<1 hour until clone death

Making it the rest of the way to the outskirts of Gentlman's Club turf went, remarkably, without a hitch. Henry jostled in the back seat of the van as the driver pulled over to the side of the road, leaving him to give the… apparently special ammo the Constable handed him one last look as he loaded his revolver one bullet at a time.

Reminded him a bit of the first time he'd had to reload, actually. He'd learned the hard way that things were a lot different than they were in action movies that day. First he'd had to figure out how to make the cylinder open up, then he ended up fiddling with it for nearly a full minute trying to clear the spent casings by hand one at a time. Only to realize the plunger on the back neatly solved that problem for him.

Just some know-nothing Greenwich kid, trying to make his weapon work while simultaneously treating it like it might blow up in his hands. Good times. Nowadays he had quite a bit more practice.

Closing it up with a quick flick of the wrist, he reholstered the short-barreled pistol and undid the seatbelt. Had to make sure he was ready and presentable, after all. A lot was riding on this deal going…

Okay, not smoothly. But the way he wanted it to, that was for sure.

"Right," he started, popping open the hatch on the back of the minivan and shuffling some of the rubbish inside around. "Layla, you're going to have to make yourself comfortable in here for now. Unfortunately, Guillaume makes it damn difficult for anyone who doesn't want to approach him to do so, so until then your best bet is staying out of sight and out of mind. Literally. The last thing I want is for you to get mind controlled by him."

"No need to remind me," she replied. "I would've thought I'd be ready by now, but just the thought of being close to him is giving me the creeps."

Henry nodded, but carried on. "Once things get out of hand – which I'm sure they will – get out of the car quick and keep yourself hidden as best you can. Hit and run attacks from range, none of the close quarters stuff like you did in the tunnels. Clear?"

A thumbs up, and they got back to work making space for her. He might not know how to lead, but he'd spent enough time figuring out in the past months, it was learning everything he could about who they were up against. Being in several places at once made it significantly easier to gather information in general, and while his mental protections couldn't protect all of them, he still could frontload his friends with enough information and tactics beforehand that they'd hopefully not end up in a situation where they encountered that losing battle.

All the best medicine was preventative, after all.

Thankfully, Layla needed little motivation to follow along anyways. The choice between keeping control of yourself and not wasn't exactly a head-scratcher. Unpleasant alternative or no, sometimes that was just the way the cards landed.

"Ugh, this is going to be a tight fit…" Layla realized, shimmying into the empty space in the trunk while Henry piled her pack and whatever scrap had been in the van before his copy had stolen it on top of her.

"Don't worry," he replied casually. "Things'll be going wrong before you know it."

"Mm."

She didn't say anything back, but that was more because she didn't want to blow her camouflage. Enough got through the subtext of the vocalization to well make up for it, anyways.

"Heads up," Evelyn called from her perch on the roof. "The welcoming party's almost here. Better get ready."

He slammed the trunk quick and dusted his hands clean on his pants. In the distance, the dull rumbling of motorbike engines could be made out as a patrol of Gentleman's Club scouts pulled up to meet them.

Their resident robo-angel took point on this one. With a gentle hop that rocked the top of the vehicle, she touched down on the pavement just in front of them as the approaching six-man squad rolled to a stop.

Coming into view one by one, the group looked almost exactly like what you'd expect from a post-apocalyptic a biker gang. Which, in fairness, they technically were. Not very original, and Henry wasn't sure how they managed to contend with the city's notoriously bad road conditions, but that mattered little now. If you had a bike fast enough to outrun the wolves and a really good suspension, anyone sufficiently motivated could tear down the streets almost without a care in the world, he supposed.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!", the leader exclaimed. "Ey boys, check it out! The Harpy's back from its tunnel run!"

Muffled cheers went up from the battle-weary grunts behind him, as they celebrated the return of one of their best fighters in their time of need. Henry guessed that the recent wolf attacks had been more costly than the radio host had let on earlier. Each one of them was sporting at least one visible fresh wound of some kind, with varying levels of bandaging. If they were looking this rough, and Guillaume still hadn't made an effort to recall Evelyn back for a defense… he must have really been banking on the treasure they'd found down there.

Good to know. Meant he had an edge if it came down to the last-minute haggling.

"Let the Boss know of our arrival," she demanded. "We have an urgent delivery to complete."

