Day 1

‘Well?’ Riot asked.

Mona nodded as she pressed the church’s door closed behind her. ‘She did what we asked her. He’ll be coming.’

Sham rose from his pew. ‘Right. Best… best get on with it, then.’

But Riot—the third of the trio of resistance members planned to take down Warren—didn’t budge. ‘Are we sure? What did Verd do to draw their ire?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mona replied.

‘You don’t know?’

‘I trust her,’ Mona said, her voice flat. ‘Alright?’ There was something about the way Mona had spoken that it made Riot back off, answering only with a nod.

Sham tried to catch his friend’s eye, to tell her that Mona’s tone had caught him off guard, too, but Riot was once again making eye contact even less than usual.

It made his stomach twist. A few days ago, after the incident with the particularly frustrating member of parliament, Riot had spoken to him. For a moment, it had been like old times, back before they understood the nature of the loop. They’d traded insults, in that good-natured way they’d used to. Riot had had that sparkle in her eyes again. Sham had thought that the promise of this Ms Weekes—and potentially a crowd of anti-government ministers—had excited her, had made her see that they were making progress, that the Loop would be over soon. But then, the next day, she was back to that aloof, quiet self that Sham was growing increasingly used to. Like the woman he cared about was fading away.

He’d speak to her; he resolved himself to that. After this dry run with Warren Hargreaves was over, he’d sit her down. He’d get to the bottom of it, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

But for now, there was a job to be done, and Riot was at least here for that.

‘This time…’ Recollection said. ‘What happens if she doesn’t turn up on the final Loop?’

Sham shook his head minutely, in response to the living skill. Despite the smallness of his movement, Mona’s eyes snapped to him anyway.

‘Just saying. Best not make her a vital part of—’

‘Shall we?’ Mona asked, her hand already reaching for the door. ‘We don’t know how long it’ll be. I don’t want Warren to… well, you know.’

At this, both Sham and Riot moved to hurry; they did know, of course. And while they weren’t close to Verd like Mona seemed to be, neither of them wanted her to suffer a fate such as Warren Hargreaves—especially when it was them who’d placed her in the middle of it.

The trio took the tram across to the very edge of the city, in the near easternmost point of the Dripcanal, where Verd had been staying before all this began. This was where they would spring their carefully planned trap—a trap that they went over again and again in hushed voices on the tram, largely at Mona’s insistence.

As with all their dry run assassinations, there were two rules.

One: they must not, under any circumstances, be successful in their attack—only know that they could be. If they were to take the life of one of the Legion, they’d be tipping their hand to the Prime Minister, and all this planning could very easily be un-done.

Two: there must be a reason that their target doesn’t tell their boss what happened. In Vince Perch’s case, they’d made a fool of him with their daughter-Mona bait and switch. In Lew Sawyer’s case, they held the root of his addiction in their hands. But for Warren Hargreaves? All their recon had turned up nothing. This was a man without weakness, or rather, a man without shame. There was nothing they could hold over him.

So they were going to keep this simple. Their attempted assassination would be nothing more than a robbery gone wrong. They couldn’t use this excuse again, of course—there was definitely a scenario in which Warren told his boss about it, but the resistance were relying on Enoch Chambers thinking this was just a symptom of a city in unrest.

When they finally arrived at Verd’s now vacant apartment, it was Mona who let them in, using a key given to her by her new roommate.

Riot glanced Sham’s way, and they shared a glance, just for a moment—and in that shared invisible smirk, Sham found a renewed confidence that he might be able to reach his friend in whatever darkness she’d grown lost. But, again, that was a matter for later.

The apartment itself was a mess—not the level of filth that Sham had been existing in by the day the Loop began, but the mess of someone overworked, with little time or energy to see to basic chores like this. It was also… small. Though it was positioned on the outskirts of the city, Verd still lived in the Dripcanal—an upper-market district—on an actual income, rather than inherited wealth. Her wallet hadn’t stretched to renting much more than a glorified box.

‘Hm,’ Riot said.

Mona raised an eyebrow, her shoulders clenched. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s small,’ Sham said.

