The Kinder Beschützer Institute:
(1913 A.D., London, England)
A particularly spirited pop comes from the fire as Mr. Darling pokes at it gently. The last sizable chunk of wood splits, collapsing into a shapeless mound. Mr. Darling kneels to add another log to the fire only to be greeted by a much more powerful crackling that showers his pants with sparks. The harmless but startling event causes him to jump back, dropping the wood. He slaps at the front of his pants which had become heated significantly by the sparks. The wood lands hard on his foot, making him pick his feet up as he cries out. Mrs. Darling rushes into the room to see what is happening, only to be greeted by the sight of her husband dancing high-kneed, smacking his trousers. She giggles at the sight of it all, still touching the edges of her hair, checking for errant strands. Mr. Darling, so accustomed to the stress of the past weeks, surprises himself as he joins in the laughter. He retrieves the log and places it on the coals.
"Don't be nervous, dear," says Mrs. Darling, turning to a nearby mirror to check her make-up.
"I'm not nervous, it's just…" responds Mr. Darling, running his hand through his hair as he tries to relax.
He's interrupted by a knock at the door. He answers it eagerly. In front of him stands a gleeful Vincent Frost flanked by two other gentlemen. One is a well-built man of average height with a full beard and wearing a tweed overcoat and bowler hat. The other stands a couple of paces back, a bean-pole of a man who looms rigidly straight as his head continuously swivels in methodical arcs. He wears an unbuttoned black wool jacket with a green waistcoat. His shirt hangs messily over his trousers. Mr. Darling wonders if the man is deficient.
Vincent steps forward, sapping the remaining heat from Mr. Darling's clothes.
"Good Evening, Mr. Darling, it is wonderful to see you again," proclaims Vincent.
Mr. Darling's eyes go wide as Vincent pulls him into a brief but friendly hug. He looks back at Mrs. Darling during the embrace, causing her to shrug with an almost amused smile.
"These are my associates: Mr. Holmes..." continues Vincent, gesturing back to the ill-kempt man.
Mr. Darling reaches out his hand to Holmes.
"Which window goes into the nursery?" asks Holmes, completely ignoring Mr. Darling's extended hand of greeting.
"Umm, well it is the far window on that side of the house," answers Mr. Darling, gesturing towards the right side of the house.
Holmes abruptly ditches the conversation and strides around the corner of the house, pulling something from the pocket of his coat.
"And this is Dr. Watson," continues Vincent, gesturing to the well-built man beside him.
Watson grabs the hand still extended for Holmes and gives it a sturdy, spirited handshake. Holmes' minor slight against Mr. Darling is erased by the genuine warmth of Dr. Watson.
"Delighted to meet you all. Welcome to our home," replies Mr. Darling, gesturing for Vincent and Watson to step inside.
Mr. Darling peaks toward the edge of the house, beyond which Holmes has disappeared before deciding to close the door.
"This is my beautiful wife, Mary," declares Mr. Darling, signalling to the beautiful woman beside him.
"Charmed," replies Watson, placing a gentlemanly peck on her hand.
Vincent shakes her other hand quickly and then moves away from the crackling fire as swiftly as possible.
"So, how does this work? My husband told me of this meeting but not what it would entail," asks Mrs. Darling, her tone polite but serious.
"Well, first…" starts Vincent only to be interrupted by Holmes entering the room from the kitchen while re-stowing his lock-picks back into their case.
"There was obviously no forced entry from the exterior of the house, not even a ladder scuff on the windowsill so the abduction story is entirely fabricated. Initial readings show low levels of chronozites which would explain the lack of physical ageing in the returned children," interrupts Holmes as he continues to scan the room.
"I have some theories, of course, but we should still speak to the girl as soon as possible," continues Holmes as he walks toward Mr. Darling, not looking at him until the two are uncomfortably close to each other.
Holmes and Mr. Darling's eyes finally meet. Holmes's eyes seem almost vacant.
"You did not burn yourself, I hope," continues Holmes.
"No, I... wait how did you…" starts Mr. Darling.
Without waiting for the answer, Holmes turns to Mrs. Darling, "I suggest you use vinegar on the windows when washing them; it will help with the streaks. Shall we continue in the dining room?" asks Holmes as he turns on his heels and takes a seat in the nearby dining room.
"Mr. Holmes can come off as rather abrupt, my apologies," explains Watson, patting Mr. Darling on the shoulder.