"You heard the freak, lads! Hugh, get a radio channel open to headquarters! The rest of you, form an escort around the van! I want to know which way the wolves are coming from the instant one of you spots one in this damn weather, understand?"

"Understood, sir!"

Motorbike engines revved as places were taken. Henry climbed back into the van, on the passenger's side this time so as to not arouse suspicions. Evelyn took to the skies, maintaining overwatch of the convoy as they carefully made their approach back towards the towering office complex at the end of the road.

Time to see if their little bluff paid off.

In tense silence, the junky van rattled its way over potholes and rubble as the six bikes directed them in towards the final destination of their deal.

The car park adjoining the building. On one of the sub-levels below.

Henry peeled the collar of his shirt away from his neck as nervous sweat began to bead. His face was stone still, betraying no hint of fear, but he'd never been able to perfectly school himself like some others had learned to. There was always a tell, even with the best of them.

Henry was nowhere near the best of them. He'd be happy if he was left standing after all was said and done.

Well, no use worrying about it now, he lied to himself. Moment of truth, now.

He tucked his revolver underneath the back of his shirt, picked up the Magic 8-Ball off the floor, and ran a hand through his hair in a vain effort to straighten it. Like so many times before, it refused to be tamed.

…Just part of his charm, he supposed.

< -|- -|- >

By the time Henry and the crew arrived at the lowest floor of the parking garage, Guillaume was already waiting for them. Standing imperiously in the middle of the lot, his raven-headed cane was held firmly in both hands and planted on the ground in front of him. He stared down the length of his hook-like nose at the approaching vehicle, flanked by two guards kitted out with the best weapons and mage-tech their little underground operation had to offer. Not pretty pieces of work, but you could see there was at least some thought put into them. In the kludged-together, 'as long as it works' sort of way.

Looks like the old man decided to go all out on the posturing and intimidation. Made sense. Being kind to your enemy was being cruel to yourself, and whatnot. Guillaume knew how to be cruel, and more importantly when. It was all the makings of a proper tyrant, who ruled with an iron fist.

The motorbikes circled around the edges of the empty lot like sharks for a moment, as the van creaked to a halt several meters away from the site of the deal. The guards each hefted enchanted machine guns and pointed them in the clone's direction, one over each of Guillaume's shoulders. He got the message loud and clear, both himself and his copy slowly raising their hands and stepping out of the vehicle just as Evelyn finally arrived, bringing up the rear of the formation. She hovered barely a meter off the ground, staying airborne for the longest amount of time that could be deemed acceptable before touching down in front of the pair of them.

"Report," Guillaume said simply.

"Mission success, with heavy casualties." Her wings raised high enough so that she could clasp her hands behind her back. She subtly clutched the crystal just a bit tighter, delivering her words in the same monotone voice she typically held when speaking with her de facto overlord.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"We managed to retrieve the artifact in question and properly determine its use case, but there were setbacks on several occasions. Requesting permission to deliver complete summary of losses."

Guillaume looked around, noting that there were some people in the room better off not knowing the full picture. "Leave us," he stated simply to the motorbike escort. They immediately obeyed, peeling off one by one and driving back up to the higher levels.

Is that his Exotic Domain doing that, or is it just his position as figurehead?

"Permission granted. Tell me what happened."

"First instance. Sustained acceptable loss to concealed trap in tunnel approach. Cause of death: personal ineptitude of subject. Second instance; two casualties due to traversal of a cursed region that could not be bypassed without jeopardizing the mission timetable. As laid out by mission parameters, subjects lost were pre-approved as expendable. Final instance. Retrieval of artifact ran into complications derived from creatures previously empowered by primary objective. Special Operative, codenamed Gordon – deceased. Advise raising threat level of Liverpool Street Station in accordance with findings."

Guillaume narrowed his eyes. "Gordon knew his stuff. Better than those other louts I sent with you to be rid of for good. Tell me, how did he die? Be specific. Detailed, even."

Evelyn turned to Henry. "Present the artifact for him to see," it commanded before expounding on the story they'd worked out before arriving. He played his part, as did she.

