--5 hours before the concert--

“This is the man,” Mick said, slapping the shoulder of the cowboy looking bodyguard he had promised to hire. “An absolute specialist. If there’s anyone who can protect you from an assassin, this is the man. Nothing gets by his eye.”

The entire group was gathered in the backstage of the concert hall, and standing before Loren was a tall and thin looking man with a very large head. This wasn’t to say he just had a strangely sized head, rather, it was that this man had a head so massive it looked like it was an air balloon. His eyes were massive saucers and his ears looked like they belonged to elephants. And on top of that malformed head was a white wide-brimmed hat, and the gaudy man who wore it was smiling wide to display a set of delicate pearly whites.

The man held out his hand to shake Loren’s, and the handshake was returned.

“Howdy, Mr. Dames,” Lance said. “You definitely don’t know me, but I absolutely know you. Truth be told, I’m a huge fan, and I was actually already planning on getting tickets to your show. The way you compose is fantastic, but what really grabs me about your work are the improv sessions. I might not look like it, but I used to play a bit of trumpet myself, and I loved the feeling of soloing. Of course I wasn’t as good as you, but you bring back that joy in me.”

“Do I? Well I’m glad to hear that, Lance,” Loren said, smiling. “And you can call me Loren. Formality really isn’t my thing, truth be told.”

“Alright then, Loren,” Lance said. He was worried he wouldn’t get to come see the concert when someone specifically requested him on a job for that night. But when he learned how it was, and that he’d get to meet one of his favorite artists, everything turned out good. Well, except for the whole assassination thing. “Oh, one more thing, if you don’t mind, really quick.”

“Yes?”

“Could you autograph my sheet music?” After asking, Lance produced a piece of score from a scorebook Loren had published years ago.

“Loren, when I talked to this guy, he said he’d do the job for free so long as you gave him an autograph,” Mick said, scratching at his face. Under his breath, he continued. “I wish all bodyguards were like this.”

“Of course I can sign it!”

As soon as he understood what was going on, Loren grabbed the paper and took a pen from Mick, then did a scribble down in the bottom corner, very explicitly not covering any of the actual music notation.

“To...my...biggest...fan...Lance...how does this look? Want anything else? You’re doing me such a favor, I want to make sure I can repay you.”

“Hmm,” Lance said. He blushed, and it was very apparent on his massive face. “Actually, could you write: ‘to Erymanthian’, on it as well?”

“Yeah, sure.”

After taking the pen and starting, Loren paused and looked up at Lance.

“How do you spell that?”

The assassination was supposed to happen while he was in Paris, but the time Loren planned on staying was already short. He was on tour throughout the country, visiting all of the districts, and he was only spending a few days in each major city. It was a long trip, and while it would’ve been nice to see the sights, everything in Paris was postponed.

But still, as they say in the theatre industry, the show must go on.

The three men were sitting together backstage, chatting casually and getting a feel for the others before the storm actually hit. It was obvious that Lance was a professional to Mick, but he wanted to make sure face to face. I mean, who wouldn’t? Instead of asking for pay, the specialist asked for an autograph as payment. Sure, that might be worth some money, but Loren could have paid an exorbitant amount for any protections charges should they need to. That kind of strange request bothered Mick at first.

Now, after getting a chance to see the true devotion from Lance in person, he was convinced the man had only good interests at heart. Even if his head was quite strange.

Rumors about Lance Gordon proved true.

The Herculean Odysseus.

“But anyway, let’s get back to the most important topic,” Lance said, snapping Mick from his thoughts. “An assassin, huh?”

“That’s what it seems,” Loren said. He looked at Mick. “Right?”

“Yes,” Mick replied. “An assassin. Or at least a letter from an assassin. Jackal. I assume that you’ve heard of this person?”

Lance laughed.

