Finding his way to a spot across the street from the Pyramid, Vincent waited quietly in the night while the car they had arrived in pulled away, the wound at his side causing him pain.

---

OOC:

Leaving it open as to whether Tommy and Rosalie leave or stay, since that seems undecided at the moment.

I'll need a Spot Hidden, and a Stealth as well.

How long is Vincent going to wait there?

00:47, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 71 using 1d100 with rolls of 71.  Stealth - Stealth 80%.

00:48, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 46 using 1d100 with rolls of 46.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 60%.

Moretti will remain in place until the approximate time that he, Cotton, and O'Connor previously met with Zubaida at the York Minster. If she doesn't surface by then, he'll probably assume something's gone awry.

Vincent spent nearly a half hour waiting in a pocket of dark shadows in an alley between buildings, unobserved or at least uncommented upon. The Blue Pyramid eventually emptied out, the customers leaving first, followed by the staff, servers, and dancers, and eventually an older gentleman who locked up the place and departed afterward.

There was no sign of Zubaida.

After the Pyramid had emptied, Moretti studied the street for several minutes, watching the foot traffic and the cars passing by. Once he felt comfortable that he could blend in without attracting undue attention, he slipped out of his hiding spot and walked toward the restaurant, affecting a demeanor that suggested that he was preoccupied with other matters.

He found himself humming softly, unconscious of the tune itself until he was across the street from the Pyramid's front entrance. Halting briefly to look for approaching cars, he remembered it, a mournful song he'd heard stevedores in New Orleans singing days after one of their own had perished in a waterfront accident.

"O, Death
O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over 'til another year"

He crossed in front of the restaurant's front entrance, his hands thrust in his pockets, moving as though he had a nearby destination that would spare him from the evening chill.

"Well what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me"

Keeping his pace, he ducked into the first adjoining alley he could locate. Moving quietly, he hunted for the establishment's rear entrance.

If needed:

19:41, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 60 using 1d100 with rolls of 60.  Stealth - Stealth 80%.

Vincent could recall the building's dimensions, so even in the dark of night he was able to find his way along the walls in the adjoining alley towards the rear of the building. Eventually, he found a door there, though here in the back the dark of night seemed to swallow him up, and the door as well, though his hands found the knob easily enough. Turning it for good measure, he found it predictably locked.

---

OOC:

Locksmith roll at Disadvantage, please

Moretti gave his eyes a few moments to adjust, mindful of the time and the possibility of someone entering the alley and stumbling upon him. Crouching in front of the door, he set to work, keeping his mouth open as he did so. An odd act, he recognized, but a habit he'd picked up from Ray Spano, who'd insisted that it helped one's hearing, better enabling a thief to perceive tell-tale noises in a quiet environment.

As he sought to make the lock bend to his will, the song persisted in the back of his mind, winding softly through his thoughts.

"Well I am Death, none can excel
I'll open the door to Heaven or Hell
Whoa, Death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day?"

07:23, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 61 using 1d100 with rolls of 61.  Locksmith - Locksmith 70%.

07:23, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 37 using 1d100 with rolls of 37.  Locksmith - Locksmith 70%.

Despite the darkness, he managed to pop open the lock to the back entrance of the Blue Pyramid. In a moment that seemed ominously similar to his entrance into the spice shop of Tewfik al Sayed, he found himself in a storage room. Rather than racks of spices, close examination in the darkness revealed that this room contained cooking staples, and there was an array of hookah pipes to one side of the room, as well as cases of tobacco for use in them.

Moretti felt an uncharacteristic chill move through him as he examined the room and its contents. Almost a mirror image of the spice shop. A place where O'Connor had faced incalculable harm. A place where he'd failed those he was tasked with protecting, leaving a potent weapon in the hands of the Brotherhood.

"I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very hour, come and go with me
I'm Death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold"

The pain in his side gnawed at him and he stifled the need to cough. Taking his flashlight from his coat pocket, he switched it on, cupping his free hand over the top to lessen the glare. Slowly, he ran the beam over the floor and shelves, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Once he'd examined the room to his satisfaction, he moved to the nearest door that led deeper into the restaurant.

Yeah...no.