"This artifact, from what we've uncovered, can induce Ghost of Tolkien in a localized area. It is likely that the Morlocks used it to artificially bolster their numbers rapidly, hence their sudden increase in aggressiveness on the surface. Unfortunately, their screening methods appear to have been… lacking compared to everyone else's. By the time we arrived, Liverpool Street Station was in the late stages of becoming a thrall-camp."

"Vampires?" Guillaume raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I paid good money for his services as an ex-assassin. Surely he'd have been able to handle a few bloodsuckers with your help, non?"

"In total, there were only three vampires, but they had uncontested access to their own blood supply," Evelyn elaborated without missing a beat. "And they could use magic."

The eyes of the normally stony faced elite guards went wide with shock. One even made the sign of the cross over his heart, muttering a short prayer. Guillaume was more composed, but it was obvious the development troubled him too.

"...How many are still left," he finally responded, mouth dry.

"One was gravely injured in the retreat, and pounced on by the other two. As for the remainder… Perhaps they've turned on each other by now, perhaps not. At the very least, there isn't likely to be more, unless we make them."

"Hmm…"

Guillaume pondered her words in silence for a moment. "Troubling. Very troubling. But, it would seem our position is stronger than it was to begin with, despite the loss of one of our top talents. You have done well."

She didn't speak. She just acknowledged, making a motion in between a nod and a bow.

"Now… onto the matter of our little agreement. I see there are two of you here now, Henry. How fortunate that you survived long enough for me to have to pay you."

Henry shrugged. "What can I say? It's not pretty, but I know how to stick around."

"Quite," Guillaume replied through gritted teeth. "Though it would seem that it is finally time for our little arrangement to close itself out."

He rapped the bottom of his cane against the concrete twice, and a loading bay door on the wall adjoining the office building slowly began to roll open.

Man, he's a real fan of the theatrics, isn't he… Oh, who am I kidding. I've pulled worse stunts.

"It would appear that you've already helped yourself to one of my vehicles, he said grouchily. "Add to that the fact that you let my best covert operative die on your watch, and you'll excuse me if I don't deem you worthy of a second van of mine. But, you will find that the rest is all here."

And it was. Half a pallet stocked full of guns, ammo, mana, rations… Everything he'd asked for and maybe even a little bit extra on the top. He must really want him gone if he was adding gratis, Henry realized.

"So now comes the time when we must complete this little transaction," Guillaume finished as Evelyn returned to his side of the aisle. "Let's make this easy, shall we? Your copy can take the pallet jack… and I will take that little trinket off your hands."

Come on… just a little distance further…

Henry had been hoping that Evelyn would have had a chance to make her move by now. She'd never hesitated to kill before, so even the smallest opportunity should be enough for her to make things work, right? This was the man who had quite literally enslaved her, after all.

Unfortunately, it would seem that Guillaume was ridiculously shrewd with his protection. Even holding the monopoly on violence as he did currently, he was taking no chances and had placed his bodyguards in such a way that any attack had to come from an angle that could be reacted to. More than likely, the guards were being puppeted in a similar fashion to how Evelyn normally was.

Guess we're doing this, then…

"Alright, you heard the man," he told his one remaining duplicate. "Go grab our loot, and play nice."

The clone gave him an angry look. Henry could only give an apologetic one back. This was very much going back on the promise he'd made at the very start, but honestly they'd both known deep down that the arrangement was never going to last the whole way. He'd been stretching the definition the entire way by not extending it to his other clones to begin with.

They'd discussed having some coded phrases as a group, back at the very start of this harebrained scheme to extort the local crime syndicate. Play nice had been one such line. Basically meant 'the opposite of what it should mean', they'd decided. He didn't put any obvious stress or intonations on the words when he spoke them, but the copy understood just fine.

And while he was resentful, he did follow along. The clone approached the pallet while he walked over to Guillaume, artifact in hand. Walking slowly so he could ensure his clone reached his destination first.

Henry made sure he walked a bit off to the side as the pallet was brought around near the rear of the van. In the blink of an eye, a submachine gun was in the clone's hands and pointed towards Guillaume and his posse, snapped up from one of the topmost crates.

In a blink and a half, two enchanted machine guns were pointed back at the clone and close to tearing him to shreds with their own return fire. Evelyn's third servo arm unfurled quickly in the commotion, placing her close enough to Guillaume's exposed back to strike as Henry proved faster than all of them.