"He is right, however; we will need to speak with Wendy and take a blood sample from her for testing. Will the dining room be suitable?" asks Vincent, gesturing to the place where Holmes is already sitting.
"Yes, that will be fine. Please, just proceed with what you need to do. We just want to get past this as soon as possible," responds Mr. Darling, as Vincent nods understandingly.
"Mary, will you please show our guests to the dining room while I retrieve Wendy?" continues Mr. Darling.
"Of course. Can I offer anyone some tea?" responds Mrs. Darling.
"Oh no, thank you," replies Vincent.
"I would love a cup, Thank you," responds Watson, smiling jovially.
"Perhaps later for me," replies Holmes adjusting the antenna on a small strange-looking device in his hand.
Mrs. Darling leaves to fetch the tea. A few moments later, Mr. Darling returns with Wendy. Seeing the strange men seated before her at the table, she pulls her hand out of his and crosses her arms at him with a huff as her hair falls half tangled onto her shoulders as if saying Seriously dad. Her father gestures for her to sit down in a nearby empty chair at the table next to Holmes. She sits down, glancing around at the mysterious strangers sitting at the table with her. Mrs. Darling returns and places a cup of tea and a dish of sugar cubes in front of Watson, who mouths a grateful thank you. Vincent, smiling as always, stares transfixed at Wendy. He taps Watson on the shoulder. Watson, mid-sip of tea, looks over with his eyes and, understanding, sets the cup back down. Watson reaches into his bag and pulls out an audio recorder and a leather case.
"Hello Wendy, my name is Vincent Frost, and this is my associate, Dr. Watson. We understand you must be exhausted from all the questions you've been receiving lately, but can you please bear with us and go through your story just one more time?"
"Sure, why not?" replies Wendy with a tone of barely suppressed annoyance.
Mr. and Mrs. Darling shift uncomfortably at their daughter's rudeness. Holmes stands back up out of his chair, pointing his device around the room. His eyebrows jump, and he scoots around Wendy, heading towards the stairs.
"Now while I ask these questions, Watson is going to draw some blood. It won't hurt and it won't take very long, so just focus on me, okay?" says Vincent.
Wendy nods as Watson slides his chair closer to her, pulling a small hypodermic needle and a glass vial from his leather case. Wendy stares at Watson curiously for a moment before turning her gaze back to Vincent.
"Okay, Wendy, first let me be clear, so there is no confusion. This is not an interrogation. We are not the police. All we want is for you to tell us your version of the events surrounding the disappearance of you and your brothers,"
Wendy offers a subtle nod. She studies Vincent, becoming more and more curious. She feels a chill breeze come off of him and she imagines his eyes as two chunks of arctic glacier, his heart a ball of ice to match his snow-pale skin. She finds that the more she looks upon him, the more drawn-in she feels. His smile changes, quirking down slightly on one side so imperceptibly that she is sure no one else noticed, but she did. Watson gently rolls up Wendy's sleeve. She doesn't seem to notice.
"Let's start at the beginning, shall we? The night of your disappearance, your parents were attending a social event, leaving Liza to watch over you. Is this correct?"
"Yes," answers Wendy, nodding.
Watson inserts the needle. Her arm tenses for a moment, but she doesn't look away from Vincent.
"Great. So could you please tell us your account of what happened from that point," Vincent presses the record button on his device.
"Well, we were all tucked into bed in the nursery. Nana was outside barking incessantly, probably at the neighbour's cat, Anastasia. It is a Russian Blue, so they gave her a Russian name. I believe Liza was downstairs putting away Father's books. The boys had stacked them up to make a fort earlier and hadn't put them away. The fight I had with my father earlier made me so anxious I was finding it hard to sleep, but eventually, I must have managed it," explains Wendy dully, clearly bored with telling this story.
Watson finishes taking the blood sample. Wendy reflexively attempts to glance at the needle, but to her surprise, she finds her gaze inexorably locked with Vincent's. No matter how she tries or turns her head, she cannot look away from her interviewer. She tries to turn her head further but can't. What's happening? Why can't I? No, What's he doing to me? Watson squirts a portion of the blood into a second vial containing an ounce of clear liquid. He brings the vial close to his face and swirls the liquids together.
"You are doing great, Wendy, then what happened?" responds Vincent, leaning back and placing his hands in his lap.
