TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (4)

The air filtered throughout the autopsy examination room was chilly, and laced with the stale tang of recirculated air. Before me on the gurney lay the body of the murdered Weevil, looking almost peaceful cloaked in the veil of death. I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves with an echoing snap, the sound uncomfortably loud against the hushed silence that tends to follow corpses in repose. We were all new to the game back then and still retained a certain subconscious attitude towards death. Murder, autopsy, eventually all this would become second nature to us, we would grow to see corpses as part of the job. Like fleshy vessels of information, rather than ex living creatures. Frankly this sounds more callous than I intended. Merely, we had not yet grown accustomed to witnessing death, we had yet to lose our innocence, I suppose.

"I'm sorry about this." I whispered to the corpse, as I picked up one of the alien scanners Torchwood has repurposed into a medical tool. I ran it over the gunshot wound on the Weevil's chest, as the screen began to pulse and bleep. Interpreting the display, I realized that the bullet was still inside the wound. With a grimace and  a sigh, I picked up a surgical pliers and probed the chest hole gingerly, half trying to look away as I dug deeper into the mangled flesh. I tried to imagine myself playing a game of some kind, trying to distract from the disgusting nature of my actions. I was always a dab hand at Operation as a child. My attempts were foiled by my brain, which at this point was practically screaming:
"Oh Jesus! Your hand is in an alien. Literally inside. Was that a lung? Does it have lungs? Of course it does, it can breathe, and anyway, YOU ARE TOUCHING THE LUNG! You're poking around in a wound and there's bits of bone everywhere. You know, this has the consistency of raw mince..."

I raised the back of my gloved wrist to my mouth as I fought to control a gag reflex, which was mostly successful. Swallowing my failure (mostly figurative, partially literal) I returned to probing the gunshot wound. Eventually, I located a small metal object and managed to free it from its meat prison.

"Here's where it gets interesting." I mused aloud to myself. The bullet was a cube, not a pointed cylinder like you'd expect. Which was odd. Bullets are so shaped to help them pierce flesh, while allowing the rifling of a gun barrel to impart a spin for added stability on the trajectory. How does a cube make sense, I wondered? It's not aerodynamic, not efficient, and harder to aim. Yet, the severity of the wound suggested it had traveled faster than the typical speed of a bullet from such a rifle.

I continued examining the Weevil, but found nothing else of interest on the body. People have done all sorts of things with Weevils in the past. Torchwood records mention fight clubs, drug testing, freak-shows, even sex trafficking. (That last one was supposedly defanged. But it was added to the database by Jack. I still don't know if that makes it more likely to be a wind up or the truth). However, the body showed no signs of recent trauma, nor any form of tag or tracer. It seemed a perfectly ordinary specimen, who happened to forage in the wrong place at the wrong time. If anything about a Weevil can be said to be ordinary, of course.

Once I had finished in the autopsy room, and cleaned myself up, I returned to the central section of the Hub where Ash was busy running several searches on the computer bank. She looked up from her dual monitors as I entered, and prepared to make some wry comment. Before she could however, she must have seen something in my eyes, and instead a soft, warm expression blossomed on her face.

"How are you coping?" She asked, gently.

"About as well as I can, given what I've been doing. It's still hard to come to terms with some aspects of the job." I sighed, as I embraced her. After a tender moment, Ash pushed herself away to arms length lightly.

"You mean like squelching around in an alien's innards?"

"Hey, at least I didn't vomit. Mostly." I said with quickly deflating bravado.

"Well, next time you can do the tedious computer stuff, and I'll get my hands dirty." Ash replied.

"No, it's fine, really. I'll get used to it."

"Don't lie to me, Arven. Not again. We're here to support each other, so if you need to talk, I'm here. Always."

She gave me a quick kiss, before continuing.

"So what did you find out from the Weevil?"

"Not much. Except, she was killed by a bizarre cube shaped bullet."

I handed the (cleaned) bullet to her, and waited for her to examine it.

"Hmm." She pondered. "This makes sense. You see, I've been researching the modifications on the man's rifle. It's hard to be sure from only the visuals, but I think it was a rail-gun."