16:27, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 99 using 1d100 with rolls of 99.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 60%.

Vincent finds himself in the kitchen, with a stove, counters, shelves, and a refrigerator among other things presents. A careful examination of drawers and shelves finds cooking ingredients, utensils, dishware, glassware, and cookware that one might expect in a restaurant's kitchen.

The only exit to the room is a pair of double doors that lead outwards, presumably towards the dining and entertainment area of the establishment, based on Moretti's experience as a patron; he had seen these very double doors from the other side.

Finding nothing unexpected within the kitchen, Moretti moved quietly through the doors into the dining area. He kept the beam of his flashlight low, careful not to let it illuminate the windows that looked out onto the street.

Vincent enters the dining room of the Blue Pyramid, and as his flashlight danced across the room, he could almost see the image of all of them sitting at one of the tables here, Zubaida dancing for and near them, and young Tommy attempting shamelessly to flirt with her. Of course, it was completely empty now. Gone were the lights, the perfumed hookah smoke, and the scents of strangely spiced and yet appetizing food and teas. That Blue Pyramid was full of life. This room didn't resemble the same place, though he knew that in reality it was in no way physically different.

A brief surge of sadness washed over him as the ghostly memory of the Elias family's gathering played through his thoughts. Somehow, despite the fact that it was such a short time ago, it felt like an image that came from better days. Before he'd left no doubt in the minds some that he cared for about what manner of monster he truly was.

Oh, Death how you're treatin' me
You've closed my eyes so I can't see
Well you're hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul

Another cough tickled his chest and he cleared his throat softly to fight it down. Moving to the center of the room, he slowly took in the area as a whole, looking for any doors that might lead to some manner of office or staff area.

Once he'd fixed the layout in his mind, he stepped over to the area where it appeared that bills were paid and money received.

There was a door that lead to an area that from its external dimensions could only have been another room or area on the eastern side of the building.

Also, there were two doors on the northeastern side, one labeled 'Ladies' and the other 'Gentlemen,' indicating lavatories.

Keeping his flashlight low and moving quietly, Moretti ventured to the eastern door. He paused to listen for any noise on the other side, then tried the knob.

12:02, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 69 using 1d100 with rolls of 69.  Listen - Listen 25%.

The door opened without difficulty in a room that appeared to be a dressing room. There were chairs near counters, mirrors, cabinets, and a wardrobe. There was another door that lead into a separate room further within.

Moretti paused, running the flashlight along the counters, looking for anything that he might have seen Zubaida wearing, either when she was here dancing, or when he and the others had met with her outside of the Pyramid. Stepping over to the wardrobe, he opened it, taking a moment to peruse its contents.

20:03, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 29 using 1d100 with rolls of 29.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 60%.

He finds a variety of women's clothing here neatly arrayed, though likely not typical for London. These were the outfits that the belly dancers wore. As he looks over them, to his untrained eye, none of them particularly stands out from the others. They all look exotic and foreign and he can't quite make out whether Zubaida was wearing a particular one of them or not.

He pushed the wardrobe door closed, giving the dressing area one last look before stepping over to the next door and slowly opening it.

Inside the next door, he found a small office, with a desk, file cabinets, ledgers, and the like.

Moretti moved carefully through the office, taking a seat at the desk, intending to search its contents first. Taking a deep breath, he stilled his mind focusing on the task before him, intent on being patient and thorough.

Starting with the loose papers on the desk's surface, then moving to the drawers, Moretti scanned through any documentation he discovered, looking for any references to the Misr House, Egypt House, the Brotherhood, Gavigan, or the Penhew Foundation.

Examining the papers in the Blue Pyramid, he found an immaculately maintained ledger noting various transactions. Aside from that, he found various receipts for cooking supplies, delivery bills, invoices, statements of credit, and the like.

OOC:

There is nothing here that seems to link back to Gavigan, Penhew, or the Misr House. The closest he could come would be some receipts for cumin, coriander, cinnamon, and pepper from Tewfik al-Sayed, but even that seems a stretch, as it would be only natural for a Middle Eastern restaurant to purchase spices from a nearby Middle Eastern spice shop.

