Dragan couldn't help but feel a certain tension in his bones as they made their way towards the meeting chamber.

He'd expected the building they'd find themselves in would be a dark, clandestine venue -- but the brightly lit complex he was walking through, with immaculate wooden detailing and monstrously expensive furniture, reminded him of nothing less than a mansion. He got the feeling that even the floorboards under his feet were worth more than all his organs put together.

Fix led the group with confidence, earning himself nods of recognition from the numerous guards flanking each set of doors. It seemed he'd made quite the name for himself since Dragan had last seen him. Skipper cheekily strolled alongside the criminal -- whether his intention was to ingratiate or annoy was impossible to tell.

Bruno and Serena had returned shortly before they'd set off from the hotel, changed back into Bruno's black-and-grey urban camouflage. Apparently, they'd been watching this place from the outside for quite some time -- and that inspection had convinced them this wasn't some sort of trap. Still, there was a strange look in Bruno's eyes as he walked alongside Dragan: like there was something wrong, but even he didn't quite know what it was.

"You sure we're all good?" Dragan mumbled as they walked, his voice audible only to those right next to him.

Bruno nodded almost imperceptibly as they passed a massive painting of a gas giant that spanned one entire wall. Well, if Bruno said everything was alright, Dragan couldn't exactly pry any further. The time for that had long passed, anyway -- they were in the belly of the beast now.

"Just gimme the word," Ruth growled, her own whispering much less subtle than that of her companions. "I'll throw my Skeletal Set on and get us out of here."

Dragan cast a doubting look back at her. "With all these guards? The Oliphant Clan are meant to be Aether-users, and there's bound to be some among their guards too. Trying to make a break for it would be the worst thing we could do."

"Besides," Bruno said, nodding in agreement. "We're small fry. The Oliphants wouldn't go to all this trouble to set a trap for people like us."

Then why are you so worried?

Dragan didn't voice the words that wound anxiously through his mind: they needed to present a united front right now, after all.

Fix finally spoke up again -- he'd been quiet for a while.

"We're almost there. We'll be meeting with Jacques Oliphant-Escoffier directly outside the meeting room -- his personal bodyguards will have accompanied him this far. Your role is to stand by and look formidable -- please don't misunderstand and try to speak to him. Once the meeting begins, you'll be positioned on a second-story balcony above the meeting space. You'll remain there and perform your duties until the meeting ends. That is all."

As a Cogitant, Dragan was only barely able to retain that entire deluge of information -- he couldn't imagine anyone else among them doing so. As usual, that bastard Fix was perfectly businesslike, and he expected everyone around him to act like robots under his command.

"No problemo," Skipper grinned, metal hand on his hip. "I'll keep my mouth shut. I'm notoriously shy around strangers, you know."

"I see," Fix replied in a tone that betrayed his utter lack of interest.

The room they finally found themselves in was some kind of foyer, with closed double doors on one wall leading off to the meeting room proper. Gold-framed paintings lined the walls, their content ranging from portraits to alien and bizarre landscapes. At the far end of the room, a blond-haired man in a white suit -- flanked by two things -- adjusted his tie in the mirror.

"Fix," he called out in a clear voice as they approached. "I see you've brought the associate you mentioned. Well done."

"Thank you, sir," Fix nodded respectfully.

From the tone of things, this was Jacques Oliphant-Escoffier, then. Dragan got a better look at him as he turned away from the mirror: a thin and clean-shaven man, with cheekbones that could slice through steel and hair slicked back as far as it would go. His blue eyes -- normal blue, not Cogitant -- regarded them with only slight interest. All in all, he was fairly ordinary looking.

What drew Dragan's interest more were the two things flanking him. The two humanoids stood on either side of their employer, their arms hanging limp, their skin pale and their eyes glassy. It took only the slightest glance to come to an obvious conclusion: they were corpses.

Jacques Oliphant-Escoffier's personal bodyguards were the walking dead. Sky-blue Aether trickled slowly across their forms.

"From the way you were speaking," Jacques frowned slightly. "I expected you'd be bringing one person, not four. You've outdone yourself in that regard, Asmodeus, but I have to say… they don't appear so formidable."