The sound of crystal cracking and a wet splash as the body hit the ground followed the violently loud report of his pistol, leaving Henry standing alone, firing over his shoulder without looking and pinching his nose bridge in mock frustration.

Mental note, The Constable really wasn't lying when he said his bullets don't miss...

"I told him not to, the idiot," he bemoaned with feigned callousness. "See, this is the problem with clones nearing the end of their deadline. They just stop giving a shit half the time and do whatever they feel like."

Guillaume made careful note of his wording. "It would seem that the leader has decided to grace us with his presence for once, then."

"Had to make sure things went through properly, yeah? And before you get any ideas, I do still have a copy out there ready to make the call if you try anything."

"What, do you take me for one of your own? I would expect nothing less from a rat such as yourself. Now, if you're done playing cowboy…" The guards advanced forward, intent on retrieving the artifact from him.

There it is! The perfect angle for a sneak attack!

And Evelyn clearly saw it too. The wings splayed wide as the clamp attachment of the servo arm wound up, intending to go for the throat…

… Until the rumble of explosions from the floors above caused the entire building to shake, bits of loose rock to fall from the ceiling haphazardly. Everyone in the room immediately snapped to attention, as gunfire could be heard rattling away from above. Distracting her for one small, very crucial moment.

The ceiling caved in mere milliseconds after. Chunks of concrete larger than his own head cracked and tumbled to the floor, tearing the roof asunder in a cloud of dust. Countless stones rained against the roof of the van behind him, leaving dents in the metal as big as a softball. If it hadn't been for Evelyn's timely intervention, Henry would have found himself a smear on the floor no matter how hard he dodged. Metal wings furled around the two of them protectively, cocooning them from the blast of concrete rubble raining down from above.

Guillaume was forced to dominate his two guards to protect him from the force of the explosion, and that still sent him rolling away limp as a ragdoll from an errant fragment of rock. Blood smeared one side of his face as he reeled from the impact, his face furrowed in sheer focus.

Hurt… but not down for good. As soon as he rolled to a stop, hate-filled eyes snapped to his former servant, who had abandoned him in his time of need.

"You…" he growled, pinkish spittle spraying from where he'd split his lip in the tumble.

Gangsters poured out from the main building by the dozens to respond to the new threat. Each one just as armed to the teeth as the two bodyguards had been, and perhaps even a little bit more on top of that. Heavy caliber rifles came to bear, heavily enchanted weapons swung in hip holsters ready to be unsheathed. Layer after layer of ablative scrap armor bedecked each and every one of them, as they brandished their assortment of bespoke kit towards the breach.

Towards their apparent enemy. One that was more than happy to drop down to greet them in turn.

From the ceiling dropped a mastercrafted suit of armor, finely engraved with intricately flowing patterns of inscriptions from head to toe and standing nearly as tall as the ceiling. It had to be at least two and a half times the size he was, Henry figured. One hand was a mailed fist that carried an equally impressive heater shield, and the other melded into a lance-like shape at the elbow, the orange glow of Fire Domain enchantments fading away from the tip. The difference in quality was night and day.

The Landed Knight Commander himself. For some inexplicable reason, the Nobles had decided now was the time to make a move.

A human sized figure clambered off the shoulder of the hulking armor, clad in simpler utilitarian plating and wearing a face shield that resembled a welding mask, but more angular and without a viewing port. Evidently, they could still see, as they campused up and around several holds on the back of the armor with no issues – or even a belay line.

"I don't think the surprise attack worked, Sir Henwood," they muttered into the ear of the armor designed to go toe to toe with even the most heavyset of werewolves.

"No, my squire," the commander agreed. "That was to keep them on their toes."

Several smaller – wait, no, that was just perspective – normal sized intruders dressed in gear similar to the squire's rappelled down the side of the crater, carrying spears as likely to be tipped with a broadhead as they were a tube of Semtex. The moment their boots touched pavement, they rapidly deployed into formation, spacing themselves just so, with the longer metal pikes in the front and the explosive javelins just behind them.

They managed to get half of their men into place by the time the onlookers recovered. Or, in this case, onlooker. Guillaume was done gawking at the display, and had the capacity to forcibly improve his own team's reaction time.

"KILL THEM!!", he shouted petulantly.

Magic, bullets and spears flew as all-out war bloomed right in front of Henry, Evelyn and the van.

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