"A-ha!" I exclaimed. A rail-gun would explain the shape of the bullet, after all. Angled projectiles would better tear the flesh of a target, and rail-guns can fire any shape of ammunition depending on design. It's a device which uses intense magnetic fields to rapidly impart kinetic energy upon an object. The projectile is accelerated rapidly along rails by electromagnetic energy, creating a gun that doesn't use any kind of explosive charge. I knew that certain militaries were trialing such weapons for use on naval carriers, but I'd never heard of a handheld version. Except for the ones in our databases of course.

"If it is, then it's alien tech. That's not good." I said, concerned.

"At least only one of them was armed. Suggests they're operating on limited resources." Ash added.

"But why a Weevil? We know they were ordered to kill the alien, so they weren't there to steal the Tech Specs."

"Maybe, they're employed by DevlinTech? Keep the stock safe from intruders? I did think that the Tech Specs seemed a little too good to be true. What if they're powered by salvaged alien technology?"

I considered Ash's point for a while. It was certainly plausible. I reached into my pocket and withdrew a pair of the glasses I'd borrowed from the warehouse.

"Well, we could always find out." I said, smirking. Ash looked like she wasn't sure whether to slap me or kiss me. Instead she remained silent. I felt like she was silently willing me not to do something. But now I was curious.

"Let's see if they live up to the hype." I smiled, as I placed them on my face.

"Oh no." Ash said to herself. I gave a cry of pain, as a sharp ringing echoed inside my head, and I felt as if something was drilling into my brain via my ears.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (3)

I reached the nearest doors of the warehouse slightly ahead of Ashley, and wrenched it open while both its rusty hinges and my rusty muscles creaked in protest. The shriek of swinging steel was hardly subtle, though stealth was hardly an option now that someone was shooting. Together, Ash and I rushed into the building, each of us sweeping our respective corners with a glance before turning our attentions to the centre of the room. Or rather, the barrier separating us from the centre of the room. The warehouse floor was a maze of packing crates and pallets, stacked haphazardly in crude rows, reaching up about twenty feet and spanning the length of the building. We had entered facing the foremost row, which blocked our view further in and provided altogether too many potential ambush sites.

With a few silent gestures, Ash and I split up, taking opposing sides of the rows and progressed deeper into the warehouse, checking each row as we passed. We had only cleared the first two rows before we heard the voices, speaking in Cork accents so dense that words could hardly escape its gravitational field. The kind of voice that seems mostly to comprise of disjointed syllables masked in a lilting brogue. What follows is the closest interpretation of what I could discern.

"It's definitely dead Jim."
"Course he is. I'm a dead eye when it comes to marksmanship."
"Pure fluke, twas. Only dead eye you're accustomed to is the black one you got when you fell onto the corner of your barstool."
"Still a better dead eye than the look your wife gives ya when you're late home."
"Shut up, will ya?"
"It's only a joke lad. Lighten up ta Jaysus."
"No, shut up! I think I heard something."
"Rats probably."
"I don't know many rats that can open steel doors. Save your brother, that is."
"Oi!"
"Anyway, we'd best be off before someone finds us."
"But what about this thing? Can't leave it here to be seen now, can we."
"We don't got a choice. Boss man paid us to kill it,it's dead. That's all that's important. It'll all be written off as a drunk hobo, probably."

I could sense the moment already slipping away. If we had any hopes of interrogating those two, we had to act before they made their escape. With a yell, I tore down towards them. Ashley, momentarily stunned by my reckless reaction froze before continuing after me. Ahead, I could see the two men now, though they were obscured by the weak and halfhearted lights overhead. One appeared short and fat, while the other was tall and thin. This was only in relation to each other however, neither was far removed from the average male in absolute terms. The slightly taller man was the one holding the gun, which appeared to be similar to a standard, old fashioned bolt action rifle, if you ignored the flashing lights and strange metal adorning its surface. Already, the pair was beginning to turn and run for the exit nearest them. I increased my pace, frowning. Not to sound ungrateful, but I wondered why neither of the men were shooting at us. Was it because the rifle really only held a single shot? And even if that was the case, surely the little man would be carrying a weapon of their own? I decided that my questions would be best answered if and when the two were in custody.