Wendy starts to grow concerned for now it is not only a physical cold she feels coming from Vincent but there is numbness in her mind as well. She can't think. It reminds her of the time she snuck an extra two spoons of cough syrup when she had a cold last year. She gives up, trying to avert her eyes from him. Confused and unsure of what to do, she continues her cover story.
"I was awoken by the sound of heavy footsteps in the room. Everything was so fast I could not see the attackers. They blindfolded us, oh, and they also gagged us so we could not scream," continues Wendy as Vincent nods, never averting his eyes from hers. Stop! Please, no. Keep out! Stop it! cries Wendy internally as panic strikes her heart.
She tries to resist, but she can't. She feels herself fall. Her mind slips back to the moment in the window of the nursery, back to Peadar. She can see him leaning half-out of the open window, extending his hand to her, beckoning her to fly away with him. Lost in his eyes, she takes his hand. Her heart flutters at the softness of his skin and the fearsome strength of his grip. The moment cracks and shatters as reality jerks her back to Vincent, her mind growing ever colder. What's happening? This can't be real. How is he…
"They gagged and blindfolded you and your brothers, is this accurate?" asks Vincent, his tone taking an almost clinical edge.
"Yes," answers Wendy, fidgeting with hidden panic as her pulse races.
"Okay, then what? How did they get you out of the house?"
The shine of Vincent's gaze violates further into her, forcing her deeper into memory. The dining room bleeds away as her mental cries of resistance fall on deaf ears. Wendy is forced back to the boy in the window. STOP IT! NO! YOU CAN'T. YOU MUSN'T! THAT MOMENT IS MINE! PRIVATE! PRECIOUS! HELP ME! SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP ME! Phantom screams erupt from Wendy as Vincent's assault ravages her. Her eyes lock with Peadar's as she follows him out the window, the cold London night nipping at her skin. Exhilaration floods her heart as she looks down at the roofs of London. Her worries evaporate as she and her brothers zoom faster than light towards the second star to the right with Peadar's charming smile their only guiding light. The excitement of liberation gives way to terror as she is pulled back to the present, finding a grinning Vincent sitting across from her once again.
"I… I... don't know exactly. As I said… we were blindfolded. All I know is that they were carrying us for a very long time," answers Wendy, trying to shake the ever-growing fog from her head to no avail.
"Can you tell me anything about where they took you and your brothers?" presses Vincent, the weight of his presence dragging Wendy's mind deeper into the mist.
In truth, the Lost Boys had covered her eyes when first she was brought to the Treehouse. After all, it was an unveiling. She can feel the wetness of leaves covering the ground against her skin. She can still feel Peadar's overwhelming radiance as he gleams before her, his arms spread wide as he proclaims, 'Behold my kingdom,' drawing forth from her amused giggles and tender blushing.
"No, they never removed the blindfold," replies Wendy, her mind still trapped inside the vivid warmth of the memory.
The earthy-sweet smell of the unkept Treehouse fills her nostrils as she looks over to tell John to help her clean up the place. Suddenly her heart stutters and the memory distorts. Dread floods her system for where once stood John in that moment now stands Vincent. No! None of this is right. Mother! Father! Anybody, help me! The fear grows stronger within her as the image of Vincent where John had stood refuses to fade from her memory, sending frigid tendrils of terror into her soul. The smiling Vincent of her mind advances upon her. No! Stay back!
"Okay, so no visual details, but can you hear anything? Were you still in London? How cold was the room they kept you in?" continues Vincent, his voice crashing down upon her like a wave washing away her will.
The Vincent in her mind presses in on her. She backs away from him, pressing herself against the back wall of the Treehouse. He closes in until they are inches apart. He reaches out for her, his touch against her cheek sending daggers of cold shooting through her. Sobs of anguish ravage her soul as his suffocating force shatters the last of her barriers. Suddenly she is back to Peadar, who is showing her a fresh addition to the Treehouse. He explains the Lost Boys had built it to honour their new mother. The Neverlandian melody of singing macaws and buzzing cicadas dances through her, lifting her heart as she turns to face Peadar and the Lost Boys, only to be met once again by Vincent standing before her. The freezing blizzard of his will crashes down around her as she turns to flee. You can't escape me, Wendy. You can lie to your parents, you can lie to your own heart, but you cannot lie to me. Not me, never me.