"Mannaggia," he said softly to the darkness. He remained convinced that someone at the Pyramid was aware of the Brotherhood, or perhaps even connected to it, but clearly there wasn't any documentation that overtly acknowledged the relationship.

Nonetheless impressed with the thoroughness with which the owner tracked his profits and expenses, Moretti returned his attention to the ledger and the statements of credit. Searching through the documentation a second time, he focused on customers, looking to see if there might be one or two that were extended credit, or regularly paid for the meals of large groups, on a monthly basis, around the end or beginning of the month.

OOC: Just in case I wasn't terribly clear in my description, Moretti is looking to see if there is an individual that accumulates a large bill around the time of the monthly Brotherhood gathering. He might also look to see if any significant bills were being "forgiven" around the same period.

Vincent found that around the start or end of the month on an irregular date, one day will always be significantly more profitable than the average. But those dates don't show anything being forgiven or ignored. It seems more as if these dates see higher volume of sales of food, shisha, and refreshment.

Moretti closed the ledgers and returned them to their place. Standing from the seat he had taken, he walked around the office a final time, searching for anything out of the ordinary that might attract his attention.

22:02, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 57 using 1d100 with rolls of 57.  Spot Hidden -
Spot Hidden 60%.

OOC: Are there any other exits that lead elsewhere in the restaurant/building, or is this the last room in the row?

Feeling the desks and the cabinets for hidden openings and compartments, he concluded that there were none. The office was what it seemed to be, as best as he could tell.

OOC: Other than the entrances to the lavatory from the restaurant, Vincent has gone through all the doors from rooms that lead to other rooms.

Feeling the desks and the cabinets for hidden openings and compartments, he concluded that there were none. The office was what it seemed to be, as best as he could tell.

OOC: Other than the entrances to the lavatory from the restaurant, Vincent has gone through all the doors from rooms that lead to other rooms.

Moretti made his way back to the dining area, stopping at the area where money was received as guests paid their bills, searching for any business cards, notes, or correspondence that stood out.

That done, we walked through the dining room one last time, absorbing it's details, looking for anything important he could have missed when he first entered.

12:20, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 43 using 1d100 with rolls of 43.  Spot Hidden - Spot Hidden 60%.

Vincent finds nothing not standard for the operation of such a business. Suppliers for tobacco, teas, and various other miscellaneous foodstuffs are all available. Nothing stands out as familiar to him. His last pass at the dining room is even less illuminating, if that was possible.

Recognizing that there was nothing to be found at the Pyramid, Moretti exited the restaurant through the door he entered from, making certain it was locked and secure before making his way back to the street, wary for anyone that might show interest in his movements.

Tucking his hands in his coat pockets, he walked at an unhurried pace back to the call box. Once there, he phoned the hotel. When Avery's familiar voice came on the connection, he assured the valet that he was safe, explaining that he had one last important errand to contend with before joining up with the others at the safe house, or whatever other location they chose. He listened closely to any information or instructions that Avery had, then ended the call after reiterating that he would meet the others as soon as possible.

His call done, he began walking briskly, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, his path taking him back to the Penhew Foundation.

Arriving back at the Penhew Foundation, Vincent found things much the same as he had left them when he had left.

Despite the fact that Cockburn was dead, Moretti remained alert, keeping to the shadows as he moved to the rear of the building and approached the Foundation's back entrance.

Working quickly, he did his best to recall the nuances of the lock as he tried to get the door open a second time.

01:34, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 80 using 1d100 with rolls of 80.  Stealth - Stealth 80%.

01:33, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 94 using 1d100 with rolls of 94.  Locksmith - Locksmith 70%.

OOC: Let me know if I can take another crack at the lock, or if I'll need to contrive some other way to enter.

<u>OOC</u>:

Sure, you can make an attempt. Each failed attempt sets you back ten minutes.

Moretti took a deep breath, trying to push some of the events of the evening, as well as the pain in his side, out of his mind. Focusing solely on the task at hand, he attempted to open the lock a second time.

21:02, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 9 using 1d100 with rolls of 9.  Locksmith - Locksmith 70%.

The lock popped open, and Vincent was able to pull the door open if he so wished.