On the floor near the spot where I had first spotted the men, I could now see was slumped a Weevil. Obviously dead, the poor creature had been shot through the heart. Sure, I've had to put down a fair few Weevils in my time, usually as a last resort, but something about this seemed wrong. It was too clinical and precise. The work of a professional hunter, not a desperate survivor. It hadn't been killed because it posed a threat, merely because it was different, alien. I looked into its eyes, (her eyes, I decided), and saw the barest flicker of life. Something the two men wouldn't have understood or cared about.  She was dying, nothing could save her now, but she was determined to cling on to life as long as she could manage. I saw that glint in her eye, the glare of hatred and revenge. She wouldn't rest until the pair who had done this had paid.

"Hush, hush now." I said, crouching down before the Weevil. I laid a hand on her shoulder gently. Feebly, she tried to pull away before giving up due to the pain of her chest wound. Ash ran past in pursuit of the men, barely paying me any attention.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what they've done." I pleaded with the Weevil. "But mark my words. I'm going to make them pay."

I couldn't tell if she was smart enough to hear me, to comprehend me, not to mention if she was lucid enough. Although, I could have sworn her lip curled in a vindictive grin, or maybe it was just a grimace of pain. I continued to hold her as the last of her life ebbed away and she collapsed with a final shuddering gasp. I sat alone in silence then, the sudden deafening silence that's left, void-like, when a living being imperceptibly nothing but a mass of decaying meat. Life is such a fickle thing, something we can't truly grasp until someone is ripped from us. We are all of us constantly rotting and degrading, life is merely the chemical process that balances entropy and keeps us muddling on, and yet it is so much more, as felt by the intense absence left in the wake of a death. In my time with Torchwood, I've seen so much death, of friends, enemies, and the innocents in between. But it's always the same. Every death leaves a mark, invisible yet indelible upon you. And I know that nobody should have to face it alone.

Ashley's voice buzzed in my ear, via my Bluetooth headset.

"Damn. Bastards had a vehicle stashed away just outside. I lost them and there's no way we'll catch them tonight." She sighed, breathing heavily.

"Did you get the reg?" I asked, as I stood up from the deceased Weevil.

"Missing a digit, but enough to establish a trace, assuming they aren't fakes or anything. At least it's a start though."

"And, if that doesn't shake out, I think I've found a lead of my own. Bring the car around, I want this Weevil collected for autopsy. Maybe we can find out what kind of weapon our new friends favoured."

"Got it. Best be quick though, in case either of them tries to call the Guards down on us."

"Got it. But that's not my lead. No, I'm more interested in these crates. They're all Devlin Tech branded. The entire shipment is full of Tech Specs. Something is fishy here."

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (2)

"Should we pick up Dave on the way?" Ash asked from behind the wheel of the SUV.

"Next left. Nah. Best not." I replied from the passenger side, without looking up from the navigational screen. "He wanted an early night, and a Weevil is no match for two of us. Right ahead." I returned to the screen, which was in fact a tablet computer. It synced up with both the vehicle and the Hub mainframe, and was capable of providing: sensory data, real time updates, basic sample analysis, access databases and more. We called it the Omni-Tab.

"Right, we should be nearing the location of the sighting. Let's head out onto the dock." I said, consulting the GPS tracker.

"Hmm. Road barrier in the way. It's almost as if they don't want people sneaking around at night. Fancy that." Ashley said, wryly.

"We are not people. Do we even look like people?" I replied, smiling.

"On a good day, maybe. Right, wanna buzz us through?"

"Not a problem." I said as I withdrew my sonic screwdriver from my jacket pocket. I pointed the device at the barriers and with a faint hum they began to raise, allowing our vehicle to enter. Ash drove as far as she could towards the warehouse farthest along the docks while I scanned our surroundings for signs of the Weevil. Only one vessel was moored on our side of the port, a massive slab of steel, shipping new imported cars. Between the warehouses were large drums of rope and cables, mooring posts and parked loading vehicles. The area was poorly lit, with the only significant light sources being the pale half moon and the SUV's own headlights. Shadows stretched long and wide, merging with the inky darkness surrounding us. Too many dark corners and large objects made for all too many hiding spots. Finding a Weevil in all this would be tedious at best, fatal at worst.