"I am sorry I cannot recall, um it was cold." Cold like you, she thinks.
Indignation flares somewhere deep inside her, somewhere inherited. A piece of her father, a pride that he continually swallows at the behest of middle-class society.
"That's fine, you are doing great," says Vincent supportively.
"From that point on, it's all just footsteps and some muffled voices. I'm sorry," replies Wendy, her inner-anger swelling until there is nothing in her mind but red heat.
She takes the fog and confusion and burns it away until her mind is a smoking furnace. Vincent breaks away, his smile growing larger. He is impressed. Your heart is strong. No wonder he was drawn to you? You have a powerful will, but mine is far stronger. Vincent releases his hold over the girl.
"Thank you, Wendy, that should be sufficient," continues Vincent as he pretends to shut off the recording device.
"Can I be excused now?" asks Wendy with forced politeness, getting up from her chair and turning to her mother.
Her mother nods and Wendy breathes a deep sigh of relief.
"Actually Wendy, I am sorry, but I have just one more question for you."
There is an edge in Vincent's voice, a desperate excitement. The answer to the mystery that has tortured him for decades is right there, in the mind of this small girl.
"Tell me, Wendy. Who is Peadar?"
She thought she had defeated him, burned him out with her indignation. Her brain stops, unable to process anything further. It takes several moments before she realises she is still in the dining room and they are waiting for her to answer.
"I'm so… sorry I do not know who you are talking about," responds Wendy shakily
Vincent opens his mouth to continue speaking when Sherlock rushes in.
"The Chronozite levels... th... they…'' stammers Sherlock. His sentence, much like his body, stumbles into the room. "The children… all around them… it's…"
"Off the charts?" finishes Watson.
Watson lifts the vial of Wendy's blood as he and Sherlock peer at it intently. The blood had ten or so white flecks suspended in it.
"I.B.V. is as expected. I would hazard to guess a sample from one of the Lost Boys would yield a higher concentration but…" continues Watson as Sherlock quickly catches his breath.
"LISTEN FOR CHRIST'S SAKE," shouts Sherlock, cutting Watson off mid-sentence.
"These readings are the highest we've ever seen and this location is not the only spike in the readings; something is coming this way and fast," he continues aggressively.
Tootles appears in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. His freshly washed clothes make him look like a child dressed up for a play. He leans on the door frame, putting his head against his forearm.
"Is Mother Wendy coming back to bed? I can't sleep."
Michael and the Twins peek down the staircase, their hair sticking out at odd angles as though recently tousled by troubled sleep.
"No one is going back to bed," interrupts Vincent as he confirms Sherlock's scan results.
The Chronozite Scanner buries its needle every time Vincent points it towards the door.
"The other reading; it's close. We all have to get out of here now," announces Vincent firmly as he pulls a slender silver device out of his pocket and flips it open.
"Agent Vincent to Security Detail Alpha One, we have a potential emergency. Requesting an immediate Level Three Escort Detail to escort V.I.Ps to London Rendezvous Point Two."
The device chimes back, "Confirmed."
"How long until we can expect the escort team?" asks Sherlock, stowing the Chronozite Scanner back in his pocket.
"Two minutes," replies Vincent.
He snaps his device shut and begins ushering everyone toward the back door.
"Would someone please tell us what's going on?" asks Mr. Darling, sounding both panicked and indignant simultaneously.
"No time to explain. Gather the children and meet us at the back..." orders Vincent.
Then comes the boom like a thunder crack. The front door erupts inward.
Vincent reaches out his left hand. A convex wall of ice forms in front of the Darling family, deflecting broken shards of the door frame. Watson leaps to the side, barely avoiding the flying shrapnel.
A cloud of mist surges through the doorway. It fills half the living room, bringing with it the bitter bite of the London winter. The mist streaks toward Vincent, condensing into a large, bearded man clothed in furs. One leg already chambered and ready; he unloads a fearsome front kick into Vincent's chest. The kick launches Vincent backward off his feet, smashing him hard into the kitchen counter with a bone-shattering crunch. Vincent readies himself again, blood dripping from his mouth. Sherlock and Watson draw pistols from inside their coats. Watson unloads first.
The rugged-looking man becomes mist once again, rapidly closing the distance between him and Watson. Before Watson can react, the man materialises with a punch already in motion, striking up into Watson's liver. The blow reverberates through his body, knocking the air from his lungs and causing him to re-swallow the eggs and toast he had that morning. Watson crumples.
