J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (7)

HGJ: "Howie? Howie? We've got to get moving lad!"

HP: "But I haven't gotten my toffee apple yet."

HGJ: "Confound your confections, there are unsavoury amphibians approaching, so we need to get you to safety."

HP: "The frogmen?"

HGJ: "The very coves. Now come along Howie."

PGL: "Agreed. But we're not leaving the way we came. The fiends are approaching from behind us, and beside us."

HGJ: "The way ahead is clear though, if we push through the stalls. We're fortunate that they're shambling so slowly."

PGL: "I'd surmise they're uncomfortable in the light. You go on ahead and keep young Howard safe."

HGJ: "But, what about you George?"

PGL: "Somebody has to distract our pursuers. Besides, I have a plan."

HGJ: "We can't just abandon you."

PGL: "You won't be, it's just a strategic relocation. I'll be fine, Henry. I reason that these frogmen are here for the boy, so they'll give up if he gets away. I hope."

HGJ: "Stay safe, Litefoot, and I'll aim to meet you at your abode tonight. Come along, Howie."

*footsteps fade away as Jago and Howard flee.*

PGL: "You too, old chap. Now, just because I'm alone doesn't mean I'm unarmed. In fact, Jago's childhood reminiscing gave me just the idea. Sir, I'm going to need to buy all the fireworks in your stock."

Seller: "You what?"

PGL: "All of them, please. Right now."

***

*a carriage rattles along cobbled streets*

HP: "Will Litefoot be okay?"

HGJ: "Don't worry, my boy. It'll take more than some feckless fish to finish off the fearless Professor! He'll pull through."

HP: "I hope so, because it's all my fault."

HGJ: "Nonsense, Howie."

HP: "But it is. He was right, the frogmen are coming for me. They must have taken momma too. It's all because of me."

HGJ: "You're not to blame, Howie. Now, I don't know why they've decided to chase you, or what malevolent machinations they have planned, but I know one thing. All the blame lies with them. You're not responsible for the acts of sinister forces. You're a victim, merely a symptom of the rotten disease that makes men do terrible things."

HP: "I suppose so."

HGJ: "Good lad. Now, I know just the thing to get your mind off of such unpleasantness, a trip to the theatre!"

***

*a creature speaks in a hideous, sibilant gurgle, in a language long dead*

Hooded Man: "Incompetent fools! I expected better from Acolytes of the Absence. He's just a child, how hard can it be?! No matter, no matter, there is time to try again, perhaps you may fare better under cover of darkness. Away with you, I must prepare for the next stage of the plan."

***

PGL: "Professor Fenchurch, I presume."

PAF: "Please, as one professor to another, call me Alistair. Sorry to have kept you waiting, George, I had a devil's time getting past Regent's Park this morning. Apparently some cretin set off an entire stall's worth of fireworks at once."

PGL: "*Ahem* Yes, well, there are all sorts about these days. By all accounts the perpetrator managed to slip away through the chaos. Quite shocking, I know."

PAF: "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if it was the work of disgruntled Fenians. But enough politics George, you came here on a quest, did you not?"

PGL: "Hardly anything so adventurous, Alistair. I reached out to you for help with something of a research project I'm working on."

PAF: "Indeed, but I fail to see how a man of medicine would require the opinion of a historian and scholar. Unless of course, it pertains to a particularly cold case."

PGL: "Very droll. Consider this research a hobby of sorts. You see, I've come across the name 'Valgthoth' referenced in a number of places recently, but I've been unable to find much tangible information on the subject. I was hoping you may have some answers for me?"

PAF: "Valgthoth... hmm, nothing comes to mind immediately, but there are quite a number of Sumerian deities on record, and even more yet to be catalogued. I believe I have a tome here somewhere that might jog my memories... I'm sorry, it's a niche subject, please indulge my curiosity... how did you come across this name?"

PGL: "I fear you may think me delusional if I give you the full account."

PAF: "Try me, I have something of an open mind."

PGL: "The name came to me in a dream, yet it was like no dream I've ever experienced before. It all felt so tangible, somehow, and I've been unable to shake the name from my mind since. You must think me insane."

PAF: "A vision? I confess, under any other circumstance I would assume you were jesting, but... yes... there is a reference to a Valgthoth in this book. How curious."

PGL: "I must have heard the name elsewhere, of course, for it to rattle around my subconscious."

PAF: "Most likely. It says here that Valgthoth has many names, The Absent Abyssal, the Lord of Nothingness, the Oldest One. There's really not much text here, and few additional references. I'm not sure how helpful I can be."

PGL: "Please, anything you can add would be most appreciated."

PAF: "Very well. Officially, Valgthoth isn't a god of any particular ancient pantheon, more of a peripheral figure common to multiple religions. Most polytheistic gods represent an aspect of nature, like the sun, or fertility. Most have icons of good or evil. But very few have a personification of Nothing. Existence through Absence."

PGL: "You mean, how a hole exists as a physical construct, when itself is only a gap, a lack of something?"

PAF: "Yes! Exactly! And so Valgthoth is a mythical being, who predates all life, all matter, all energy. He is what never was, and was worshiped by those who seek a purity through oblivion."

PGL: "Well, that sounds ominous."

PAF: "It's all superstition of course. But followers of Valgthoth believed that the world, the universe, life itself was a chaotic mess. Full of crude matter and impure emotion. They believed in a rite that could bring Valgthoth into our world, and wished for him to use his power to obliterate all that is impure."

PGL: "If his followers were so fatalistic, it's no wonder there's little record of Valgthoth left to discover."

PAF: "You know, that destructive rite sounds vaguely familiar. I know a chap, runs an antique bookshop not far from here, he's something of a hoarder of arcane and archaic texts, as he likes to say. I seem to recall once hearing him mention a book bound in flesh and inked in blood, that he claimed had profane secrets. If you can believe such a claim!"

PGL: "As you say, it's all superstition. However, could I possibly have his address? My academic curiosity has been stoked."

PAF: "Not so fast! You've hooked me in now, and I can't let you have all the fun. Come along, I'll take you to him. Besides, you'll be glad of the company. He's something of an acquired taste."

PGL: "I can hardly resist, given how helpful you've been. Lead on then, Alistair."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (6)

PGL: "Master Howard, good morning! Come, do take a seat at the table, there's a good chap. Mrs. Hudson has prepared quite the spread for us all. Jago has been breakfasting for a good half hour at this stage."

HGJ: "*muffled* Yes, Howie! You'd best grab a plate while there's still some bacon on the table. My compliments to the chef, Litefoot. Such delectable delights are downright divine!"

HP: "Thank you, sirs."

PGL: "Help yourself to whatever you like, don't be shy. We have a bit of everything on offer, after all. Whatever you fancy, sausage, bacon, mushroom, tomato, eggs poached and scrambled."

HGJ: "Your housekeeper has certainly outdone herself! There's enough food here to feed us thrice over!"

PGL: "Not at the rate you're wolfing down those puddings, Henry."

HGJ: "Any inkling of considerable consumption on my part is merely a humble homage to Mrs. Hudson. Still, it begs the question of what happens to the leftovers?"

PGL: "Any potential excess, she distributes among her family, and a number of local unfortunates."

HGJ: "Remarkable woman, in more ways than one. But enough idle chatter... Howie, tell me, how did you sleep last night?"

HP: "Fine, I guess."

PGL: "Any bad dreams, perhaps?"

HP: "Was I shouting again? Momma says I have a bad habit of shouting in my sleep. I'm sorry if I woke you."

HGJ: "Nonsense, Litefoot and I were still awake, weren't we George?"

PGL: "Oh, er, yes, of course. Wide awake. It's just you sounded somewhat unsettled, and we wondered if you could recall any details?"

HP: "Not really. I just remember being scared. I saw things in the shadows, always just out of sight, but they wanted to grab me. But then a man came, he looked a bit like Daddy, and he waved his hands, and all this green fire burst from his hands, and suddenly I felt safe."

PGL: "Well, it's quite the tale, Howard. Glad to hear it has a happy ending. Say, does the name Valgthoth mean anything to you?"

HP: "No. But it sounds funny."

HGJ: "OK then Howie. By the way, Litefoot and I were having a bit of a discussion about what we could do today. We were thinking we could show you some of the sights of London."

PGL: "While we wait for the police to turn up any leads, we may as well pass the time in style."

HP: "And maybe we might spot Pop-Pop or Momma on the streets!"

HGJ: "Anything's possible, my boy, but I wouldn't get too excited. London is a big place after all."

HP: "Where are we going first? Is it exciting? I bet it'll be fun."

PGL: "Actually Howard, there's a Halloween fair being held in Regent's Park. I thought we could go admire some of the costumes on display?"

HGJ: *aside* And it's near the office of your Professor Fenchurch"

PGL: "Who knows, if you're very good, Jago might even buy you a toffee apple!"

***

*we hear the drip of leaky pipework and the squeaking of rats*

Whimple Phillips: "I'm telling you, you won't get away with this! Release us, or suffer the consequences of the law. We're from a respectable family, and foreign visitors, our absence will be noticed, and your punishments severe!"

Sarah Phillips: "Father, please sit down. Stop pounding on the bars before you reopen your wound. The monster who caged us doesn't care for the rule of law. Your threats mean nothing to him. His threats on the other hand..."

WP: "Dratted villain! Slicing your hand open like that, how dare he!"

SP: "It's OK, father. The cut could have been deeper after all. It'll heal, in time."

WP: "Assuming no infection gets into it, which given the conditions of our incarceration, is most improbable."

SP: "I'm just glad Howie isn't here, isn't experiencing this fetid cell. He must be terrified, lost and alone in London, but it must be better than this torment. I do hope some kind soul is taking care of him."

WP: "He's a good kid, and tougher than he looks.  In other words, he takes after his mother."

*a damp and swollen wooden door creaks open*

SP: "Oh no, he's coming back."

WP: "Flanked by two of his goons with the ridiculous fish masks. Coward."

Hooded Man: "Careful now, my pets. Even whispers travel far in such echoing chambers."

WP: "Then I'm sure shouts will be heard even further away. It's only a matter of time before someone hears our cries."

HM: "By all means, yell until your lungs give out, old man. It shall do you no favours. London is built on a labyrinth of storm drains and tunnels, where only the rats and the lost dare wander. Nobody will hear your pleas, and even if they did, the Acolytes take care of any intruders."

SP: "You vile, vile man! Why are you holding us here?! Why do you cut us open like animals for slaughter? What's wrong with you?!"

HM: "Such fire in this one, yes. You are here because I need your blood. Your blood is the key, the key to arcane secrets I've spent a lifetime trying to unlock."

WP: "What kind of superstitious junk is this? Sarah, he's a madman, don't expect a rational answer from him."

HM: "You will believe, in time. When the majesty of the Absent Lord is revealed, you shall weep in torturous awe. Perhaps your sanity may even survive the experience."

SP: "But why our blood? Why us?"

