A Warm Welcome from London [IC]

[Lessoni]

OOC: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=465428&p=35765755&sid=14782ca9f0cf2b1385238e9e62c041d5#p35757099



Marshall and Anderson offices

Sean Marshall took a long drag off his cigarette, letting the smooth smoke fill his lungs. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting out his breath. Smoke flew out the window. It was a nasy habit, he knew, but it calmed him. Focused him. And he'd need his focus for the events about to transpire.

"Cindy, dear. Fetch me the gin. I've a meeting to prepare for."

His secretary walked through the door with a bottle, expensive gin.

"And the finer glasses, if you wouldn't mind."

She approached a cabinet in the corner, pulling out 6 glasses and setting them on the table.

"Good girl. Now, why don't you head home for the night? I have private matters to attend to."

"Yes, Mr. Marshall. Have a nice night sir."

"And to you."

As Cindy walked out the door, she walked through the lobby of the single story building. It could almost be mistaken for a dentist's or doctor's office, if not for the wired glass and reinforced doors. It was a building built for defense. She exited the building, passing a man walking through the door, dressed in a sharp suit. The unmistakable outline of a gun was on his hip. Jack Anderson walked through the doors to the office, a bell signalling his arrival. He joined his business partner in their shared office, giving him a nod as he sat.

"They're set to be here any moment.", said Marshall.

"Yes, I believe we're all prepared. Now, we wait."

The two sat in silence in their office, deep in thought. A sign on the front desk would tell anyone who walked in to enter the office door. Yes, tonight was the night it would all begin.

[Endem]

Krystyn Warecki

Krystyn was walking through the streets of London, his lungs filled with its air, his mask as always a bit itchy, but the crosshair installed in it was helpful, at least that and his grappling hook he still had from his time as a spy... Yes, because of this he was now under a false name, Albert Smith as he was known. He finally reached the building, it could be mistaken for anything else, if not for the reinforced door and window covered in wire. He went through that door and a bell has rung, well, they at least knew he was there, which, wasn't a good thing. He pulled out one of his hands from the pockets, the second one still in the second pocket, that had an outline of a gun.

[Kragholm Free States]

Luther Carrington

The thud of boots echoed on the rough cobbled street, suddenly deafening amidst an inexplicably eerie quiet. Professor Carrington glanced back. The ever-present London crowds hurried and hastened about far behind him, the drone of airship propellers floated down from far above, and the occasional distant cry or muffled cough of steam betrayed the city’s dark underbelly – no, not underbelly; long gone were the days when the violent delights of London’s undesirables were enjoyed covertly. Yet here, this single street among thousands, seemed to suck out all the noise and the fading light of the setting sun, leaving only empty, uncertain gloom. The professor shook his head. Perhaps he would be better off back there, among the muggers and the pickpockets and the streetwalkers and God knows what else. No, he thought, he had come this far. Curiosity would not permit him to turn back; not now, not ever – it had always been thus. Hand disappearing under his greatcoat, he touched ever-so-briefly the hilt of his sabre, for reassurance, before withdrawing the letter, straining to make out the address in the dim twilight. Yes, it was here. That door, across the street, rather more solidly constructed than its neighbours. A rare safe haven? Or perhaps what lay beyond was some new danger.

A bell jingled as Carrington entered. He grimaced, feeling the weight of his blade one more time, and pressed on past the front desk, his one good eye flicking over the sign that lay atop it. Without further ado, he raised a gloved hand, and pushed open the office door.

[Cossack Khanate]

Jason Black, London

A dark-clothed man in the streets of a crowded city should have been noticed, but in the falling evening, no one noticed Jason, two bulges under his arms signifying his handguns. With one hand, he flicked open the letter to read the address, not believing that the insignificant -looking building was home to people who needed him. Shrugging, he raised his leather-gloved hand, tips of his fingers poking through, to push open the door. He quickly walked past the front desk, whose sign told him to proceed to the office. He didn’t jump at the bell; years of ambushes and surprise attacks had taught him enough. He paused and took a breath to push open the office door, anxious to know what (or who) awaited him...