Not much is actually known about the Weevils, we don't even know where they come from. Torchwood operatives have suggested many theories over the years, but none have ever been confirmed, despite their presence throughout Torchwood's history. Some think they we share a common ancestor and that they are our evolutionary cousins. Others suggest that they are a species rift refugees fleeing the destruction of their own world, mangled into beastly husks by the time winds of the Vortex. More poetic minds imply they are the dark mirror of ourselves, an embodiment of our base impulses, or what we may eventually become. Personally, it doesn't matter where they originate, or why, I'm concerned with how to deal with them.

Whatever their origin, there are some facts on record. Weevils are humanoid, hunched figures with dark leathery skin and pronounced bared teeth like some kind of shaved chimp. They stand slightly shorter than the human average, with only a little patch of wispy hair covering their bald heads. Between their pointed teeth and viciously sharp claws, Weevils are lethal in a fight. Curiously, most Weevils encountered are actually found wearing Torchwood branded overalls. Perhaps this is due to Weevils who escape Torchwood incarceration, but the numbers still don't match up. Unless the Weevils have some form of manufacturing, this is yet another mystery of their kind. Weevils have no known language or hierarchy, sometimes living in harmonious groups, other times fighting violently, maybe for territory, food, or mating rights. They do however have a form of mewling, wailing song that appears to be a form of communication, akin to the grunts of our ancestors. Their level of intelligence is a matter of debate, with most estimates putting them at about the same level as canines. Weevils display a certain sensitivity to temporal effects, as well as an affinity for psychic empathy. Weevils are very sensitive to the emotions of their surroundings and of others, both Weevil and human, which can act over incredible distances.

Despite all the uncertainty, the only thing that is irrefutable is the danger they pose to civilians. Many Weevils stick to abandoned areas and underground tunnels such as sewers in small communities, but those who venture into populated areas are almost guaranteed to attack any human in sight. Rumours of crocodiles rising out of toilets abundant in Florida and other urban legends of savage beasts in the night can often be traced back to a high Weevil population in the area. As such, Torchwood acts as a form of pest control, securing rogue Weevils, incarcerating them and eventually releasing them in the country, or back into secluded areas. Assuming they can actually be taken alive of course.

Ashley stepped out of the SUV, and began to shine her torch around the area.
"Right. Only an entire dockland to search. Funsies."

"So much for an early night. Again. Told you this job wasn't all fun and games." I replied, extracting myself from the car to join in the search.

"Oh yeah, you woo me in with talk of space, and time, and broad horizons. You didn't mention the romantic moonlit jaunts through a shipping port, chasing a savage creature, with brutal death lurking behind every shadow." Ash said sarcastically, picking her way over a pile of tangled ropes.

"Feel free to quit anytime."

"And leave you with all the glory? Not a chance. Besides if you were solo you'd have been killed by now." Ashley said with a laugh.

"No way!" I said, feigning indignation.

"Yes way. You'd have been dead at least three times by my count."

"Two, surely. That time with the pelican doesn't count. It was your idea."

"I didn't count that one. It's still three." Ash smugly finished. After a short silence as we continued searching, she asked. "Black or red?"

"Now? The wedding is a month away." I moaned.

"Yeah, but you don't want to be buying a shirt last minute. Anyway, we have time to kill."

"Very true. I was thinking black shirt and a red tie, it'll look better for when my jacket is off over the meal." I mused, as I peered around a pallet of paving slabs.

"Plus, red makes you look like a tomato."

"It does not!"

"It so does! Especially when you get annoyed and your face blushes. See, like that."

"I..." I muttered, trying to find the words.

"Only messing. I love my tomato just the way he is." Ash said warmly, flashing me a warm smile. Suddenly, a deafening crack rang out across the open expanse of the port. Gunfire! With barely a glace at each other, Ash and I took off in the direction of the disturbance. Things had just escalated.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (1)

Atop the Gilded Spire, the last of the Pentari took their place in the circle. Finally, the pledged protectors of the Promised City had resumed their position of perpetual guardianship, though even now it may be too late. Overhead, the unnatural vessels of the Concordant were already flying in from over the ocean, seeped in darkness and malice. Strange technological aberrations held aloft by no visible means, like ships that sailed on the very air! Dragonfire burst forth from their prows, incinerating entire buildings of the city below with a single breath, while the warrior mages cast bolts of sickly blue energy at the townsfolk fleeing for their lives. Sildar, leader of the Pentari, spoke gravely, "We are too late. The old rituals will not be enough to save the city. Only the unbound rite may save us now."