HM: "There are certain families, bloodlines, whose ancestry has grazed the realms beyond. I believe you to be one such family. Your blood holds a power, which I need to harness to release my master."

WP: "Well, you've taken our blood already, so whether it worked or not, surely you can see fit to let us leave."

HM: "That paltry tithe was just the beginning! The ritual failed, perhaps your blood has been diluted by inferior stock, perhaps I just need to spill more it. Offer not just your blood, but your life too."

WP: "You won't get away with this! The name of Phillips is too well regarded to just vanish by your hand."

SP: "Oh, Howie, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I've failed you."

HM: "Now, which of you should I choose to grace my blade first.... Unless, have I made an error? You're only related to him through marriage, not blood. I need your husband."

SP: "He's locked up on another continent. Good luck getting to him."

HM: "Luckily I don't need him. I have the next best thing, right here in this city. Acolytes, bring me the child! He shares blood with this woman, so sniff him out. He is the key!"

***

PGL: "I say! I haven't had occasion to wander a fair like this since I was a lad! There's a certain atmosphere here, so many people in masks or costumes, turnips carved into hideous grimaces, all of this delicious food..."

HGJ: "It really takes me back, Litefoot. Many's the year I dressed as a ghost or goblin, pestering my neighbours for sweets and treats. I used to go to great efforts crafting my costumes. Had to be creative, we didn't have the budget for anything else."

HP: "Is that when you decided you wanted to be an actor, Mister Jago?"

HGJ: "You know, I never really considered it until now, yet I must admit it certainly played a factor. Dressing up, donning disguises, it just stirred something within me. How about you, Howie, have you any tales of Halloween adventures?"

HP: "Not really. We don't have a lot of neighbours, and not all of them are friendly anyway. I do love heating ghost stories though. Oh, last year one of my friends found some firecrackers and we snuck out at night to play with them."

HGJ: "Ah, fireworks! I have some fond memories of those myself, even if what we was technically illegal and highly dangerous."

PGL: "Are you referring to your childhood, or the time you set your own theatre ablaze?"

HGJ: "Either or, George. Either or. And for the record, that conflagration was entirely contained."

PGL: "Of course Howard, you must remember that fireworks are not toys, no matter how fun they appear. When I think back on my boyhood in China, it's a wonder we escaped without severe burns."

HP: "Can we get some toffee apples, Jago? Please?"

HGJ: "OK Howie, but only because of your manners. Let's just squeeze past these two devils, take a left at the wolfman, and bingo. Here's some  change. Make sure to be right back, OK? The Professor and I will wait here so you can see us at all times."

HP: "Thanks Jago!"

HGJ: "He's an adorable little tyke, isn't he?"

PGL: "He's exceptionally well mannered, and very bright too. I just worry for him. His visions, true or not, are concerning, and I fear what will happen to him if Quick can't locate his mother."

HGJ: "All we can do is hope, I'm afraid, and in the meantime, keep his little spirits up. And if there is some malign force affecting our dreams, maybe your historian friend can shed some light on this Valgthoth character?"

PGL: "Jago, look!"

HGJ: "Where?"

PGL: "Over there, see where that crowd is?"

HGJ: "A bunch of people in fancy dress. Do you suppose there's going to be a parade?"

PGL: "Look closer. There three figures near the front of the crowd, grouped together. Is it just me or do they look rather like..."

HGJ: "Frogmen! Corks Litefoot, they must be here for Howie, we've got to get him to safety!"

PGL: "Agreed. It's a shame, but he'll have to go without his toffee apple."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (5)

PGL: "Why don't you begin, Henry?"

HGJ: "If you insist. *ahem* Most of my dreams are vague and disjointed, as most dreams are. Yet this felt different, more tangible. I suppose, more real. I found myself stood on stage at the New Regency, I could smell the greasepaint, the feel of the well-worn timber beneath me. I heard the floorboards creak as I shifted my weight uneasily. The lights were aimed directly at me, so bright I had to squint. I couldn't see the audience at all, they were lost in shadows. They were silent, but I knew they were there. I could feel the stare of a thousand eyes, looking right through me.

I coughed, nervously, just to break the discomforting quiet. I rocked on my heels, awkwardly fiddling with a copy of the night's playbill behind my back. I'd forgotten who I was supposed to be introducing! I looked towards the wings, hoping for a prompt like I was some nervous novice, but there was nobody there. My stagehands had deserted me, in this moment of embarrassment. Frantically, I looked at the playbill, but I'd managed to smudge the ink thanks to my sweaty palms. The audience were still silent, static, but I could feel the tension rising. Their patience was running out, and I knew if they lost interest, my very safety would be at risk.

In desperation, I stared back at the punters, past the dazzling spotlights and into the dark depths of the sinister shadows. Slowly, I grew accustomed to the dark, and details began to become clear. The thousand eyes glaring at me were unblinking, glistening orbs, like great big lumps of obsidian. They were all extremely tall, pushing seven feet. Their clothes were fashioned from scraps of cloth and grimy rags, all tattered and torn like the forlorn flotsam of a shipwreck. Their skin was too shiny, I realized. They were covered in scales, like a fish or reptile. The more I stared the more the details became unnaturally clear. Their heads were not human, looking more like huge burnt thumbs. The eyes were too far apart, nearly sitting at the sides of the head, again like a fish. Barnacles, coral growth and seaweed clung to the figures and their clothing. That's when it struck me, these were the same figures from Howie's drawing. My audience was full of frogmen.

I blinked in suprise, dropping the playbill as I did so. As I turned back to the army assembled before me, I saw I had been mistaken. The audience was not filled with hundreds of individuals, each of the eyes I could see were all facets of the same creature. One eye with a thousand surfaces, like the compound eye of a housefly, yet large enough to fill a theatre. I tried to comprehend a creature of such prolific proportions, but I could scarcely wrap my head around it. Then I realized the truth. Even this gigantic ocular insect was a trick of the mind. I was only seeing the shapes in between. Like one of those optical illusions, where at first you only see a vase, but then, suddenly, you spy two faces instead. The arrayed eyes before me were merely the absence of something. The true creature was the very shadow itself. It was the darkness, it occupied the empty spaces between all things. Its vastness dwarfed anything I'd ever even contemplated. That's when I was woken by the sounds of Howard in distress."

PGL: "Goodness me, what a tale!"

HGJ: "Go on then. You've had your fun, now it's your turn to spin a yarn."

PGL: "Very well. I don't have the same proclivity towards oration as yourself, but I shall endeavour to be as accurate in my recollection as possible.

In my dream, I was walking alone through the London fog, as dense as ever I've seen it. Visibility was down to mere inches, if not for the cobbled streets below me I'd have sworn I was wandering within a cloud. The streets were empty, or at least, I could hear nothing stirring beyond the mists. London is a thriving city, even at night, so the eerie calm was disconcerting. It was entirely possible any number of silent creatures were stalking me however, and I would not have seen them until they were upon me. I turned my collar up and kept striding briskly, but I couldn't dissuade myself of the notion that I was under surveillance. I told myself it was mere paranoia, that I was not even jumping at shadows, but the potential existence of shadows. But such thoughts breed fears that are difficult to control.

Lost in my thoughts and with no visual reference, I soon realised I'd lost my way. I didn't break my stride though, I kept waking, hoping to find something familiar. Besides, if I was being observed, I didn't wish to show weakness. Shortly, I found myself upon one of the bridges spanning the Thames. The fog was still thick around me but I could see into the water below. Thrashing around just beneath the surface, I saw a writhing mass of tentacles churning up the river's surface. One of these tendrils emerged, slowly uncoiling itself and reaching upwards. It was as thick as I was, with an olive green hue, speckled with a jet black, almost inky pigmentation. It's underside was studded with large pink and yellow protrusions, suckers with which to grip. It snaked toward me, seemingly seeing through some invisible sense.

I ran, as fast as my tired old legs could carry me, but no matter which path I took, there was another tentacle looming out of the fog to block my path. I realised with horror that each of these tentacles belonged to a single creature, easily the size of London itself. I imagined a giant amorphous being, cowering below the city, its fleshy appendages winding through the network of tunnels, sewers and other underground passageways. A maze of woven meat, suffocating the life above it. I imagined the people of London, going about their lives, unaware of this malevolent entity hiding just out of sight.

I continued to flee, but it was only prolonging the inevitable. As I began to tire, one of the tendrils reached out and enveloped me. Suddenly, I saw a mirror before me. I was standing alone, in my drawing room, gazing into a free standing mirror. The detailing was incredible, the reflection appeared almost more realistic than my surroundings. I looked at my hands, then at their reflection. In the image I could see wrinkles and lines which I couldn't see directly. Looking at my eyes, I could see tiny blood vessels and the intricate patterning of the iris that I've never noticed before. I felt like through the mirror, I could see the world as if with a magnifying lens. It was as if I was admiring the most realistic and detailed portrait I'd ever witnessed. But there was something wrong. Aside from the hyper-realism, it was the eyes that betrayed this tableu. There was no life in them, no soul. This representation of reality was like a painting alright. Painted by someone who has clinically studied his subject in minute detail, but in the process missed the heart of the subject. In desperation, I smashed the mirror with my fist, venting my frustration.

As the shards of glass fell away, they revealed a portal. A glowing black surface that crackled with a sinister energy. I didn't know why, but it felt wrong on every level. A throbbing pain in my skull, at this affront to reality that hummed before me. And then I saw it. The same creature you witnessed in your steam. The living shadow. The impossibly large beast, comprised of an abyssal absence, of negative space. I saw Nothing, the concept of emptiness made manifest. For a fraction, I grasped the concept of eternity, I saw the expanse of the Universe and it was insignificant compared to the Nothing that surrounded it. Planets are as atoms to a creature as incomprehensible as it. Then, the creature spoke to me, in some long dead and forgotten tongue. I didn't understand, and the voice was so loud, it was the sound of stars collapsing and tectonic plates shifting. It was a sound to large to be heard but such trifling beings as ourselves. Then I was awoken too, but as I slipped from the dream, I had one final glimpse of the stars behind the creature. I noticed a pattern, that spelled out Valgthoth."

HGJ: "By Jove! That's the name I couldn't remember. It was on the tip of my tongue all throughout my dream, Valgthoth, that was it. That's what was written on the playbill. So who's he when he's at home?"

PGL: "I don't yet know, but he seemed to have appeared in both our dreams tonight. And in the dreams of our young ward. Some of the gibberish he was exclaiming sounded a lot like Valgthoth to me."

HGJ: "Frogmen and impossible creatures stalking our dreams, how do we begin to investigate?"

PGL: "I have a colleague, well at least we share a mutual friend in Jene Bazemore. His name is Alistair Fenchurch, professor of Ancient History and Literature. It's a shot in the dark, but anything as old and powerful as our new friend Valgthoth seems to be is bound to have a historical record."

