The next day, I sat waiting in the lobby of the Metropolitan Police headquarters. It would have been cool, seeing the infamous Scotland Yard, if I wasn’t acutely aware that anyone around me could be working with the milladen. I found myself watching every constable as they passed. Did they know about the monsters their bosses had summoned to the heart of the city? Or maybe they were milladen themselves, hiding in plain sight. The paranoia was making me tense.

After an endless wait, a well-dressed man with thick spectacles greeted me. “Inquisitor Silver? Sorry for the wait. I’m Lucas Smith, resident attorney.”

A possible milladen and a lawyer, I couldn’t decide which was worse. I rose and shook the man’s hand. He guided me through narrow hallways to a small meeting room.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” the lawyer was saying as we entered. Another man sat at the table. He was broad-shouldered, well dressed, and had a pleasant smile. He leaned back in his chair, showing off heavy muscle. He was imposing, a difficult feat while sitting down. “Inquisitor,” Smith said. “This is Assistant Commissioner Grant.”

“A pleasure,” the large man said, his voice deep and rich. I struggled to keep any expression for my face as I shook his hand. This was Ajax’s boss, the man that worked with the milladen. Would he try to kill me like he tried to kill Micheal Cooper?

“Please, sit,” Grant said. “This shouldn’t take long; we just have some paperwork to take care of.” I sat. “The late Inspector Ajax has willed you several of his personal effects as well as his portion of the Grey Warehouse bust. We just need you to sign a few statements.” His tone was friendly, reasonable.

I examined the sheets of paper Grant pushed over to me. The first was a list of Ajax’s items. His guns, lockpicks, cash, the contents of his apartment, and various odds and ends. As soon as they pulled him out of the game, his character was considered ‘dead.’ Nice of him to leave me his gear. Maybe he felt guilty.

The next paper was an affidavit. It stated that the Decoction Killer had been a French nationalist and psychopath. That he had been killed in a firefight with the Metropolitan Police with the assistance of the church. That last part was true enough I supposed.

Attached was a sheet explaining the legal ramifications if I tried to contradict the story. They were trying to strong arm me into agreeing with their narrative. How would the public react if they knew that the Decoction Killer had been an inspector? Had been taking out monsters that killed and replaced London citizens?

I glanced at the Assistant Commissioner. Did he know how much I had learned? He smiled. Smug prick. But the snake wasn’t my real enemy. This whole time I had been buying into a false narrative. The gangs, the zombies, the milladen, and even the Metropolitan Police weren’t my real enemies. My enemies were the people that trapped us here in the first place; Axeton and Dr. Hide. They were the ones I needed to outplay.

I signed the affidavit. If I brought down the Assistant Commissioner and the milladen, it wouldn’t be through the legal channels. Without proof, going to the newspapers would just tip my hand. I would need to get more information, maybe do some decoction killing of my own.

“Fantastic,” Grant said. “And if you could just sign this receipt, Mr. Smith has your things.”

I signed without reading and Smith pushed over a duffle bag and briefcase. The duffle had Ajax’s guns, apartment keys, and other gear. The briefcase was filled with pound bank notes. “The commission on the Grey Warehouse bust,” Grant explained. Hush money; got it. Still, it was a sizable sum. Maybe I would look into getting more enchanted gear.

Smith and Grant ushered me out of the building with a stream of benign pleasantries. I left the building and started walking. I didn’t have a destination in mind, but walking felt better than standing around. For the first time, I really didn’t have a next step. Find out more information on the milladen, I guess. Find a way to bring the Assistant Commissioner to justice. That would be enough to finish my main quest.

I stopped that line of thinking. What did I really want? I decided to break it down. I wanted to leave the game, get back to the real world. I wanted to get the people I cared about out of the game; Sarah, Jim, Scott. I wanted Axeton and Hide to pay for putting us through this. How could I accomplish all of my goals?

I looked down at the duffle bag. Thought about Ajax’s guns, four different kinds of pistol. I thought about the modern pistol the guard had carried during my brief conversation with Dr. Hide. Dropping the luggage to the street, I pulled out my journal. I flipped to my blank proficiency, the one I had yet to decide on, and filled in, Basic Proficiency: One-Handed Firearms.

Wheels turning, I grabbed my bags and started walking with purpose. I found Jim in a bank, trying to get a loan. Almost all his money had been tied up in the Bitter Flagon. With the pub gone, the testers housed there had no place to go.

Jim turned away from the bank teller; rejection written on his face. He brightened when he saw me. “Will! I’m glad you're alright. We were worried about you when you collapsed. Did you manage to catch the Decoction Killer?”

“Not exactly.” I handed Jim the briefcase. “How would you feel about hiring an architect and some carpenters?”

Jim took the briefcase, expression confused. “Why would we need carpenters?” He opened the briefcase, and his eyes bulged.

“I think it’s about time we built a proper guildhall.”

-End of Book One-