OOC:

If you can give me a general idea of what you plan, I can call for the appropriate rolls and narrate the outcome at once rather than doing a blow by blow.

Moretti slipped inside the Foundation, easing the door closed behind him. Moving quickly and quietly, he entered the storage area and pressed the eyes on the false sarcophagus, as he had seen Rosalie do, to access the hidden chamber below.

His knowledge of the building from the recent incursion, as well as his flashlight lead him directly to the sarcophagus, gaining him access to the hidden chamber below. Once he reached that place, he could see the body tucked away in the corner where he had left it.

With the bottle of Lagavulin that he had collected from Gavigan's office in one hand, Moretti descended into the hidden study. Pressing the button to close the false sarcophagus above, he first circled the stairs, trying to get a sense of the best place to remain hidden from someone entering from above.

Moving over to Cockburn, he crouched beside the fallen guard. Reaching into his pocket, he took out one of the vials of his own blood, slowly uncorking it. Even with all he'd seen, the horrors he had encountered alongside the Elias family in New York, there remained a tickle of doubt whether the spell would actually work. Whether he wanted it to do as it promised.

Pushing past his doubts, he quietly began reciting the words he had committed to memory, following the actions the incantation required.

OOC: Cast Create Zombie

Pouring the blood into Cockburn's mouth, he leaned in, placing a kiss on the lips of the body, breathing part of the self into the body as the spell instructed him to do. He felt a feeling of elation, a rush of joy and excitement rush into his body, almost immediately followed by a sensation of tremendous loss.

The body of Cockburn, all this time dead, began to lurch.

---

OOC:

You lose 1 point of POW, and 1d10 Sanity. Before I post any more, let's get that roll.

23:32, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 9 using 1d10 with rolls of 9.  Sanity Loss - Spell

23:33, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 57 using 1d100 with rolls of 57.  Idea - Idea 85%.

Vincent heard a scream after he saw the body lurch to life, and to his surprise he realized it came from within him, as he came to some realization of the life force within him leaching into the body on the ground. Before he could think too much on the subject, he collapsed.

Some time later, he woke up to find the raised corpse of the Penhew Foundation guard staring at him relentlessly but otherwise dormant.

---

OOC:

Vincent has a fainting fit, and was out for about 45 seconds, though it's hard for him to know exactly how long he'd been out until he checks the time.

For seeing the Zombie just after coming to, give me a Sanity roll (you will lose 1/1d4 SAN).

13:38, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 19 using 1d100 with rolls of 19.  Sanity - Sanity 56%.

OOC: That's three points away from a fifth.

Moretti blinked, uncertain of how long he had been unconscious. Cold rippled through him as he sat up, the unsettling environment of Edward Gavigan's study seeming somehow more threatening, more alien than it had before. He tried to swallow, his parched throat making the act painful.

His eyes were drawn to Cockburn, standing there, defying death and reason, wrenched out of rest to serve his bidding. The man he'd murdered. In sudden, sharp focus he saw himself firing at the guard, followed a moment later by Cotton's tackle. The watchman crumpling, the light fading from his eyes. Rosalie's gaze, the anger, the disgust in her expression.

The cold in his flesh deepened and somehow the thoughts of the guard's death bled into others. Him as a boy, pointing a gun at a man for the first time. The hijacking in the Kitchen that went so terribly wrong. The murder of four of D'Aquila's soldatos at a barber shop in the Bowery. Beating one of Larry Fay's men bloody in the yard at Welfare Island while the guards turned a blind eye. The memories kept coming, as though they had a life of their own. Or perhaps some unseen entity, mindful of justice, was intent on bludgeoning him with the weight of his own evil.

There were so many of them, mental pictures collected from a life given to crime and violence. The volume of them was overwhelming, their mute testimony to the choices he had made, the monster he'd become, relentless and inescapable. At some point, as they flooded his consciousness, he hugged his knees, keeping his head bowed, his jaw clenched so tightly he could hear his teeth grinding together, tasting a trickle of blood in his mouth.

