[May 27, 1969.

Greenwich London, United Kingdom, Earth ???

Timekeeper Vertin, St. Pavlov Foundation.]

The cool breeze of a rainy summer's day tickled at my cheeks with icy fingers as I delicately sipped a porcelain cup of hot Earl Grey. Raindrops rhythmically struck the umbrella above me, intermittently and gently. This wasn't a harsh rain, and today was pleasant for a London summer. Soft mists hung low over the city, and the light rain discouraged most from poking their heads out unless they had urgent business, leaving the streets and sidewalks uncrowded and quiet for the first time in weeks.

I had only discovered this tea shop days before, and it was already one of my favourite places in the whole of England. Warm amber light formed halos around dim streetlamps, while shop windows cast rectangles of gold across rain-kissed asphalt.

A wet, earthy aroma hung over the street, mixing with the scent of fresh bread from somewhere down the road to create what might have been the closest place to heaven one could find on Earth.

The atmosphere was melancholy, and I relaxed minutely into my cool, wrought-iron chair as I stirred the tea gently with a small silver spoon.

This was nice.

A moment of utter peace, where the world outside and all its troubles blurred into a watercolour painting of tranquility; a moment in which I'd like nothing more than to lose myself and never come out.

For all that they were gentle, the raindrops were something that tugged sharply on my nerves, every so often, just when I started to truly relax. The raindrops were harbingers. This little summer shower was only a taste of what was coming for the world by week's end.

I had to exert physical effort to stop myself from sliding the dark sleeve of my suit up, to check my vacuum-tube timepiece and see just how long this world and its people had. This was a peaceful moment. I was at peace. I would not let it be ruined by something as simple as nerves.

The peace was shattered by an artificial squeal of hollow chirps and beeps from within the midnight blue pockets of my overcoat, carefully hung over the back of the chair. I didn't flinch, though the mirrorlike surface of my tea rippled slightly as I put it down and carefully reached backward to withdraw my Foundation-issue cellular phone.

The beige brick was a technological marvel; a worn relic of 1999 that was largely beyond our means to replicate economically. We likely could, but that would mean diverting scarce resources and equipment from far more pressing projects. That was the big weakness of the St. Pavlov Foundation's ark, our so-called haven against The Storm; It was only so big. Never enough people, or machines, or resources. The humans and arcanists did everything they could, but at the end of the day, we were trying to fight a forest fire with one fire engine.

I cut my musings over the marvelous plastic device's utility short as I firmly clicked a rubbery button and brought the heavy thing to my ear.

"Timekeeper Vertin speaking, go ahead please."

"We need to divert you from your current record-keeping duty to provide support to an ongoing incident in London, by the docks."

The soft-spoken Madame Z, committee member of the Foundation and the woman who had largely been my unofficial handler in the past few years cut to the point without a murmur of pleasantries.

"A Manus Vindictae front organization has been identified in the commercial borough of Shadwell and a raid team is standing by. The team leader on site will meet you at Shadwell Overground Station and brief you upon your arrival."

This was somewhat unusual; the magical insurgents of the Manus were as close as we had to a mortal enemy, but my duties had always been relegated to recording history before it vanished and braving the storm on occasion. I had supported teams with tactical advice and varying levels of magical assistance a few times, but each had been particularly important. A mere raid did not sound like something that would warrant pulling me across the city unless heavy arcane combat was expected.

"Do we have an estimate on the opposing forces or the likelihood of hostilities?" I ventured cautiously.

"We do not, I'm afraid. The team leader would have the most up-to-date information and I suggest you consult with them. Unless there is anything else?" She trailed off in a manner that suggested that there had better not be any further questions.

"No, Madam Z. I will report at once."

"Good … and Vertin? Keep your head down out there, alright? We wouldn't want to see you get hurt."

I smiled minutely. "I will, thank you."

"Foundation Command, out."

The cellular phone clicked into silence in my hand.

I sat quietly for a moment, only the gentle patter of the rain and the distant bustle of the city breaking the stillness that followed the conversation. Finally, I exhaled deeply and stood, leaving my steaming tea on the table with a handful of sixpence as payment.

I gathered my umbrella and suitcase with familiar, comfortable motions while also sliding on my coat, shaking it out to sit straight. It was time to get back to work.

This lovely little place was in Greenwich, so it would take some time to get over to the station and then ride the overground rail to the teeming industrial hub over in Shadwell. Perhaps an hour or more of my time. Every minute lost pained me – The Storm grew ever closer and there was so much left undone, but it was beyond my control at this point.

The puddles on the asphalt streets were small, and I moved through them as gracefully as I could, half-running while holding my suitcase in one hand and warding away the drizzle with my umbrella. Not many people were on the street this early, and that gave me expanded room to maneuver through the potholes and the narrow streets.

I had not spent overmuch time in London, but I had nonetheless grown a familiarity with this area, and I had always enjoyed exploring and learning about new places; it wasn't long before I stood before the red-bricked façade, raindrops splattering against the wrought-iron canopy above the entrance while morning crowds slowly gathered.

Automobiles crawled through the street with growling engines, and I delicately stepped between them once a safe opening presented itself, ducking through working-class men and women in coveralls and flat caps to present myself at the ticket kiosk.

A few pounds later, and I navigated steadily growing throngs along the covered walkways before boarding a train and settling in on a wooden bench in a small, cozy cabin. The additional price was worth the privacy – particularly since the Foundation would be picking up the tab.

The ride was uneventful, and though I tried to engrain in memory the city of London and its boroughs as they passed by the window, brickwork and concrete flashing by between puffs of smoke, I found myself unable to.

