stabbing motions in order to completely cut him off. Only to have every last one of them impaled by the Elder One's pikes, summoned from the dirt and cobblestone street. For only a second, there was silence. Followed by a guttural scream of pain erupting from Elysif atop a nearby building. With one hand she grabbed her forehead, scratching and tearing at her scalp and skin. Her other hand felt around her bag desperately for a potion, prepared in advance for this exact situation. Popping out the cork, she downed the contents and began slamming her fist into the roof as the pain increased and then vanished near entirely. Getting up, she began to climb down from the building.

***

The Elder One strode slowly towards Iscariot, past the incapacitated Scott. Iscariot, having accepted his defeat, began to formulate a way for him to escape with Scott and Elysif, leaving Lou to his fate. However, he noticed that the masked figure had stopped. Slowly turning around to look back at the bridge, a faint echo of metallic footsteps softly rang through the area. These steps carried with them an aura of impending doom, one which terrified the Elder One. Within the shadow of the alleyway across the bridge, he saw it emerge, a rough mask in the fog, dirty white, and cut by a single black streak from the top left down to the right jawline. From each of the eye slits were red lines, mimicking an endless stream of bloody tears. The most off-putting part of the mask was the large horrifying smile that acted as a mouth slit, yet, there was no mouth beneath it, just the hollow darkness. His body was covered with a dirt-covered grey coat, whose torn and tattered coattails hung down just past his knees. On his forearms and lower legs were dark purple ethereal platemail that covered his shoes and hands. Adorning his side was a sword with a simple wooden hilt. To match his outfit, Sir Micheal's mud-stained silver hair hung just below his shoulders.

Seeing Sir Micheal approaching him, the Elder One shifted his attention away from Iscariot and began to yell angrily. "So… Sir Micheal reveals himself. Are you mad that I had been pretending to be you? Everyone swears you're dead. Have you come back from the dead, or were you just hiding? What is the answer, Micheal?"

Sir Micheal did not respond and continued to march forward, only stopping upon reaching the middle of the bridge. Pulling his sword from its sheath, he revealed that it was the same purple colour as his armor. Out of respect, he did a formal knight's salute without a word. This only angered the Elder One, much to Iscariot's amusement, as he summoned several blades to impale Sir Micheal in response. The knight cut through the Elder One's blades like butter, which fell to the ground with a loud series of cracks and clangs.

Raising his arms in ecstatic eagerness, the Elder One tapped his feat for joy. "So it is you! Only you wield that blade. Arthur did entrust it to you, after all!" Regaining his composure, he shifted back to being threatening. "Even if that blade can kill an Elder One, it will be as useless as I am," he declared, before charging at Sir Micheal. Rapidly closing the distance, the Elder One gave a flurry of blows to Sir Micheal. Instinctively, Sir Micheal deflected the blows, returning the Elder One with a stab of his blade. Unlike before, where he would have just absorbed the attack, the Elder One jumped out of the way of the sword before sucker-punching him in the jaw. As a result, Sir Micheal's mask began morphing. The dark pit that made up the mask's terrifying smile opened up, revealing several layers of sharp teeth similar to jagged rocks. With quick vigor, the Elder One jumped back to avoid the mask, which was itself attempting to bite him.

In both curiosity and intrigue, the Elder One observed the mask, as it nearly separated from Sir Micheal's body. "Well, that's a new trick. Did your mask come to life as part of its curse?" he asked in a somewhat taunting manner, despite being in too poor a position to defend against the possible repercussions. Sir Micheal said nothing, all he did was stride closer to the masked man without any signs of defense. He didn't seem to care about the possibility of being attacked.

"Still not going to talk to me? Fine then, die!" The masked Elder One yelled in a fit of determined fury before several hundred crimson strings surrounded him, enclosing around his body like a net. Noticing his predicament, the Elder One spoke with a criticizing tone. "Blood magic? This seems a little low, even for you."

"..." Still, Sir Micheal said nothing.

"Oh, I know about these. A witch can sacrifice their own blood or someone else's in order to create weapons and traps for them to use. Strangely, I have no clue where these came from. The only people that I know of who can use such an ability are the Avian coven," the masked man said. His words obviously angered Sir Micheal, because the crimson net around the Elder One's body tightened ever so slightly.

Closing the gap between them, Sir Micheal held out his blade and stabbed the masked man in the shoulder. Crying out in pain, he fell to the ground. The blood wrappings that bound him dissipated into seemingly thin air as he did, revealing that he was bleeding from his wound.

Sir Micheal stood over him like an executioner, sword in hand. Looking up, the masked man stared in stupefaction. "It won't work. It's too late to save her," Sir Micheal finally spoke. Strangely, his battle-hardened deep voice sounded less like an enemy and more like an old friend.

"What do you know? The first thing out of your mouth since we started this fight and that's what you have to say, you ass," the Elder One muttered angrily.

"..." Sir Micheal returned to saying nothing. Instead of speaking, he simply held his blade out toward him to signify that he was ready to continue fighting.

"Fine, have it your way," the Elder One exclaimed in a hate-filled roar as he lunged at Sir Micheal with the speed of an old man. Without any hesitation or mercy, Sir Micheal swung his blade, making a deep cut to his torso. The masked imitator collapsed to his knees against the cold stone bridge, like a sack of wet potatoes.

"I-Inconceivable…" he sputtered out before he gave an overly dramatic last breath before Sir Micheal swung his blade again, beheading the masked figure. Blood pooled off from his wound and out onto the bridge in a trail, weaving its path between the cobblestone, leading into the now darkened canal below.

Without a word, Sir Micheal returned his sword to its sheath, spun, and began sauntering back over the bridge from where he came. Iscariot, not wanting to miss the chance to speak, ran after Sir Micheal. "Micheal, is that really you?" he asked with a hopeful expression, contrasted by his scratchy voice.

Sir Micheal stopped immediately and turned back to face the old sorcerer. His mask shifted to create a set of normal lips. "Been a while, Iscariot. How are you doing, old friend?" his voice sounded sad, but also overjoyed, as if he were on the verge of breaking down. The mask he wore, bore each word kindly, moving perfectly to his will.

"Fairly well myself. You look great, though," he replied with a comforting and kind voice, that of an old friend. Then returning to his usual mannerisms, he looked over at Scott, and then back at Sir Micheal. "Say… Would you mind healing the two idiots before you disappear again?"

"Of course I would mind. You have a perfectly good witch with plenty of skill to do that. I don't need to do that for her," Sir Micheal said with a slight chuckle. Reaching out his hand, he took Iscariot's hand and gave him a slight nod.

With a similar chuckle, Iscariot squeezed his hand tight. "You're an absolute bastard." Letting go of the old sorcerer's hand, Sir Micheal turned around and continued over the bridge. The clanking of his metal shoes echoed throughout the streets in the same manner as when he entered, before coming to an abrupt silence, vanishing into the dense fog.

Turning back to Scott, Iscariot rushed over to examine the state of his injuries since he was just lying face down on the cobblestone. Rolling him over onto his back, Iscariot checked to see if his heart was still beating. Thankfully, it was, so he gave a sigh of relief. Though, despite his relief, he wished that Elysif would get over here and heal him already. Then, he could go look for Lou. He couldn't have gone that far, could he?

Finally laying on his back, Scott groaned in pain. The act of which gave Iscariot some more room to breathe. Scott opened his eyes to view the old man and the cloudy night sky above him. "So you know Sir Micheal personally?" he asked. Each slight motion, along with every utterance, gave him a harsh stinging, burning pain in his chest and arms.

With a quite reluctant and smug look, Iscariot smiled at Scott. Sitting beside him, there was a calmness that neither of them expected to feel after such a fight. Scott was still in a lot of pain, though. "You would be surprised at how many people I know, as well as who I know."