Sherlock tracks the mist towards Watson. He flicks a switch that on a normal gun would disengage the safety, but his gun doesn't have a safety. Internal circuits engage and the barrel hums with pent-up potential energy. His finger waits patiently for the perfect moment. The man appears, and before Watson has had time to fall from the body-shot, Sherlock fires.
The pistol goes off in a three-shot burst. Shimmering bullets whiz forward, leaving blue-white tracer trails as they strike their target. The shots connect with their target, putting scorched holes through the wolf pelts on his back, burning deep into his flesh. He screams and turns toward Sherlock. Sherlock is already moving. He compares the exits: the dining room's blocked by ice, the kitchen leads to the enemy but also towards the rendezvous. Only two viable alternatives: the front door and front window. On one hand, the front door is closer to the enemy with chairs and the coffee table obstructing, and on the other hand the front window requires a suitable object to go through first to minimise personal lacerations. Oh! Sherlock spots a chunk of oak near the fireplace - option two, it is. Mid-stride, Sherlock hefts the chunk of oak and heaves it through the front window, following just after it. He somersaults through the window, rolling back onto his feet in the front yard. The mist pours back outside through the decimated door frame towards him.
Vincent, seeing an opportunity, attempts to gather the nearby Darling Family members together. Wendy, Tootles, and the parents stare unmoving at the wall of ice Vincent had created to shield them. For a moment, he is afraid he had been too zealous and had caught them up in the spell, but when he calls out to them, they all jump, spinning around and granting Vincent their full attention. Vincent rushes them outside through the back kitchen door. Once outside, he has them toss sticks at the nursery window. John opens the window.
"You must jump!" shouts Vincent as the others around him nod in agreement.
Curly leans out the window, "But we don't have any fairy dust! We'll fall."
"I'll catch you," Vincent answers. "Trust me, come now!"
Curly shrugs and with the manner of a boy who is constantly told to do wild things and having those wild things succeed, he crawls up between John's legs and onto the window frame. This causes John to lift one leg and scold him. Then, the young boy leaps. The Twins push Nana out, who yelps and squirms when Vincent catches her. The other Lost Boys follow quickly with Michael on their coattails. John is the only one who hesitates. He bends his legs over and over, telling himself to just jump. He has already flown. He just watched all the other boys land semi-comfortably in this strange man's arms, and yet there is some fear. Then from their living room, something crashes through the front window and he jumps without thinking.
Vincent's group rounds the corner from the backyard to the front of the house as two Allday and Onions Sedans careen to a stop in the middle of the street. A young-looking Chinese woman stands up from the passenger's seat of the first car, wielding a glistening metallic crossbow.
"Darling Family with me! Lost Boys, vehicle two!" she shouts, flicking a switch on a large battery pack.
Across the front yard, Sherlock prepares another shot, but the mist advances on him and re-condenses into the form of the rugged man who swats the pistol out of his hand, followed by a firm right-hook. Sherlock dips under the punch. Tucking and sliding, Sherlock disengages and scrambles away towards the cars. Bone amulets tinkle together as the man reaches into his furs and pulls out a sawn-off shotgun. The Darlings waste no time jumping into the first car.
Mr. Darling pushes Wendy and Mary down, trying to shield them. The Lost Boys, accustomed to danger but never having seen a car, run half hardheartedly, held by sudden curiosity. The rugged man fires. The shotgun blast connects with flesh in a bloody red spray causing Tootles to fall face-down on the sidewalk, writhing and screaming. The Darling Children scream and try to climb over the back of the car to get to Tootles, but Vincent and their parents stop them. A mysterious blond woman quickly scoops up Tootles and loads him into the second vehicle before placing a device over his wound and injecting him with something.
The Chinese woman lets loose a tethered-bolt from her crossbow. She hits the man in the chest. As the tethered-bolt buries itself deep inside his torso, she presses a button on her crossbow. Voltage courses down the wire, humming like a bee swarm. The man jerks and spasms chaotically before collapsing onto the lawn.
"He will be fine, Joan has him," declares Vincent in stern assurance to the Darling Children.