There was something ephemeral to the world outside the Foundation's white stones and checkered marble floors. All of this, an era where the Victorian was giving way to Modernity, would be wiped away in one week. I had as many mementos in my suitcase as I could collect – pamphlets, newspapers, photographs, keepsakes, but even as the Timekeeper and even with my ability to stay out in The Storm until the end of an era, I would never be able to save even a fraction of this.

As the train rumbled around me and muffled chatter echoed down the hall, I pondered on just how much had been lost forever, not even saved in human memory.

The London skyline passed in the distance, and I found myself wondering about Sonetto, my old colleague and a cherished friend from my youth at the School for Primary Defense of Mankind, a sub-organization of the Foundation. Last that I had heard, she was in London also, tracking some unregistered arcanist or another. We'd had vague plans to meet up, perhaps take a bus and simply revel in the joy of being outside in the real world, but I still hadn't heard from her yet. Perhaps when this mission was resolved, I could take the initiative on reaching out and finding her.

I was drawn from my musings as the train finally chugged into Shadwell Station and I could see an agent of the Foundation waiting for me in the crowd. His gold-speckled half-cape, marble checkered tie, and full-face porcelain mask cut an immediately recognizable figure among the throng of suits, dresses, and flat caps.

The man met my gaze through an opaque mask and waved, tilting his head to suggest that he'd wait for me by the entrance and away from the crowds. Ever since the Foundation had been carried by The Storm to this era, the people weren't quite sure what to make of us and our advancements; discretion while briefing would be for the best.

Though, I did sometimes wish that our personnel uniforms might be a bit less conspicuous, at least for stealthy missions. To be sure, the full-face opaque masks were stylish and provided resistance against contaminated air, to say nothing of the sensors built into them … but was it really necessary to put half a pound of crystal on people's faces?

Regardless, I disembarked alongside a steady stream of chatting women in colorful dresses and dour men in suits, briefcase in hand and umbrella folded away under my arm. The stream mixed with those waiting for the train and I pushed through as gently and as carefully as I could, using my umbrella as something of a cane to steer people out of my way.

The crowd thinned as I approached the station's yawning doors and stepped out into the sunlight of late morning, blinking owlishly under the brim of my midnight blue top hat. The noise of the train, the crowds, the service staff, had all faded to a dull background roar by the time I descended the stairs and met with the agent, standing stoically under a wrought-iron lamp.

He nodded in salute as I approached.

"It's good to see you, Miss Vertin."

My lips twitched into the vaguest ghost of a smile. "Just Vertin is fine, thank you. I don't believe we've met, Mr. …"

"Captain Brut, Mi– " He corrected himself with a bashful glance at his shoes. "Vertin."

He resumed, somewhat embarrassed and unwilling to meet my gaze again. "Commanding officer of the twelfth fast-response unit, currently seconded to the London branch."

"I believe I've heard of you before; you fought in the Vienna Incident a few years ago, if I am not mistaken."

The man chuckled. "An impressive memory, ma'am. I was just a sergeant at the time, but yes, we fought a rear-guard action to cover evacuations while arcanists engaged that monster the Manus created."

I smiled faintly. "I also recall you took charge after your commanding officer was killed. You led almost one hundred civilians to safety, even in the face of Manus attacks. The Foundation awarded you an Order of Merrit … Second Class?"

"Third, actually. But please, ma'am. That's too much credit. Without the arcanists, none of us would have made it out of Vienna alive, and many other teams were also on the ground."

He reached into his grey suit, under the cloak of his half-cape, and withdrew a crisp manila folder.

"Besides, you haven't come all this way to hear an old man's war stories, madam timekeeper. Let's get you up to speed on what's going on here."

I nodded firmly. "By all means, you can brief me while we walk."

We took several sharp turns at a fast pace through narrow streets and alleys, quickly losing most of the morning's crowds and noise as we went deeper into the warehouses and brick-built industrial facilities of the Shadwell interior. For a moment, I almost imagined the scent of the sea brushing against my face. The channel shouldn't be all that far from here.

Once we were on an empty street between two warehouses and safe from eavesdroppers, he motioned for me to open the file.

The first piece of thick paper was a regional map, highlighting a warehouse complex that was approximately the size of a city block, three large buildings connecting to one larger storehouse that ran the length of the compound. Exits, breaching points, and vantage positions had been marked with coloured pens.

I committed the blueprint to memory while we talked.

"What is the situation?"

"Three weeks ago, forensic accountants in intelligence traced Manus Vindictae black funds through a series of proxy corporations to this point as a shipping hub into and out of the United Kingdom. A watch was set, and things seemed like little more than a smuggling operation."

I could see where this was going. "And then?"

His mask dipped down in predatory glee. "And then they got complacent. Scouts confirmed a key Manus leadership figure coming and going. This isn't a smuggling den. This is their headquarters for the whole of the UK."

Oh.

That certainly put some things into perspective, such as why I was requested for this mission.

"What are the projected enemy forces?"

"I've been told, briefly, that you need as much info as possible to do … whatever magic it is you do when commanding, so I've had some dossiers prepared for you on the key enemy figures. In short, we've got between thirty and fifty Manus regulars, likely armed with little more than improvised melee weapons; ten of their mutated monsters, fused to drums or tubas or whatever the hell the Manus has done to them; and three confirmed arcanists."

I tutted quietly. That was a formidable force, indeed.

"And what do we have?"