"So, what is he? That man can't be human. I noticed at least two different forms of magic being utilized at once and without preparation," Scott asked between gritted teeth. He knew that it was gonna hurt to ask, but he felt like he needed some kind of answer. It didn't make any sense, and not knowing hurt worse than the broken bones and internal bleeding.

Iscariot thought for a moment. It was strange for him to have to ponder such a simple question for so long. That said, he was getting up there in age. His memory could just be fleeting. Then his expression changed to a fairly disconcerting look. "I have no idea. All I can say is that he is powerful."

"I saw him. It was impressive," Scott said with a loud groan. Following his groan was a series of pained coughs. "Oh, it hurts to cough," he mumbled with an elongated groan.

"How could you see any of that when you were face down in the dirt?" Iscariot asked curiously. He knew that Scott was facing away from the bridge when he was knocked down. At least, he seemed to be when he opened his eyes.

"I could see it out of the corner of my eye. Now, where is Lou?" Scott crassly said. Between each word came a groan and wheeze. Despite his pain, Scott reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his flask. Quickly taking it from him, Iscariot opened it and put it to his lips.

With a thankful nod, Scott began to sip the contents. As he drank, Iscariot looked around with a dumbfounded look. Coming to a conclusion, he answered cautiously. "I think… he may have… floated down the canal. I haven't seen him."

"Well, is he okay?" Scott asked with a worried expression, as he took the flask away from Iscariot. Drinking the contents a bit faster than any doctor would recommend, Scott tried to relax as his belly warmed and his pain lessened ever so slightly.

"Maybe. I was too busy keeping the barrier up to see. Who knows how far he was carried, and in what condition... Hell, he may have just run away. Elysif may know. Damn… where is that girl?" Iscariot stated with an annoyed huff, blowing off all the responsibility.

"I have my flask, so I'll be fine. You go find Lou. Elysif can heal me up once she gets over here," Scott said with a slightly less painful groan than before.

Standing up, Iscariot gave Scott an accepting nod, before jogging down the side of the canal as well as the old man could. Leaving Scott alone, with no ability to move, and only his now half-empty flask. All he could do was close his eyes and rest as much as possible. With his eyes shut, a wave of relief was cast over him, only to be interrupted as Elysif ran up to him.

Stopping over top of Scott, Elysif pulled out a vial and dumped the contents all over his body. Scott clenched his teeth as the liquid sizzled like hot oil upon his doused clothing touching his skin. A salty aroma wafted off of him, like steam that burned both their nostrils. As the liquid soaked into his body, he felt the pain subside from his skin. All the bruises and fresh cuts on his body began fading as a result.

Between clenched teeth, Scott hissed and cursed at everything in sight, writhing like a fish out of water. "Damnit Elysif, give me a little warning next time!" Scott yelled angrily once the pain completely subsided. He would gesture around for emphasis, but moving still hurt his insides too much.

"A thank you would be appreciated. Now that the external stuff is dealt with, let me see what the internal damage is," Elysif replied sassily, before feeling around his body. He winced in pain every time she touched him, and in almost every location that she felt, Elysif, realizing how badly injured he was, let out a frustrated sigh.

With a pissed glare, Scott tried to sit up, only to seize up and lay back down from the pain. The only thing he could do was give Elysif a spiteful look and say "You suck," with a pissy attitude.

Ignoring his unnecessary attitude, Elysif gave a soft but reluctant sigh, as she began looking through her bag. "Well, you have several broken ribs and a broken arm. There may be muscle and organ damage, but I will have to do a more thorough examination at the apartment. Until then, take this," she said, before pulling a vial filled with dirty brown liquid from her bag and handing it to him.

Taking the vial with a pained expression, he eyed the contents warily. "What is it?" Scott normally never questioned it when Elysif handed him something to drink after getting hurt, but the colour, as well as the consistency, made him question its safety and potability.

"Same thing I just poured on you. It won't heal your bones, but it should take care of the organ and muscle damage," Elysif said as if the idea of drinking something that painful wasn't awful.

"Then why would I drink it? It burned like hell," Scott retorted as he eyed the vial with intense fear and disgust. Yet, he didn't throw it as a part of him knew he needed to drink it to stay alive.

Putting her hands on her hips, Elysif raised an eyebrow and frowned at him. "Do you want to repair your damaged organs or not?" she asked with an overly sassy tone, which annoyed Scott to no end, and she knew it. It was the same way that Silva would act toward him when he wasn't listening or being overly stubborn.

"Fine," Scott gave in with a disgusted groan, before popping the cork off the vial. In one large gulp, he drank the contents and instantly cried out in pain. His yell was similar to that of a deep Wilhelm scream, combined with a coughing fit. It could even be compared to a dying moose.

"Well, that's what you get for fighting someone that powerful," Elysif said with a shake of her head, as if she had told him that it was a bad idea earlier. Though she hadn't said anything before, so it just made her sound like an ass.

Finishing his yell with a loud cough, Scott turned to Elysif with tears streaming down his face. "No, it hasn't kicked in yet. It just tasted like absolute ass," he stated, as he desperately tried to get the contents of the vial off his taste buds. Downing a few more sips from his flask in the process.

"Just wait," she said right as Scott curled up in a ball and shrieked at an unhinged and inhuman level. The sound of which could only be described as a warcry from death itself. Hearing and seeing his state in horror, Elysif clicked her tongue with a bemused look. "There it is."

 

[Paul_Tromba]

Opening my eyes, I saw water. It splashed up onto my face, causing me to spit and curse in return. Damnit, Sela! Every time I come back without feeling like I am falling, I end up waking up to some annoying shit. Looking up, I realized that my body had floated onto one of the sidewalls of the canal. Using every bit of strength that I had, I crawled up the short wall of the canal and laid down onto the cobblestone road. My clothes were soaked, it was cold as hell, and I felt like shit. Thankfully, my body had already healed, but a headache began to form along with my built-up fatigue. As I lay there, I couldn't help but wonder if we had truly won. I couldn't possibly know the answer from where I was, though. That is, until I saw Iscariot's old decrepit body jogging toward me, his mage cloak flapping in the cold night air. Stopping a meter or so before me, he fell to his knees where he began coughing and wheezing from a lack of breath.

"I need to get in better shape," Iscariot said to himself between long deep breaths. Looking at the state I was in, he nodded with a satisfied look. Whether he was glad I wasn't dead or whether he was just satisfied that I could walk back without help was a mystery to me.

Refusing to get up from where I lay, the headache I had made the idea of standing sickening for the moment. All I could do was roll ever so slightly to look at Iscariot. "Did we win?" I asked with a tired groan.

"Well, you seem fine; and yes, we won," Iscariot replied as if it were obvious. The sass emanating from this old, out-of-shape man annoyed me to no end, but arguing with him would only make my headache worse.

"Don't be so sassy with me. I am in a lot of pain," I snapped harshly. Then I remembered the state that Scott was left in when I passed out.. "Speaking of which, how is Scott?"

"He is in a lot of pain too, but Elysif should be taking care of him now," Iscariot replied, either forgiving my attitude or ignoring it.

Sitting up with a tired grunt, I gave Iscariot a look as though he should be empathetic to anyone whom Elysif heals. That said, Scott would probably have died otherwise. "Good, then I better get over there."

Iscariot helped me up and the two of us walked back toward Scott and Elysif. My clothes dripped considerably as we did. It was annoying, as the damp clothes stuck to my skin, causing me to slowly chaff in areas that no one wants to chaff in. As we arrived, Iscariot and I found that they were in a very strange set of circumstances, where Scott was writhing on the ground in obvious pain while Elysif stood above him as if she were taking notes on the effects. I was starting to think that Elysif was even more sadistic than I'd thought. She would be the type of person who would poke a dead body with a stick for fun.

"Is he okay?" I asked cautiously as we approached. Elysif turned towards me with a gratefully happy expression.