[Gerdon Laughis]

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Ansgar Alfhild, The Ambessone
Scars of a thousand wounds in your memory.
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Flashes of light consume the world as the smell of gunpowder and the open-sea overwhelm him. A loud, rhythmic thumping assaults his ears as the German Flagship blocks the small transport vessel with its wicked and hellish demeanor. Ansgar Alfhild looks across the main deck of The Ambessone just as another thump emerges from the hull of ship, causing it to roll with fire and ember spiraling downward in beautiful catastrophe. Ansgar drops to his knees as the German Flagships fires another round into the balloon of the Airship, causing it to combust and drop the body of The Ambessone towards the ocean below. Tears streaming down his face as it begins to Pitch and Yaw, and the body begins flipping with cinder and charred flesh from the cabins below already connecting with the water below. As as he feels his body leaving the deck of the ship, he says a small prayer as the ocean grows closer. Eyes blurred by tears, ears assaulted with the thumping and pounding, and arms outstretched, Ansgar makes contact with the water as his vessel lands above him.

"Ansgar! You're gon want this!" The voice is muffled, but the shouting combined with the shock he feels rouses him from sleep in a cold sweat, with the oil lantern still lightly burning next to him. The same rhythmic thumping heard on the battlefield of his mind continues as the man pounds on the cabin door. Ansgar groans loudly as he throws himself off of his bed, falling into his boots with a heavy thud against the reinforced oaken floors. He trudges slowly to the door before opening it outward, hitting the man with the heavy slab of wood.

"Well hell you coulda broken me damn nose!" A short, portly Englishman in a suit about a size too thin stands holding his nose with a fair degree of theatricality, while waving a small envelope towards the Captain. Ansgar gives a low, hardy laugh as he shakes the fear from his breath and takes the envelope. His voice rumbles out like cannon fire as he speaks. "Pierce, I appreciate the correspondence. Now stop us from goin under please won'tcha?" As he speaks, all pain seems to magically leave Pierce as he sucks in his gut, gives a comically low bow, and waddles off while singing along the lines of "Come on down to London Town..."

The door slams shut, causing the oil lantern to shake slightly, flickering the subtle light in the cabin. Ansgar sits heavily in the swivel chair at his desk, and looks carefully at the envelope. "No one writes me letters." He methodically fiddles with the letter, and eyes the seal on the back. "Marshall and Anderson?" He peels the envelope open, and removes its contents. Upon reading, word quickly spreads through the crew of an immediate reroute to London.
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London
A wolf in sheep's clothing.
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Ansgar Alfhild walked the streets of London in a proper gentleman's suit. His hair stretched to his shoulders, which strained against the black fabric of the coat. A small pin of Yggdrasil and the 9 worlds rested on his lapel, and the outline of his pistol unsubtly bulged from his hip causing bystanders to cautiously eye the foreigner as they passed. He kept his head low, but looked all around as he made his way to the M&A office, chewing a cigar. Slowly entering the building, even without looking at the sign instructing entry, he pushes open the door to the office, deeply inhaling as he feels the smoke enter his lungs. He enters the room, taking a seat as he releases a cloud of smoke into the office, and removes the cigar from his mouth. He speaks confidently as he eyes the men in the room. "Well gentleman," he taps the ash off of his cigar before taking another drag. "I'm interested."

[Lessoni]

Marshall and Anderson's office

"Well gentlemen. I assume our letter found you well."

Marshall poured them all a glass of gin, not asking if they wanted it. He set it in front of them with the grace of a seasoned bartender.

"Mister Smith. Or should I say Warecki? Odd attire for a business meeting, though I do say it gives an air of legitimacy to you.", said Anderson to the masked man.

"Professor Carrington. I do dare to say that you aren't around this part of town too much. I assure you, it will eventually seem like home.", said Marshall to the professor.

"Mister Black. Well armed as usual. I'd be offended if you weren't good sir, though you'll have no use of them tonight, unless you intend to kill us.", said Anderson moments after Marshall had finished.

"And last but certainly not least, Mister Alfhild. I do hope the letter found you at an opportune time. I do understand how things can be in your line of work, rest assured. In fact, I'm a tad surprised you made it tonight.", said Marshall.

Anderson looked at Marshall in a sidelong glance, then began what was clearly a well prepared speech, one he'd given before.

"Gentlemen. You are here today because we saw something in you. Be it a superior intelligence, fighting skill, espionage, or a mix of the three, you have skills we could very well use. As the letter no doubt told you, we have need of skilled individuals to help combat crime, which you no doubt know is currently running rampant. Of course, you'll be payed handsomely, though we'll iron out those details individually. We are fully aware of your pasts, though any secrets you hold are safe with us. Even if you deny our offer today, they will remain safe. Now, onto the job description. You will be offered cases and jobs from private individuals to be taken at your discretion, each carrying a cash bonus on top of your normal salary. On top of those jobs, we'll assign you various jobs given to us by the city.". Anderson sat back, seemingly finished.