I could almost imagine Captain Brut's grin beneath his perfectly smooth mask. "We're dropping the hammer on them this time; command's going all-in."

He gestured to some other papers, closer to the bottom of the stack, as we walked through rain-slicked streets, still shadowed from the sun.

"We have thirty Foundation regulars armed with the standard non-lethal crowd control equipment, supported by almost one hundred London Police enforcing an outer cordon; two strike teams of six agents armed with the latest weapons Scientific Computing could cook up for us; and to put the cherry on top, we have five arcanists."

"Including yourself." He nodded at me.

"Mmm. Are there any that I would be familiar with?"

Captain Brut shrugged. "The only one of 'em from the local region is Ms. Campbell, or 'Tooth Fairy' as her codename goes. She's the senior arcanist on site, largely providing emergency first-aid, though I understand she's got some hefty magic firepower of her own."

Tooth Fairy?

Now there was someone I recognized. Why, I hadn't seen her since Green Lake. It would be downright lovely to see her again.

"The other three are two of the Foundation's operatives – you'll find their dossiers on page six – and a loaner from Zeno, one Miss Lilya. She's outside our chain of command and will remain in the air to provide fire support or cut off escapees as needed."

That alcoholic flying ace? The last time I had seen her was…

No.

Bile built in my throat.

No.

Let the past stay buried.

"The enemy arcanists!" I blurted out, desperate to move on. "What can you tell me about them?"

His posture changed, a mix of anticipation and dread warring for dominance. "Their leader needs no introduction for anyone who's been in England long."

He pointed out a file in the folder and upon drawing it out, a weathered mugshot of a scowling, hard-bitten woman with rough black hair glared back at me.

"Eileen O'Donnel, better known as the 'Dublin Sniper', or during her work with the Manus as 'The Lieutenant', has been their head of operations out here for almost six months now."

"Psycho, evil bitch." He growled, before catching himself and apologizing. "Ah, pardon my language, ma'am. Good men have died."

"No apologies necessary," I demurred. "Has she truly been so bad, if she's only arrived recently to take command?"

"She's even worse." The man spat. "Intel suggests she's former IRA – might have been too rabid even for them, but either way, that was just the start of her career; she's spent a decade in global flashpoints like Vietnam, South Africa, and Rhodesia. Picked up the whole terrorist playbook out there and brought it back to London."

Why hadn't I heard about this before? If Eileen was truly so dangerous and possessed the knowledge and experience to make the rest of the Manus more dangerous by extension, then she would have to be our number one priority to take down.

"And the others?" I ventured warily.

"The only other one we have any good intel on would be the great big monster codenamed 'The Trapper.'"

Another file in the stack was pointed out and this time I expected the reconnaissance photo that greeted me. The towering brute of a man mummified in an oilskin greatcoat and baroque gasmask was someone I'd occasionally heard of. The Foundation wasn't certain about who he was or his exact capabilities, but the Manus had employed him as a frontline bruiser enough times that we had a good enough grasp on his abilities.

The Trapper used his arcanist magic to substantially enhance his own speed, strength, and durability – fighting in melee with a pair of bear traps sloppily converted into haphazard boxing gloves like some rabid grizzly bear.

Dangerous? Certainly.

But not unmanageable. Indeed, this problem was almost simple. Impair his movement, engage from range, then disrupt his magic to take him down for good.

I shuffled the folder back and turned to face the Captain. "You mentioned a third?"

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He gestured to the last of the files. "We have almost nothing on the last man; he seems to use a violin for a magical implement, and intercepted chatter on internal Manus comms suggests that he's called the Iconoclast, but otherwise he's a ghost."

As I scrutinized the patchy, long-range photo of a tall gentleman wearing an extravagant silk suit and an opera mask, Captain Brut added, "He could just be a new recruit, but I don't think that's right. If you care for an old soldier's gut instinct, ma'am, I think that one could be trouble."

I put the file away and gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Dully noted, thank you, Captain."

Our conversation petered out during the last leg of the walk, and I took the time to properly review the dossiers and the facility blueprints, letting all of the little details sink into my mind with a cool feeling of disassociation.

I had never been a particularly strong arcanist; in my youth, some had even said that my presence in the School for Primary Defence of Mankind was a fluke. I didn't let their words bite, though there was more than a grain of truth to them. My endurance was downright pitiful, and so much magic beyond the novice stage would likely be outside my grasp forever.

And yet, I had one particular talent that would have guaranteed me a key spot in the Foundation's roster, even if I hadn't also been able to navigate The Storm safely. It needed information on allies and enemies alike if it was to work properly, and I was pleased to see that Captain Brut had lived up to his word – this was an outright buffet of environmental details, psychological profiles, combat history reports, and statistical records.

I absentmindedly followed him for the last leg of the journey, slipping past a pair of rattling cargo lorries before we finally approached the police cordon and I pulled myself free of the almost trance-like state as if waking from a sleep.

The officers waved us through after a word from the captain and we rounded one more street of close-packed brick buildings to emerge into the open parking lot of our staging ground – a warehouse facility neighboring the target.

I could already see Foundation and London police vehicles unloading equipment in the shadow of the looming structure, while teams in Foundation grey and white donned heavy riot armor and armed themselves with a variety of technological and magical equipment. Taser wands sparked; sleep-rifles were stripped and reassembled; and Dumbitter potion grenades were clipped onto combat webbing.

Further, a dozen men clad in ominous black carefully handled weapons crates marked with the twin logos of Zeno Military Academy and the Scientific Computing Centre. Any collaboration between the two was sure to create weapons as strange as they were dangerous – I rather pitied the poor Manus that would face them and held out a futile hope that they would surrender without a fight.