"He's fine, the medicine is just taking a bit longer to work through his system, is all. He'll be in pain for the next few minutes, but it will heal up his organ damage. The broken bones are a separate issue," Elysif replied, looking back at Scott who was currently hissing through his teeth in the fetal position.

"Oh, I see… Where is the masked man?" I asked, realizing that I had yet to see a corpse.

"Over there," she answered as she pointed at the bridge. A trail of blood seeped down the edge of the bridge and into the canal but I couldn't see a body. He may be dead but I didn't want to get my hopes up. Wandering onto the bridge, I couldn't believe it. Before me were the decapitated remains of the masked man.

All I could do was stand above his corpse before finally lifting the mask from his head. I just wanted to see what he looked like underneath the mask. Just who was it that wanted to use me so badly and tortured me for weeks? I found that it was the face of an old man. He had tears staining his cheeks and his wrinkled skin was cold and rubbery, as if he had been dead for a while. All the hair on his face was white and looked as if it hadn't been trimmed in months.

On the backside of the mask, though, I noticed something. A set of runes or sigils, perhaps? Nothing else, though. "Hey, Iscariot. What do these runes mean?" I asked, throwing him the mask. With a poor excuse of an attempt, he barely caught it, studied it for a moment, and his eyes grew wide.

"This marking is nicknamed the puppet master. It allows one to control a body, living or dead, from anywhere. There is also a transference rune in here, which allows someone with the same rune to trade places with the person who has this rune," Iscariot answered whilst shaking the mask as if it were an eviction notice. In a disgruntled manner, he sat down against the wall of a building.

"Which means someone else was controlling the person we were fighting this whole time… or possibly switched with the old guy before getting killed," Elysif added with a disappointing realization.

Upon her saying this, Scott sat up slowly but without pain. Without any hesitation or self-control, he drank some of the contents of his flask before speaking. "Great, so we aren't done." His tone and expression made him seem far better than he did a second ago. Though, with that kind of pain, anything would have been an improvement.

"Oh good, the medicine has finally finished working," I said, ignoring his statement out of the hope that if I didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't come to pass. Scott gave me an annoyed look.

"Hey, fuck you," Scott said to me before taking another swig from his flask.

"Hey, I got my ass kicked too," I said as if that were something to be proud of. The only thing it did though was make Elysif snicker at me. She knew I had been beaten to hell but I could heal myself so she found my comment rather humourous despite it not being funny.

"Yeah, but all your wounds are healed, while I have several broken bones that will have to heal naturally," Scott replied angrily.

"Sucks to be you," I replied with a monotone voice that sent Scott over the edge. However, he couldn't do anything about it, because he was at least two meters from me with various bone injuries.

"Don't talk to your superior like that," Scott yelled before taking another swig of his flask with a more dramatic flair.

"He is right, though," Elysif said, agreeing with me. Iscariot shook his head. Mainly, he did so due to the fact that he didn't see the fight itself, and saw that I was basically unhurt.

Scott gave Elysif a shocked and betrayed look. "Not you too, Elysif?" Though his expression quickly shifted to that of someone having an epiphany. "Actually, you have always been an ass, so never mind," Scott said, finishing his train of thought before letting out a defeated sigh.

After we finished our little conversation, Iscariot held the mask up. "So what do you have to say? I know you can speak through this mask still," Iscariot asked the mask itself with a satisfyingly smug voice. We had no idea what he was talking about but we all looked at the mask he held in anticipation.

"... I guess you are much smarter than I first thought. However, had Sir Micheal not appeared, all but the time lord would be dead and I would have forced him to take me back in time already." The mask said in a detestable voice that reminded me of an old 1960s radio voice-over.

"So are you going to come after us or are you just going to send more puppets?" I asked in a threatening voice despite being terrified of knowing the answer.

"I am not sure yet, but I can assure you that your lives will not be easy from here on out," the mask stated with an equally threatening tone. Unlike my own, his voice had no sign of fear or regret embedded within.

"As if it were easy before," Scott replied with a haughty expression.

"Well, if you know of hell, then you are about to meet the devil. You should expect something soon," the voice said before a large crack split down the center of the mask. Continuing like a tree branch, the crack spread out over the entirety of the mask, which came crumbling out of Iscariot's hand in a thousand tiny pieces.

We were all silent. None of us had any idea what our next step was gonna be. We were just waiting again, waiting for anything to happen. The feeling of anticipation ached, and it seemed like everyone else felt the same. We were useless in the fight and we had to rely on someone that was considered an enemy of the Table to clean up our mess. How exactly were we going to get out of another attack alive? I sure as hell didn't know.

"We should probably just go home for now," Elysif finally said to break the silence. All of us just nodded in agreement.

Seeing all of our reactions, Scott looked back and forth between each of us as if searching for something. "Now, will one of you help me up? I may be hurting with broken bones, but both my legs are fine… somehow."

"Sure," I said, helping him to his feet. Once he was standing, Scott held his left arm at a ninety-degree angle with his right hand and the four of us began heading back home.

"Wait, what about the body? We can't just leave it there" Iscariot asked. He had a good point, so we stopped and pondered our options.

"Chuck it in the canal. Nature will do its thing," Scott replied without a care in the world.

"Seems a little disrespectful," Elysif noted. I wasn't for being disrespectful of the dead but this corpse was different. It could be buried in shit for all I cared, so I charged over to the body to throw it in the canal myself.

"Says the girl who dissects people all the time," Scott replied jokingly, not realizing that I had wandered off.

Elysif, also unaware that I was currently assessing how best to lift the body without drenching my already wet clothes in blood, gave Scott an angry look. "It is a medical examination, and it is for science!" It was obvious that that comment got on her nerves, but Scott wore a smug grin that he was trying to hide from her by sipping on his flask.

"And isn't the circle of life part of Science?" Scott asked, trying to push her a bit more. This time, instead of getting mad, she pondered his remark. Iscariot also pondered this, but was distracted by me throwing the man's head like a basketball free-throw into the canal. Scott and Elysif, on the other hand, were still blissfully unaware of my current actions, so I began to lift up the body.

"I can't really argue that," she finally replied to Scott's remark, accepting his logic.

"Good, now chuck it in the canal… and let's go home. I'm tired and I still need my broken bones looked at," Scott said with a spoiled groan, before he and Elysif turned just in time to see me awkwardly heave the headless body into the river. I have to say that it is much harder to pick up a body when it is dead. It was like if you were to pick someone up, but instead of them helping you by taking some of the weight, they just go full dead fish and give you all the weight.

Turning back around, Scott gave Elysif and Iscariot a satisfied look. "Well, now that that is taken care of, let's go home."

Once we got home, Scott got properly bandaged up with a splint and sling for his left arm, and we all went to bed for the night. Turns out that Scott had several broken bones in his left arm and ribcage. His right hand also had a fracture, but not anywhere that would hinder common use. He just couldn't punch anything for a while.

Since Scott was out of commission for a while, I had to give the full written report to the Table. It wasn't an easy report as I had to explain everything that happened, especially since I had to tell them how we may have started a war with an Elder One. Scott had also warned me to be careful about mentioning that Sir Micheal was there. I never really saw him, so there was no reason for me to mention it. The difficult part was getting it to the Table. Since mailing it would take too long, I took the train to Warwick to deliver the report myself, and hopefully stock up on ammunition.

"Okay, you got this," I said to myself as I marched into the Table's main room. The giant circular room with various hallways connected to it glowed in its unnatural blue hue. Mordred was talking to a few agents whom I had never seen before, near the hallway leading to her and Merlin's office. Upon finishing her conversation with them, Mordred turned to me with a surprised look. I guess that she hadn't expected me back for a while.

"So, I heard from Iscariot that there was an issue with the one known in the papers as Jack the Ripper?" Mordred asked before I could say anything.