"You can't be serious." spoke another of the circle. "The circle will be broken. We have watched over this land for nigh on a millennium!"

"Then it is perhaps time for some new blood. I trust you will find an adequate replacement. We do not have the time to argue." Sildar held his arms over his chest, intonating a complex spell, as the embossed dragon symbol of his chest plate began to writhe. Suddenly the shape flung its wings wide as Sildar's head was thrust backwards. The dragon seemed to grow, reaching past the confines of the armor, and stretching onto his very skin. With a blinding glow and a howl of pain, Sildar himself began to morph, until he was replaced by a gigantic golden dragon.  And then, even the dragon disappeared, consumed by the blazing light, which continued to expand, emanating outwards in a sphere of intense magical energy, until it formed a protective dome over the entire city. The fleet of Concordant airships were unable to penetrate such a shield, while the ones within the city bounds touched by the sphere were damaged beyond their ability to fly and began to crash down across the city.

"Sildar has bought us some time, but that barrier will not protect us for long. A new member of the Pentari must be found if we are to repel these invaders."

"There will be time for questions later! One if those sky ships is going to impact with the tower!"

With a thunderous impact, the vessel pierced the side of the tower, lodged half in and half out. The remaining Pentari, and the small group of adventurers accompanying them struggled to maintain their footing as tremors shook the building. A number of warrior mages had survived the crash and were emerging from the wreck.

"Roll for Initiative!"

"Actually, do you mind if we call it there?" Dave asked, as he stood up from the table. "I've an early lecture tomorrow morning."

"No bother." I replied, adding "The warrior mages will wait patiently until next week. OK boys and girls, D&D same bat time, same bat channel next week."

Conversation rippled around the table as the game finished. While I tidied away the dice and other materials, Dave began to gather his things and Tony and Sarah helped themselves to the last of 'our' sweets. As both author and narrator, I feel the need to address a few points at this juncture. It has been about two months since I introduced Susan to the world of Torchwood. Since then, we have also invited Dave to join us in defending Cork, which he accepted with his customary indifference. Moat people would be skeptical at best or hostile at worst if you told them you fought alien incursions, but Dave just shrugged and tagged along. None of us think Tony or Sarah are ready for the truth however, and we wouldn't really want them in the Hub anyway. Tony is a bad enough team player in a board game, never mind life or death situations.

Dave, Susan and I have had several successful cases since forming, including one about a banshee which I have recounted elsewhere. Also, Susan has taken to being called by here middle name, claiming 'Ashley' is a much better name for a secret agent. I told her that because we're secret, names aren't really important, which she rightly countered by pointing out 'Arven' is my D&D / college nickname, so I was one to talk.

Most of the chatter was centred about the new tech startup in Cork city. A local business, which was poised to compete with the biggest names of the industry, whose flagship product was set to launch in just a few days time. Our collective inner geek was salivating at the prospect of the device.

"Anyone getting a set on launch day?" I heard Ash ask as I put away the last of the gaming materials.

"Day one Tech Specs for me. I backed the Kickstarter." Dave responded.

"I missed out on the early bird offers, so I held off. Think I'll wait for the revised version in six months time, when they've patched out the kinks." I added.

"What are we talking about?" Tony asked.

I resisted the urge to facepalm. How he didn't know about the locally designed next big thing in gadgetry was beyond me. It had dominated news both locally and internationally for months now.

"Tech Specs, supposed to be the next iPad, and poised to succeed where Google Glass failed." I replied, instead.

"Oh, that thing." He muttered, losing interest. Tech Specs claimed to be the first workable wearable technology. A pair of glasses, with the capabilities of a smartphone, all tucked into a neat and tidy frame. These could record video, let you replay things in real time with zoom functionality, browse the web. See something you like while out and about? Tech Specs will scan it and find it for you on sale online. All controlled by harnessing latent brainwave activity. Point and think glasses. The potentials were mind bogglingly exciting.