"All that remains, gentlemen, is your answer. Will you join this company of ours?", asked Marshall, his glass raised as if to toast.

[Kragholm Free States]

Luther Carrington

The professor raised an eyebrow slightly, the briefest flicker of an amused smile dancing across his lips. "I wonder, gentlemen, what myriad gullible fools have stood where I now stand, listened to your honeyed words, and pledged themselves to your goals; yes, goals, plural - you will forgive me if I do not entirely believe that your sole wish is to frustrate and subdue this epidemic of criminality out of the goodness of your hearts." He paused, a long inhalation punctuating the quiet. His hand reached slowly out, sliding the glass of gin closer. A nod. "Alas, it seems I must count myself among that foolish cohort, if only because I am intrigued as to how this little play of yours will proceed. Against my better judgement, then, I accept your offer." He chuckled wryly, and slowly raised the glass to match Marshall's.

[Cossack Khanate]

Jason Black

Jason quickly ran his eyes over the people assembled in the office, taking note of their appearances. He took interest in the burly man smoking a cigar, wondering from which corner of the world he had dropped in from.
His face flickered with a bit of surprise at Anderson’s “as usual”, but then straightened into an amused smile and a nod. “I assure you I have no such intents”, Jason said, jokingly.
After waiting through Carrington’s acceptance, he reached for the glass of gin and raised it to Marshall’s glass. “Your offer is one that intrigues me, and it is quite within my line of work. It would be my privilege to work in your company. Count me as joined”

[Endem]

Krystyn Warecki

"I do not know of whom are you speaking when using the name Warecki, I can assure you, my name is Albert Smith"

He then went for the glass purposefully getting near Marshall's ear. "Do not use my real name" he whispered through his teeth into the ear of this man and before Marshall could say something in return Krystyn grabbed the glass

"It will be an honor to work with you, I accept the offer"

He then raised his glass to Marshall's glass, a sound of glass colliding with other glass was heard and then Krystyn raised the glass to his lips and emptied it.

[Gerdon Laughis]

Marshall and Anderson's office

..."And last but certainly not least, Mister Alfhild. I do hope the letter found you at an opportune time. I do understand how things can be in your line of work, rest assured. In fact, I'm a tad surprised you made it tonight.", said Marshall.

Anderson looked at Marshall in a sidelong glance, then began what was clearly a well prepared speech, one he'd given before.

"Gentlemen. You are here today because we saw something in you. Be it a superior intelligence, fighting skill, espionage, or a mix of the three, you have skills we could very well use. As the letter no doubt told you, we have need of skilled individuals to help combat crime, which you no doubt know is currently running rampant. Of course, you'll be payed handsomely, though we'll iron out those details individually. We are fully aware of your pasts, though any secrets you hold are safe with us. Even if you deny our offer today, they will remain safe. Now, onto the job description. You will be offered cases and jobs from private individuals to be taken at your discretion, each carrying a cash bonus on top of your normal salary. On top of those jobs, we'll assign you various jobs given to us by the city.". Anderson sat back, seemingly finished.

"All that remains, gentlemen, is your answer. Will you join this company of ours?", asked Marshall, his glass raised as if to toast.

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Ansgar Alfhild, Offices of Marshal & Anderson
So you think you've got friends in high places?
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He slowly surveyed the men around him. Smoke filling his lungs before then filling the room as the dimly lit office became a haze of tension and tobacco. The men seemed capable enough, but his interest fell mostly on Marshal and Anderson themselves. Interesting propositions given to complete strangers, by complete strangers, for a seemingly noble cause.

"Well, in my work as in any you have high and low periods of volume. As you know the current economic situation has put a slight hamper on trade so we're in a slow period. So, here I am."

As he finishes speaking, he chuckles slightly and adjusts his jacket, and while doing so he seems to tense just slightly before instantly relaxing, and his head seems to shake abruptly seemingly of its own will. Ash falls onto his chest, which he lightly brushes off with a calloused hand, Vegvisir showing slightly from the inside of his sleeve as his arm moves. "I do hope my condition will not be too much of a distraction." He glances down at the glass of gin in front of him and gives a small grin. Removing the cigar from his mouth, he extinguishes it inside the drink before reaching across the table and retrieving the entire bottle from in front of the two gentleman. He then raises the bottle to meet the other men's glasses. "Lets talk business boys."