"To say the least," I replied honestly. It was far more difficult than just an issue.

"What happened? If Scott's not here, then I assume that he was injured, or perhaps he just didn't want to come here himself. He never could stand the train," Mordred asked with an interestingly tired look. Her attire, which currently looked similar to Elysif's style of clothing. was plainly with brown pants and a white button-up, was a bit dishevelled, but clean.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he had come up with an excuse just to not ride on the train again, but Scott was in fact, heavily injured," I replied honestly. For a moment, Mordred didn't believe me, but she quickly realized that I was telling the truth. Thus, causing her to give me a very confused expression, as she began rubbing her chin in thought.

"How could he have been injured, as powerful as he is?" The expression on her face only seemed to grow more confused with every word, as she tried desperately to rationalize it.

"An Elder One kicked our asses," I replied, which turned her confusion into startling shock.

Finally rationalizing the situation in her head, Mordred understood that we would have barely stood a chance. "An Elder One you say? That would explain how he was injured." Putting one hand on her hip, she returned to rubbing her chin, immersed in thought, with her other hand. "Do you know which Elder One it was that you fought?" Mordred asked, finally coming to terms with the situation.

"We believe that it may have been Freya from Norse mythology, but we aren't entirely sure," I answered with what Sela had told me earlier. It was probably the closest we could come to figuring out who the Elder One was.

"That is disturbing," Mordred said, before crossing her arms and rubbing her chin. She seemed to be deep in thought about this information. For what reason, I did not know.

"How so?" I asked curiously. The idea of an Elder One on the loose was scary, but her voice seemed less worried and more speculative of my answer. There was something else going on in her thought process.

"Freya was the one who crafted all of the swords for the knights of the round table. We all knew of her as the Lady of the Lake," Mordred replied. That had come up before, but now, I was hearing it from a first-hand witness, so it had to be fairly true.

"But, someone inherited her power, right?"

Mordred seemed to be pondering this question herself, as she gave me an unsure look, "That power was supposed to be inherited by Merlin, since he was closest to her, but since he already had the abilities of his mother, Helen of Troy, he couldn't have another. It seemed as if the power had vanished entirely," Mordred said with an interested and thoughtful look.

"So we don't know who inherited it?"

"Nobody knows. We have no idea how the inheritance process works, and neither do the Elder Ones. Some can pass their powers down to their children while they are alive, and others will seemingly disappear out of existence or appear again at random," Mordred explained with a saddened demeanour. Leading me over to a bench, she sat down, so I sat down as well, honestly worn out from the past month of constant pain and stress.

"So even now, we can't figure out who it was that attacked us?" I asked with a defeated sigh. My back leaned up against the wall in an uncomfortable position for my neck. However, it made me wish that I had some time to finally relax.

"All you can do is wait... though we have some news you may want to hear. After your encounter with the dwarf named Rubin Reuben, we sent some agents to talk with him. They found all of the Willowisps missing, and the dwarf impaled on a pike within his library," Mordred said with a heartfelt tone to change the subject. Though this was not a better topic at all. The Elder One had told me that Rubin was dead, but I didn't want to believe it.

"That doesn't seem like good news to me," I replied, wishing that she had told me something to cheer me up.

"It wasn't supposed to be. I am simply telling you the truth. We are sorry that he is dead, but we were able to take his entire library into our possession." She seemed a tad bit smug as she said it, but I could tell that she cared despite having a hard time showing it.

"Seems a little rude to take all of his stuff, doesn't it?" I asked, as it felt wrong to me. Plus, what were they going to do with all his stuff? Sell it?

"Yes. Though it will also aid us, he wasn't going to be using it anymore anyways. You may have heard that we are low on funds. It's why Scott was the only Agent in all of London until recently, so we could use all the help we can get. I'm personally hoping there's an ancient alchemy spell for turning items into gold among them," Mordred said, before her stomach growled loudly for an uncomfortably long four seconds.

"Are you okay?" I asked out of concern for her health, as the loud groaning that emanated from her stomach didn't sound good.

Holding her stomach whilst leaning forward, Mordred gave me an awkward and semi-pained chuckle. "I'm fine. I just haven't eaten in several days because we've had to make a few budget cuts within the past few weeks."

With a frankly concerned look, I turned to her. "You need to eat something! I'll even pay for it, just don't starve yourself," I said in a forceful manner, as I didn't want her to keel over and die.

Mordred gave me a thankful look. "You are a saint," she said, trying not to tear up as it seemed that she wasn't expecting to eat at all for another few days.

She seemed a lot happier once I mentioned feeding her, but what she said about Scott raised my curiosity. Scott had already discussed it before, but he never truly explained anything in detail about the Table and how it functioned. "I do have one question about your statement involving Scott being the only Agent in London. What about Iscariot and Elysif, aren't they technically agents of the Table?"

As if remembering some past trauma, Mordred sat silently for a second before answering. "Iscariot is more or less on our watchlist, so Scott is making sure he stays out of trouble. As for Elysif, she does work on the side, and is mainly supported through Scott's funding and by selling medicine, from what I know. She is not an official agent."

"Why does Scott fund Elysif, then, if she isn't an agent?" I asked with a curious look.

"Elysif is technically Scott's adopted sister-in-law. Scott's wife, Silva, had a habit of taking in children and convincing Director Langston to adopt them. Director Compton, Scott, and Elysif were adopted into the family. However, Compton's case was… a little different, as the Director had already taken him in before adopting him at Silva's request," Mordred explained. I had a vague idea already about them having a family dynamic, so it wasn't all that hard to believe. However, this information gave me a new image of Scott's wife. The thought of her just finding kids and getting her father to adopt them was mildly amusing and a tad bit concerning.

"Okay, I think I get it now," I replied, as it all started to make more and more sense to me. Nothing was said between us for a moment, causing an uncomfortable silence that was broken only by the sound of various footsteps around us and in the hallways.

"Before I forget, how did you and Scott manage to defeat someone with an Elder One's power?" Mordred asked. Although she was asking innocently, it felt like I was being interrogated. Her demeanor was threatening, despite her being calm and simply curious. Perhaps, it was due to her history on the battlefield? Either way, not telling her the truth felt wrong for some reason. Whether it was out of respect, guilt, or honor is unknown to me.

"We… didn't," I answered, as small beads of sweat began to form on my brow. I'm so sorry, Scott. Mordred looks like she wants to know, and I feel like I need to answer honestly. Whatever was causing this commitment to truth would probably bite me in the ass, but whatever.

"Excuse me? How did you survive then?" Mordred asked curiously, as she didn't expect most people to survive a fight against an Elder One. In fact, the way I answered only made her more suspicious that something else may have happened.

"Well… Sir Micheal showed up and killed him within a few minutes," I answered rapidly with a tinge of fear. Mordred just stared at me with cold eyes. She didn't say anything, but strangely, I felt as if she was about to explode. Leaning forward, she placed her hands over her face, and rubbed them up and down as if she had just woken up after a strange dream.

Lifting her head after a few seconds, she turned back to me. "Did you see him?" she asked kindly, as if she wasn't about to explode as Scott had warned.

"What?" I replied, unsure of what she meant.

"Did. You. See. Him?" she repeated, getting as close to me as she could to say it. This time, far more threatening than before. She was practically on top of me as she asked. Was there no definition of personal space in her mind?

"No, I was unconscious in a canal when he showed up," I replied honestly. She was getting too close for comfort and I didn't feel like getting hurt today. I had had enough beatings recently to last a lifetime.

"Then who saw him?" she asked with an eager glare, her eyes practically touching my own. Disturbingly, her gaze felt as if it were peering into my soul. Was she using magic to make me tell the truth? I didn't know, and asking would probably not be wise.

"Iscariot and Scott. They told me about him when I woke up," I replied, hoping that she would back away from me. Sadly, she only slunk back slightly.