One thing was abundantly clear; this was not the Foundation's regular face, desperate to keep the public comfortable and unafraid.

The Foundation had at long last run its elusive enemy to ground.

The Foundation was going to war.

Captain Brut gently clapped me on the back and set off to join his men; a platoon of thirty Foundation regulars in armored grey and white, equipping themselves with non-lethal weapons and bantering quietly.

"I will leave you to it, Vertin. We move from the staging area in ten minutes and if all goes well, we breach in fifteen."

I nodded in acknowledgment and turned to face a small group of young men and women, lounging by one of the Foundation vans and idly chatting amongst themselves. Our arcanist elements were a formidable lot, I thought as I approached them with a small smile and a hand raised in greeting.

The first to meet me was a brown-haired, mousey woman approximately a decade my senior. Maria Campbell, or Tooth Fairy as she preferred to be called, met me with a gentle smile and arms outstretched for a hug. I was only too happy to indulge her for a moment, though the sharp metal brace wrapped around her neck made getting too close a risky prospect. I tilted my head slightly to avoid losing an eye to a piece of protruding metal.

"It's good to see you again, Vertin. How have you been doing?"

Strings of teeth – adult and children's alike – rattled on her clothes as she stepped back, hands folded in front of herself. I tried not to judge; all arcanists were pretty weird, but Tooth Fairy was stranger than most.

Still, her good nature was infectious, and I fought a genuine smile breaking out as I replied. "I have been well, thank you. London has been delightful in a way few other locations could match – I think it agrees with me."

"I can see that; you look … healthier. I'm glad."

"Where are my manners, how have you been recently? It has been a while since our last letter."

"Things have been productive, indeed. I've been able to spend more time experimenting with variants of refined tooth fairy medicines, and I've managed to expand my tooth collection with a few pieces that I'm rather excited about."

She smiled again, and I matched it, my spirits lifted in a way they hadn't been for a while.

"Things are well, Vertin. I am satisfied."

A loud voice disrupted our conversation, and I was surprised to see another member of our Green Lake … adventure present.

"Well, well, if it isn't our miss Timekeeper once again. I have to say, if you're going to be leading us, then my doubts have melted away. It'll be good to properly kick some Manus ass."

Joshua, or Horropedia as the horror movie buff had demanded to be called, was a lanky young man with tousled brown hair and thick glasses. He was wearing a thick rebreather device slung around his neck, and I had the sudden realization that I'd have to wear one as well.

We were going into a warehouse complex that would be flooded with a variety of riot-controlling and immobilizing gasses. Dumbitter gas was notorious for leaving people drooling messes, and I knew firsthand how one's throat would close up in the face of tear gas, how the skin would burn and the eyes would fill with tears until it almost felt like you were drowning on dry land.

I hadn't noticed my hand was trembling until Tooth Fairy had clasped her own around it and squeezed tightly in reassurance. It only lasted a moment, but our eyes met, and I could see the unspoken message there – she'd been by far my senior during our school days, but everyone had heard about what happened at the parade. She understood why I'd be apprehensive to face this sort of thing again and was offering me a silent out.

I shook my head and set my jaw, pulling my hand free of her glove and snapping myself out of the shudders as best as I could. Then, with only a slight sweat running down my neck, I tuned back into whatever Joshua was talking about.

"–een a while, but I was hoping you'd be able to pull some strings or something, given how popular you are and how the higher-ups actually listen to you. You know, get me out of here…" he gestured with his thumb at Maria. "She's a slavedriver, you know. Give her the tiniest bit of authority and she goes mad with power."

Maria simply rolled her eyes. "Preventing you from sleeping on the job is not 'slavery', Joshua."

She turned to me with a conspiratorial smile. "Once his punishment detail was upgraded to running field missions with docked pay, I ended up as his parole officer. A good thing, I suppose. Someone less diligent might have allowed him to get into even further trouble."

I couldn't help but chuckle. Joshua's … well, Joshuaness was exactly what I needed to forget about the troubling parts of today.

"I hope you didn't get into too much trouble over Green Lake," I sympathized. "I did try to put in a good word for you, but things got busy after the fact, and I was not able to keep in touch."

He barked a short laugh and rubbed his head in embarrassment. "It wasn't all that bad, really. Not when you factor in that I basically took all of you AWOL on a crazy adventure trip. Honestly, I'm a little surprised Madame Z went this easy on me."

Despite myself, my thoughts flickered to a memory of the dark-haired woman standing in the door of a tower, in the rain.

"Yes…" I murmured. "She does show more kindness than one would expect."

Maria reached into the heavy canvass bag at her side, fishing out another rebreathing device to match Joshua's own. "This one is yours, Vertin. Are you sure that you will be alright, going in with us?"

Joshua interrupted her before I could do much more than take the heavy rubber mask.

"Of course, she'll be fine, she's the Timekeeper for crying out loud. Sure, Green Lake didn't phase me, but she was maybe the second least phased person there. Compared to a surprisingly pretty changeling in the woods, some Manus punks are gonna be a pushover."

I pulled the mask close, turning it over in my hands for a moment, before fitting it to my face in one decisive action. With steely fingers, I pulled the straps taught and took my first breath of metallic, filtered air.

"Though he is a little too arrogant, Joshua is right. We are experienced with handling the Manus." I looked Maria in the eye as I finished speaking. "There is no need to worry. I have this under control."

She smiled sadly but said nothing as the last member of our group awkwardly shuffled closer to us.