[Lessoni]

Marshall and Anderson's office

Marshall drained his glass of gin.

"Then we are in agreement gentlemen. Meet us here in two days time, 8 AM sharp. We'll have both details of your salary and your first contracts. Now, the hour grows late. I assume you all have beds that you sorely miss, so I'll hold you no longer."

Ushering the gathered men out of the office, he waved them off with a bow and retreated into the office.

"Well Anderson, that went remarkably well. I told you you wouldn't need your gun.", said Marshall.

"Better safe than sorry, old pal. Now, I must be off. Business to attend to.", said Anderson.

"The Amazon job?", questioned Marshall.

"The very same. I bid you farewell.", said Anderson as he exited the room.

I never did get my gin back from Mister Alfhild, thought Marshall as he sat down to a stack of paperwork.

[The Felan Federation]

Alicia Wundfra/Teufelsengel

Alicia hated being late - it made one look unprofessional, uncultured and especially not interested. In the same way a crowd waited for their favorite singer or dancer to perform, one disliked being late or having their star being late too. Granted, she had a very good reason for things. Namely she had messed up her make-up for the occasion. Though, if one had a way to see the morality of someone - they would see not but a black angel of death where should stand a mere woman in a black cocktail dress and heels.

As she soon enough finished wiping away the last 'black mark'. Men were such easy prey in her mind - they acted all strong and mighty; but when suddenly the woman they attempted to 'court' had her face start to melt they immediately began to panic or beg for mercy. Though in the streets of London, one scream was just one of a million - daily and unavoidable. Most people were wise to avoid such situations, less they be the target of the Teufelsengel themselves.

"Thank you for this occasion...you useless waste of flesh..." commented Alicia, her voice shifting from an English belle to a German Fraulein - before it returned to the normal language of the town. As she finished pocketing one knife away, then after finishing up she also closed her hand-mirror and resumed her walk towards the Marshall-Anderson Office. It better be worth the trip, since she already had dirtied up her favorite shoes.

"'ello? Anyone home?" she asked, walking into the place and in a way - not seeming that much different than the millions others in London, barring the dead body she left behind in the alleyway just a few meters away from here.

[Lessoni]

Marshall and Anderson's office

How strange. Another visitor, it seemed. Marshall racked his mind for who it might be, then came up with his answer; Alicia Wundfra. Apparently she'd been late. No matter, he had nowhere to be.

Putting his paperwork in his desk he called out.

"Alicia. Come in, dear."

As she walked in, he inspected her. Makeup done perfectly, dressed well, she seemed the picture of high society. That is, if he didn't know her deeper than visually.

"I see you received my letter. Welcome to my office. My partner, Anderson, regretably had business to attend to. I'd offer you refreshment if a certain gentlemen hadn't kept my best bottle of gin. Now, let's talk business. You obviously have some interest in this venture of ours, and we have quite the interest in you. So, what do you say? Will you join our merry band?".

[The Felan Federation]

Alicia Wundfra/Teufelsengel

"It depends. What kind of adventure is this?" asked Alicia, keeping her handbag close. Granted, if the information they had on her was correct - then even without it, she was a deadly foe, despite looking like a willowy woman whom did dancing rather than grimy killing.

"Your letter mostly described the need for either security or investigation professionals into your field of 'private enforcement services'. I am curious on why did I receive such a letter? I am a mere dancer and singer," she asked, although in a ways she was also checking to see that this wasn't anything phony. In these times, it wasn't out of the ordinary for some random woman to receive a letter exclaiming great success and profit - if only they came to one certain location and signed something. Usually they weren't seen again or if they were seen - then in a much different profession than they had imagined.

[Lessoni]

Marshall and Anderson's office

"A mere dancer and singer with quite the body count, if rumors are to be believed. A woman with a melting face sound familiar? Worry not, your secret is in good hands. Even if you deny my request, your confidentiality will remain secure. Now, as for the job description. We need people capable of various feats of combat and espionage, and I have certain information that would say that you excel at the latter. You'll have both optional and city issued cases. And of course, you'll be payed quite handsomely, but we'll iron out those details later. So, what do you say? Care to join us?", finished Marshall.