“Heh. Heard of him? Let’s just say I’ve fought against the man. Not in person, of course, but in a battle of wits. And I am proud to say that even though I’ve never actually been able to stop Jackal from killing anybody, I’ve probably gotten closer than anyone else ever has. You could call me an expert at dealing with him.”

“Oh. I’m probably dead then.”

“Ahh! Don’t say that,” Mick said, noting how even though what Lance said was enough to dash all hope, Loren’s emotional state barely changed. “I’m sure you’ll be able to do something about this, right Mr. Gordon?”

“Sure, I can absolutely do something,” Lance said. He had a cocky smile. “All those other times were flukes. This time, I’m gonna be serious.”

“Wow! You’re incredible!”

Loren didn’t seem to be taking the entire ordeal seriously, but Mick had pretty much expected that. He sighed, then pulled out the assassination letter. He handed it over to Lance to read, and the detective glanced it over quickly.

“Jackal really sent this?”

“From what we can tell, yes. It seems that you’re a fan of Mr. Dames music, but are you aware of his political advocacy?” Mick asked, trying to steer the direction of the conversation to something more important. The concert was only hours away, and the level of security wasn’t at exactly what he wanted. “Loren has been going around spreading word on equality and political rights. Rights for daemons. Rights for experiments. Rights for all people, despite their circumstances. Of course, that’s earned him many enemies, and as I told you before, this isn’t something new. But it seems more serious, if Jackal is involved.”

When he heard what Mick said, Loren quietly corrected him: “I spread the word of love.”

“Tis a strange letter, if ya’ ask me,” Lance said after finishing it. Neither man bothered with Loren’s correction. “Never before have I seen Jackal do something like this, which was the weirdest thing about everything you told me. Truthfully, I’ve been working on a psych profile for the killer. And if there’s anything I can say about him, it’s that he is a professional above all else. Careless and without empathy, he kills as efficiently as possible.

“Which makes the warning very confusing. If it was really Jackal that was intending on attacking Loren, why would he send a letter saying so? To him, there isn’t any point in playing games, and the only way to guarantee an assassination is to kill the target as easily as possible, without any frills. That’s how I never caught him before. Which leads me to believe either one of two things has happened.

“The first is that this letter was sent by an imposter. Someone wants you to be worried, or is some kind of psychopath that likes to see people struggle. Otherwise, the killer wouldn’t make their job more difficult, but at the same time, by doing this, they certainly intimidated you. Worried you enough to hire the best detective slash bodyguard in the city. Usually, that would be against their best wishes, but who knows? I can’t really peg the meaning of their actions if they did this.

“The other and more likely possibility is that whoever hired Jackal to do this hit isn’t alone, and they don’t have perfectly aligned values. I’m envisioning the boss telling Jackal to perform this hit, and their secretary being worried and against the decision. Not wanting the killing to go through, this other party chose to send a message warning y’all about the attack. But you may ask why they wrote the letter like this? The answer is quite obvious. This disaffected party is alone in their knowledge, and if word got out what they were doing, they would be next on the chopping block. By sending a letter, they can cause you to worry and put up defenses, ready to be attacked, but haven’t put their name on it at all. The vague nature of the writing makes it almost impossible to detect who wrote it, so if it were found, your enemies wouldn’t be able to figure out the traitor in their midst. Quite clever, if you ask me.”

It was quite the soliloquy, and even though Lance was clearly ready to continue doing an intellectual back and forth of ideas with the two other men, the enthusiasm wasn’t matched. Loren hadn’t been paying attention from the start, and Mick seemed flustered enough as he tried to put the pieces together.

Well, that was to be expected.

Lance (Erymanthian form) was too intelligent for his own good. This transformation, like the many others he could take, was hyper focused in a single aspect. Erymanthian form was based completely in deductions, and sacrificed everything else to do so. Of course, sometimes his mind moved too quickly, and usually others couldn’t keep up, though he thought his recent explanation was pretty good.