‘Well you of all people should’ve expected it would be!’ Mona replied, then caught her tongue. ‘I mean… we come from the same backgrounds, so…’

‘It’s not a judgement,’ Riot said.

‘Yes, I know, sorry, I—’

‘But it does impact our strategy.’ Riot turned to Sham. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘More space back on the landing. More places to hide. And if he’s expecting resistance, it’ll be in here rather than out there.’

Sham’s increasingly erratic friend nodded. ‘Agreed.’

‘Great.’ Sham forced a smile and gestured for the door. ‘Shall we?’ He made a show of holding it open not just for Riot, but for Mona too. Couldn’t have her thinking she was special.

‘She—’ Recollection start.

Shut it.

The landing outside Verd’s apartment was up on the fifth floor—not the worst floor for a building without an elevator, but a difficult climb none the less, and one that’d had Sham fighting for his breath by the end of it. It held on it seven apartments, a wooden door for each, with Verd’s not quite at the far end of the long hallway, but the next one along. There was also, crucially, a narrowing of the corridor about a third of the way from the stairwell, offering the team a place to hide themselves from sight.

‘I’ll—’ Sham began, but Riot cut him off.

‘You two behind the corner. I’ll take the upper staircase.’

Sham considered for a moment arguing the point; he didn’t like the idea of Riot taking such a pivotal role in this, especially when she’d been as aloof as she had. But that, he ultimately decided, was a matter for after they had that long overdue conversation.

And with that, they waited.

* * *

Gods damn did they wait. Warren Hargeaves was not a man in a particular hurry. The day turned to night, Mona stepped into Verd’s apartment to make a round of tea—twice—and still the man didn’t show. It was nearing the moment that Sham was going to give up, and past the same moment for Mona, when a thudding of footsteps on staircase had them hurrying to their positions.

They’d seen others come up and down the stairway, of course. Residents had glanced at them with wary eyes, but stayed silent, or else they hadn’t looked at all. No matter whether you were in the Harbour or Dripcanal, it seemed, people knew that it was best for them to stay out of other people’s business. Only those from the Sunrise District didn’t seem to know any better.

But these footsteps, they were heavier than those that had come before. Befitting of a man with some muscle on his bones. Each step was accompanied by a thud that echoed up the stairwell and—unless Sham’s imagination was getting the better of him—made the very building shake.

‘Are we… sure about this?’ Mona whispered at Sham’s side.

Maybe he really wasn’t imagining the whole “building shaking” thing, then.

Hoping his ears weren’t deceiving him and the footsteps really were still a couple of floors away, Sham poked his head around the corner—and saw Riot doing much the same over the stairwell railings. She glanced at Sham, and nodded.

This was it, then: officer number 3, attempt number 1.

‘And here… we… go…’

As the great burly body reached the floor of Verd’s apartment, another—lighter—set of footsteps joined them.

‘Stop,’ Riot said.

The heavy man came to a halt.

At this signal, Sham left Mona alone behind the cover and stepped out into the hallway, revolver in hand. There he was: Warren Hargeaves. A man with far more muscle than brain. A man whose manic eyes reflected the darkness in his soul. A man with Legendary grade Vigour, and nothing else. Because what else could he need?

‘What’s all this, then?’ the officer of the Legion snarled.

‘Robbery,’ Sham said.

Warren smirked. ‘You picked the wrong guy to rob, I reckon.’

‘Empty your pockets,’ Riot added, gesturing to the wooden floor with her revolver.

Warren Hargreaves didn’t move.

‘She said empty ‘em,’ Sham repeated.

‘And coming from you, I get it, yeah?’ Warren replied. ‘But her, what with her accent… what’s all that about, then? Daddy’s money run out, has it?’

Riot’s hand trembled for just a moment. Sham hoped that Warren wouldn’t see it.

‘Shall I?’ Riot asked, and though her eyes were fixed on Warren, Sham knew that the question was directed at her. ‘Feels too… easy.’

‘I was thinking much the same…’ Recollection added.

They were both right, of course. It was. If all they needed to do to kill Warren Hargreaves was to get a jump on him, then that was simple. They wouldn’t need any skill vials for that. And though it made Sham uncomfortable, too, to think that it would be this easy, he was inclined to take the wins wherever he could.