This arcanist, I didn't know, and it was a very good thing that Captain Brut's dossier was detailed enough that I now knew exactly how to use her.

Melanie Fitts was a rail-thin and gangly girl, a year or two younger than myself. She peeked at me shyly through bushy hair and wide, circular glasses. For a moment, I was uncomfortably reminded of Isabella… I blinked once and re-focused my thoughts, greeting the nervous girl with a welcoming smile and open hands.

"Hello, Miss Fitts; we are happy to have you for this operation. How has your time with the Foundation been so far? You are being treated well; I hope?"

The dossier suggested a foster care child, scarcely fifteen years old, who'd debuted her arcanist powers by hiding in the garden shed from bullies and encasing herself behind nearly a meter of solid stone. A natural, earth-based telekinetic, and a powerful one at that.

This rounded out the weaknesses of my team nicely. Depending on the capabilities of the violin-carrying unknown, we were only three to four moves away from checkmate at the most.

"Mi– Miss Timekeeper!" She yelped.

Oh goodness, she was melting my heart.

A fond smile played across Maria's features, and I could tell I wasn't alone in falling under the girl's spell. A shame that she was being sent into the grinder of the Foundation's war, but that was just the way the world worked. At least Melanie had gotten fifteen years of normal life in the real world, which was more than could be said for many of us.

I smiled patiently. "Just Vertin, please."

Maria put a hand on her back and pushed her to properly join our half-circle.

"Vertin's arcanist ability may prove disorientating at first, Melanie, but just be aware that it is coming and try to relax. From there, just follow your orders and things will be just fine."

I was impressed by how Maria was able to calm the girl with little more than a touch and a gentle word. There was a steely determination in Melanie's eyes now, and her gloved hands subconsciously balled into fists.

Good.

There was fire in that belly, after all.

Managing a timid coward or an unmotivated arcanist in the middle of heavy combat would be doable, strictly speaking, but problematic. Much better, for all of us, if she associated the Manus with her bullies and fought accordingly. Though, Joshua would be my primary combatant – that enchanted gun of his was excellently-suited for the kind of fight we'd be walking into. Miss Fitts would provide a different, and safer, contribution: battlefield control.

With the team gathered, I pulled out the main facility blueprint, had Joshua hold it in place against the side of a van, and started to lay out the plan. Maria chimed in from time to time with tactical suggestions, and I factored those in. Joshua proved his brains as well; pointing out ambush spots along the upper walkways in the main cargo space that I'd missed.

In minutes, we had a workable plan with enough slack to account for unforeseen variables. We already knew that the main teams would hit the lesser buildings that were supposed to be used as housing for the Manus's disposable fodder and that our elite units would move in from the opposite end of the main warehouse, approaching us from the far side in a classic hammer and anvil.

We arcanists, then, would quite literally kick down the front door and go in spells blazing.

A little too blunt for my tastes but given the lavish advantages we had and the difficulty of coordinating so many people, especially given the London Police and Zeno auxiliaries on the field today, simple was good. It meant less things that could go wrong.

Our objective was likewise simple: capture or kill the Manus leadership and arcanist elements present on site. They were expected to be in a series of small offices along the interior wall of the main warehouse, though they'd likely rush out and engage us once the doors blew in.

This was a good thing, it meant that we'd have them engaged and pinned down from the start – hopefully, no humans would run into them first, given the bloody reputations of at least two of the Manus present today.

The team was briefed with minutes to spare and by the time an out-of-breath runner in Foundation grey arrived to guide us to the launching point, we were already wearing our rebreathers and ready to go.

Everyone knew their role in the plan, and now all that was left was to make the theoretical a reality.

The target was several blocks over from the staging site – just far enough away that the natural sounds of dockside industry would mask the noise of so many officers and agents unloading equipment and moving into place.

Manus discovery was a slight concern, but we had teams monitoring the compound for weeks. It wasn't in the Manus's character to leave their compound or scout the perimeter. Secrecy was their first and last line of defence.

It was almost eerie how empty the streets were during our approach; the London Police had done a last-second sweep of the area and expelled anyone they could find on the grounds of a gas leak or something along those lines. By this point it'd be impossible to hide what we were doing, but it was already too late. The cordon was in place, the teams were in position, and the only thing advance warning would buy the Manus would be a minute or two of preparation before we blew their doors in from every direction at once.

At last, the compound came into view after we made a sharp turn out of a narrow alley between two buildings and turned onto the main street. A pair of Foundation agents with riot shields and stun guns waved us through the open chain-link gate – they'd stay behind and watch for stragglers.

The main building was unremarkable; peeling paint, crumbling bricks, dirty windows, and all the signs of a once world-class economy now going to seed. A forklift in the parking lot was pathetically caked in rust, stuffing spilling from its seat like the guts of a teddy bear.

A convincing disguise – hiding in plain sight.

Soot on the wall and a metal can propped nearby suggested that the homeless had burned can fires here. Between that and the used needles on the cracked and broken asphalt, it wasn't hard to imagine this place being cultivated by the Manus as a hub for the sorts of people law and order tended to overlook. Social camouflage and a steady supply of recruits both.

We approached the door in a loose diamond: myself at the back, Tooth Fairy at my left, Horropedia taking the lead, and young miss Fitts on the right. I glanced to Tooth Fairy for a moment and she gestured with her arm, tapping at her watch, then raised one finger.

One minute until 'go time'.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and reached inside myself for the cool, swirling feeling that quietly bubbled within my chest. A cold detached sensation washed over me, and I felt my mind expand.