Watson sprints out of the house and latches onto the back of car one. The Chinese woman climbs back into the front passenger seat of car one as she detaches the bolt-tether from her crossbow. The Chinese Woman, seeing that all those intended for car one have climbed in, gestures for the driver to put the pedal to the metal. Car one takes off at high speed and within seconds they have already taken the first turn and have lost sight of the house, car two and their hunter.
"Joan to the gunner-seat, driver, get us out of here!" demands Sherlock to the front passenger and the driver in car two as he climbs in, accompanied by the remaining Lost Boys. They all scrunch in as best they can, some hanging from the sides of the car as it speeds off. The fair-haired front passenger of car two climbs into the back of the car, stepping over the passengers gracefully until she reaches the back of the car and readies the stationary mounted gun.
"Thank goodness. We are safe," says Mrs. Darling as she shivers, realising they all ran out without their jackets or scarves.
"I'm afraid not," Watson retorts. "The Woodsman always gets his quarry."
He points back down the boulevard at a patch of mist that flows around a street lamp on the corner behind them before streaking towards them.
"Mulan! We have to lose him before we reach the warp point," orders Vincent.
Mulan nods, then proceeds to hook one of her feet around the back-base of the driver's seat. She reloads her crossbow. Watson drops his half-empty magazine and fumbles in a fresh one as the car jostles on the cobblestone roads. The mist closes in as Mulan leans over the edge of the vehicle using her hook-and-locked foot to steady herself. Angling and waiting for the perfect moment, she narrows her sights.
The mist moves in close, following along the right side of the vehicle before solidifying once again into the form of the Woodsman mounted upon a dark ephemeral horse, giving them chase. He lifts a woodcutter's ax and swings at the passengers in the car. His ax slashes Watson's right arm, absorbing a strike meant for Mr. Darling's head, causing Watson to drop his weapon onto the floor of the car. Watson, desperate to get the Woodsman away from the Darling Family, launches himself towards the Woodsman, striking him in the face with a solid right-hook. The Woodsman evaporates again.
Watson drops through the mist with a yelp and tumbles down to the pavement. The Woodsman swirls to the other side of the vehicle, slicing half-formed at the Darling Children as he moves. Abandoning her shot, Mulan dives on top of the Darling Children, shielding them from the strike at the cost of a bloody grievous slash to her back.
The Woodsman, now on the other side of the vehicle, hooks his ax into Mulan's weapon and yanks her crossbow from her hands, causing her to quickly draw her sword.
The driver turns hard down a two-lane avenue. The melee is interrupted mid clash. Rounding the corner, Vincent sees Joan at the next intersection gripping the handles of a mounted minigun. Hmm...that's new. He gestures for the driver to head straight at Joan's vehicle. The Woodsman, distracted by the fierce sword to axe battle he finds himself in, fails to notice Joan's approaching vehicle before it is too late.
"Now!" shouts Vincent, signalling for the driver to turn hard out of the way, giving Joan a clear shot at the Woodsman. As the car jerks to the left, the Woodsman comes face to face with six already spinning barrels. In one second, fifty-eight bullets tear into the Woodsman. His corporeal form shreds. In its wake, a bloody mist settles on the pavement, sinking between the dirty rivets of the stone street.
The two cars reconvene at the southern edge of Kensington Gardens. The cars rocket north before veering left to stay on the west side of the Serpentine. They skirt the waters heading for the Italian Gardens.
"Prepare yourselves. Close your eyes and hold on."
"Prepare for wh-" Mrs. Darling starts.
The world stops.
An intense feeling of falling through warm water washes over the travellers. The Darlings and the Lost Boys shrivel into themselves, overcome by an alien sensation. Nana barks over and over with no sound finding anyone. Then a rush of power erupts all around them as the world bursts back into motion with a brilliant flash of light.
They open their eyes into a panoramic vision of the River Thames. Gawking around from inside the car, it seemed like they were floating in mid-air. The Lost Boys peek past the wheels and see a floor of polished hardwood. The Darlings share their amazement as they see the gothic-abutments of the Palace of Westminster extending out from below them, half-hidden by a plane of semi-opaque wood. Beside them, sandwiched in the middle of the Clock Tower, is a large square office. It is furnished with a large magnificent wooden desk covered in bizarre equipment. Elegant bookshelves stand behind it, winged by two locked armouries on each side, and an impossible-to-explain fireplace adorns the space opposite the desk where the opposing wall should be in a normal room.
Vincent steps out of the car. "We made it."