When he went off on rants, though, it was problematic. Oftentimes, he would come to a conclusion and voice it aloud, thinking his other forms understood what he meant, then he could shoot himself in the head to switch forms, only to realize they didn’t understand.

Life was tough sharing your body with eleven other people.

“Ah, let me make it a bit more simple,” Lance said. “Basically, I don’t think Jackal sent the letter. We may be up against him, but there’s also a chance we aren’t.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mick said, still looking flustered.

Loren snapped back into reality. “What were we talking about?”

“About what we need to do to make sure our star here is safe,” Mick answered. “I’ve already contacted the police, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll provide much support outside regular procedure. I’m not sure what I expected, but that sounds about right. Should we be buying a mercenary corp? Are there any in town who’ll do work on such short notice?”

“Not many that you can trust, unfortunately,” Lance said. “How many men travel with you for security? I’m sure there are a few.”

“About fifteen.”

“Well, that could work,” Lance said, his mind making multiple calculations. “It’d be tight, and you better pay those men well, but I think we could pull it off. Jackal works alone, so as long as everyone is within earshot and paying attention, and I’m with Loren whenever he isn’t on stage. It’ll require everyone to pay absolute attention up until the point that you’re on the train out of Paris, but until then, we’ll do the following.”

***

Wolf’s eyes blinked open.

Memories of before he was beaten flashed through his mind, and he instantly sat up and surveyed his surroundings in fear. Where was he?

A white room, with a tile floor covered in blood. Dozens of strange machines everywhere, and sharp looking tools hanging from the wall. Was this a torture chamber? That seemed completely out of place, but it was possible. Sweat started to bead on Wolf’s forehead until he heard the whimpering of someone else in the room.

He followed his ears until he saw a man with a long nose collapsed on the floor right by his bed.

“A-ah...you’re awake…” the man said, eyes wide. “Please, d-don’t move. You’re hurt. I don’t want y-ou to get hurt any worse...okay?”

Upon hearing those words, Wolf realized how badly his body was injured. He likely had a broken bone or two, and he felt aches and sores across his chest and arms. There was a tube hooked up to his arm, and otherwise, he was completely naked.

“Where am I?”

The scared man on the ground blinked twice, then slowly got up to his feet.

“The Hawk’s Next.”

That was the name of the underground clinic run by Dr. Hawk, one of the best criminal surgeons in Paris, or even more likely, the best in all of District 5. It was well known that he had a fair price and could treat most wounds, even if his personality made life awful. It was also known as a neutral ground, which meant people could come here safely…

So long as they were injured and needed treating.

If Wolf was here, that meant he successfully escaped his pursuers. It was a difficult thing, and he didn’t know the city very well, but he had accomplished it. Of course his body was still feeling close to broken, so it could have been better.

There was something important he needed to check.

Memories were slowly coming back to him.

“What day is today?”

“Wednesday? The 18th?”

Good. Or wait, was that bad?

Before he could figure it out, someone barged into the room, pushing aside the heavy double door that seperated the surgery room from the patient ward. The man coming in was an old man, with a salt and pepper beard and receding gray hairline with scars covering his body. This was Dr. Hawk, the criminal doctor, who looked more like a grizzled war veteran than a physician.

“He’s awake?”

“H-he’s awake.”

Wolf was indeed awake. He stared at the two men, without saying anything.

“Well, it’s good to see that you’re awake,” Dr. Wolf said, his tense attitude vanishing as he approached. As he spoke, he grabbed a clipboard stuck to the end of Wolf’s bed.”I did a bit of examination on you...nothing too intrusive, of course. Just to make sure you weren’t gonna die. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No. Thank you,” Wolf said. He suddenly was aware that he didn’t have any money. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come here. He probably shouldn’t say that out loud. “For helping me.”

“Hmm? Well, certainly I don’t expect to have done this work for free.”

Damn it.