Eventually, he wept. Deep, choking sobs that shook his whole body violently, tearing open the wound in his side afresh. Only the dead man, with his unblinking stare, bore witness to his grief. Time became lost to him, but finally his tears abated, more because his eyes could produce no more, rather than a lifting of the mourning that pressed down on him. Shakily, he released his knees and struggled to his feet.

Gavigan.

The name came to him like a long forgotten memory. He was here to stop Gavigan. To get information, if the man would talk. To kill him, were he to prove able. Reaching down, he picked up the bottle of liquor and opened it. Setting it down, he felt in his coat pocket. Making certain his matches were there.

Gavigan. He had to protect his family from him.

No. That was wrong. Not his family. He was indebted to the Eliases. They had shown kindness to his Madre and Papa when they came to America. But he was not one of them. He was a resource to them. A tool. Nothing more than that. If one owned a guard dog, they would ensure the animal was fed, even show it the occasional kindness. But that was only to make certain it could do its job. When the owner went into his warm house, the dog remained out in the cold, keeping watch.

He drew the revolver from beneath his coat. Slowly, he checked the cylinder, making certain the gun was fully loaded.

Gavigan. Duty.

He had to see this through. To try and stop the cult leader. To keep him from harming the Eliases, if he was able. It was the right thing. The rare, admirable choice in a life filled with heinous ones.

He returned the gun to his waistband, not bothering to conceal it, positioning it where it would come to hand easily. Looking back at Cockburn, he addressed the corpse.

"There is a man that I believe will come down here soon," he said, his voice hoarse and small. "His name is Gavigan. I will whisper his name when he arrives. You will grab him. Hold him. And when I tell you, you will open his throat with your teeth."

He pointed to the shadowed area behind and right of the staircase. "Stand there," he said, pointing, "You will move when I whisper his name."

He glanced up at the ceiling, wondering about the time. Stooping down, he took the liquor bottle and moved to the same spot he ordered the dead man to go. Keeping the spirits in easy reach, he leaned against the wall and waited.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:15, Fri 19 May 2017.

The dead man stared at him, his comprehension of Vincent's instructions uncertain, as it gave no acknowledgement of any thing. Only when he issued it a command to stand in a particular place, did it do as he instructed, moving to stand where he guided it.

---

OOC:

Vincent would recall that the Zombie will only order simple commands; there's no telling what it will make of his instructions.

If you are waiting on Gavigan, this thread will go on pause for a bit while I reconcile what the others are doing.

Though his thinking remained tangled with his raw emotions, Moretti recognized that the dead man could not comprehend his complex commands.

He pointed to the space beside him beneath the shadow of the staircase. "Come," He said, "Stand here. Wait."

The animated corpse did as he said, standing in the indicated place.

Hours passed, and the night was still and quiet, Vincent remaining alone in the basement with the haunting animated corpse of the man he killed.

---

OOC:

Give me two 0/1 SAN rolls for hanging out quietly in a basement with the zombified corpse of a man Vincent killed earlier for a matter of hours.

Also, please give me a Listen roll...for things and stuff.

I'm still waiting on some PMs to properly coordinate what is happening when, so bear with me for a bit - but I figured I'd expedite things by getting some rolls out of the way.

As he waited, his eyes kept returning to Cockburn, the man he'd killed, the man he'd murdered standing beside him, robbed of what rest eternity could offer, forced to serve the one who had taken his life as a lackey, a prisoner of another's ruthless will.

Waiting there, in Gavigan's hideous, shadow draped study, Moretti began to see Cockburn differently. Just as he had said when he visited the watchman's empty flat, they were much the same, soldatos assigned to guard the possessions of evil men. But now, in death, he felt an even greater kinship with the ex-soldier.

Cockburn stood by the means of dark magic yet, in many ways, Moretti felt he closely resembled the watchman, the pulse that threaded his veins the thin line that separated them. But in spirit, they were brothers. Though it was painful to acknowledge, the truth was he had long been a vacant husk himself, reduced to carrying out the commands of others, long bereft of any real reason for living, save the purely physical instinct for survival.

At times, he closed his eyes, trying to rid himself of the weight of his thoughts, listening for any hint of Gavigan's approach.

12:33, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 88 using 1d100 with rolls of 88.  Sanity - Sanity 55%.