"Tony! Can I get a lift home from you?" Dave asked, politely.

"*sigh* I suppose you're on my way back anyway. But you'll have to make it worth my while." Tony replied, testily.

"If it's an imposition, I'll walk." said Dave.

"Oh no. I'll bring you. I'm just having my fun." Tony said, his words oozing with condescension. "But Sarah gets the front seat."

I shot a quick glance at Dave, rolling my eyes theatrically behind Tony. Dave struggled to stifle a laugh, and instead left the room, towards Tony's car. Everyone else followed, leaving me alone with Ashley.

"So Ash, do you want a spin home too, or do you wanna stay here?"

"Is that a question I really have to answer?" She said, coyly.

I made a show of patting my pockets. "Right, where did I leave my keys so?"

The two of us laughed for a moment before sharing in a kiss, which was interrupted by a text message. I pulled away from Ash and checked my phone, wondering what Tony had left behind him this time. But it wasn't a message from him, it was an alert from the Hub computer, which monitored social media feeds, news sites & a barrage of scanners and sensors for potential spots of extra-terrestrial incidents. A Weevil had been spotted along the harbour.

"Duty calls?" Susan asked.

"Duty calls."

J&L: Jagowl & Litepaw (12)

Jago: "I'm sorry George. He slipped out of my grasp. I couldn't keep him from falling in."

Litefoot: "I'm just glad he didn't drag you down with him."

Lambert: "Help me! For God's sake, get me out of here!"

Jago: "After all you've done? Not on your Nelly. Why should we help you?"

Lambert: "I can cure you. There's an antidote, in my lab, already synthesized. That blue liquid there. Now get me out."

*Tiger snarls*

Litefoot: "I'm not sure we can trust you, Lambert. How can we be sure that this elixir will revert us to our old selves?"

Jago: "I don't think we have much choice Professor. He's got nothing to lose now, neither do we."

Lambert: "Exactly! See? Trust in the wisdom of an owl."

Litefoot: "Then let me try the cure first. If it works, and doesn't kill me, then we'll help you out."

Lambert: "Anything! Anything if it helps you make up your mind. Just hurry and help me!"

Jago: "I have one small alteration to the plan George. Let me test the potion."

Litefoot: "But Henry..."

Jago: "I'm sorry George, but it makes sense. I was infected before you, so I've got less time left before this change is permanent. Besides, in case it fails, in case it's a poisonous trap, in case I die... You stand the only chance at crafting a cure for Quick and Ellie."

Litefoot: "I can't ask you to do this, old chap."

Jago: "I'm not asking, I'm insisting. Now let me through before I come to my senses and change my mind."

Litefoot: "Good luck, Henry."

Jago: "Bottom's up, eh?"

*Jago gulps deeply, then begins to groan and convulse*

Litefoot: "Henry!"

Lambert: "Leave him. He'll be alright, in time."

Litefoot: "You bounder! He's far from alright!"

Lambert: "Look closer! His feathers should already be beginning to recede. The reversal of the process is more immediate than the original. He'll sleep for a while, but he'll wake up back to normal."

Litefoot: "He's right Jago. If you can hear me, it's working! You're looking like your old self again. Sleep well, my friend."

Lambert: "These tigers are getting close. Help me now Litefoot!"

Litefoot: "Help you? You've tortured my friends. You've carried out sick and depraved experiments unethically. You've murdered who knows how many innocent people, as victims of your scheme, not to mention those killed by your failed creations. Why should I save you when you have so little respect for the sanctity of life?"

Lambert: "Because you are an honourable gentleman. You're a doctor, a man of medicine. The Hypocratic Oath compels you to help save those in distress."

Litefoot: "You would really sink so low? To question MY honour? Why, the Oath is merely an ethical and moral guideline of my profession, not a summons. And furthermore, a product of human creation. No, I think a man like yourself deserves to play by the rules of the animal kingdom instead."

Lambert: "You can't leave me here!"

Litefoot: "I'm sorry, but you've clearly chosen to live by a different creed. If you disagree, try asking those test subjects you're trapped with to parley, not me."