“But first thing’s first, what’s your name? I’m sure you already know mine, since I’m a pretty popular guy, but I gotta write something down on your chart. Currently, we’re going with wolfman.”

“That’s close,” Wolf said. “I’m called Wolf.”

It looked like his answer annoyed Dr. Hawk.

“I didn’t ask what you’re called, I asked for your name.”

“That is my name,” Wolf responded. “I’m a war baby. I don’t have a real name, or birth certificate or anything like that, as you probably know. Wolf is what I go by.”

Dr. Wolf frowned.

There certainly were plenty of war babies; orphans from old war efforts. Many of them were born outside of the UE, living in illegal villages. Oftentimes soldiers during excursions would reach these places and raid them, and often bring children back to plant in orphanages. It was more ethical than killing them, but these children always seemed to grow up to be fucked up. No attachment to civilization, and no respect for humanity.

In his years of service, Dr. Wolf went from believing they should be saved to realizing the true mercy was killing them in their cradles. His hands were covered in their blood, and he wasn’t the only one. The person sitting in front of him was a lucky survivor.

“Fine then, Wolf,” Dr. Hawk said, scratching out the ‘man’ part of wolfman. “We didn’t do much work on you, since we weren’t sure whether you could pay in full. But we did help. Attached you to an iv drip, coated your wounds, and fixed your dislocated shoulder. Cleaned you up. How much can you pay? That’s my first question.”

Wolf couldn’t pay anything. He had nothing to his name; even the clothes on his back were stolen or borrowed.

“I have literally nothing but my body. But I can get money for you.”

“Get money how?”

Wolf was silent. This was supposed to be a place where criminals got medical care, but that didn’t mean it was a place where criminals were free to do whatever they wanted. It was entirely possible for Dr. Hawk to call the police on a dangerous patient. Wolf had heard the stories.

“That won’t do,” Dr. Hawk said, shaking his head. “That won’t do at all. That silence tells me more than you ever could with your mouth. And as bad as all the shit that I help people do is, I can’t be the type to condone it. Why not get a normal job? Dominic over here did it! Easy peasy, right Dom!”

At the mention of his name, the other man in the room yelped and hopped in place. Seemed he wasn’t paying attention.

“And I’d love to be the one to offer a job, but unfortunately, at the moment, I’ve got my hands full with dumbasses like this over here,” Dr. Hawk continued. “But how about this. 500 franc and we’ll call it even. That sound fair? For someone with literally nothing but their body?”

After a few seconds to consider, Wolf nodded slowly. He would do his best to pay it, but there was no guarantee. Currently, there was something more important he was forgetting.

“What time is it?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Dr. Hawk said, silencing his patient by wagging his finger back and forth in time with his interruption. “It is time for you to stay in bed. You need rest, more than anything else. With those types of wounds on your body...actually, speaking of, I had a few questions about that, if you don’t mind. To my eyes, it looked like you were beaten by a bat or a hammer or some shit, but all the marks appeared to be from treads. Like from a car. But you obviously weren’t driven over by a car. How does something like that happen? Were you beaten up by a tire?”

It was a ludicrous idea, but it wasn’t far from the truth. In fact, it was almost spot on. So close that it made Wolf start to sweat.

“Yes, it was something like that,” he said. “And please, can you tell me the time?”

Dr. Hawk sighed.

“Alright, alright. According to my watch, it’s about 7 PM. Give or take, this thing is kinda crummy. Lost my last watch in some guy’s stomach during surgery. After that, I swore not to drink on the job.”

As interesting as that short aside at the end was, Wolf could only feel worry.

7 PM.

The violin concert started at 8, and went on for roughly an hour and a half. That meant it was going to be over at 10, and that meant at around 10, the Bear God Army would move. Before he was beaten, Wolf had been a member. One of high ranking ones, as well. But after saying he didn’t want to help Bear God attack the violinist, he was attacked and forced to run.

Wolf didn’t know very much about music.