I could feel them all now.

Joshua, ever so slightly nervous but playing it off with bravado, a mental-class spell ready to fire from his gun that wasn't really a gun.

Maria; utterly relaxed and tightly clutching a jar of frantic tooth fairies. She was mostly just bothered by the standard-issue rebreather and how it chafed against her neck brace.

And Melanie, scared out of her wits, but with a steely core of determination to prove herself to the people that had pulled her out of the hell of her old life.

I opened my eyes and saw … so much more.

Angles, trajectories, spell effects – the world was a shimmering canvas of what-could-bes and what-might-never-bes. My fragile human brain tried to resolve the magical data overload in a way I could comprehend; in this case, it was like something of a card game. The battle laid out before me, to direct at my leisure.

Carefully, and meticulously, I reached out with my magic.

First to Tooth Fairy, who accepted my metaphorical handshake with familiar eagerness, her cool kindness filling a portion of my thoughts. We could communicate now, in a manner of speaking at least. She knew my intent and would follow without hesitation.

Then, I pulled Horropedia into the spell. He was energetic and ready to get started, like a shaggy puppy bouncing off the walls in excitement. I sent a pulse of restraint down the link and his breathing leveled out, his grip slackening around his weapon; no longer too tight.

Finally, Melanie joined with a fluttering, panicked resistance. Objects around her vibrated under rapid-fire pulses of instinctual telekinesis magic. I reassured her, carefully, gently. Tooth Fairy helped, as did Horropedia.

Another benefit of the link – we could support one another to a certain extent.

I now knew the countdown to the operation's launch because Tooth Fairy knew it.

At the speed of thought, I gave the order to start, and Melanie slammed the forklift through the wooden double doors before us with all the power of a battleship's shell.

The doors shattered to kindling and the battle was joined, Horropedia darting through the doors the very instant it was safe to do so, weapon up and ready to fire.

The rest of us were on his heels, as the whole complex erupted into a cacophony of detonating breaching charges, gunshots, and the sizzling crackles of stun weaponry. Elsewhere, people screamed, and the buildings shook.

'Surprise is total.' Was my first thought upon beholding the dim interior, lit only by grimy windows lining the warehouse's high roof. Clean and freshly used pallets and crates filled the building, utterly betraying the façade presented by the exterior. Melanie's improvised battering ram had shattered several, spilling packaging woodchips and the unmistakable shapes of human firearms.

Any thoughts that this wasn't a Manus Vindictae compound were wiped away when the first people responded to our breach.

Several gaunt workers wearing twisted masks of black metal staggered out of the dust, wielding bats and chains. I was familiar with these – the enslaved and brainwashed human servants of the Manus, a murderously arcanist supremacist organization.

The very words of their anthem spoke of their dark goal, "Shepard those herds, whom blindness makes tame."

I couldn't believe that I'd ever sung such a thing out loud, yet another of the many things in my life that shamed and disgusted me. We were kids, if only we could have know–

A sharp tug from Tooth Fairy pulled me back into the present, in time to guide Horropedia's aim as he struck each with a blast of mental-class magic, sending them crumpling into dreamless sleep.

Deeper into the facility, a slick, wet roar heralded the arrival of one of the Manus's greater crimes against humanity; boxes shattered as a mace the size of a fire hydrant swung through them with murderous intent.

Through the shower of splinters, nothing less than a monster emerged.

Its head was a snare drum, the rest of its body a powerful mass of musculature clad in a cross between knightly armor and a black business suit. Thick drops of tar rolled from it like rain, pooling at its feet.

Once, it was a human being, perhaps even a Manus loyalist.

Now, it was a mindless living weapon. The necessity of fusing them with random objects was lost on me, but perhaps the shadowy Manus leadership simply had a sick sense of humor.

It was also isolated and out of formation.

Easy prey.

Our attack started with a hurricane of wooden shards – the very debris it had just made, swarming it in a storm of battering, cutting debris.

I lent a little bit of magic power to Horropedia's follow-up spellshot, which unerringly cut through the swirling shards to strike directly into the gap where drum met gorget. A shot so accurate that it was an impossibility under ordinary circumstances.

The mangled monster, spilling rivers of ink and tar from its wounds, fell when a trio of golden tooth fairies struck it through gaps in the telekinetic storm that momentarily formed just for them. The tiny shimmering pixies detonated violently, the magic in their bodies overloaded by Tooth Fairy's control.

The entire process from emergence to dissolving black mass took less than five seconds.

For once, I was thankful for the smothering, chafing, constriction of the mask. The smell of a dissolving Manus monster ranged from burnt rubber to rotting offal.

We moved like a machine, methodically taking down enslaved stragglers as gently as we could, given the circumstances. It was unlikely that any of them were near the point of saving, but we fought to rescue them, anyway. No matter that The Storm would come and wipe them away in one week. Today, we burned as a torch of resistance against evil, and we could not be stopped.

The moment I was expecting and dreading came when I caught the faintest glint of light from the catwalks crossing the roof and connecting to the upper story of the warehouse.

A thick wooden box the size of a car swept down in front of me in the same instant that a thundering boom shouted down the rest of the noise of battle, and a monstrously powerful magical bullet impacted the crate, aiming squarely for my head.

I couldn't see the shooter, but Horropedia could, and a flurry of rapid-fire shots drove the Manus Lieutenant Eileen out from her sniper's perch and along the catwalk, just one step ahead of his spells.

She dropped down, onto and behind a crate.