Lambert: "No! You can't! Noooo!!!! My leg! Aghhhhh...."

*squelching of tearing flesh and crunching of bones*

Litefoot: "Survival of the fittest."

***

Jago: "What? Where? Who?"

Litefoot: "Calm down, Henry. Take it easy. You've been asleep for a few hours now."

Jago: "Professor! A sight for sore eyes if I ever I saw one. And speaking of sights, you've looking healthier than ever. Not a hair out of place."

Litefoot: "Take this mirror, Henry. I'm sure you'll want to check on your own condition."

Jago: "Haha! Firmly and fully feather free! Finally! But, where are we? What happened to Lambert? Last I remember, I was drinking that foul curative."

Litefoot: "Lambert... didn't make it out in time unfortunately."

Jago: "As bad as it may sound, he's no great loss to the world."

Litefoot: "Indeed. After he had passed, I dragged you out of his circus and bundled you back to my home via a passing carriage. I made sure Ellie and Quick got enough of the elixir for themselves and the other semi animalistic victims, then took a dose myself."

Jago: "Many thanks, George. What would I do without you?"

Litefoot: "Probably you'd have quite the extensive tab at the Red Tavern. But there's no need to thank me for helping a friend in need."

Jago: "What about the other unfortunates? The ones who turned fully into animals?"

Litefoot: "Rounded up by the Zoo authorities, and housed as comfortably as possible. There was no way to revert them, and their human minds were long since lost to animal urges."

Jago: "A sick scheme, but it's behind us now. Unless that Julian is planning something."

Litefoot: "Undoubtedly, but I don't believe he'll use Lambert's virus. That was Sidney's personal project. Julian, or whoever he is, just used Lambert as a means of introducing himself."

Jago: "An introduction far eclipsing anything I could ever hope to perform on the stage. He certainly made himself known. If this was just his 'hello', how can we hope to confront his actual schemes?"

Litefoot: "The same way we ever tackle a problem, Henry. Together."

J&L: Jagowl & Litepaw (11)

Jago: "This is more like it. Bulging beakers brimming with bubbling brews. An expanse of emulsified elixirs and a mystifying miasma of malodorous mist. This place is ripped straight from the pages of a Jules Verne."

Litefoot: "It's quite remarkable indeed. Though I'd be more impressed if I could fathom the science behind such equipment. I have no idea what most of these things are for."

Lambert: "You know, all you really had to do was ask. I'm happy to show two promising candidates such as yourselves the majesty of my creations."

Litefoot: "Egads!"

Jago: "Majesty? More like monstrosity if you ask me."

Lambert: "Every leap in technology has its detractors, those who cling to the past rather than embrace the future. People feared the first steam locomotives, you know. Thought the raw speed would rend the flesh from passengers bones. Yet now the science is commonplace."

Litefoot: "Spare us the grandiose declarations of misunderstood genius, please. Your creations are barbaric perversions of the natural order, your formula removes the very thing that makes us human, rather than enhance our humanity."

Lambert: "You would disavow the very gift I have bestowed upon you? Ha! Philistines are the curse of visionaries. There isn't yet a word for what I do, nor how the fusion of species is achieved, though the closest moniker would be a form of biological alchemy."

Jago: "The fevered and fanatical folly of desperate fools. Sounds accurate to me."

Lambert: "The only fools here are the ones denying the future. What began as alchemy evolved into the field of science now called 'chemistry'. It is the same with my lifework; I have unlocked the secrets of nature. I have broken down life to its very constituent building blocks. I have isolated the biological data that creates spider's silk and merge it with sheep. Imagine wool with the proportional strength of spider silk."

Litefoot: "A noble enough goal, if used for the right ends. But you couldn't just leave it at that, could you? You tested your science on humans, on us, without consent."

Jago: "You paraded unfortunate victims of your machinations in front of the public, for monetary gain, you cad."

Litefoot: "Not to mention our friends, Ellie and Quick. Tell me, why target us specifically?"

Lambert: "That was not actually my doing, you were suggested by an associate of mine, Julian. He has helped me develop my virus from a scientific curiosity to that catalyst of humanity's evolution. He had his reasons to dose you lot, and it was all he asked in return for his ample resources."