Four clouds of Aether flared -- the Skeletal Set appeared around Ruth's body, forcefields hovered over Bruno's palms, Skipper's wild grin was illuminated green, and Dragan's eyes shone an electric blue. The frown on Jacques' face lessened, just slightly.

"That's certainly something," he said quietly. "I --"

Before they'd got here, Fix had advised them to keep their mouths shut and just look tough. Dragan had intended to do just that -- he had no desire to socialize with these people, no drive to involve himself more in this situation than the absolute bare minimum possible.

However.

"Lemme finish that sentence for ya, buddy!" Skipper laughed, pushing his way past Fix and excitedly shaking Jacques' hand between two of his own. "'I've never seen such a gang of champs in all my life'! That's short for champion, by the way. Name's Skipper, how ya doin'?"

The corpses flanking Jacques twitched, but made no move to intercept Skipper. Now that Dragan got a proper look at them, he could see they were no ordinary bodies -- even with slight decomposition gnawing away at them, it was still clear to see that their lean forms had been trained to their utmost.

Before they'd died, these two had definitely been some kind of martial artists. Oliphant money could pay for better quality corpses, he guessed.

Fix bit his lip as he glared intensely at Skipper, bringing joy to Dragan's heart, but Jacques simply chuckled in bemusement as the stranger shook his hand. "I… see. Skipper, was it? You seem an interesting fellow. Do your job well, and I'll see you properly compensated."

Skipper finally released the dangerous criminal mastermind from his grip, stepping back as though he'd done nothing at all. "Good to hear, good to hear! Looking forward to working with you, yeah?"

"Quite." Jacques' interest died almost immediately as he turned back to Fix, his expression suddenly stern. "I'll be sitting between Roy and Carla. You directly behind me, Asmodeus. You don't have to worry about any guards from my older sister, so just make sure your most intimidating resources are positioned to the left so Roy's bodyguards don't attempt to get any glory by messing with us. Understand?"

With people he actually knew, this man seemed to be much more strict and imposing -- a persona that he consciously put on, then, and one that was hardly foolproof.

There was a light knock from the other side of the double doors, and Jacques immediately took in a deep breath. "Seems like we're out of time for dress rehearsal," he sighed. "Shall we proceed?"

As he spoke, pale blue Aether sprang out from his head, wrapping around itself in the air and forming a spherical structure. Lights of many colours flashed from within its surface -- and as they reached the eyes of the corpses, they cracked out of their rigor mortis and began to step forward.

The thing stared mercilessly at Ruth. The thing, with scraggly blue fur and beady fake eyes, stared mercilessly at Ruth. The thing, with a limply hanging maw and stitches on its false tongue, stared mercilessly at Ruth.

"Ayol loves you!" it squeaked, jerking up and down with its words like it was being electrocuted.

Even though the thing -- Ayol -- was staring at her mercilessly, Ruth did not return the favour. Instead, she was staring at bemusement at the old man, wizened and toothless, who was holding Ayol up. The thing that was staring so mercilessly at Ruth, after all, was nothing more than a sockpuppet.

The old man grinned vacantly, his mouth not moving in the least, as Ayol continued to dance and speak. "Do you know Ayol's favourite game? You've got to guess, 'kay? It begins with the letter A, 'kay?"

Reluctantly, Ruth's gaze drifted over to the puppet, and she addressed it directly. "I dunno."

"It's the alphabet, silly!" Ayol spasmed, head flopping back and forth. "How many letters do you know in the alphabet? Ayol knows all of them! Ayol bets you don't!"

Ruth clicked her tongue. "Of course I know all of 'em. Don't underestimate me."

"Ayol bets you don't!" Ayol's voice was reaching pitches previously thought unimaginable by scientists.

Ruth stepped forward, ready to tear that stupid puppet away and hurl it into the wall -- only to be stopped by Skipper's hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.

"Best not to cause a scene, yeah?" he said quietly. "Probably what they want, anyway."

As the Oliphant guy had instructed, they'd positioned themselves on the balcony above their temporary employer -- ready to jump down and guard him if need be, but mostly there to look tough. Most of the other attendees had had the same idea, it seemed: the balconies were crammed with bodyguards, the biggest collection of freaks you could find outside the circus.