Meanwhile, a man almost as large as the vanquished Manus monstrosity stepped over its dissolving remains.

The Trapper was a mountain, wrapped in a suffocatingly tight oilskin trench coat with a gasmask that almost appeared fused to his face. A pair of heavy, rusted beartraps were worn around his fists like improvised brass knuckles, and fresh blood dripped from them onto the floor.

His breathing was laboured as he took slow, heavy steps towards us, like a predator evaluating its prey.

Eileen was nowhere to be seen, and the mysterious violinist was outright missing, at least for now. Thus came the pivotal moment of choice: would we press forward quickly to hit him with everything we had, gambling on a swift defeat in detail; or would we decline the temptation presented, maintaining our formation, and skirmishing at a distance?

The decision was made for us when Eileen rounded a box to the side and rear of the Trapper, a heavy Lee-Enfield rifle held in her hands and a scowl across her pale face.

I took the opportunity to step forward, shouting across the warehouse. "Eileen O'Donnel! We have you surrounded, outnumbered, and outclassed! Surrender!"

"Fuck your Foundation!" She snarled at us in a thick Irish brogue. "and fuck your surrender, the next bullet's going through your–"

A hand gloved in blue velvet tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled to face the unnamed violinist, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere.

What? When did he–

The violinist's black opera mask rippled like oil as he leaned closer and exchanged a brief whisper with his boss, who quickly turned back and shouted an order to the Trapper.

"We don't have time for this! The evacuation's done and we're moving out. Kill the Foundation brats quickly, then join us at the exfil point!"

Flashes of imminent events pulsed through my spell, and we started moving to pre-empt the enemy, even as Eileen cast a blinding flare spell into the air and the Trapper charged us like a slavering beast, footfalls shaking the concrete floor.

Horropedia sent a carefully tuned disruption spell of sizzling blue into the air, where it collided with the flare and defused it for lack of a better term, the two masses of arcane energy raining down as fading embers.

Melanie tore free a sizable chunk of concrete from the ground, pulling the floor out from under the trapper's feet and causing him to stumble in time for tooth fairies to dart into him and detonate in puffs of golden magic light. The explosion mixed with concrete dust to plunge the battle's center into a hazy morass of low visibility.

Our vision of the enemy line past the trapper had cleared, however, and I caught a glimpse of Elieen retreating through a vault door anchored into an interior wall. That wasn't on the blueprint, perhaps an escape tunnel, which might suggest how the Manus were able to move this much stuff without needing to be seen on the surface driving trucks.

I was a moment away from ordering pursuit of the Dublin Sniper, whose escape would be unacceptable, when a chunk of concrete shot out of the dust and only a last-second blast from Horropedia prevented Melanie from losing her head.

The strength of my spell kept her from even widening her eyes a fraction as the ball-sized chunk of stone vaporised scarcely half a meter from her face. She didn't hesitate, raising her hands and slamming two walls of crates together, utterly flattening everything within the dust cloud in an explosion of shattered wood and splinters.

More tooth fairies dive-bombed the growing debris field, and Horropedia laid down a barrage of sizzling magical energy, now fighting as lethally as he could, given the opponent. I wouldn't be opposed to accepting a surrender, but I wasn't sure if our enemy was even capable of giving it.

We paused then, breathing hard as gas from neighboring rooms and buildings started to filter in through doors and cracks in the walls. Was the Trapper down? I wasn't sure.

Then, raspy breathing broke the silence from within the cloud.

Even with my ability to glimpse things before they happened, even with the massively enhanced cognition speed and reaction times for those within my spell, the Trapper's charge took us all off-guard. It was only by the barest possible margin that Melanie's telekinesis tugged Horropedia backwards, turning what would have been a lethal blow from the Trapper into a mere glancing strike that carved a trench of red across his chest.

He was on us already.

He was so fast.

The giant ignored the flying form of Hor– Joshua. He ignored the lethal storm of projectiles assailing him – stones, broken glass, and wooden shards impaling themselves into him as fast as Melanie could lift them. He ignored the futile annoyances that were Maria's little golden tooth fairies, buzzing around him and looking for ways to get through his thick oilskin hide.

The Trapper was bearing down on me and me alone, beartrap fist slathered with fresh crimson.

This close, time seemed to slow and my only thought upon properly beholding him was 'that thing cannot be human'.

His coat was shredded to the point of burnt rags, clinging to his frame. What lay beneath was enough to send jolts of revulsion and disgust through me, even in the disassociation of the spell. His flesh was burnt, cracked, and oozing – wrapped in so many long-worn bandages that he looked more like a walking corpse than a man. A pale, milky eye stared at me blindly through a broken eye lens.

As he came closer, I couldn't shake the feeling that those injuries were unmistakably old. We already knew that his applications of arcane energy were dedicated exclusively to strengthening himself beyond human levels but, perhaps … I felt like I was on the verge of some critical insight when he finally closed the distance and lifted me almost a meter in the air with one hand, squeezing my throat with a vicelike grip.

I instinctually wanted to cough, but I couldn't. Tears filled my eyes and my vision narrowed as I kicked and struggled – I may as well have been hitting a wall.

Worse, the spell shattered along with my concentration, blasting me with debilitating backlash and leaving me as helpless as a newborn kitten while sparks flashed in my eyes.

We were cut off now, fighting as individuals.

Time seemed to slow as my pulse thundered in my ears and my lungs burned; why hadn't he killed me yet? Was he taking his time?