Jago: "That cove again, what's his angle, eh?"

Litefoot: "I suspect we will find out eventually, but Julian is a problem for another day. Lambert, how many have died for your scheme already?"

Lambert: "You cannot put a price on progress."

Jago: "You can when the currency is blood!"

Lambert: "All pioneering ventures have casualties, of course. Some people are resistant to the change and their systems cannot take the strain. Others are too weak, and give in to the change too easily."

Litefoot: "But what dies that mean?"

Lambert: "The change is more severe. The animal part takes control and the person is lost, becoming nothing more than a snarling beast."

Jago: "Is that why the Yard is flooded with reports of jungle cats stalking the streets?"

Litefoot: "Why I have corpses ripped apart on my mortuary slab?"

Lambert: "Those casualties were unfortunate. Where possible, I have tried to recapture any test patients who fully turned, but mistakes happen. Those I have captured are housed here, in modest comfort."

Jago: "Modest comfort? I've seen more hospitable graves. That's nothing more than a pit in which to dispose of your mistakes."

Litefoot: "There must be a dozen felines in there, half starved. And these were all people once?"

Jago: "Still, I'm glad of the bars separating us from them, they don't look friendly. And I can't blame the creatures."

Lambert: "It serves its purpose. Disposing of troublemakers like you for instance!"

Jago: "Unhand me!"

Litefoot: "He's opened the pit with a concealed level. Careful Henry!"

Jago: "I had noticed actually. Hard to miss."

Lambert: "Die, you ungrateful idiot."

*screams*

Litefoot: "Oh no! Henry!"

J&L: Jagowl & Litepaw (10)

Lambert's Circus, Kensington

Jago: "Did that cabbie seem a little odd to you, Professor? He's sped off without accepting a fare!"

Litefoot: "Perhaps he took umbrage with our bizarre visage? Frankly I can't say I blame the man."

Jago: "Hmm. Place appears deserted, or at least down to a skeleton crew. There's nobody around."

Litefoot: "All the better to sneak in undetected."

Jago: "Unless it's a trap."

Litefoot: "I'd be surprised if it wasn't a trap old chap, but we don't have much choice, given our current predicament."

Jago: "We'll isn't that good for morale. May as well start in Lambert's office, if I can remember the way. Back into the viper's nest."

Litefoot: "Given the cove's penchant for animal experimentation, that could very well be an apt expression indeed."

Jago: "Perish the thought. I mean, how could he think that this monstrous metamorphosis is the next stage of humanity? These feathers are chafing inside my suit something fierce."

Litefoot: "There are certain advantages however. My eyesight has never been quite so keen and the last time I felt this agile was in my gymnastic days."

Jago: "You don't mean to say that you actually want to retain your feline form?"

Litefoot: "Heavens no! I was merely expressing an understanding of the logic behind Lambert's scheme, twisted though it may be."

Jago: "Twisted? Dashed unnatural I'd say. The mere thought sends shivers down my spine, let alone observing my avian appearance. I can't bear to look at myself in the mirror."

Litefoot: "Chin up, Henry. We'll soon be back to our old selves, as soon as we can get some answers out of Lambert."

Jago: "I certainly hope so. It's just through here. Quickly, while it's unoccupied."

Litefoot: "Tidier than I expected, given the man's background. Most of the documentation on the desk here is... administrative paperwork."

Jago: "Too much to expect a scrap of paper with the words 'secret antidote' to be squirrelled away on his desk."

Litefoot: "When has any of our investigations been so straightforward? His laboratory must be somewhere nearby though; On the premises, somewhere secluded yet within ease of access to this office."

Jago: "A secret passage perhaps? Some kind of private passageway? Say, do you feel that?"

Litefoot: "Feel what? My word Henry, your feathers are visibly ruffled!"

Jago: "There's a current in the air, a tiny breeze, a barely noticed draft. Maybe there are a few perks to these animal instincts."

Litefoot: "I feel it too! But where is it coming from? It's stronger here, by the bookshelf. Give me a hand, would you?"

Jago: "The best I can do is a wing, George."

Litefoot: "A-ha, there's a switch to the side here. Press it and... *click* the lock is disengaged. Help me swing the case open."