"Did he wield a purple-ish sword?" she asked with even more eager eyes. For some reason, it felt like there was more admiration for the knight than hatred in her question.

"Uh, yes, and he also had glowing purple armor on his forearms and lower legs according to what Scott told me," I continued explaining, as my fears of her began to slowly increase.

Hearing my answer, Mordred sat back against the bench, giving me some space. "So it is him," she said to herself, before standing up and calling over one of the agents in the room who looked to be busy delivering some items, "Go fetch Merlin, and tell him it's urgent."

"But Merlin is currently in the study hall helping sort through the books collected from the dwarven Sorcerer's home. He requested not to be disturbed," the agent replied with an inquisitive tone.

"Did I stutter? Fetch him, now!" Mordred replied with a stern but otherwise calm voice. Her relaxed figure combined with her naturally threatening aura caused the agent to run off, looking quite frightened.

Turning back to me, she gave me an earnest smile. Though it was neither from joy, nor pleasure, but out of something else that I could not identify. Obsession, perhaps? "Now, Mr. Barrett, I will be accompanying you on your return to London, so that I may speak with Scott directly. Is there anything you need while you are here?"

"Just a few more silver and iron bullets will do," I said with a vaguely distraught look, before standing up.

"Good. Why don't you go take care of that while I wait for Merlin?" she offered with a strangely comforting tone, that confused my meager ability to understand social cues and emotions. Mordred in particular was an enigma at this point, since her emotions, aura, and mannerisms conflicted in every way that they were shown, befuddling me to no end. So I just gave a nod of agreement and hurried on my way.

Returning around ten minutes later, with my pockets now containing a few boxes of bullets, I arrived at the same time as Merlin, who had large dark bags under his eyes. Wrapped in a large blanket, Merlin wore nothing else. In his hand, as if he had forgotten that it was there, was an old book. His body seemed to be teetering from side to side, as if he were about to collapse from exhaustion. Had he not slept in days? "What is it, Mordred? You know I am busy at the moment," he asked with an exasperated sigh that was followed by a long yawn.

"I understand, but I thought I would let you know that I am taking my leave to London, so you will have to take control for a day or two," Mordred replied, doing her best to not leave any room for debate.

"Wait a moment. Please tell me that this doesn't have anything to do with Sir Micheal. Also, I am up to my waist in books that need to be sorted. I don't have time to look after the whole Table while you're away!" Merlin complained with a tired and frustrated expression.

"It does in fact have to do with Sir Micheal, but all I am doing is following up on a lead. You'll be fine for a day or two without me," Mordred said, before patting him on his shoulder. He looked a bit confused by this gesture due to being so tired, but accepted it nonetheless.

"Don't you think it's time you stopped thinking about that man?" Merlin asked. Mordred gave him a glare that I had never seen on anyone before, and I definitely didn't believe I would ever see it on Mordred's face. It was one of pure blind rage. She wasn't entirely sane, not in the slightest! Strangely, I think that Merlin knew this already.

"Did you forget what he did? How he killed my father, your friend. He lied to us, to me, and made us think he was an ally," Mordred said in a dictatorial voice.

"I just think we need to focus on the Table for now and not on Micheal—" Merlin started to say before being interrupted.

"Please do not try and reason with me on this. I do not doubt that it is him, so I am doing what I need to in order to protect the table from him," Mordred stated with a threatening tone. Merlin, knowing that there was no reasoning with her on this matter, quickly backed off and decided to let her do what she wanted.

"Alright then, do whatever you must. I will do my best to take care of things here," Merlin said with a gracious, yet exhausted manner, before meandering back from whence he came.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that," Mordred said, as she turned to me. I wasn't sure how to respond to her. Scott was right about Sir Micheal being a touchy subject.

"No, it's fine. Shall we head to London, then?" I asked, hoping to not set off any emotional landmines.

"Yes, of course," Mordred replied, before escorting me to the exit.

 

[Paul_Tromba]

After waiting for nearly an hour, we boarded the train. The trip itself was relatively easy, and I was able to relax for most of it. Over the course of our ride, I explained the entire situation to Mordred, starting with myself getting captured and ending with our big fight with the masked Elder One. She was very interested in the whole scenario, but after finishing the story we had some idle chatter. After our conversations, she fell asleep. I guess running an organization would make anyone tired. That said, I hope Merlin does okay by himself. He seemed rather exhausted already. When the train finally arrived in London, I woke up Mordred. I learned very quickly that she wasn't the type of person who was in a good mood directly after waking up, so I did as I had promised earlier, and bought her a meal. She happily gorged herself on enough food—rather, nearly enough—to wipe out my savings.

After eating, we continued to the apartment by a cheaply hired wagon, since neither of us felt like walking the distance. She seemed used to the bustling streets of London, despite being out of her comfort zone. Though, nothing could prepare her for the surprise that was the old shoddy apartment we stayed in. She seemed particularly concerned by the state of our building, as it, in fact, looked like a crack den. The inside wasn't looking much better either, as the stairs were still rotting and the floorboards had some more rotted holes in them from what I first remember. Guess time did pass, huh. However, the living spaces were still nice and hospitable, so I couldn't complain. This building would never be sanctioned as livable in the modern day, but it still worked.

Opening the door of our apartment, I saw Scott, asleep on the couch. His left arm was still in a sling with a primitive cast, and his right hand was wrapped in bandages. All around him were empty bottles from before I had left, and various books strewn all over from when we had been doing research. Sauntering over to him, I slapped his good shoulder. In a state of panic, he opened his eyes before looking at me with a disbelieving and confused look.

"I didn't expect you to be back until tomorrow, you bastard. What are you doing back so early? Or… did I sleep for two days?" he asked as he rubbed the shoulder I just slapped against the couch. His expression was that of a confused sick puppy.

"Nope, it's the same day. Someone wanted to talk to you and insisted on coming urgently," I said, gesturing over my shoulder at Mordred and stepping to the side. She was standing in the doorway waiting to be welcomed in, despite me already showing her in. It was as if she was doing it just to be dramatic and make Scott uncomfortable.

Sitting up frantically, Scott began tidying up whilst continually locking eyes with Mordred. "Forgive my inhospitality… come in. I was unaware that you would be visiting, Mordred." His attempts to clean left an awkward wake in the air, as there was no way he could clean this up in a few seconds. Though I don't know why he bothers when Mordred's desk has an unkempt pile of random, possibly forgotten items stacked atop and beside it.

"You don't have to be so formal. I am simply here to inquire about Sir Micheal," Mordred said with a calm expression matching her voice. The last sentence echoed in Scott's ears for a moment, before he slowly turned his head towards me with a stupefied look. If I could read his mind, then I was sure it was something similar to, "What was the one thing I told you not to tell her, you dumbass cunt!" so awkwardly, I ambled into my room. Both Mordred and Scott eyed me with different disoriented expressions, as my door squeaked closed behind me.

Changing his expression to that of a businessman ready to strike a deal, Scott turned to face her. "I see, and what questions may I answer for you?" he asked with a casual smile that anyone who knew him well would know was fake.

"Why didn't you call for backup?" Mordred asked as a superior should. She seemed to actually act like a leader when it came down to it.

Sitting back against the soft back cushions of the couch, Scott let out a concerned sigh masked by his relaxed nature. "We weren't given enough time for backup to arrive after we learned an Elder One was behind the attacks. The Elder One also threatened to kill innocent civilians if we contacted the Table, so we had to make do," Scott answered honestly. Not only was it the reason, or at least one of them, for why we hadn't called for backup, but it was also a great excuse.

"I understand. However, I am still displeased. Now, do you know where Sir Micheal is or where he came from? Was there any information that could be gleaned from him?" Mordred asked with a disappointed look that only a mother could give. Her proud-toned figure guarded the doorway like a Sphinx.