[The Felan Federation]

Alicia Wundfra/Teufelsengel

While her appearance didn't change, one could almost see someone leaving her thoughts and another being replaced at that. If the malicious grin and slightly unfocused eye was a give away. "I might be interested. Provided you tell, how did you know about me so easily? I have a habit...of not leaving my prey alive..." she chuckled, granted her voice sounded now with a German accent. An indication that Alicia had left the building and the Teufelsengel was in charge instead.

"Thus I also work as a professional, despite the opposite idea," she added, keeping a grip on her handbag and wondering if this was a trap or not.

[Lessoni]

Marshall and Anderson's office

"We have our sources. Enough money, and men will seek even the most foolish goals. That, and the Nazis kept quite tedious records. Now, Teufelsengel, do we have a deal?". Marshall felt his pulse quicken by a beat or two. She could probably kill him if she so desired, but he hoped that both curiosity and the knowledge of his business partner would act as his shield.

[Cossack Khanate]

Jason Black

Jason smoothly exited the building, edging forward as to not be singled out by a curious bystander. As the men dispersed, he jogged a few steps to see up with the burly cigar-smoking man ahead of him. He called out to him "Sir!"

Jason jogged into place next to him. "May I ask, sir, you have quite the interesting character. From what lands do you come from?"

[Gerdon Laughis]

Jason Black

Jason smoothly exited the building, edging forward as to not be singled out by a curious bystander. As the men dispersed, he jogged a few steps to see up with the burly cigar-smoking man ahead of him. He called out to him "Sir!"

Jason jogged into place next to him. "May I ask, sir, you have quite the interesting character. From what lands do you come from?"

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Ansgar Alfhild, London Streets
People are strange, when you're a stranger.
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Ansgar had swiftly exited the building when the meeting had finished. With a heavy hand he had pushed open the door to the seemingly unimportant office, and set foot into the dark, smoky streets of London. He groans slightly as his neck twitches once again, and he gives a deep sigh as he stretches his arms above his head, threatening to tear the seams of his suit. Slowly walking down the side of the road, he removes a small box from his inside pocket, and removes a cigar. Placing the box back, he takes a small match, and strikes it on a brick next to him before lighting the cigar and tossing it into a small puddle to his right.

He smokes slowly, allowing the tobacco to calm his nerves and tics before he hears the soft sounds of running, and hears the voice that is recognized as one of the men from the meeting. "Sir!"

Ansgar glances behind him, but does not stop walking as the Man in Black catches up to him. Upon reaching him, he slows to a walk as well, and proceeds to pry into where Ansgar seems to hail from.

Ansgar gives the man a small smile, and proceeds to produce another Cigar, offering it to the smaller man before speaking. "Mr...Black? Hmm. Suits you." He takes a long drag before continuing. "Born in Oslo, raised in Reykjavik. Son of the Snow through and through." Ansgar points at the north star, and the cigar seems to be just as bright as the smoke soon clouds the sky. "Follow that far enough and you'll always find home." Removing the cigar from his mouth, he drains Marshall's bottle of Gin before tossing it onto the side of the road, causing it to shatter, the shards reflecting the lights of the city. He looks at the shards of glass, and then too Jason.

"Remind me to bring him something nice."

[The Felan Federation]

Alicia Wundfra/Teufelsengel

Alicia at that moment was a bit surprised, so much so, that she did something she had never done before. Namely pulled herself back into the driving wheel at that, as her mood soon shifted back to Alicia - as she looked at Marshall. "Records? Like real records?"

"I...am in agreement. Provided I could later get hands on those records," she asked of him.

[Lessoni]

Marshall and Anderson's office

"That could be arranged. Of course, it would be very expensive. You'll need to prove your worth before we can allow you access. I do hope you'll understand." Marshall relaxed. It seemed the danger had passed.

[Lessoni]

2 DAYS LATER

Jack Anderson was up to his sleeves in blood, and his usually immaculate suit was flecked with the stuff. Bodies lay around him, enough to almost cover the floor of the sizable room. He had not gone down without struggle. His arms were beginning to lose their color, the circulation cut off at the shoulder by a thick rope. Chains bound his arms and leg to the chair he sat in, tight enough to leave imprints on the skin.

In other words, he was trapped.

"Hello Mr. Anderson. We've finally caught up with you, it seems.", said a voice that didn't seem entirely human from behind him. It was like silk, if silk could hold the same venom as the spider it came from.