HGJ: "Certainly it can't hurt matters to inquire. Now, if you'll excuse me I've yet to grab much sleep tonight, so I'm going to try and get some."

PGL: "Pleasant dreams then, Jago. I hope so, for all our sakes."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (4)

PGL: "To surmise then... you found a lost child and want him to live in my house until the Inspector manages to find his parents?"

HGJ: "That's about the long and short of it."

PGL: "Tell me, why did you settle on my home over your own exactly?"

HGJ: "Well, that's a bit of an embarrassment on my part, to tell you the truth. My financial freedom is somewhat limited these days, and well, I've been renting out my residence to a lovely young Romanian couple. I've been sleeping in my office since."

PGL: "Heavens, Henry! You should have said something to me. The theatre can hardly be a comfortable place to lay your head. All those draughts and chills, not to mention the rats. I mean, for a man of your age, it doesn't seem right."

HGJ: "Nonsense. Nothing worth worrying about, George. I've stayed in some far less luxurious locations in my time. Horrid hovels and dire dumps, I've seen it all. Besides, it's just until I discover the next big thing in the business. Yes, all HGJ needs is to find a new star attraction. That'll swing my fortunes right around. "

PGL: "As ever, I have to admire your optimism. A lesser man would have conceded and given up long ago, but not you. You weather every storm and emerge stronger than ever."

HGJ: "Thanks Professor. So how about it? May Howard and I avail of your hospitality for a few nights?"

PGL: "Of course!  Stay as long as you need. Honestly, I'd be glad of the company, there are too many empty rooms in this old place. Mrs. Hudson always keeps a couple of the guest rooms made up, in case of visitors. Perhaps we should see what Howard has been getting up to in the drawing room?"

HGJ: "Quite  yes. The tyke is very curious, too much so for his own good. Hopefully he hasn't gone exploring."

HP: "Hiya Jago. I made this for you while you were talking. The Professor said it was a drawing room, so I finished my sketch from the police station. Do you like it?"

HGJ:  "Howie, you've got talent. I daresay there's an aspiring artist in you somewhere. So, this central figure is me, is it? And these creatures I'm fending off, are they the hooligans who harassed you earlier?"

HP: "No Jago. Those are the frogmen. Part man, part fish, all evil. They lurk in the murky depths, waiting to lure in unsuspecting prey, before they pounce, striking to capture sacrifices."

HGJ: "Sacrifices?"

HP: "They worship a great leviathan who lives at the bottom of the ocean, and if he wakes up, all the lands will crumble into the sea."

PGL: "Well Howard, you certainly have an active imagination. Such creativity is inspiring, especially in one so young. Where does it spring from, I wonder?"

HGJ: "The frogmen are a legend among the dock workers and mudlarks. A terrifying tale pedalled by those who spend time on or near the sea. When I first found young Howard here, a little thief was telling him all about such creatures. Trying to scare you out of your wits, isn't that right Howie?"

HP: "Yes, Jago. But they're real. I've seen them, in my dreams. Horrible nightmares. That's why momma and pop-pop came to London. They said getting away from home might help with my dreams."

PGL: "How long have you had these dreams, Howard? These nightmares?"

HP: "I've always had them. Every now and then. But they've been getting worse for a few months now. Momma was frightened by it. She was afraid they'd take me away like they took daddy."

HGJ: "Who took him, these frogmen?"

HP: "No Jago. The doctors. Momma says he was sick. In his mind. Seeing things that weren't there. Things that made him angry, and that made him lash out. He was locked away. Momma doesn't want the same thing to happen to me."

PGL: "I'm so sorry to hear about your father, Howard. Psychosis is a terrible burden to have to bear. You know, I'm medically trained myself, maybe I can help you. Nightmares are usually brought on stress, or anxiety. I think maybe you're afraid of being incarcerated like your father, and that's why you dream about these creatures coming for you. You're afraid the same will happen to you, and these frogmen are how your mind interprets that fear. Do you understand?"

HP: "I think so, but it all feels so real. *sobs*"

HGJ: "Hush now, Howie. It's OK. You're fine. You're safe here."

HP: "Sorry Jago. *sniffles* I miss my momma. She brought me here to help with my nightmares, but I've just lost her too."

HGJ: "Yes, well, better lost than gone as my old nan to say. You see, when something is lost, that just means it's there to be found again."

PGL: "Howard, can I tell you a secret? When I was a boy of your age, my family lived in China. One summer, I was exploring the forests behind our house, as I often liked to do, imagining myself as some daring discoverer. On one particular day though, I'd pressed deeper into the wilderness than ever before, chasing some imaginary creature as a game. By the time I'd realised how far I'd ran, it was too late. My surroundings were alien to me, and I couldn't spy my path back through the undergrowth. I was lost, and afraid, and I'm not ashamed to admit I had a cry to myself. Eventually, I set about trying to find my way home, but I didn't know the way and ended up heading the the wrong direction. At some point, I happened across the edge of a steep drop. As I looked over the edge, curious in spite of my distress, the ground gave way and I tumbled down the slope for 30/40 feet or so. At the bottom I could barely stand, my leg had been sprained badly in the fall and I was covered in cuts and bruises. I cried again, at the pain of my injuries, and because I was now so far from home that my father would never find me. And that's when a kind old lady found me, while out foraging for herbs and such. She comforted me, carried me the short distance to her home, and tended to my injuries while serving me a wonderful green tea. In that moment, I was able to forget my troubles, safe in the temporary comfort if my caretaker. My father meanwhile had hired most of the men from a nearby village to comb the forest for me. They found me within a day and a half. Let me tell you, it was one of the most terrifying and sad moments of my life, but the kindness of strangers guided me through it."

HP: "Just like how Jago and you are trying to help me?"

HGJ: "Exactly, Howie. We'll do our best to reunite you with your dear mother."

PGL: "Has Jago told you of our reputation, Howard? We are the finest pair of investigators in this city since Holmes and Watson themselves. And we have one advantage over those two, we're not fictional! We'll get to the bottom of this whole affair. Why don't we get you settled in bed, and Jago can recount some of our past adventures. That way, you'll know you're in the best of care, and maybe you'll even get to sleep soundly."

***

PGL: "I thought he'd never nod off. Not that your flair for the dramatic particularly helped matters."

HGJ: "What can I say? I'm a performer, show me a devoted audience and I can't help myself."

PGL: "Yes, but bedtime stories are intended to help children fall asleep. Not to engage in a lively singsong about the Scorchies!"

HGJ: "It tired him out, didn't it? It did for me anyway. *yawns* "

PGL: "That much is apparent! Come, I shall show you to your room before you collapse of exhaustion. We'll regroup in the morning and see what we can do for the boy then."

HGJ: "Much obliged. I can feel the not so gentle tugs of Morpheus on my eyelids."

***

HP: "*screaming* No! NOOOO!!! Myrkfygnnn....You shan't, you mustn't! Blood! The rivers run red with the blood of the sacrifices... The circle has been drawn... Ky'ftgyk nyarthokth Valgthoth...his prison is opening... No! *screams* The blood is the key and the lock... the book is the gateway and the map... Valgthoth qgk'dar, Valgthoth qgk'fkyx, Valgthoth qgk'fygn... Dark and Ancient, Malevolent and Unknowable..."

HGJ: "Howie! What's the matter? You're screaming loud enough to wake the neighborhood!"

PGL: "Stay back, Henry!"

HGJ: "He's having a nightmare, we have to snap him out of it, wake him up!"

PGL: "I fear it's more serious than that. He's displaying signs of a full blown psychotic episode. Interfering now could cause him an injury."

HP: "The endless eye sees all, Valgthoth!"

A moment of silence

HGJ: "Howie? George, is he alright?"

PGL: "Checking his vitals... he's definitely  breathing, his temperature feels high and the bed is saturated with sweat. Still, the episode seems to have passed. He seems outwardly fine for the most part."

HGJ: "Look at him, fast asleep, like nothing happened. He's a trooper and no mistake. Shrugging off a dose of the night terrors like that. Hardly surprising given what he's had to deal with from such a young age."

PGL: "The severity of his distress is alarming, beyond any simple measure of night terrors. I'm concerned there may be some condition underlying his emotional trauma."

HGJ: "I hope for the boy's sake that you're wrong on this occasion, Litefoot."

PGL: "As do I, Henry. But illness  of any kind doesn't care for a person's kindness or decency. It strikes indiscriminately. Then again, maybe I'm reading too deeply. It may just be down to tales of these frogmen. I daresay just listening to you describe them earlier unsettled my subconscious. I had some nightmares of my own tonight."

HGJ: "Then there must be something in the air. I've also be tossing and turning, with demons in the darkness disturbing my dreams."

PGL: "Something in the air... Accompany me downstairs if you would Henry. I want to hear all about your bad dreams."

HGJ: "If you think it'll help, then by all means. What are you hoping to uncover?"

PGL: "It's little more than intuition, but given the sorts of evil we've tangled with over the years, not impossible. I want to compare our dreams. It could be mere coincidence, but maybe it's possible that we experienced a sort of shared delusion?"

HGJ: "You mean to suggest that if some malign force is affecting Howard, we could also be feeling it's effect? Lead on then, Litefoot. At the very least, talking about our terrors should help us deal with them."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (3)

HGJ: "Come along Howard, there's a good chap. This way.... Ah, Inspector Quick! I was hoping to catch you before you clocked off for the day."

IQ: "Hello there, Mister Jago. Well, crime never sleeps in this city, so that means the law can't get much kip either. Who's your little friend? Some young protege, or a visiting nephew?"

HGJ: "Unfortunately nothing so commonplace."

IQ: "It's never simple with you or the Professor, is it?"

HGJ: "This here is master Howard Philips, though he prefers to go by the name 'Howie', you know how the Americans love a shortened sobriquet."

IQ: "Hello Howie, nice to meet you. I'm Percy, Percy Quick. Why don't you stay here with Constable Jenkins while I have a private word with Jago in my office?"

HGJ: "It's quite alright, Howie. I'll only be gone a few moments, and I'm sure the constable here has some pen and  paper you can draw with while I'm gone."

A brief pause as Jago and Quick walk towards the office, and a door creaks open.

IQ: "So, Jago... how exactly did an American child end up in your company?"

HGJ: "I found him, wandering the streets! Lost and alone in the expanses of the capital city of the Empire. I thought you could help reunite him with his parents."

IQ: "Hmm. Did he share any details on where or when he last saw his parents?"

HGJ: "He said it was mostly a blur, but he remembers being with his mother and grandfather, heading towards a train station. Apparently they were heading north to see 'The Scottish Monster'."

IQ: "A monster, you say?!"

HGJ: "Don't get too excited, Quick. It's probably nothing more than a folk tale, spied through the imaginative lens of a child's mind. Some poor soul probably just happened across driftwood after an abundance of ale. So, can you help the poor chap out?"

IQ: "I'm sorry, Jago, but there's not much I can do. We haven't received word of a missing persons report, so it'll be hard to locate his guardians. Whether they boarded that train to Scotland without the boy or not, they haven't yet contacted the authorities."