Unfazed by her tactics, as he was too drunk to care, Scott shook his head in respectful irritation. "I knew you would probably want to know something like that, and the answer is I don't know. I was laying on the ground with several broken bones and severe internal damage. He appeared, defeated the Elder One's puppet, and disappeared over the bridge," Scott answered. Purposely leaving out the part about Iscariot speaking with Sir Micheal as a way to protect him from Mordred. Otherwise, he spoke the truth.

"I understand. If he said or did nothing else then there is little that can be done. As for the Elder One, I wish to inspect the body of the Elder One's puppet," Mordred said, relaxing her body enough to sit on the couch alongside Scott.

Rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, he gave an embarrassed chuckle. "That may be a bit difficult," he said, before reaching down to the floor for one of the many half-drunk brown glass rum bottles.

"How so?" Mordred's brow furrowed, as she considered why that may be.

"We may have… thrown his body into the canal," Scott answered honestly. He didn't seem to care much about his actions, but it was far easier for him to forgo lying about it than going through the hassle of coming up with a believable excuse.

"What? Why?" Mordred asked in confused hysteria, as her jaw dropped. Blinking her eyes repeatedly, she was completely baffled by such an action.

"I didn't want to have to deal with all the paperwork the police were going to require me to fill out, and it's not something they need to know about," Scott replied, as he began to become more comfortable with this conversation due to the rum.

Shocked but not surprised, Mordred took in his response and collected herself. "I see… Well, I already received the report from Lou about the case. Including how he has learned how to use his ability to travel through time. Even so, I would like to hear it from your mouth as well. It just isn't something I am entirely convinced of."

"Of course," Scott said with a nod to Mordred, before turning towards the back of the apartment and yelling, "Lou, would you take Elysif to Monty's pub? I promised her I would treat her to dinner as thanks for her work, but it seems like I am going to be talking with Mordred for a while. There should be enough for you both in the envelope on the desk."

Leaving the room, I figured he just didn't want me here while they spoke, which I didn't mind at all. "Of course. You want us to bring something back for the two of you?" I asked as I sauntered towards the desk.

"No, we'll meet you there in a wee bit." Hearing this, I grabbed the envelope with a thank you, and headed downstairs.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, Scott calmly turned back to Mordred. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"Let's start with something simple. Is it possible for Lou to prevent my father or Silva from dying with his ability?" Mordred asked. Desperation accentuated her cheeks. Though Scott could tell that her desperation was similar to his own. He would do anything if it meant bringing back his wife, and Mordred would undoubtedly do the same for both her father and Silva.

"You sound like that masked Elder One," Scott said with a decisive look. Mordred gawked in offense from such a comparison. Though she recognized that his response was not made out of disrespect, but out of concern.

Reevaluating her question and what it may entail, she recognized that she was not incorrect in her line of questioning. Rather, Scott was being cautious, just as Silva had taught him. "I have no intention of forcing him, I simply wish to know if it can be done."

"I don't believe so. He had said that he can't use his ability if it affects his current or past self. Since your father dying was the driving force behind making the Table what it is today, and Lou is now an agent of the Table, I would say no, but you can ask him yourself," Scott answered honestly.

Her face grew somber. The exhaustion and weariness began to show in both her face and body. The thin but strong facade of control that Mordred continually held faded off for but a fleeting moment. "That was all I needed to hear. I was hoping that you would have said yes, but I will ask him personally and see whether I can have some hope once again."

Reaching out, Scott took her hand in comfort. He was one of the few people who would have loved to say it was possible, yet he also considered himself unworthy of such a blessing. "I am sorry." His words stung, causing his eyes to water. Turning with a sigh, he stood up from the couch. "Would you like some tea?"

"That sounds wonderful. Would you like any help?" Mordred asked. She wasn't entirely accustomed to being served. Usually, she was the one doing the serving due to how short the Table was on staff, so helping out was common practice. She could also tell that Scott was too injured to be able to do anything easily.

Taking the kettle from the counter with his free hand, Scott pulled off the lid before turning back to Mordred. "It would be much appreciated, and we can continue this chat. Would you grab the pitcher of water and fill up the kettle?" he asked, pointing toward a large pitcher on the far side of the counter. As she stood up to do so, Scott reached into the cabinet for some black tea.

Grabbing the pitcher, Mordred poured some of the contents into the kettle. Putting the pitcher back, she set the lid back on the kettle and rested it to the woodstove. "Now, what is your official report?" she asked, as she watched Scott measure out enough tea for the teapot.

Continuing to measure the tea, Scott began giving his report in simple bullet-point fashion, something Mordred had grown functionally accustomed to over the past few years. "Some women were murdered. Lou was captured and tortured for several weeks. Nothing interesting happened during that time otherwise. Then Lou showed up here nude and showed us how he could reform his limbs. He had gone to the future, came back, and we attempted to stop the Changeling or, Jack the Ripper. We failed. Two people were murdered. We were challenged by someone claiming to be Sir Micheal, who happened to also be Lou's kidnapper, an Elder One, and Jack the Ripper's boss. Fought him. Got our asses handed to us, and Sir Micheal defeated him. I was severely injured and everyone else left with barely a scratch."

It was a simplified version of Lou's report, so she nodded her head. However, it lacked some things that she believed were important. "That is rather vague."

"It is my official report," he said with a smug grin. Seeing as how she had the rest of the information from my reports, she let it go.

Having both made and served the tea, Mordred, and Scott sat in silence. Neither spoke, as neither had anything to say. They were simply enjoying the relaxing quiet, and thought to themselves. Mordred, having nothing better to do, looked over the room littered with rum bottles. Books on magic theory and mythology were scattered over every shelf, desk, and sill. The only spaces free of them were where people could sit and the counter.

"There is one thing that's been bothering me..." Scott finally said to break the silence.

"Yes?" Mordred replied curiously before sipping her tea. Trying not to point out his current living state, since she neither wanted to be a hypocrite, nor wanted him asking for a raise in order to better take care of the building.

"The Elder One controlling the puppet is still at large and will eventually reappear. However, the puppet had an item on him that I had assumed only the Table was in possession of," Scott said, insinuating she knew something about it.

Setting her tea down, Mordred furrowed her brow, confused. "And what might that be?" She asked, her stern demeanor returning ever so slightly, as if a defense mechanism.

"His robe. It was covered in runes that allowed him to absorb the energy of any physical attack and release it at will," Scott described with a vengeful sideways glance. Mordred's confused expression grew, so Scott began speaking again. "That kind of reminds me of Ragnar's enchanted shirt. The one in the Table's treasury. A dangerous tool that would be a great threat in the wrong hands," Scott finished. Concern was ripe behind his words, but he thinly veiled it with passive aggressiveness.

Picking her tea back up with a raised eyebrow, Mordred took a sip, and smiled in a polite manner. "Are you insinuating that this Elder One stole Ragnar's enchanted shirt from the Table itself? Or are you insinuating that this Elder One has already infiltrated the Table? Both of which are very unlikely," Mordred asked, wanting to make sure that Scott wasn't trying to create a scandal.

Placing his hand on his chest, Scott's mouth was agape in shock. Although he knew she meant nothing by it, he didn't like it when anyone doubted his loyalty. Acting offended would probably make her feel bad. "Nothing of the sort. I simply wish to know if it is replicable. You know that I am devoted to the Table." She didn't feel bad in the slightest.

Mordred gave him a thoughtful and sympathetic look. "It is not. Ragnar's shirt was created by a master of magic before the Round Table was founded. However, I will indulge you with a little bit of information to satisfy your curiosity."

"And what might that be?"