12:33, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 94 using 1d100 with rolls of 94.  Sanity - Sanity 54%.

OOC: Just as a bookkeeping reminder, with those two failed rolls, that's a total of 12 points lost for the "game day" against a starting total of 65. One more point will bring it to a loss of one fifth/20%.

12:38, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 12 using 1d100 with rolls of 12.  Listen - Listen 25%.

The hours ticked by slowly in the company of the dead man, and Vincent waited quietly in the dark, the macabre presence by his side slowly gnawing away at the edges of his sanity even as he pushed back on it. There was simply no ignoring that he was waiting in a dark room with a man he had just killed, and then raised from the dead by some sort of unholy ritual using his own blood. There were times when there was just no corner of one's mind to retreat into, and this was one such.

Checking the time, when his watch read 8:20, he could hear very faint signs of noise from the ground floor of the building. The sound didn't obviously come from directly above him, being generally hard to pin down. The only thing apparent was the presence of someone else in the building.

Suddenly aware that his own breathing had become ragged, Moretti did his best to calm himself, settling his respirations into a slow, even rhythm. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slid his fingers into the brass knuckles, then bent down, retrieved the bottle of liquor, and opened it. He gave a sidelong glance at his dead companion, then focused his attention on the ceiling, listening for any hint of someone approaching the false sarcophagus, hoping against hope that the early morning visitor was Gavigan, and that the guard's absence would cause him enough worry that he would overlook caution.

Another ten minutes pass, but no one attempts to enter the basement. Yet another ten minutes pass, though no change seems imminent.

After another hour passed, Moretti settled with the idea that Gavigan wasn't going to descend into the study, at least not anytime in the immediate future.

Switching on his flashlight, he stepped over to the bookcase, taking down a pair of books that appeared to be more recent publications. Placing them on the floor in the center of the room, he doused both with a generous splash of Gavigan's liquor.

Glancing over at Cockburn, he said, "Attack anyone who comes in. Not me." He gestured and shook his head to emphasize his commands.

Stepping over to the staircase, he pushed the button to open the sarcophagus above, then turned, lit a match, and tossed onto the alcohol soaked books.

He climbed the stairs, then stepped across the storeroom to the secret door that led into Gavigan's office and pushed it open.

If needed:

11:47, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 55 using 1d100 with rolls of 55.  Stealth - Stealth 80%.

As he quietly ascended the stairs, he could already smell the book burning and the first hints of smoke. Moving quietly through the secret door, he found himself in Gavigan's dark and empty office, the door still ajar as it had been before. It appeared as untouched and unchanged as they had left it.

Muttering a curse under his breath, he glanced around the office for a moment, his eyes primarily trained on the desk, hunting for any piece of stationary or correspondence that might reveal Gavigan's home address. That done, he moved back through the concealed door, closed it, and returned below.

Stomping out the small fire, he buttoned up his coat and moved back to the stairs. Looking at Cockburn one last time, he said, "Kill anyone who comes down here."

Returning upstairs, he pushed the buttons to close the sarcophagus. Moving to the hallway door, he looked out, searching for any movement in the hall. If all was clear, he stepped over to the back door to make his exit.

Both failed.

12:26, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 88 using 1d100 with rolls of 88.  Stealth.

12:25, Today: Vincent Moretti rolled 67 using 1d100 with rolls of 67.  Spot Hidden.

Light streamed into the building from its windows now, and Vincent no longer had the cover of darkness to sneak about in, leaving him exposed as he made the short few steps to the back door.

"Oy, who goes there?" called a voice at Vincent's retreating form. "Cockburn, is that you?"

With the gnawing pain in his side, Moretti didn't have to fake sounding haggard. Even so, he pulled his scarf up to muffle his voice and tried to affect the best British accent he could muster. Without turning around, he gestured haphazardly in the direction of the storage room.

"Need some air. Got a gulp of smoke in there. You need to call the fire brigade. I think there's a blaze starting up."

Summoning a hacking cough, he kept his eyes forward, searching for the quickest exit from the Foundation's rear courtyard.

Vincent was able to make his way out of the building without incident, finding a quiet London morning awaiting him.