HGJ: "Are you saying there's nothing you can do? The boy will be inconsolable."

IQ: "There's not many reasons preventing a parent from reporting a missing child. Now, maybe it's because they're stuck in transit, and we'll have a telegram in the morning from Glasgow. But it could simply be that they chose to abandon their child in a public area, then scarpered."

HGJ: "Inspector, that's monstrous!"

IQ: "I'm not saying its likely, but I've seen it happen before. There's a dark underbelly to society, Mister Jago, as incomprehensible as it might be to an honest man like yourself."

HGJ: "I don't see how Howard's parents could be so cold and callous."

IQ: "Honestly, I agree with you. But the high ups won't see it that way. The best I can do is keep the child here in a cell until we hear from his folks, and if we don't get word in a week or so, he'll be sent to an orphanage."

HGJ: "Good heavens!"

IQ: "I hate it just as much as you do, Jago, but my hands are tied unless his parents report his disappearance. We can't very well search every train station from here to Dundee based on a child's description of his guardians."

HGJ: "So that's it then? Abandon poor Howard to a life in the workhouse, growing up in the supposed care of the state?"

IQ: "That's only if you file a report of course."

HGJ: "I don't understand."

IQ: "If you report this lost boy to me, I'll have to entrust him to the custody of the state until his parents claim him, assuming they eventually do so. But, if you left, without informing me of the child,  he's free to go."

HGJ: "How does that help the little tyke? I can't toss him back to the street!"

IQ: "Then don't. Let him stay in your care. Just for a few days, of course. Give his parents time to report to us. You keep Howie safe and out of trouble while I keep my ear to the ground, hopefully something will turn up. Worst case scenario, he's sent to the orphanage in a week's time instead. Keeping it unofficial is the best I can offer you."

HGJ: "Well, I appreciate your candid explanation, Inspector. I can't say I'm thrilled, but it'll have to do. I'll look after the child for now and hope you can indeed locate his parents."

IQ: "I wish I could be more help, it breaks my heart to see a child forlorn like this."

HGJ: "I'm sure you'll do all in your power, Quick. Thank you."

The office door creaks again as Jago and Quick return.

HP: "Jago! Did the policeman find momma?"

HGJ: "Not yet, Howie. But, um, these things take time. London is a big area, so there's a lot of places he has to search. Don't worry though. He's the best officer on the force, and a credit to Her Majesty herself. If anyone can find your mother, it's Percy Quick! In the meantime, you can stay with me and I'll look after you. Just for a few days."

HP: "You're the best, Jago! This is gonna be awesome. I'll have so many stories to tell momma when she's back!"

HGJ: "Thank you again, Inspector. Oh, I have one other question, if I may?"

IQ: "Go ahead, by all means."

HGJ: "Is Litefoot on the premises?"

IQ: "He left early today, as a matter of fact. Said he wanted to catch up on his reading. Why?"

HGJ: "His leisurely literature will have to wait. My humble hovel is hardly suitable for such company, so Howard and I will have to pay him a visit."

***

Mudlark 1: "Nothing but old boots and tin cans. Any luck down your way?"

Mudlark 2: "Aye, Pat. Lookit these! Fine set of false gnashers!"

Pat: "What use is teeth to you Long John? You still got most of your pearls."

Long John: "Look at the bottom set. He's got a couple made if solid gold back there."

Pat: "Shove off! Who'd waste gold on dentures anyway? Your eyes must be off."

Long John: "It's true, I swears it. He musta been one of them epileptics or somewhat."

Pat: "Think you mean elliptical."

Long John: "Well, any man with more money than sense can afford to be called whatever he likes. Hey, Pat! Did you see that?"

Pat: "See what?"

Long John: "See them ripples. There was bubbles there a second ago."

Pat: "Probably just a fishie John. Don't get too excited."

Long John: "There it was again! Oh mercy, I saw it! It's no fishie Pat. Least, like no fish I ever seen. It's eyes, big and black and round, like massive lumps of coal, but all polished and shiny."

Pat: "It's just shadows. It's late and you been out here too long. It's all in your head."

Long John: "No! It's the frogmen. I know it is, I knew they was real. Old Patsy tried to tell me they was an old wive's tale, but I says to her, 'Patsy. You may be old but you ain't ever been a wife, so it's the only tall tale is your explanation'."

Pat: "Let's just go home, OK? Leave all this nonsense behind.... Crikey!"

Long John: "It can be in my head if you're seeing it too! He's rising out of the water!"

Pat: "He's seven foot if he's inch, blimey. All green scaly skin, mounds of thick, knotted hair hanging for his head."

Long John: "That's not hair. It's seaweed, or possibly tentacles. But it's not hair."

Pat: "Look at his teeth! There's so many, and so sharp!"

Long John: "I'm busy looking at those long, spindly, wedded fingers of his, topped with yellowed claws. We should scarper Pat. He seems a bit peeved."

Pat: "We might have a problem there. See, while we was staring at himself emerging from the river, two of his buddies crept up behind us."

Long John: "Sneaky little blighters. Come to drag us down to Davy Jones, have ye? Well, you can try, but old Long.... AGGRRRGHHHH"

With a shrieking hiss, the creatures attack. The scene fades out on the sounds of screams and rending flesh.

****

A doorbell rings frantically

PGL: "Gracious, can't a man get any peace in his own home? Probably a couple of local children out guising, even if it's a few nights early. Should I answer the door? No, Mrs Hudson is always more than willing to reward the children. Besides, I've just gotten comfortable in my favourite armchair, the fire is blazing contentedly in the hearth, and I've got a new Jules Verne and a steaming mug of cocoa. What more can a gentleman ask for?"

The doorbell continues to ring.

PGL: "Where is my housekeeper? It's most unlike her to leave a summons unanswered... Curses, she said she was off to play bingo after she served me my cocoa. *shouting* Just a second, I'll be with you presently."

The doorbell grows louder as Litefoot nears the door. He unlatches it and swings it smoothly open.

PGL: "Terribly sorry about the delay, I hadn't realized my.... Jago?"

HGJ: "Professor, how nice it is to see you. I was just passing the neighborhood, and..."

PGL: "Henry, can I just stop your soliloquy before you build up too much steam? Tell me, why are you standing on my porch, holding the hand of an eight year old boy?"

HGJ: "Actually, I was hoping you'd be kind enough to allow us to stay with you, for a few nights?"

PGL: "Corks!"

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (2)

A horse drawn carriage rattles along an otherwise quiet cobbled London street. As it fades into the distance, the sound of footsteps becomes apparent.

HGJ: "Yet another trifling take tonight, Henry. A dismal and disappointing display of audience apathy, leading you to pecuniary problems and financial forsaking. And now you're talking to yourself. First sign of madness, they say.

*sigh*

Still, my luck is bound to bounce back sooner or later. Nothing can dampen the determined iron will of Henry Gordon Jago!"

In the distance, raised voices can be heard, but remain incoherent.

HGJ: "I say! Somebody's making a quite the commotion. Where are those voices coming from? It'd be a shame if some criminal ruffians crossed paths with my judicious fighting fists. *whispering* Oh corks! They're right there, across the street and a little ways ahead of me. I can just make out three figures through this pea souper. Perhaps I could sneak past them, for their own sake of course."

From the within the group of scoundrels, a child's voice cries out.

Boy: "I just want my momma!"

HGJ: "Those vile coves are terrorizing that poor child. Surely there must be a Peeler on patrol around here somewhere, perhaps I could go and fetch help? Oh, blast it all, I can't abandon the little tyke. I'd better not regret this."

Scoundrel 1: "We'd like to find your mother too. Bet she's worried sick about you. She'd probably pay us a lot for your 'safe' return."

Scoundrel 2: "Look at his clothes, his family have money behind them, for sure."

Scoundrel 1: "You'd want to be careful around these parts. You don't want the frogmen to snatch you away in the night. You'll want protection, but it comes at a price.

HGJ: "Excuse me fellows, I was just passing by and couldn't help but notice this poor upset child. Shall we all do the decent thing and escort him to the nearest police station?"

Scoundrel 1: "This doesn't concern you, scram."

HGJ: "I'm just a concerned citizen, much like yourselves. Surely you must agree the police are best suited to the task of locating his lost parents?"

Scoundrel 2: "We don't need no Bobbies. They don't pay no ransom... *oof*"

Scoundrel 1: "What my partner means to say, is that we fear entrusting the lad to a corrupt policeman. Whereas we're all upstanding fellows of good moral fibre."

HGJ: "Really? I've seen blades of grass and cloth backdrops more upstanding than you lot. I've seen invertebrates with more backbone. The only fibre you'll ever know is in the gruel served to you while in Her Majesty's custody. Leave this poor, terrified child alone you conniving child catcher!"

Scoundrel 2: "Them is fighting words."

Scoundrel 1: "Or what exactly? What will you do if we refuse? You're hardly the sharpest knife in the corpse, but even you must know you're outnumbered."

HGJ: "I concede that you do have something of a point, it's true... but you should know, I'm a tiger when my dander's up!"

Scoundrel 1: "Fisticuffs, is it? How innocent. But what good is a fist compared to a knife?"

HGJ: "Lummy!"

With a sudden rush, scoundrel 2 gasps in pain.

Scoundrel 2: "The kid just headbutted me in the gut!"

Scoundrel 1: "Get him!"

HGJ: "Hiyaah!"

Scoundrel 1: "Get off me you oaf!"

HGJ: "I had a magician perform once, who excelled at escapology. Showed me a trick to dislocate his wrist. All it takes is a little pressure, right here..."

*snap*

Scoundrel 3: "I'm out of here. Kid's not worth this much trouble!"

Scoundrel 2: "Wait up!"

Scoundrel 1: "Don't run, you idiots. Ugh. Listen mate, this isn't over. I'll be coming for you, just you wait."

HGJ: "In which case I shall look forward to  breaking your other arm. Cheerio, and good riddance."

Boy: "Are, are they gone?"

HGJ: "For now at least. Don't worry, ruffians like that are easily spooked. They flake in the face of bravery..., sorry, what's your name?"

Boy: "Howard, sir. Howard Phillips."

HGJ: "A pleasure to meet you, Howard. My name is Henry Gordon Jago, theatrical impresario of the New Regency, and occasional hero. But you can call me Jago. You're very brave, you know, attacking that cove like that."

Howard: "*tearing* I'm not brave. I'm frightened. Momma and Pop-pop are missing. I'm all alone and there's scary men everywhere."

HGJ: "Of course you are. Adrift in a foreign city, away from everything familiar? I'd be scared too. But just because you're afraid doesn't mean you can't be brave. Quite the opposite."

Howard: "What do you mean?"

HGJ: "Being brave means acting even though you're afraid. Otherwise it's just foolishness. I was terrified to confront those men, but I did it anyway because it was the decent thing to do, to protect you."