She let out an opposing and dissatisfied sigh. Although Mordred had just said she would tell him, she was having second thoughts. Mordred's shoulders slumped, her lips pursed. "As you know, the Table is rather low on funds at the moment. Even your own home has suffered because of this. If we had the funds, then we would have allotted some funds to have this place repaired. Because of our insufficient funds… we had to sell some of the items in the treasury," she said before turning away. Despite it being someone below her in rank within the Table, she hated having people point out her mistakes. She already knew that selling the items was going to be a mistake, but they needed the funds, and she was tired of only eating once or twice a week. All telling Scott did was make her more embarrassed about the decision.

"What? Do you have any idea how dangerous some of the items in the treasury are?" Scott asked judgmentally. He knew that she was his superior, but she was also similar to family, so he knew that she needed to be chewed out for something like selling the most dangerous magical items in existence.

"I know quite well how dangerous such items are…" Mordred began speaking complacently. Tensing up momentarily, she thought, before relaxing again. "… but we felt we had no other choice. Merlin and I had wanted to keep this classified, but I know how tight-lipped you can be. We had several of the Directors sell selected items at underground auctions, and it proved more than lucrative for the Table. Since then, we've been able to adjust our budget and manage the organization as a whole in a much better fashion. Sadly, I'm still eating a bare minimum. Being immortal has way more disadvantages than one would think," Mordred finished explaining with a regretfully awkward chuckle.

Neither said anything for nearly a minute. Mordred just sipped her tea, waiting for Scott's response while he thought about what she had said. With a sympathetic voice, Scott frowned. "I understand why you did it. The Table needs the funds and you need to eat. However, does this mean that you sold something as dangerous as Ragnar's enchanted shirt, as well as others, to some random people?"

"Yes, but you must understand that there are far more dangerous items within the treasury that we could never part with, for the sake of the world. That shirt, although precious, is not a large threat in comparison."

"That's a fair assessment. Though, on another matter, I must apologize for not taking the threat of Sir Micheal more seriously. After fighting an Elder One and witnessing Sir Micheal defeat him, I now understand why you are so afraid of such a being," Scott said, before drinking the last of his tea. Since he was finished, he reached for a rum bottle that sat on the side of the couch.

"Apology accepted. I had heard from Lou that you witnessed him kill the Elder One in a matter of minutes. It does not surprise me that much, as he has always been powerful. He was even able to take on my father, Arthur, as well as Merlin, both at once, and win," Mordred said in a way that almost sounded as if she were reminiscing her past with Sir Micheal in a good light. However, her calm nature drifted further into rage the more she thought about it.

The only thing left that he couldn't figure out about this whole ordeal was Sir Micheal's objective in all this. Why save them? If he was an enemy of the Table, then why bother stepping in in the first place? Was it out of moral obligation, happenstance, or something else entirely? Not knowing, he held up his rum bottle to the light, examining it for an unknown entity. "Do you know Sir Micheal's goal?" Scott asked.

"No, that has always been a mystery. He has appeared on a few occasions since he killed my father. Merlin has theorized that Sir Micheal is like him or myself, as we cannot age or die, so long as we aren't killed, due to Merlin's abilities being shared between us," she answered, as she had already thought about his goals many times herself. There was no motive that she could find from her knowledge of him. All she could do was continue to speculate.

"Perhaps, his objective is to destroy the Table, but can't challenge either you or Merlin yet?" Scott wondered aloud.

"I don't think so. Despite everything he has done, Sir Micheal ultimately produced a peaceful time for the Table nearly every time he has reappeared," Mordred said in a strange way, almost as if she didn't want to admit that. They both sat silent for a minute.

"Would you like something to eat? We could go meet Lou and Elysif at the pub," Scott asked to finally break the silence. Then, he followed it up with a large gulp from the bottle of rum he had.

"That sounds delightful. Though, I would like to avoid having this tea go to waste," Mordred said, trying to hide her desire for food by being polite. In truth, she had been hoping to eat some more while here.

"As you wish," Scott replied, before taking a swig from the bottle once more. The two sat and enjoyed the silence. Their worries seemed to fade away with every sip taken from their respective drinks. Moments like this were rare to them, and they wanted to enjoy every second of it. However, upon finishing her tea, Mordred held out her hand to Scott.

"May I perhaps have some of that? I could use a little," Mordred said with an embarrassed look. She tended to avoid drinking alcohol, especially at times like this, but she really wanted to sate her old habit. With an amused, somewhat surprised chuckle, Scott shook his head and handed the bottle to her.

To Be Continued…

 

[Paul_Tromba]

I want to personally thank everyone who has read, liked, commented, and shared this story thus far. It truly helps me to stay motivated to finish editing the second arc as well as to fund it. I intend to keep this story free on various sites for the foreseeable future and hope to do the same with arc 2. If you wish to support me, you may purchase a physical copy through this link to Amazon.com or offer constructive criticism to help improve it. I will be releasing a late April Fool's chapter that I released elsewhere, and then will go on a short hiatus to edit. I hope you all have a wonderful day and continue to enjoy reading. Thank you!

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Again, thank you all for at least looking at this story!

 

[Paul_Tromba]

July 27th 1888
Being stirred awake by the sound of repeated knocking, I meandered exhaustively to the door of Scott and I's flat. Opening the door, I greeted an equally tired officer, whom I did not recognize, in nothing but my torn skivvies. Eyeing the pale police man up and down, his unkept ministerial mustache was pointing in off directions from the chinstrap of his officer's helm, and the buttons of his shirt were buttoned incorrectly. He did the same to me, avoiding my crotch hole but not seeing me as much to be impressed with, according to his expressions. However, he left little for me to want to impress.

"May I help you?" I asked, too tired to care whether he was here for important business or otherwise. The question snapped the officer to attention with the expected indignant gaze.

"I was hoping so. There's a matter within your jurisdiction that I was sent to inform you of; Involving that of a witch's enchantment." He replied with a tone to match his previous indignant look.

Pursing my lips, I turned my head back into the apartment in hopes of seeing Scott. Doing so reminded me that he had left early this morning on an errand halfway across London, leaving me to take care of the place. Turning back to the officer, impatiently tapping his fingers across the doorframe, I nodded. "Sure… Where is the address?"

"I already have a Cabbie waiting outside for you. Detective Ron was insistent that I make sure you arrived today as it is of the upmost importance."

"I'll just grab my witch then," I smiled back.

"And some pants, I hope…" the officer sassily smirked before heading down the stairs.

"Oh, right!" I panicked, going back to my room to get dressed. Heading downstairs, I found Elysif finishing her breakfast. Without a word, I took her hand, much to her surprise, and began leading her out to the Cabbie.

"Wait, where are we going?" Elysif asked, perplexed by my lack of communication.

"Don't know. Witch business. Our jurisdiction. Supposedly very important," I stated as we rode off.

Upon our arrival, we found the reason for our urgency was due to it being within the police station. Several people had gathered around a hallway corridor, staring as if waiting for it to move. As soon as we arrived, they scattered, ignoring us as if we didn't exist. Though I assumed that most of them just didn't care to get involved, which, same.

"So what seems to be the problem?" Elysif asked one of the officers.

"No idea. The hallway has kept making weird noises ever since some old lady started yelling gibberish outside before running off into the sunrise smog. Oh, and none of us can seem to make it to the door at the end of the hallways," He replied before walking off quickly.

Elysif, wanting to know more but unable to ask any further before being left, turned to me with a curious smirk. Raising a finger in exclamation, she skipped over to the hallway alongside me, and lowered it in disappointment, saying, "I have no clue as to what this could be."

Looking down the hallway, a low hum shifted throughout and into my bones, unsettling me to an odd degree. "So what do we do?" I asked before admitting under my breath, "I am not entirely sure what we are looking for, to be honest."

She let out a sigh before shrugging it off and looking around the corridor entrance for… something. "We look inside for anything resembling a rune or a totem. If it is just a simple curse, it should fade after a few days, but a rune or totem could last until we remove them. All I know is an old lady said words, and now no one can reach the door at the end of the hallway. That means very little to me," She began saying with a rather passive aggressive tone.