The figure pulled a revolver out of its coat, placing it on the back of Anderson's head. Anderson had never been a religious man, but at that moment he said a silent prayer.

"And now you'll take what's coming to you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anderson woke up in a cold sweat. He lay there for a while, simply counting his breaths, calming himself, before looking at the clock to the left of his bedside. 7:30 AM. He swore loudly, and hurried to dress himself, pulling on a new suit. Last night's was ruined. Various parts of his body and a patch of hair were tacky with blood, but he had no time to shower or even splash water on his face. He had a meeting to be in.

He arrived at the office just on time at 7:50. His mug was full of coffee on his secretary's desk, laden with creamer. He gave Cindy a nod and a smile and walked into his office.

"Mr. Anderson. Interesting night, I presume?", asked Marshall, flashing a smile at him.

"Indeed, old pal. But,-" he threw a sheaf of documents on the desk, "- I always deliver."

Marshall began to rifle through the papers, smiling as he did. "Indeed you do. Sit, our associates will be here any moment now. I am indeed excited to see how they perform."

[Cossack Khanate]

Jason Black, 5:55 a.m

London had just begun to wake up. The civilian part of London, that is. The criminal underworld was always awake, always working, and always running. And the man falling off the three-story roof with 4 holes and a stab wound in his abdomen probably knew that too.

Jason Black peered off the roof, watching the victim fall to the empty cobblestone street with a thud. Jason wiped his Ka-Bar knife on the wallet of the man, flipping it open to take the identification card. Slipping that in the right pocket of his leather jacket, he began to make his way down the drainpipe of the building.

7:14 a.m

Black strolled into the local police station, surprising the guard but not the station head. Wordlessly, Black handed the ID card to the head, who checked it against a board on the wall. The head crossed out a name and threw the card in the trash. Turning to Jason,

“I’m not surprised, Mister Black. Wold you like cash or check?”

7:55
Jason had slipped home, washed his hands and face, and headed out the door, parking in front of the M&A office in a nondescript black car. He opened the door and sat there for a moment, letting the fresh breeze fly over his face, but then decided to go inside. Punctuality is key, he thought, slipping one hand in his jacket. He pushed open the door, the bell ringing again. He had decided to wear his standard “business” outfit: Leather jacket, his light webbing, two pistol holsters on each hip carrying his Beretta M9 steam guns, one Ka-Bar knife on his right thigh, another sheathed discreetly in his webbing, and a small 3 inch blade strapped to his ankle. He was wearing slightly loose jeans, and running sneakers made in Finland, which were designed specially for...well...running.

He gave a nod to Cindy, and rapped on the office door.

[Kragholm Free States]

Luther Carrington
The British Museum, 7:15 am

The sarcophagus stood before him, separated by only a thin sheet of glass mere inches from his face. It was tall; taller than the professor, and he was by no means a man of short stature. Carved from black granite flecked with white grains that seemed to shift and flicker like a starry sky, with eyes of darkest onyx and crumbling flakes of beaten gold highlighting every nook and cranny, the construct glinted in the cold morning light that filtered in from above. It was beautiful, yet there was a sense of menace about it, the ever-changing patterns of light reflected off its surface giving it the illusion of life. Ironic, then, that inside it lay a man who had been dead for many thousands of years. Not according to the inscription carved with deep chisel strokes into the front of the stone edifice, though. Luther shivered with unease. He knew it was silly, frankly irrational, but nonetheless there was something about this mass of ancient rock that put him on edge. He glanced down at the carved symbols; a message from the grave. The translation, of course, he knew by heart. “Here, Shu-turul the King of Kings, right hand of the eternal gods, lies sleeping. Conquered now, but he shalt be revenged. You who would read this hath awoken him, and awoke his terrible ire upon you.” He shook his head. That was all fairly standard for old kings; they liked nothing more than to fill their own tombs with vague and nebulous threats for future archaeologists to find. No, that was not the part that stoked his apprehension. He took a deep breath, and looked below the inscription. It was still there. Carved at the same time and by the same hand as the rest – he had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked – sat two characters. Their meanings were nonsense, but the sounds they made were anything but: Lu, the first, and Tarr, the second.

Lu-Tarr.

Luther.