Howard: "Can you protect me from the frogmen too?"

HGJ: "The who?"

Howard: "The frogmen. The bad men talked about the frogmen. Fishy people who come out of the river all covered in barnacles and seaweed to snatch away kids like me. Do you think the frogmen took momma?"

HGJ: "There's no such thing. Those men were just trying to scare you. I've seen a lot in my time but I've never seen any frogmen. I'm sure your mother is fine, just worried sick about you. Come with me, I'll take you to a friend of mine, in the police. I'm sure your mother has already filed a missing persons report. We'll have you two reunited in no time."

J&L: Emissary of the Eldritch (1)

*Charing Cross Station*

The hubbub of bustling commuters fills the air, punctuated by the shrill whistles of   conductors and the sighing gasps of steam engines. Cutting through the background chatter are the urgent footsteps of a rushing lady.

American Woman: "Excuse me, oh I do beg your pardon sir, if I could just squeeze past... oh, where are they? Those two are always getting lost. Mercy me."

Replying from some distance away, an older American gentleman shouts.

American Man: "Sarah? Sarah my dear? Damn and blast this infernal crowd, I thought the English were supposed to be renowned for their queuing etiquette. Sarah, if you can hear me, meet me in our carriage!"

Sarah Phillips: "Daddy Whipple? I can't hear you. Oh dear, look. I'll meet you both aboard the train okay?"

Both parties struggle against the heaving crowd, before slipping into the relative quietness of their private carriage compartment.

Whipple Phillips: "My dear daughter, at last. I was afraid I'd lost you to the expanse of this sprawling city."

Sarah: "Indeed Daddy. I was afraid I'd never again find you once we were separated by that speeding horse cart. Say, where's little Howie?"

Whipple: "The boy remained with you, didn't he? He was holding your hand when last I saw you two."

Sarah: "He wriggled from my grasp and ran to you. You know what's he's been like, ever since his father was incarcerated. He rushes to you whenever he's scared. I saw him by your side just before that cart separated us!"

Whipple: "God-damn little... we have to find him, now. London is no place for a child with his... temperament."

Sarah: "Good heavens! My little boy, all alone in the big city. Little Howard! We need to alert the authorities."

Whipple: "First, we need to get off this locomotive lest we end up in the highlands of Scotland. Come along my dear, quickly now."

Sarah: "Who's that, father? There's a chap in fancy dress in the corridor."

Whipple: "Some kind of masked fellow, with an obfuscating hood. You there! Stand aside good sir, we've no time for your frivolity."

Masked Man: "The night is coming, so very soon."

Whipple: "I don't care. Now let us past, my grandson is missing and we must locate him posthaste."

Masked Man: "But sir, it's nearly All Hallow's Night. The dead shall rise to walk among the living. The Old Gods are returning, and we must herald their arrival."

Whipple: "Ah, pagan nonsense, as I suspected. Ignore his ravings, Sarah, we must find Howie at once."

Masked Man: "Yes, the child. Lost and adrift, cast out among the wolves. He must be found, for his blood will guide the way."

Whipple: "I've had quite enough of this.... Hey! Unhand me you gibbering brute!"

Masked Man: "His blood will guide the way, but his blood is your blood. You are also required."

Sarah tried to scream, to shout for help, but her cries where drowned out by the train's whistle, as the engine heaved its way from the platform, away from safety, and away from her lost son.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (13)

"Leave it out Devlin, you creep. We've already disrupted your supply of compliant humans." Ash boasted at the villain before us, sick of his attitude.

"My dear, sweet, girl... I'm hurt that you throw such accusations at me. I'm not a creep, I merely know what I like, and have the ambition to seek it out. Maybe I'm overly direct in my approach, but why delay when such beautiful bounty is in my grasp?" He said seductively, as he stood up, approaching Ash. His sensual tone was poisoned by his depraved intent, his words poured forth as toxic wasp honey.  At his utterance of 'grasp', he reached out a slimy hand to caress her cheek, tenderly. Ash turned her head, frozen with sheer disgust as Devlin traced the contours of her face.

For moment we were all too stunned in the face of obscenity to react. Dave and I stood, ashamed and shocked, while Ash was manhandled by this freak. I forced my reluctance away. However disgusted Devlin was making me feel, it had to be infinitely worse for Ashley. I had to act. I was about to tackle the creep when I saw Ash's eyes snap open, burning with raging determination. She reached up, clinging to Devlin's outstretched arm and catching him by surprise. With a twist and a crouch, she pulled his arm outwards and downwards, with all her might. To any other opponent, this would probably have ended up dislocating the offending limb. Not with Devlin though.

The arm gave with surprising ease, causing Ash to fall to the floor. She looked with bemusement at the fleshy glove in her clutches. With a yelp, she realized she was holding a skinned human arm and threw it to the ground in disgust. Devlin himself took a few steps backwards, also surprised by the damage. My eyes were drawn to the remnants of his torn arm. Where I expected to see a peeled collection of muscle and bone, I instead found a monstrous blue claw. Bizarrely, it was longer and thicker than the human arm it was contained inside. The skin was rough and hairless, a deep royal blue colour and it looked terrifically powerful. The clawed hand had three tubby fingers, ending in several inch long sharp points. He looked almost comical, completely lopsided as he was.

"Bitch!" He roared, ferociously. "You have no idea how difficult it was to aquire this skin suit." He was panting with anger now, heaving deep ragged breaths. The seam where his blue arm met his shoulder was glowing and the skin was beginning to bulge like air bubbles behind paint. "This disguise is worthless now." He sighed, reaching toward his forehead with his remaining human hand. A swipe of his thumb revealed a previously concealed zipper which he slowly drew back. From the new slit, more blue light poured forth. With an inhuman wiggle, the skin of the man known as Devlin fell to the ground like a discarded garment. Before us stood an eight foot tall alien oddly reminiscent of E.T. It had short stumpy legs supporting a bulbous, pear shaped torso. Its arms I've already described and its head sat atop an elongated neck. The face was chubby, like a baby, with a fanged smile and large blank eyes, three inches round, which disturbingly blinked horizontally.

While he was disrobing, I'd reached over and helped Ash up from the floor, and was hugging her for moral support. She was and remains the bravest person I've ever known.

"Wait a minute... I recognize you, baby blue!" I exclaimed, pointing at the monstrosity before us. "You're a Slitheen. I've seen you in the archives." I turned to my friends before adding "they have a history with invading Earth."

"Do not compare me to those green-skinned gangsters. The Slitheen are second rate criminals who bring shame on the more noble families of Raxocoricofallopitorious. While I share an unfortunate familial connection with the Slitheen, as extended cousins, the house of Jaggereen is above their petty schemes. I am Faratoth Del Quades Fel Fotch Jaggereen, and you will treat me with the dignity my house deserves." He yelled, his little tirade punctuated with sweeping gestures and measured intonations. All the while I struggled to resist pinching his chubby little cheeks and giggling. Despite his towering height, it felt like I was stood before a tiny Napoleon, raging against forces which outnumbered and outclassed him.

"I'm not seeing much difference to be honest. Kidnapping humans seems pretty criminal to me." I said, once Devlin had finished his rant.

"The Slitheen have no class, they're common thugs. I'm business-oriented, you see. I just supply demands in the market, and what the market really needs is cheap labour."

"Is that all this is about? All this scheming and planning, to get few slaves?!" I roared in anger.

"Not just a few slaves. It was to be an empire of control, farming a constant supply of willing workers, to be shipped across the galaxy. The human form is remarkably adaptable and resilient to a range of environments, you make a wonderful workforce, once you discount your trivial notions of identity." Faratoth explained, matter-of-factly.

"But what does the Nestene get out of all this?" Ash asked, freshly composed.

"What? Nothing, I merely chances upon the decaying remnants of a failed invasion when I first arrived. I used it to my advantage, like I did with that man's skin. It was expedient." he explained.

"Well, it doesn't matter. You've lost. There's three of us, one of you, and Devlin's company is in tatters." Dave said, finally finding the courage to get involved.

"You've hampered my method of procurement, yes... but there are always alternatives, once I've ended you brats. And I think our numbers are more evenly matched than you think." He said, bearing his fangs with a wide, sinister smile. One of his claws interacted with a nearby display as he continued. "Or did you forget one of you is still infected with plastic?"

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my head, and I collapsed to my knees. I screamed in agony as thoughts that were not my own filled my mind. I stared at Ash, at Dave, and was overcome by an urge to inflict pain. The sight of them brought out intense anger in me. I knew I needed them dead. I struggled to reassert control, but I felt like a prisoner, a passenger in somebody else's thoughts. Faratoth cackled malevolently, as I staggered towards my friends. I could see the fear in Ash's eyes, and a voice in my head liked it, relished it. Then, as soon as it had began, I felt such thoughts lift. There was a moment while my head felt fuzzy, like the fading remnants of a dying dream. Then I was back. I wheeled towards the Jaggereen again, renewed in my purpose.

"Well, that's not right..." he muttered, swiping ineffectually at the screen once more. "The control matrix must have degraded prematurely. But that shouldn't be unless you were exposed to microwaves, maybe a strong electrical current, but... ah.... it doesn't seem to matter.... you're angry, I get that... surely we can end this in a dignified way...." he rambled, blinking rapidly with fear. The three of us advanced on him, slowly, as he backed away clumsily. With a jolt, he fell back into his command chair, before flashing another smile.

"And, we're out if time. I'd love to stay for my well deserved punishment, but I've got a number of buyers to sweet talk. Gotta dash."

Before we could react, he was gone, disassembled by the blue haze of a transmat. There was a distant thrum of an engine firing, and one of the screens began to flash a warning.

"Damn, he's jumped to an escape pod." I said, rushing to the controls. "There must be lasers on this bucket. He's not getting away." I was determined to stop him, by any means. Luckily Ash was there to reign in my vengeful desires.

"Arven, there's a hold full of his slaves we need to rescue." she urged, compassionately.

"Yeah. After I stop this bastard." I replied, scanning the remaining controls.

"We don't have time. Look! He's overclocked the engines remotely. This whole place is going to blow, and we're locked out of those systems." I didn't want to listen. I wanted to make Faratoth pay, but damn if she wasn't right. We had a duty to save the others first. Or we'd be no better than Con and Frank. With a frustrated thump of the ship's dash, I turned to the input for the Nestene controller. It was remarkably easy to reverse the previous command issued, telling each of the controlled humans to retrace their steps and return through the teleporters.

"Come on." Ash said, dragging my arm. "We'd better make sure everyone leaves, then go ourselves."

Together, the three of us ran back to the cargo bay. Already, the crowd of slaves had already thinned, and it didn't take long for the last of the controlled humans to get out. Ash, Dave and I all boarded a pod and returned to the warehouse too. We rushed outside in time to see a distant explosion above us, appearing as little more than a surging star from this distance. With the destruction of the spacecraft, the Nestene infected humans were returning to normal without a control system to direct them. It'd take a day or two, but as I'd learned, the plastic would degrade in short order.