He heard stuff on the radio, and he sometimes sang or hummed along to his own tune. For some reason, however, he thought musicians were just the most important people. People who needed protection.

Wolf’s mind had been made up upon hearing Bear God’s desire. It didn’t matter what it took, Wolf would keep the violinist away from the otherworldly terrorist.

Even if it cost him everything.

“Hey, you’re not thinking about leaving any time soon, are ya’, kid?”

“Of course not,” Wolf lied, smiling his most innocent smile ever. “Thank you for your help, doc, but I think I want to get a little more rest.”

***

--2 hours before the concert--

Honey had her ticket gripped tightly in her palm. The anticipation was killing her, and going out to events like this wasn’t something she did often. She was completely confident in herself and couldn’t help but smiling wickedly as her excitement continued to build.

“Jan~, jan~, jyaaaan~,” she sang, twirling in a circle and pretending to play the violin. Because she had no idea how they sounded, it unfortunately was quite off. Everyone else in line could only stare at her in confusion, though the confidence at which she continued to imitate what she thought was a violin overpowered anyone’s willingness to confront her.

There was quite a line going back, so it was fortunate Honey got here early. The cheap tickets didn’t get priority seating, which meant only the fastest got good seats. Other people in the line were just common rabble; either men and women who looked like laborers in their red overalls and work clothes, or like failed aristocrats and business folk in their black suits and ties. They all looked so serious, with their lips pulled taut as they watched Honey’s performance, as though it were a prelude to the night’s show.

“Jun~, jyooo~, chacka chacka~, jyayaaan~,” she continued, stepping out of her position in line to make an exaggerated leap. She was back a second later. “Jyon~, jan~, shoshu~!”

As she threw her hands up in the air, to complete the performance, spectators began clapping without any emotion. Honey, panting hard, bowed to the crowd and soaked in the applause.

“I’ll be here all week,” she said. Then, she pulled a bottle of absinthe she had been hiding and drank from it. “If anyone has any drink, I’ll take that as payment for the show.”

But nobody had any to give.

A sign by the front said: ‘No Alcohol’, and since none of the other patrons had wanted to be thrown out, there wasn’t a single drop save for the bottle in her hands.

Not that they would have given here any, of course.

***

Staring down over the crowd from a raised atrium, Loren smiled.

He wanted to bless everyone with his music. What was the point in writing and composing if people didn’t get a chance to listen? And with how the industry was shaped, typically, only those with the highest of social standing had the opportunity to go to events like this. Even when he forced the venue to open itself up at drastically cheap costs per ticket, they still did their best to sell seperate tickets for higher class viewing. Separating the rich from the poor.

But this was fine. So long as everyone got the chance to enjoy his music, that was all that mattered to Loren.

He watched as someone from the crowd started spinning around and dancing, waving her arms as though she were playing a violin. Yes, that was the type of excitement he wanted to produce. If a single person drew inspiration from his work, that was all that mattered.

“Stay away from the windows,” Lance said, appearing suddenly from nowhere and putting a hand on Loren’s shoulder. “Who knows where they might attack from.”

“You think they’ll fly through a window?”

“Not fly, shoot,” Lance corrected. He pulled Loren away, stopping the man when they were in the dressing room. “We’ve only got a little bit longer until the performance starts. Now, I can’t be with you when you’re playing, and I’m sure you’re gonna be focusing on playing rather than security when the show starts, but there are a few things I want to get across.

“First is that you should move around as much as possible. If there is a shooter, that’ll make it just slightly harder for them to pull off the shot. Mick already told me you’re quite active on the stage when playing?”

“I try to be,” Loren said, smiling. “The music makes me want to dance.”

“Good. The other thing to remember is that you need to stay as far away from the audience as possible.”

For the first time since Lance had met Loren, the violinist frowned.

“Do I really need to? One of my favorite things is reaching out to touch my fans.”