A hand came down on the professor’s shoulder. He jumped, span about with his sabre sliding out of its scabbard and into his hand, ready to strike at whatever harbinger of death and doom had finally come for him. The harbinger of death and doom leapt back, a few drops of black coffee spilling from the mug in her outstretched hand. “Professor Carrington? Sorry if I startled you, sir. I brought you some coffee!”

Luther sheathed his weapon, and wiped a bead of sweat from his pale forehead. He swore to himself. He was too damned jumpy ever since he’d dragged that accursed lump of stone up from its hiding place in the desert. “My sincerest apologies, Elizabeth. I was merely lost in thought.” He reached out and took the mug, now half-empty thanks to his damned overreaction. “Thank you - and once again I am terribly sorry.”

A shy smile crept onto the young woman’s face, replacing the expression of shock that had previously been present. “You’re most welcome, Professor Carrington, and there’s really no need to keep apologising. I shall be more careful next time!” She laughed, and disappeared back into the depths of the museum. Luther sighed, taking a sip of coffee as he started to walk. He did not look back. He did not want to gaze once more upon that ancient threat.

---

Offices of Marshall & Anderson, 7:50 am

Carrington strolled slowly down the street, the early morning sun a little brighter now. It was just like last time; it seemed to repel the ever-present din of London and leave only silence behind. Yet this morning it seemed more peaceful than foreboding. More peaceful, certainly, than staring at your own name underneath an ancient curse. Perhaps Marshall had been right. Perhaps, comparatively, this place would begin to feel like home. He straightened his tie, shrugged his tweed jacket into a more comfortable position on his shoulders, and checked his pocket watch. On time. Good. Pushing open the reinforced door, he gave a polite murmur of “good morning” to Cindy, before walking past the desk and giving the door to Marshall and Andersons’ office itself a firm tap.

[Endem]

Old Wolfs just can't stop hunting
6 a.m

"So, is it true then?" Said one of the people in the cab, their heads obscured by hoods, "Yes, the hunt is on" the second person nodded. The first one to speak looked once again at the documents "Enemies of the revolution will be punished" the second one replied with the same sentence, he then asked "Who?", the first one turned to face the second one, it revealed a man of 50 something face with large beard and dark green eyes that their spark was somewhat diminished by the age, his nose looked like a scythe and his lips were of whitish color, the man was clearly a person of old age, tired by life but determined to still do something in it, his lips moved and soon enough a name came out of it " Dimitri". The second figure left the cab while the face of the old man disappeared yet again under the hood.

Neither can they let sleep or eat without trouble
6.45 a.m

Krystyn wasn't sleeping anymore and was fully awake for almost two hours now. He never slept more than three hours shifting the time of his sleep from day to day without any particular pattern, patterns killed people like him. For almost four minutes he was fully aware someone was coming for him, his still hot breakfast on the table. He was hiding in his closet. A minute later the door of "his" apartment was kicked down by a hooded person. In less than four minutes the person was just before the closet Krystyn was hiding in, but he did make one mistake, not checking it. A hand armed with a steam pistol got out of it, but Krystyn was not fast enough, the attacker knocked it out of Krystyn's hand and using some martial arts technique got Krystyn on the ground. Though Krystyn was one the ground he did not waste any time, he kicked the man in the leg making him fall on his knee's. Krystyn then put his grappling hook to the man forehead just as the man put a pistol to Krystyn's forehead

( the following conversation was said in Russian )

"Which one shoots first?"

"The one that is the fastest"

"Do you really want to shoot me, Dimitri"

"The enemies of the revolution cannot be spared"

"They brainwashed you well"

With three swift punches the weapon if the attacker was on the next side of the room and Krystyn was standing over his opponent

"To bad, they didn't teach you how to fight better"

Krystyn's grappling hook was then ejected from the machinery on Krystyn's arm into the forehead of the opponent. The hook pierced the skull and then the brain with a sound reminiscing of a sponge full of water being squished very fast. The man, Dimitri as he was called by the people that knew him stopped moving with blood flowing out onto the wood floor. Krystyn only thought he would need to get a new apartment.

Krystyn Warecki
7:59

Finally, after getting a new place to rest for this next couple of days, he got to Marshall's and Anderson building. Walking into it he ignored Cindy and went straight into the office without knocking, the new keys making a metallic sound as they bounced off his gun. He entered the office while wiping off the rest of the blood from his grappling hook

"I'm sorry to be late, an ex-coworker of mine from my previous job decided to pay me a visit"

He said as he entered it