There was the guy with the puppet, sure, but he was just the tip of the iceberg. Two tall and thin figures, wrapped entirely in sodden bandages, held sniper rifles in their hands as they hissed and whispered to each other. A Scurrant man with a serpentine lower body watched the room warily, his own hands rubbing idly at some kind of musical instrument. A heavenly looking girl, with white feathered wings, hovered in the corner of the chamber. Ruth honestly wondered where the Oliphants had found all these people. Surely it couldn't be easy.

The guy below, Jacques Oliphant-Escoffier, seemed more than satisfied with his two personal bodyguards -- the zombies that trailed behind him. Just from looking, Ruth could tell they were strong: obviously not Aether-users, but bodies that were used to fighting. Even with her Aether, Ruth was sure she wouldn't have an easy go of it if she tried to fight them.

"Weird atmosphere," Bruno muttered, leaning over the railing as he kept watch below.

He was right. Casual conversation drifted up from the long table in the center of the room -- the kind of talk you'd expect from a normal family dinner, not a meeting between some of the most powerful criminal leaders in the entire Supremacy. It was as if the crowd of guards up above didn't even exist.

"I heard you've been having some trouble with bandits moving in on your territory, Roy," Jacques said casually, taking a sip of red wine. "If you need any help, you need only ask."

He was speaking to the person seated next to him, an older man with wild brown hair and bulging muscles, barely constrained by the suit and tie he wore. The giant waved a dismissive hand.

"Nah, nah," he said, his voice rumbling even through his casual demeanor. "It's just has-beens looking to get their past glory back. Lame. There's nothing more manly than accepting change, but these guys just aren't capable of it."

"All the same," called a dark-skinned woman from across the table. She was shaved bald and clad in a long white robe, with rings glittering on her fingers. "A show of force can help in these situations. It doesn't do to appear weak."

Roy frowned, and the tension in the room intensified just a tad. "You saying I look weak, Valentina? You know I can’t just let that go."

The young man sat next to this Valentina, probably only a year or two younger than Ruth herself, spoke up hurriedly. "My mother didn't mean anything by it, Uncle Roy. She just meant… we can't afford for all of us to look weak. You look plenty strong."

Roy nodded, all animosity instantly forgotten, and leaned back in his chair. "You get what's going on, Rico. Good kid, good kid. Did my boy show you what I got him for his birthday? When's your birthday, anyway? Is it coming up?"

"Maybe, uh," Rico shifted nervously in his seat. "Maybe we can talk about that later."

"Regardless," Jacques said, partaking in his drink once again. "Where is Father? It's something of a farce to have a family meeting without the head of the family."

For the first time, the woman at the far end of the table spoke -- she wore a frayed sweater and stared at the others with dull eyes.

"His suit needed repairs," she sighed. "He said he'll be delayed."

Roy nodded sagely. "There's nothing manlier than self-care."

"All the same," Jacques insisted, sitting up in his seat as he took another sip of wine. "I have to question how much we can really get done without --"

He stopped talking.

A strange silence settled over the room, even among the guards up top. What happened next stretched seconds into minutes.

For a moment, the other siblings around the table just waited for him to continue speaking -- but when all that came from his mouth was a raspy choking sound, they rose to their feet with a chorus of screeching chairs.

The change in Jacques was horrifyingly fast. He stayed perfectly still, save for the intense shuddering of his body, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. His skin was as pale as paper, and as Ruth watched in horror from above she could see it cracking in places, drying out to an unimaginable degree.

"Oh fuck," whispered Dragan next to her, his own eyes as wide as saucers as he observed the scene below. "Oh fuck."

"Bro?" muttered Roy, reaching out and touching his brother's creaking arm. Immediately behind Jacques, Fix stepped forward at the same time.

The spasm of Jacques' arm was immediate -- a jerking of the limb that sent his glass of wine down to the floor, shattering into countless pieces. What little liquid was left settled on the carpet -- smoke rising steadily from it.

Jacques collapsed to the floor a second later.

And the screaming started a second after that.