We'd defeated the villain, but he was still at large, and probably pretty pissed off. Not to mention Con and Frank who were now aware of us, and unlikely to be cooperative ongoing. But for now, we were alive, the city was safe and we'd had one hell of the long day. The consequences could wait until tomorrow, we'd earned a rest.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (12)

"Can you not just do what you're told? All you youngsters think you know what's best, so full of ideas and opinions and rash decisions. Just leave it to your experienced elders." Frank muttered, exasperated.

"Fresh ideas are better than blind faith and circular reasoning. Age doesn't guarantee wisdom, you know." I replied.

"See, you still don't get it. This isn't a debate, it's an order. You're not allowed an opinion until you wise up."

"Wise up? If the best you can do is insult me without refuting my points, you know you're in the wrong. Maybe you should wise up instead!" I yelled, whipping out my sonic with a flourish. I held it above my head, pointing upwards, as it emitted its characteristic warbling hum. Suddenly, the building's fire alarm activated, drowning out all other noise. The sprinkler system also began to rain water upon us. While Frank was distracted by my distraction, I swung the sonic towards the glass pane looking onto the auditorium. Below us, the crowds who had yet to receive their glasses were streaming out through any available exit.

Frank was raising his gun again to regain control of the situation when the door behind him was flung open. A number of security personnel were pouring in, looking for the source of the alarm. With a cheerful wave, I left Frank to deal with the guards as I ran towards the window, with Ash and Dave close behind.

"You can't expect us to jump that?!" Dave asked apprehensively.

"Not quite. But you still won't like it." I replied, reaching around the side of the hole as I grabbed hold of a banner.

"We slide!" I cried as I jumped, grasping the fabric loosely to control my descent. Ash followed my lead with only a moment's hesitation, letting out a whoop of exhilaration as she went. Dave was somewhat more reluctant, but not after considering the choice between Frank and a fall, he chose the latter. Unfortunately for him, the banner had already taken some strain, and ripped when he was only halfway down. The fall didn't do much more than bruise his ego, but he was still moody.

"Bloody typical." He moaned, massaging his rear.

"You can go first next time." I joked while Ash added "Fall on your head next time. It's the softer target."

We pushed our way, struggling upstream against the crowds rushing for an exit. I'd always thought running toward danger was a guaranteed way to meet with death, yet here we were. It was madness. It was lunacy. It was exhilarating. The panicked crowd was so densely packed, so thick that I was more concerned about being trampled than I was about Devlin killing us. We were barely making ground, until Ash pulled my arm sideways, toward the benches.

"Shortcut." She declared, hopping onto the raised surface. Dave and I followed her lead as we turned and sprinted towards the stage curtain. With a short hop, we managed to leap onto the stage, and worked our way into the 'preparation' area. Before us were about twenty-five glass tubes, big enough to fit a human, with a bunch of gubbins above each tube. It consisted of several horizontal concentric circles with a blue light glowing from between each ring. The central circles extended deeper into the tube chamber, with each subsequent ring slightly higher and shorter, approximating a conical structure. Teleporters.

"Time to find out where Devlin is taking his loyal customers." I said, fiddling with the control panel at the nearest teleport pod.

"Oh good. For a second I was afraid you'd want us to enter one of these contraptions." Dave said, visibly glowing with relief.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting." I replied. I've never seen someone deflate so rapidly.

"What?! No way! Nope. It could lead anywhere."

"Well, only one way to find out. These are point-transfer tubes. Each one is quantum linked with a twin, and can only transfer matter between each linked pair."

"So you're saying there's no guarantee each pod even links to the same place? Each of these could be set to deliver Devlin's targets to a different world?" Ash asked, with concern.

"Theoretically, but I doubt it. Look at the scale Devlin is operating at. The volume of people he wanted to process. He wants to get people out of here as soon as they've worn the Specs. Easier to have a bunch of chambers here that can send them to a central processing hub, and sort it all out later, when everyone is more compliant."

"I hope you're right. But we don't have a choice, do we?" Ash asked, rhetorically. "If we're to do this, then let's do it together." With some trepidation, we each slid open a tube and squeezed inside. Point-transfers are the escalators of intergalactic transportation: one entry point, one exit, and bugger all input required to function. The pods were automated, merely closing the door triggered the transmat matrix. With a sudden 'fwoop' and the most terrible whole-body pins and needles sensation, we left the planet entirely.

Well, not entirely. That's an exaggeration. We were still in orbit after all, so technically we hadn't travelled very far. Still, the view would have been outstanding, if we had one. Turns out the pods had transported us to a sort of space barn, like a cow shed, but for humans. It was a large, sparse metallic room, with featureless and bland walls. One side of the room was lined with the corresponding teleportation devices from which we'd stumbled. One corner of the room had a large pile of straw spread out for what I feared was an excretory purpose, while the opposing corner was gutted with a water tap and a bucket of nutri-pellets, fed by an overhead dispenser. Occupying the majority of the room were several hundred humans, all standing still, arms rigidly by their sides, staring blankly into the distance. None of them seemed aware of our presence, or of each other. It was like we'd walked into a robotic showroom after close of business.

"So now we see Devlin's true scheme revealed... An avant-garde art installation using living subjects! Oh, the torment of our consumerism and it's destruction of self identity!" Dave yelled, rich with melodrama.

"No, it's clearly a captive audience to whom he can recite his poetry." replied Ash, laughing. We were all slightly giddy. Sure, several hundred lives were at stake, but on the other hand: We were on a spaceship. In space! This waste single greatest experience our little eyes has-been witnessed, even if it just looked like we were trapped in a box.

Setting aside my whimsy, I set about locating a door out of our communal prison. This turned out to be easier than I'd expected, all I needed to do was swipe at a control pad on the wall. The door wasn't even locked. Devlin was obviously convinced that none of his Nestene controlled cargo could rebel, and he hadn't counted on saboteurs  sneaking aboard. The layout of the ship we were in was very linear and practical. It was a transport vessel, with no attachments or extra features. Outside of the central cargo bay was a short corridor ending in a ladder to access the upper deck, while a number of service hatches lead off to the sides, presumably granting access to the engines and other critical systems. Given the limited nature of the vessel, I was fairly sure the ladder would lead straight to the bridge, and presumably to Devlin.

"Brave heart lads." I said as I grasped the nearest rung and began climbing upwards. After a short distance, I pulled myself up onto the navigation deck, a small room with a central chair surrounded by holographic screens and displays, and lots of swipey interactive controls. Behind me was another door leading to the quarters for the ship's crew of one. In the command chair sat Devlin, one leg folded over the other, facing us and seemingly unarmed.

"Haven't you lot caused enough trouble yet?" He sneered, looking at us as if we were a particularly stubborn stain on his loafers.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (11)

"Some load of people here!" Dave said, surprised.

"It's the international launch of a revolutionary device that would put Steve Jobs to shame. What else did you expect?" Ash replied snappily, looking over the crowd.

"Still. Half these people aren't even here to get one. Devlin only offered a thousand pre-orders for the inaugural batch." Dave continued, deep in thought.

"Everyone likes a free concert." I joked, as I led us away from the crowd towards the neighbouring building, a concrete monolith lacking any of the style and history of the launch venue. "Right. As far as Devlin knows, there's only one entry point to the grounds, via the guarded gate, thanks to the perimeter fence. However, it and this distribution centre share a boundary. And, this place has no active security... not since it shut down during the crash."

"Arven, how do you know all this?" asked Ash, raising an eyebrow toward me.

"Well, I know a guy, old friend from school.  Used to come through here to sneak into music gigs during his college years. This whole section of fence on this side is bolted together, not welded,  so it's easy to slip through."

"Even if he's being honest, it was years ago. How do you know it'll still be open?"

"Cause I'm the friend." said Dave, strutting forward like a cat who's proud of the new foul mess it's hidden for its owner to find. "And I last used it two months back at a secret gig." Ash looked as if she was lining up a witty retort, before deciding it wasn't worth her effort.

We circled the distribution hub so we'd be hidden from the crowds as we approached the weak link in the fence. Dave was proved correct as we quickly found a section of the fence which was loose. A quick blast from my sonic screwdriver undid the few bolts holding up the charade. We were in. Ash half raised her hand in question.

"What's your plan for the cameras?"

"Dunno. They're new." Dave admitted with a shrug. "Any ideas, Arv?"

"Lucky I came prepared." I said, pulling something akin to a handgun from my longcoat. "Remote hacking tool. Fires a tiny projectile that patches itself into the security grid, giving us remote access to basic system controls, depending on the complexity of the systems in question, naturally." I explained quickly. With a well placed shot, I had enough control to interfere with the video feed. With a few swipes of my phone screen, I had the cameras between us and the building set to loop the previous 20 minutes repeatedly. That way, anyone monitoring the feed from the front of the building wouldn't notice a discrepancy. Taking advantage of an announcement from the main stage drawing all attention towards it, the three of us scurried into the venue.

As we made our way into a side door, we caught a section of the announcement from Devlin himself.
"... gracious support of our early adopters, who have been queuing here, to be the first to surf this wave, cresting into the future. We salute you! But look around... so many more have also come, to witness history unfold before them! How do we congratulate you? It us with great pleasure that I announce we are opening the TechSpecs up for general sale early. Tonight! We have ample stock on the premises, enough for all. Yes, as soon as we have processed the pre-orders, all of you may join the ranks of our connected future!"

"I hate that man with a distinct passion." said Ash, shuddering at her memories as we shut the door behind us. I gave her a silent hug of encouragement, before saying
"I think I speak for all of us when I say 'eww'."
Ash composed herself. "Whatever he's got planned, he's just doubled the number of units being distributed. That can't be good."

"Doesn't matter. We'll have him shut down before it becomes an issue. Err... which way do we go?" asked Dave as he looked around the long corridor we we standing in. Without a clear idea of the layout, we crept through the building, keeping as quiet as possible as we checked each room in turn. We seemed to be in what was usually the backstage area for the hosted performances. The adjacent rooms were a mix of storage space, canteens and green rooms. All disconcertingly empty. My heart was racing, pounding in my chest, as every opened door was a new chance to be discovered. Anxiously, I checked my phone. There were mere minutes until the hordes would be allowed to enter and Devlin's plan would be set in motion.

As we turned a corner of the hallway, I felt Ash pull me back sharply. She leaned in close and whispered "Careful. There's a guard on patrol."

"Too late!" cried Dave from behind us. A second man had just emerged from the other end of the hall, pinning us in. The time for subtlety was over.

If you've ever confronted somebody, physically or otherwise, you'll be aware of the moment. Instantaneous, yet it feels like forever, like the moment of weightlessness before a fall, or a coin in mid toss. The moment is when you and your opponent size each other up. You both assess the other's strength, potential weaknesses, and resolve. With nothing more than a glance, you enter into the most intense staring contest, as whoever blinks first usually loses. The moment is the real life equivalent of an initiative roll. The moment is also bullshit if one party is a mind controlled slave operating on a basic logic structure.