“Then that’s the perfect time to be attacked,” Lance said. “If you do that often, and a killer figured it out, wouldn’t it be easy enough to just strike when you go to them?”

“I suppose...but still…”

“You only need to hold it in for this one concert. Once you’re out of Paris, you’ll be out of the range of Jackal, and you can go back to doing whatever you want. You just need to make sure you stay safe for tonight, then after that, you’ll be fine. Understand?”

Loren nodded slowly as the door to his room opened up. Mick and Ms. Lenz walked in, both looking slightly flustered. They both had clipboards, and from each were dozens of loose papers hanging on.

“What’s up?”

“Ah, nothing much, Mr. Gordon,” Mick said. “There are quite a few more people showing up than expected. I suppose the marketing scheme worked well…”

“Scheme?”

“Hmm? No, nothing so bad. Scheme makes it sound bad, but that’s just what us industry professionals call a tactic,” Mick explained. “But uh, we usually come to cities and try to make deals with the venue to open up their sections with really cheap tickets. A lot of times places don’t agree, since they often run at a loss overall, but not today. Our ticket sales have been through the roof! We’re making a ton of money from this.”

“It’s a bit of a hassle, though…” Ms. Lenz added on the end, looking at the ground.

The idea of a larger crowd seemed slightly suspicious to Lance, but he decided it probably didn’t matter. It would be unlikely for an assassin to try and use a huge group of people to stage a killing. It just meant there were more accomplices, which meant a lower chance of success.

A professional wouldn’t act that way, and if the killer wasn’t a pro, there wouldn’t be any reason to worry.

“Anyway! Loren! You need to start getting ready. No more worry about all this killer nonsense; that’s for Mr. Gordon to deal with. Our star performer should be good to still go on stage, right, detective?”

Lance nodded. There wasn’t any way he could stop the show from going on. And with the small group of bodyguards pushing themselves to the limit, it’d be almost impossible for an assassin to get through. To be sure of it, however, Lance decided he might need to change forms.

The door closed as Loren and his entourage left, and Lance was left alone as he slowly pressed a revolver to his skull.

***

Two and a half hours had gone by, and Wolf was finally feeling good enough to leave. He was able to find his clothes stored in a locker at the base of his temporary bed.

It would be nice to pay the doctor, and if he had the chance, Wolf would absolutely pay the man, but there was something more important he needed to do. Letting Bear God go on a rampage was something Wolf couldn’t let happen, and even if it cost him his life, Wolf was going to make sure Loren Dames got out of Paris safely. Someone like that was too important for the world to die here.

His leg was weak, and he limped a bit as he started sneaking out of the building. It was completely silent and had been for a while, so Wolf was sure everyone had left.

But as he silently closed the door behind him, there was someone standing to his side.

The skittish man named Dominic.

“W...what are you doing?”

Wolf didn’t answer. He didn’t want to hurt this man, but if he needed to, he would.

“Hold on, are you feeling better? The doc said you should wait.”

“I,” Wolf started. Was it right to lie more? No, he deserved to tell them the truth. Because he could die, and if he died after a lie, it would be ignobel. “I need to do something.”

“...uh, what? What could be more important than resting? You’re lucky the doc was able to do as much as he did.”

Wolf stared Dominic right in the eyes and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to save someone.”

“Save? Who?”

“It doesn’t matter to you, and it shouldn’t,” Wolf said, turning away. “Thank you for all your help. But I need to do this. Even if it means I die. If I don’t, then I won’t be able to live with myself as a human being any longer, and I won’t let that happen. So, if you really must stop me, then you’ll need to kill me. Otherwise, I will try my hardest to live so that I may pay you all back what you’ve given to me.”

He continued out, unmolested.

Until he heard the sound of an engine starting behind him. Wolf turned to see Dominic sitting in the driver’s seat of a rackety car, with a twisted smile filled with worry.

“At the very least...let me g-give you a ride…”