"Well, it means nothing to me, so you're doing better than I," I replied.

Rolling her eyes, Elysif grabbed my shoulder, and the two of us stepped forward.

Stepping through the doorway, the humming continued to envelope us like the green and white decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Of the furnishings, there were a few black and white photographs of the local police Chief and a single long mirror, held within an illustrious copper-trimmed frame. Within the hallway were two doors other than the one on the end, leading to different rooms. Seeing as how the two rooms were opposite each other, Elysif poked her head in the left-side doorway while I did the same for the right-side room.

Inside, there was an officer filing folders as if nothing was amiss. Giving me a wave, he walked over and shut the door without a word. Looking over Elysif decided to close the door she had looked through with a shake of her head. Disatisfied, she stepped forward with a wave of her hand, pulling me along for whatever it was we were looking for.

As we walked, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with their gaze, not with their eyes but with a looming presence otherwise nondescript. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whomever may walk through, as if the center of a judgment council. Lifting them up to see underneath, there was nothing but a flat back end. The same goes for the mirror, except for a brown paper backing.

Elysif, not satisfied in the slightest, let out a loud huff and dropped to all fours. Getting down with her, we eyed the baseboards up and down until I had an idea of where every flake of wood grain was in a highway of wood. The shodily stained baseboards meeting with the worn-down carpet floor had nothing in terms of magical elements. With nothing left to check, we walked to the end of the corridor and eyed the doorframe up and down but saw nothing of interest in the off-white paint. Opening the door, we walked through together.

Stepping through the doorway, the humming continued to envelope us like the green and white decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same furnishings lined the walls as before. There were the same few black and white photographs of the local police Chief and the same long mirror, held within an illustrious gold-trimmed frame. Within the hallway were two closed doors other than the one on the end, leading to the rooms we had checked earlier.

Elysif and I turned to each other in shock. Walking backwards, we were in the police station at the entrance of the hallway. Stepping back into the hallway in near-unison dance, nothing changed.

"I see what they mean by not reaching the end of the hallway now…" Elysif said with a defeated sass I knew to be pure confusion. She had no clue what had just happened.

With the same humming continuing at the end of the corridor, we stepped through the doorway, the green and white decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor danced around us in its repetative decorations. Just as before, the eyes of the police chief's photos followed us with their looming presence, their faces plastered with concern instead of judgment. The mirror across the hall still reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever walked through.

Like before, we walked through the door at the end of the corridor, finding ourselves at the other end. The humming continued to envelope us like the grey and white decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished centimeter of the corridor. The same furnishings lined the walls. The same black and white photographs of the local police Chief and the same wide mirror, held within an illustrious gold trimmed frame. Within the hallway was a door other than the one on the end, leading to one of the rooms we had checked earlier.

Elysif became more visually irritated as she began rubbing her head. Getting on all fours again, she pulled out a rag from her handbag and began furiously wiping down the baseboards as if there was some invisible rune etched somewhere. Grabbing a rag myself, I rubbed the boards across from her so as not to be completely useless. Once the baseboard had been properly wiped, we got up and tried walking through once more, only to end up back where we started.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished centimeter of the corridor. The same furnishings lined the walls. The same painted busts of the local police Chief and the same long mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. Unlike before, no doors beside the one on the end were left. Did I imagine them?

Elysif and I stood still, her face twisted in confusion as she tried to wrap her mind around what had happened, while my expression showed the lack of conscious thought behind my eyes. As if our brains had sinked together with what little brains cells we had left to share, we bolted to the end of the hallway and through the door.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper-trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

This time, we stopped. The humming still continued as it had never stopped. The wallpaper, now depicting dancers in gold and black across every centimeter of unfurnished wall. The photos, busts, or paintings were gone, and the two doors had returned. Remaining was the mirror with a poorly painted yellow wood frame.

"This doesn't make any sense… We can walk out but can't walk forward… riddle… no… I got it!" Elysif said to herself before punching the mirror as hard as she could. Jumping back in shock, I quickly began observing her hand.

"What the hell! Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Do you need help?" I frantically shouted before she lowered her hand, wiped off the few minor cuts to her knuckles on her shirt, and began skipping to the end of the corridor with a content smile plastered across her smug face. Walking through the doorway at the end, she appeared at the other end of the hallway whilst I stood in front of the same mirror, now magically repaired and framed in a green wooden frame with tiny people painted in the corners. Rather than getting freaked out, Elysif stomped her feet on the ground in rage over her intuition being wrong.

Before I could offer my thoughts, Elysif had already grabbed my arm and was leading me to the end of the hallway, where we promptly strutted through. The humming continued to envelope us like the yellow and red decorative dancer wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.
The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and a now broken mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

The humming continued to envelope us like the green and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished meter of the corridor. The same furnishings as before lined the walls. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious copper trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's photos seemed to follow us with the same horrid presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a murder.

Passing through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Sprinting through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us as we ran like the blue and red decorative flower wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. Cement busts of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious prism frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's busts seemed to follow us with the same humoured presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a comedy routine.

Running through the door at the end of the corridor again, the humming continued to envelope us like the white and green decorative vase wallpaper lining every unfurnished millimeter of the corridor. The same black and white photos of the local police Chief and the same tall mirror, held within an illustrious wood trimmed frame. As we ran, the eyes of the police chief's mouths seemed to follow us with a mocking presence. The mirror across the hall from them reflected them at every angle, looking directly at whoever may walk through, as if the center of a public humiliation.

Stopping to catch our breath, we bent with our hands on our knees. The subtle changes of the corridor slowly drove me insane, but the repetativeness of it belittled my brainstems. Pulling out the revolver from my side holster, I shot the doorframe at the end of the corridor. Immediately, every officer in the building had a gun or baton pointed in my direction. Elysif had jumped back, equally as surprised as they were.

"Just trying something. Ignore me!" I exclaimed, raising my hands in the air. Hearing this and seeing my reaction, the officers went back to their work with some rather loud, annoyed grumbles.

"What the hell, Lou!" Elysif exclaimed angrily.

"What?"

Before Elysif could berate me for my irresponsible handling of a firearm, the door on the other end of the corridor opened to reveal Iscariot. The old man with long white hair down to his waist waddled out in his robe, small pouch in hand. From the pouch, he pulled a handfull of paper confetti, which he threw on us aggressively.

"April fools!" The old man exclaimed excitedly in his high-pitched voice.

Elysif and I looked at Iscariot, then to each other, then back to Iscariot, then the floor, now there's cheese, back to Iscariot. We were utterly confused as today was neither April 1st, nor did we feel like this was a prank. Iscariot, noticing our confusion, knelt down.

"See, I put a portal to my home in that door. Then, I attached another portal to the inside of the doorframe that is connected to the beginning of the hallway. All to mess with the two of you," Iscariot smiled with child-like glee.

"Why? How does that explain the changing hallway?" Elysif asked, brushing the confetti from her body as she stood up.

"First of all, it isn't April first. Second, were the police in on the joke, or were they just as much fools as us?" I asked, more annoyed than Elysif.

Iscariot put his hands behind his back and twisted his foot like a lying schoolboy. "Because it's fun. The portals warp your perception slightly. Time is a bit weird for me so, sorry. Lastly, no, only the officer who picked you up was aware and he wasn't even an officer," He answered before snapping his fingers, returning the hallway to normal. Before Elysif or I could grab him, he quickly retreated to the doorway with a loud giggle and slammed it shut behind him.

"So should we-" I began to ask before Elysif raised her palm to me in the halt sign.

"Nope. We are gonna go home and not give him the satisfaction of discussing what happened here ever again. Are you okay with that?"

"Sounds pleasant to me. Want to stop for lunch on the way back?"

"That sounds wonderful!" Elysif replied cheerfully before skipping ahead of me.