Without a sentient mind behind the eyes, the complexities of the moment are lost to programmed responses and reactions. And these guards were not in their right minds as each was sporting a pair of TechSpecs. They were nothing more than husks puppeteered by the Nestene. To put it simply, they got the drop on us. The one from behind rushed towards Dave, his baton raised and swinging. Dave, a sound practitioner of percussive maintenance, rugby tackled his opponent to the floor before the guard had a chance to attack. The weapon fell, forgotten, to the side as the pair trashed about on the floor, locked in combat.

Meanwhile, I crouched as the other guard sprinted towards me. He held his club aloft, swinging it downwards over his head. I raised one arm to take the brunt of his blow, while my other reached for his nearest leg. With a sharp tug on his shin, he collapsed backwards to the ground while Ash followed up with a knee to the downed man's head, knocking him out cold.

"Good thing you took that martial arts course, or he could be seriously injured. We really need a more reliable means of a non-lethal take-down." I said, resuming a standing stance.

"Yeah. Definitely."  replied Ash with a nervous laugh. I'd later find out her 'course' consisted of a single free lesson followed by a Bruce Lee marathon. Behind us, Dave was still grappling with his foe. He'd pinned the guard down, kneeling over him with hands squeezing around the guard's throat. The guard flailed his arms about desperately, trying to push Dave off of him, or find some weapon. His grasping fingers found his discarded baton, which he swung wildly at Dave. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have a sufficient angle to put much force behind the strike. It just seemed to piss off Dave even more. With a final effort, Dave raised the man up by the shoulders slightly before slamming him back into the ground.

"Oh yeah. Leave me to fight by myself, while the two of ye team up on the easy one. I see how it is." Dave said through ragged breaths.

"Ah, to be fair... you didn't need help. You had him under control the whole time." I replied, laying praise onto his fragile ego.

"I see what you're doing. You're playing me... but I'll take what I can get." laughed Dave, brushing dust from his jacket.

"When you're both done measuring, we've got to hurry. The sounds of fighting will probably draw more guards. Or else it won't take long to notice the absence of a patrol." chided Ash.

"Nobody will have heard us. Listen. That background rumble? The gates have been opened. The crowds are pouring in. So the guards are busy enough right now." I replied.

"All the more reason to be quick. We're out of time."

Choosing urgency over secrecy, we rushed along the corridor, checking each branching doorway until we found one that seemed promising. The room was usually utilized as a control hub for the light and sound technicians, commanding a central view of the interior stage and overlooking the audience. Banks of control systems were arranged below the large window panels, but one terminal in particular seemed out of place. It resembled a free standing pedestal, with a tilted touch screen positioned at navel height, displaying a script that didn't resemble any Earth language as far as I could tell.

"This must be where Devlin oversees the operation." I said, busying myself trying to integrate my sonic with the screen. Meanwhile, Ash looked out of the window to the crowds below, eyes wide. Nearly a dozen rows of benches stretched from the near side of the auditorium to the stage. Each bench was lined with employees (presumably under Nestene influence), each with a stack of boxed TechSpecs, handing them over to an eager public at a terrific pace. These customers were then funneling onto the stage and directed through a curtain, out of sight. Several signs were dotted around the room, with font large enough to read from our elevated position, guiding patrons to a backstage "Orientation and Product Tutorial" area.

"Something isn't right..." Ash said, still gazing over the crowd. "The volume of people being processed, it's too high."

"Devlin knows how much people want his product. Anything that streamlines the Instagramming of food is going to sell like mad." Dave said with a shrug.

"That's the point. He's cramming so many people in, but expecting them all to squeeze out backstage? While helping people set up their glasses and synch with their phones? It's a bottleneck. He'd have to process the paid customers lightning fast to prevent a major violation of safe practice." Ash wondered. "What's really happening behind there?"

"I think I can help." I said while pocketing my sonic. "Devlin's little lectern here is acting as a relay, between his systems here, and a ship locked in geosynchronous orbit."

"Great. How do deal with an entire ship?" groaned Dave.

"I'm not done.  I've only been able to access some of the less encrypted files, but Devlin refers to a 'processing' occurring behind that curtain."

"That's not ominous." Ashley said, sarcastically.

"The best part? This schematic shows what's behind door number three. Teleporters! He's luring people in with the promise of wondrous technology, dominating them with Auton plastic, and beaming them to who knows where!" I explained. However, as I was so caught up in the moment, I failed to hear the sound of a door opening behind me. Just as I finished my explanation, a voice said from behind me
"You little whippets never listen, do ye? All the blooming same."

I spun around to face the mystery person while also jumping out of my skin with surprise. I can only imagine how graceful it must have looked, like a lame ostrich ignoring evolution and attempting to fly... from a frozen lake. Stood before us, brandishing a pistol, was Frank. Our favourite leopard print wearing Cork sailor and henchman.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (10)

When next I awoke, I found our surroundings to be significantly less stylish than the previous opulent office. In fact, I was in the passenger seat of a last millennium Nissan Micra, which smelled of wet dog fur and badly boiled cabbage, along with a hint of tobacco coming from the still smouldering cigarette butt pressed into a makeshift ashtray in the central console. A solitary tree-shaped air freshener hung pathetically from the rear view mirror, having long since given up it's struggle against the foul odour. Ash and Dave were sat behind me in the cramped rear of the car, also rousing themselves into consciousness. We appeared to be parked outside of a church, a few minutes stroll from the University. There was a small piece of folded paper tucked into the steering wheel, which I retrieved clumsily. It read (in a surprisingly floral script)

"Sorry lads, must dash. Plenty to do tonight to stop Devlin. Hope you heed the  boss' advice and leave this to those with the experience. I'd hate to have to turn your lights off, for good. (By which I mean kill, if it wasn't clear)

Best regards, Frank

P.S. Feel free to keep the car. Boss has bought me an upgrade, so she'd only be going for scrap anyway."

Understandably, Ash and Dave were confused and anxious about the hours missing from their day, and my brief meeting with "the Boss" had left me with more questions than answers. So, we abandoned Frank's car were it was parked and walked back to the Hub, where we hoped to find tea and answers, in that order. After I'd finished filling them both in, Ash was full of questions.

"So, what you're saying is, there's a local businessman who profiteers on the sale scavenged extraterrestrial tech, who tackles the same threats we'RE supposed to?"

"An alien black market mob boss is pissed with us. Great." Dave muttered into his mug.

"Who has the creepy guy, Frank, on his payroll as an enforcer..." Ash continued.

"I prefer the term 'Leopard Leather Larry' myself." Dave added.

"Well, you would." I replied.

"And he had us kidnapped just to warn us away from interfering, before having Frank dump us in a carpark? All that just to let us go?" 

"That's about it, yeah." I said, feeling weary.

"So, how soon until we crash his party and pay him back?" Dave asked, a spark of revenge burning in his eyes.

"I don't even know if he's an enemy." I replied, glumly. "Not really."

"Bullshit! He kidnapped us. He runs a black market!" shouted Dave.

"And, he sounds like a massive space racist. Spacist? Species-ist? Doesn't matter. He's a dick to aliens." Ash added.

"What he's doing, he's doing for the wrong reasons. But maybe he could be a useful ally, if only we could sand off the rough edges. He does have resources and experience with this whole defending the Earth thing." I wasn't even sure how I felt about him myself. Maybe I just wanted to always see the best in people. He also seemed better equipped than we were. He had us all captured and at his mercy without any effort. I'd failed to keep my team, my friends safe. I'd failed to do much of anything so far. Maybe he was the better option to defend the city?

"Either way, we can't let him just bully us out of action. Do you really want to let him resolve the whole Devlin thing? We still don't know what the plan is for the Tech Specs." Ash urged, sensing my own defeated attitude.

"What's to stop a greed driven A-hole like him from using the Auton tech for his own ends?" Dave said, eager for payback.

I sat there for a moment, looking at my friends. They were so eager, so ready, so naive. We were little more than children, messing with forces beyond our control. I was a slave to my self doubt back then, it gnawed away at me constantly, wearing me down from the inside out. What started as genuine concern always morphed into defeatism and self pity, then self loathing. And yet, I found the sheer optimistic determination of my friends infectious. With them by my side, maybe, just maybe, we could prevail. Even if we failed, I'd sooner let them down trying, than by giving up so readily. I'd decided my course of action.

"Firstly, we need to run a trace on our mystery man." I said, resolutely, rolling my chair across the room with purpose. It only took a few minutes to find him in the Chamber of Commerce records.

"Got a match!" I called, to Ash and Dave who were stood over my shoulders.

"Cornelius 'Con' Barron, he runs a number of businesses ranging from transportation to metalwork, to industrial supply and support. He's got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies." said Ash, as she poured over the frankly invasive amount of data the Torchwood systems could access.

"All acting as a perfect cover for the smuggling and sale of dangerous technology, of course." Dave added.

"Look here, he's also something of a politician. Currently a city councillor, ex-mayor and he's chaired the Chamber for a stint. Non party affiliated, and with a bit of a hard-right leaning." I read aloud.

"Oh, he just gets more charming, doesn't he?" Ash commented angrily. "Anti climate change, anti immigration, bit of Euro bashing of course... yeah, we definitely don't want to be pals with this arsehole."

"Agreed" I said. "But let's just park Con for now and focus on Devlin. We lost a few hours thanks to Frank's propensity for violence. It's already 5pm, and the Tech Specs launch in a few hours!" Ash placed her arm over my shoulder, silently supporting me after my moment of hesitation. She could always tell exactly what I was thinking, yet she remained unyielding by my side.

"We need to be direct." She stated. "We don't have time for anything more covert. The press demo was a waste, we need to strike at Devlin's base of operations."

"Most of his manufacturing is done abroad. The Specs are shipped to his facility here, tested, then packaged, according to the website. Might be our best shot." said Dave.

"Whatever Devlin has planned, will be going down at the warehouse in the docks, where the Product Launch is scheduled for. There's already thousands of customers crowded around there, at ground zero of the product launch." Ash countered.

"We only have the time to check out one option." warned Dave, looking at me to cast the deciding vote. He was right, we didn't have time to waste, nor the numbers to split up and search both. I didn't want to risk sending one of us alone into danger, especially with Frank getting involved. My team needed their leader to step up and take charge.

"On balance, I think Ash is right on this one. If things go wrong, we stand the best chance of saving lives if we're at the launch itself." I decided. Dave shot me a withering stare, but said nothing. I knew how it much seem to him, siding with my girlfriend over him, but it was the right call. He'd get over it.