It was getting harder to see…

The world was getting darker…

My arms and legs felt like lead, my movements slowed…

Suddenly, I fell, and the world rushed back into colour as I coughed and heaved on the cold ground, greedily gulping down air through a neck that felt like it was one big bruise, my lungs burning with pain.

I weakly looked up and saw the Trapper's huge body sprawled across the ground, convulsing and shaking as Maria stood over him, looking shocked like she wasn't expecting whatever she just did to have worked.

She hesitated one more second, before rushing to my side, pulling down my mask momentarily, and spilling a golden vial of liquid down my raw throat. The overwhelming taste of peppermint and the raspberry sourness of her tooth fairy derived arcanist medicine burned on the way down; I hacked and coughed as some of it went down my windpipe.

Through it all, she held my head on her lap, speaking softly and keeping me from hurting myself further in my thrashing. The shakes and coughing passed, and she stood, darting over to where Joshua had been thrown, to administer the same first-aid to him.

I stood on weak legs and inspected the Trapper's limp form.

Half a dozen broken needles lay shattered beneath him, and I recognized them from Maria's medical equipment as injectable tooth fairy distillate. His skin, what could be seen of it through the tattered coat, was slowly turning a healthy shade of pink – the corpselike scars and wounds were entirely gone to the point where I almost wondered if those had been near-death imaginings.

I walked over to where a pale-faced Joshua lay in Maria's arms, the wound on his chest already closing as she quietly sang to him.

"Is he going to be alright?"

"Yes, Vertin. I brought enough medicine for fifty people and there are far more, mundane, supplies in some of the ambulances that should be arriving after the raid concludes." Maria didn't look up as she worked, bandaging his bruised chest with steady hands. "Barring a far heavier load of wounded than expected, we should be just fine."

"Thank you," my voice was small and soft. "How… did you?"

"It was a good thing that you managed to share your observations about his wounds before the spell broke. I supposed that he must have been using constant magical exertion to keep himself together, and thus a sudden jolt of overwhelming healing to his system might 'short circuit' his body for lack of a better term."

"That was an impressive deduction; thank you."

Her eyes crinkled in a smile, but she said nothing and resumed working on Joshua's wounds.

I called Melanie over, now trembling from adrenaline and the shock of the spell's sudden failure. She was crying and I let her hug me, quietly sobbing while I patted her back. The girl did well – shockingly so; Joshua was likely only alive because of her efforts.

A door at the far end of the warehouse busted open with a flood of gas; black armored Foundation agents surged into the room and relaxed once they saw us and the Trapper's limp body. They spread out to search offices and secure the perimeter, while grey-coated regulars followed up on their heels, Captain Brut among them.

He walked over to join us, and I summarized what just happened.

Eileen's escape had him curse under his breath and idly kick a pebble.

"We'll send teams down to secure the tunnels, but we're going to need to wait for the dedicated bomb squads for that; there's no way the Dublin Sniper wouldn't have left some explosive presents for us down there."

I sensed tension in his voice and hesitantly asked how things had fared on his end.

"Given the circumstances, our part went well, Vertin. We have no deaths and casualties are mild – with Ms. Campbell's miraculous medicines, we should be able to have full recoveries all around. As for the enemy? Only thirty bodies were on-site, and we took all of them down without fatalities."

I smiled faintly. "A good day, then."

"Not good enough, I fear. That fight might have ended in all your team's deaths if they'd stayed to take you together. We can't afford to be this sloppy again."

I confess; that made me defensive. "My team performed to the utmost of their abilities; I have nothing but the highest commendation for all of them."

"Peace, ma'am. That's not what I meant."

Only then did he seem to notice the bruising around my throat, the dust and tears in my clothes, the exhaustion in my stance. "Why don't you head out, ma'am? I'm sure they'll track you down for a report at some point, but if anyone has earned a break today, it's you. We'll handle it from here ourselves."

I hesitated and he pressed. "It's alright. You've undoubtedly saved many lives by scaring off most of their arcanists, and especially for taking down that monster. There's a fair few families that'll be happy to hear he's … he's not dead, is he?"

"Not at the moment, but if he will ever wake up remains to be seen." Maria idly called over her shoulder.

"Ah, more's the pity then. Couldn't have happened to a nicer monster."

Maria finished with Joshua, standing, and coming over to join us. She pressed a thermos into my hands with the instructions of "Take a teacup's worth twice a day until it is exhausted. It will accelerate the last of your recovery."

I smiled. "Thank you."

She tugged my top hat down with an indulgent smile and pulled me into a hug while I sputtered and tried to fix it. "Begone with you, Vertin. You need sleep."

I left the warehouse, now quickly filling with ever more Foundation agents, policemen, and doctors in white coats. The perimeter guards saluted me as I walked in between crowds of rushing personnel and wailing ambulances with flashing lights.

Helicopters circled over the site; police and reporters both.

I thought I had caught a glimpse of Liliya in the sky, riding that fighter jet she called a broomstick, though the sun was in my eyes and I couldn't be sure.

Maria's medicinal tooth fairy juice was still working as I left the compound entirely, walking through a sunny, beautiful day as my bruises slowly faded and the adrenaline of the fight washed off me in waves. A hollow, bone-deep exhaustion set in and all I could think of was picking up my suitcase from the staging site, going inside, and sleeping for at least twelve hours of uninterrupted bliss.

As I passed through more blocks of brick-built warehouses and the crowds of men and cars thinned, something bright suddenly flashed above me, casting stark shadows across the ground.

I whirled, hand on my hat as I looked up and caught a momentary glimpse of a hole in the sky, and a dark shape getting very close, very fast…