‘Got a clean shot?’ Sham asked.

Riot nodded. ‘At his head.’

‘Do it.’

As Riot’s empty revolver clicked, Warren ducked.

‘Shit,’ was all Sham managed to say, before Warren turned on Riot. They didn’t know that Riot would have hit. They couldn’t say with absolute certainty that this assassination would have been a success. They’d need another go at it.

Warren collided with Riot before she had a chance to “click” her weapon at him again, pressing her into the hard wooden edges of the stairs, the impact forcing Riot to drop her revolver.

Sham ran to Riot—and, more importantly, Warren—and swung his elbow into the small of the officer’s back. The man tensed, shooting his shoulders back, and turned away from Riot to instead face down Sham.

‘Ah.’

He hadn’t thought much beyond this point.

Warren whipped a hand to Sham’s throat, and for a second Sham thought that was going to be it for this Loop—that the officer would squeeze and Sham would wake back up, hungover, over his small rickety table.

But the officer instead launched Sham away, into the wall. The breath was forced from Sham’s lungs as he hit the hard plaster surface, and splinters of the wall dug into his flesh. The officer neared, looming over him.

‘This is a man who likes to play with his food…’

Footsteps approached. Two of them.

Riot and Mona, surely, coming to the rescue.

‘No,’ Recollection said. ‘Listen. Three sets.’

‘Who are—’ an alarmed-sounding Mona started, only to be interrupted by the sound of gunfire.

A round pierced Warren Hargreaves’s shoulder, sending a splattering of blood into Sham’s face and eyes. He blinked, trying to recover his vision, trying to see just what in the gods’ name was going on.

‘Mona! We’re supposed to—’

‘It’s not me,’ Mona replied, and Sham, turning, could just about make out her raising her hands above her head.

Warren hadn’t fallen. And now, it seemed, he was angrier than ever. A blurry hand clutched at his wound as he turned to face whoever it was that had approached.

‘I didn’t get a clean—’ Riot started, and was drowned out by the sound of a weapon firing.

Warren’s body exploded again, this time a huge chunk being ripped from his left shoulder. He screamed with pain—even a Legendary grade Vigour wasn’t enough to withstand this—and charged at the person who had fired.

No. Not one person. Two.

Two men stood in at the top of the stairwell, weapons raised.

‘And who the fuck are—’ Sham started, but cut himself off when Riot leaped towards them from the upper stairwell.

She collided with one of them just as he fired his weapon, sending a round squarely into the ceiling. ‘No!’ she shouted. ‘You can’t kill him! He has to…’

Warren reached the other mysterious assailant at the same moment, reaching for the man’s throat in much the same way as he had Sham’s earlier. This time, however, he recognised the urgency, and squeezed.

Blood dripped to the floor from the stranger’s crumpled neck, and—

The other assailant fired.

Riot stumbled backwards, clutching at her stomach. Her increasingly wet, red stomach.

‘Riot!’ Sham shouted, springing into action.

But the other stranger was faster. He pressed the advantage, tackling Riot into the metal railing at the side of the stairwell, and pushed her against it.

‘No!’ Sham shouted, echoing a mumbled word from Riot.

With a shove, the stranger had Riot over the top of the bannister and tumbling down the five stories below.

Sham fell to his knees, his legs giving way, as Warren Hargreaves turned on the other stranger. He felt hands under his armpits, lifting him back to his feet.

‘Sham, we got to go,’ Mona said, though her voice sounded distant. ‘Sham, we have to get out of here!’

‘You wanna shoot me, huh?’ Warren Hargreaves shouted at the stranger. ‘Then you better shoot me in the fucking head.’ He grabbed the assailant’s revolver arm and snapped it, causing the revolver to bounce from the floor and then through the metal railings.

Sham wrenched himself to his feet, freeing himself from Mona’s grasp, and staggered towards the edge of the stairwell. He had to know. He had to see.

‘No!’ Mona shouted. ‘Sham, don’t look. Sham, don’t!’

But he pressed on none the less, reaching the edge of the staircase, and turned his face down. At that moment, a blow caught him in the back of the head.