***

The warehouse in question was a  spacious three-story building, consisting of red brick and arrays of opaque glass. It had originally served as a Victorian textile factory, changing owners and occupations until it reached it's current state: an exclusive club / arena available for corporate events and music gigs that desire a certain 'dilapidated' vibe. Gigantic banners displaying DevlinTech logos covered the ancient stonework like bandages on a Pharaoh, while multicolored spotlights projected similar images onto the surrounding buildings and into the darkening sky. A ten-foot high metal fence topped with barbed spikes encircled the premises, leaving only a single gate as an entryway. This gate was shut, and patrolled by several private security guards. Outside this fence, a queue of eager gadget lovers snaked over and back, a thousand strong, all awaiting their chance to become an early adopter of the internet friendly glasses. Beyond the official queue was an even larger crowd of journalists and curious onlookers, with a horde of DevlinTech representatives ensuring the keeping the crowds under control. There was even a stage set up between the fence and the building, upon which Ed Sheeran was performing as we arrived to launch our daring plan. Above the stage, a timer counted down to the official launch, with just under an hour to go until the Auton infused specs were unleashed.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (9)

The next thing I remembered was slowly waking up. "OK, so not dead then. That's a plus" I thought to myself, as I mentally shook off the fog of unconsciousness. The first thing I became aware of was a tight pain across my chest. I willed my eyes open with some effort and stared downwards at myself. There was an inch round hole burned into my shirt, and the skin beneath was charred yet tender. As the rest of my senses returned I detected the faint aroma of burnt flesh, like the morning after the Devil's barbeque night. OK, so Captain Leather must be armed with an stun gun, information I filed away for future use. I tried to massage my aching chest, but my arms were fixed in place behind my back. From the cold feel of metal around my wrists, I figured I must be handcuffed in place. So, my next question: where was I, anyway? Metaphorically speaking, I was in deep trouble of course, but what about physically?

It was certainly a different place than the Tech Specs display room. My senses were still numbed, but I forced myself to look up and observe my surroundings. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the bright light streaming through the window ahead of me, so I looked to the sides first. I was in a small, old fashioned office. The walls were decorated with wood panelling and bookshelves filled with old and dusty tomes. A couple of frames hung around the office, displaying certificates and awards, but I couldn't make out the text. Seated either side of me and similarly bound were Ash and Dave. Neither had awoken yet, but I could tell they were at least alive by the slow rise and fall of their breathing.

Once my eyes had acclimated, I looked ahead once more. There was an impressive and ornate mahogany desk before me, with an equally impressive and ornate man sat behind it. His hair was silvered but perfectly maintained and his face clean shaven. His skin was lightly wrinkled, but in a mature and dignified way. He appeared experienced as opposed to decrepit. I was reminded of an Irish George Clooney, suave and distinguished, but beneath the surface there was a steely edge. His eyes were sharp and watchful like a hawk, and he had a similarly deadly aura about him. Standing behind him, and acting as bodyguard, was Pimp Popeye.

"So glad you're awake. I was afraid if it took much longer I'd miss my five o'clock." said the suave man, with a voice of honeyed silk, and just the hint if a Cork accent. I lined up a witty retort, but I was still groggy and it sounded more like

"Grrrble fthh ennnnh"

"Come now, no need for such coarse language."  The man replied, overflowing with charisma. He was the opposite to Devlin, and despite my situation I still found myself gripped to his words.

"I brought you lot here for a little chat."

"You could have tried calling first. Sending your goon doesn't exactly make for a good first impression." I said, having finally found my tongue.

"His methods are always a little... direct... but really I had no choice to do this any other way. Time is of the essence." He continued. "Devlin will be launching his little toys in just a few hours, and I really can't afford to have you running about, interfering." His lips curled into an arrogant sneer. To a man like him, we were just particularly large and irritating pests.

"You don't know what you're dealing with!" I exclaimed desperately. "His product isn't what you think. I doubt you'll believe me, but he's using..." I began to plead.

"Alien technology?" He finished for me. He took advantage of my stunned silence to elaborate. " This is what I mean by interference. You think you have everything all worked out, then you blunder in and get caught. Of course he's using alien tech, I've been monitoring him for months, ever since he first appeared in the industry with a miraculous product and seemingly without a past! "

It was a lot to take in, especially with a head full of plastic and a possible concussion. I usually expect to be the one explaining extraterrestrial events, so I was already way outside my comfort zone. That combination is probably why my questions weren't more nuanced, in retrospect.
"So, you actually believe in aliens?" I asked.

Yes, of course." He sighed, looking at me with contempt. "I've been dealing with their kind for decades, on and off. Every so often some bunch of interlopers beam down here and try to cause trouble. Until they meet me, that is. Silurians, Sontarans, Mandrils, Bandrils, the Nestene... I've seen so many, and you know what they all have in common?"

"They're not local?" I asked, sarcastically.

"No. Bloody no, alright!" He burst out in anger before composing himself with a tug of his lapels. This was obviously something of a sensitive subject of his. "All of these alien visitors, they don't care about us. They use us, exploit us for their own gain."

"Because no human has ever exploited another, of course." I said, as my own temper began to rise. "Or is that why you deal with these aliens? Buy their technology or their expertise, in exchange for what? Minerals, safe passage, a few 'workers' who won't be missed?"

He slammed his fist upon the table, exhaling furiously, before speaking in a terrifyingly quiet whisper.
"Do not claim to know me, do not presume my motivations or my actions. When I say I 'deal' with extraterrestrial scum, I mean it in the biblical sense."

"Ah, I get it. You don't trade, or bargain. You murder. And I suppose it's a happy coincidence that whatever technological marvels these aliens had end up in your possession?"

"I'd hardly call it murder. They're not human. You'd be a fool to say the beef on your plate came from a murdered cow. I'm an exterminator of rodents, that's all. Taking whatever secrets they leave behind is merely my payment."

So that's the kind of man who had me chained to a chair. Someone who had no qualms about murdering other sentient beings, for the sake of profit. Now, I'm no stranger to taking lives, I'll admit. I'd killed countless Vakarians already, and if you keep reading my tales, you'll find them stained with blood. It's not my place to judge of course, but I like to think that whenever I've been forced to kill, alien or otherwise, that it was the only way to save others, or to end some nefarious scheme. Even the most heinous of villains who died by my hand still eat away at me from my memories. Even now, all of the deaths I've caused weigh on my mind. To me, killing was never a default, I always sought a peaceful resolution first, before escalating the situation.

"You're disgusting." I replied, not quite holding back my rage.

"Really? Can you really be so naive? That's the problem with the youth, you know. There can be no half measures. Not with aliens. Are you aware that there are some species of aliens on this planet right now, walking around in human guises?! Perception filters, glamours, shimmers, I've seen so many ways they have devised to look like us. To hide amongst us."

"And?" I asked bluntly. "Are they spying on us, reporting back to their masters on our habits? Are they the vanguard of an invasion force, like a Trojan horse? Are they causing trouble?" I said with scorn.

"Does it matter?" He replied, with equal scorn.

"Well, I've met more than a few who are living here, hiding because they wanted to escape their homeworlds. Some are trapped here without the means to leave, and others simply have no homeworld to return to." I urged.

"Hmm. As I said, you are naive indeed. If they are genuine, there are enough habitable planets without significantly developed life they could occupy, rather than crowding up our planet, our economy, our life. Those who are here don't conform to societal norms, and they disregard our culture in favour of whatever moon nonsense they brought with them." At this point, I was biting my tongue at his use of the term 'moon nonsense'. He continued "We don't have the room or the resources for ourselves, let alone a bunch of intergalactic hangers on. And a great many who come here mean us harm. So yes, protecting this planet is my calling. So leave well enough alone and let the adults get on with the important work here."

I stared at him, aghast. I shouldn't have been surprised, after all, plenty of humanity voices similar concerns about other humans. Was it really so surprising to hear the same rhetoric turned outwards at other species? Humanity as a whole has always excelled at creating arbitrary differences after all. Deep down, I sensed that there was a good man before me, but his vision had been blinkered by decades of cynicism and hatred. He had narrowed his mindset, almost to the point of inventing a fictional skew of reality, as a coping mechanism and a way of justifying his anger. Anger feeds cynicism, which itself creates anger. It's a cycle I've seen over and over, one which I'm just as guilty of to be truthful.

Maybe, if I'd argued more that day, if I'd made the right points and deconstructed his reasoning point by point, it might have made a difference. It might have caused things to turn out differently. Yet I didn't try, because I felt it was an argument I couldn't win. The first thing cynical blindness does is dampen your ability to see yourself in the negative. Confirmation bias and echo chambers make you feel like you're unassailably right, and anyone who disagrees is wrong. Then again, the kind of person who uses such terms is themselves almost guaranteed to use them to reinforce their own blinkered view. That day cynicism got the better of me too. I didn't try and debate, I just let him share his opinion then moved swiftly away, hoping he and his ilk would be lost to irrelevance. That was my real mistake. I'd forgotten this was the age of Trump, and social grace was no longer a given.

Instead, I replied to my captor that he should just let us go. "Obviously you're the professional here, so you're right. Let us go and you can go about stopping Devlin. Though, don't think we can be pressured into giving up so easily. You could threaten us with death or dismemberment if we interfere again, but it would be hollow. Even you're not powerful enough to make three young adults vanish so suddenly. Especially when one of us is wearing a camera."

"What!" He exclaimed, shooting upright. He turned to his henchman, grabbed him and yelled "Frank! You told me you searched them."

"I did boss!" Replied the man formerly known as Pimp Popeye. "There was nothing else in his pockets."

"Ah" I said. "That's because it's in my eye. Recording contact lens. Torchwood standard equipment for the past few years, after the doppelganger fiasco of 2012. Transmitting directly to our servers, and will be posted online in the event of the death of any Torchwood 4 operative."

"It must be a ruse boss." Frank said, unconvincingly.

"Scan the room for outgoing transmissions then. Surely with all your salvage, you have that ability." I said, feigning triumph. I hoped that the latent communication wave from my Nestene skullcap would be enough to fool them both.

"Damn it!" Cried my captor, after turning to his laptop. "The signal locator is detecting a faint trace, of something. Don't think you've won, little man." He seethed, as he glared at me again. "You and your friends are free to leave, for now. But if I ever find out this is a trick, if I ever get my hands on that supposed footage, if I ever get some dirt on you... you and your little play mates won't be able to hide from my reckoning.  Understand?"

"Crystal." I said, staring him down in a battle of wills. I needed him to believe me, because I certainly wasn't actually wearing a camera. After a long silence, he appeared to cave, stepping away from me and saying to Frank with a wave "Send him to sleep, return him his artifacts, and release the three of them. Quickly, please. We have more pressing matters to attend."

Frank swaggered towards me, clearly relishing the chance to knock me out twice in one day. This time, thanks to my restraints, I was at his mercy, so he took his time, savouring every second. His smile was a level of smug attained only by someone immensely and exceedingly proud of their own joke. "Lights out!" He said, stumbling only slightly on the last syllable with an involuntary giggle. My last thought as I slipped back into blankness was "Thank heavens for small mercies."