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Steed tightened his grip on the umbrella, its weight an unfamiliar comfort in this alien world. The creature in front of them—short, covered in coarse black fur, with a face eerily human yet decidedly animal—was frozen in place, its wide eyes gleaming in the dim light. It let out another high-pitched shriek, and Tara instinctively stepped closer to Steed, her hand brushing his arm.
"What is that?" Tara whispered, her voice trembling as a cold shiver ran down her spine.
"I've no idea," Steve muttered, his voice barely above a breath, his eyes locked on the shifting creature ahead. He adjusted his stance, tightening his grip on the umbrella—half-raised, poised uneasily between a weapon and a shield. His knuckles whitened around the handle. "But I'd rather not find out the hard way," he added, his pulse hammering as the unholy thing seemed to inch closer.
Before either could move, the strange creature turned and scampered into the shadows, its nimble movements startlingly quick. But before they could breathe a sigh of relief, another noise emerged—a low, rumbling laughter. It echoed through the cavernous space like a rolling storm, followed by the distinct clatter of movement from all directions.
And then, from the darkness, a figure stepped into the faint light.
At first glance, the man appeared to be part of the ruins themselves, his ragged clothing blending seamlessly with the shattered grandeur of the space. Wild, wiry white hair framed a face deeply lined by time and sun, giving him the appearance of both wisdom and madness. His mismatched attire—a patchwork of faded fabrics and scavenged odds and ends—hung loosely on his gaunt frame, swaying slightly as he moved.
Books were scattered everywhere, piled haphazardly in teetering stacks that stretched toward the cracked ceiling. Strange, humanlike forms darted in and out of the shadows, their movements unnervingly fast and silent, their luminous eyes piercing the gloom. And among the rubble, the peculiar creatures—others like the first one—swung effortlessly from the remnants of pillars, their chittering voices filling the air with an almost mischievous energy.
“Oi! What do we ‘ave ‘ere?” the man exclaimed, his voice booming with a strange mix of joviality and sharpness. His accent was thick and playful, though it carried the weight of years. “Looks like I’ve found me some lost sheep!”
Steed and Tara exchanged glances, the tension in the air palpable. Tara’s eyes darted toward the creatures—small but quick, their movements almost too fluid to follow.
Steed took a cautious step forward, his posture measured, umbrella still in hand. “And who, might I ask, are you?”
The man spread his arms wide, a toothy grin splitting his weathered face. “Toby Jug, at your service!” he declared, bowing theatrically. “And these ‘ere are me mates!” He gestured toward the creatures now watching them curiously from the broken architecture. “Ain’t they a lively bunch?”
Tara’s voice was quiet, her curiosity tempered by unease. “And… what is this place?”
Toby Jug chuckled, the sound deep and raspy. “This ‘ere, my dear, is what’s left of a grand old house! Oh, aye, it was somethin’ back in its day. The heart of somethin’ important, or so they say. Now? It’s just home sweet home.” He leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And what about you two, eh? What’s a pair like you doin’ wanderin’ into me humble abode?”
Steed’s grip on the umbrella relaxed, though only slightly. “We’re… just passing through,” he said carefully.
“Passin’ through, are ya?” Toby Jug’s grin widened as he clapped his hands together. “Well then, you’ve found yourself a right fine stop along the way! Stay a while, have a chat! No one leaves ‘ere without a good story or two!”
The dwarves—Tara couldn’t stop herself from thinking of them as that, though the name was meaningless to her—began to creep closer, their movements hesitant but curious. One reached for a book, flipping it open with nimble fingers before tossing it aside as if it were nothing.
Tara’s gaze shifted back to Toby Jug, his laughter filling the vast, ruined chamber. She wasn’t sure whether to trust the man—or the strange companions he kept—but one thing was certain: they were no longer alone in this unknown world.
“How old are you?” Steed asked, his umbrella resting cautiously at his side.
The man smirked, revealing teeth stained with age but strong. “Ow old, ya say? Well, old enough, ain’t I? Old as I am, an’ that’s that. Who’s countin’, eh?”
Tara edged closer, her curiosity overcoming her caution. “Your hair,” she said softly, her gaze tracing the wild, snowy strands. “It’s white. Was it always like that?”
“White, was it?” The old man chuckled, shaking his head as he scratched his chin. “Not always, love. It were dark once, black as night! But time’s got a way o’ paintin’ everythin’ grey, don’t it?”
Tara frowned, glancing back at Steed before stepping even closer. “And your face...” she began, gesturing to the deep lines carved into his skin. “Does it hurt? Those cracks?”
He barked a laugh, startling a chimp that had been dozing by his feet. “Cracks, she calls ‘em! Nah, they don’t hurt, missy. They’re me story, right ‘ere on me mug. Every crease a tale, every wrinkle a memory. But what’s it to you, eh?”
Tara hesitated, tilting her head as her gaze fixed on his weathered face. “Your voice... why do you talk like that? What’s wrong with you?”
“Talk like what?” Toby’s grin widened, his accent thickening as he leaned forward. “This is just me, innit? Born an’ bred. You lot, on the other hand—well, you sound like you swallowed a dictionary, don’t ya?”
Steed’s lips twitched at the man’s cheeky tone, but he said nothing, letting Tara continue.
“You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?” she asked, still studying him.
“Long enough, I s’pose,” Toby replied, shrugging. “Lost count years ago. Me an’ the lads”—he gestured to the "dwarves", one of whom was now pawing through a stack of books— “we got our setup, don’t we? Ain’t much, but it’s ours.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “An’ you two—you don’t look like locals, neither. Lookin’ for somethin’, are ya?”
Tara opened her mouth to respond, but Steed spoke first. “Sanctuary,” he said simply. “We were hoping to find it.”
Toby scratched his head, his expression thoughtful for the first time. “Sanctuary, eh? Sounds posh. But I ain’t heard o’ it, sorry to say. Just me, the lads, and all this... history lyin’ about.” He gestured at the ruins, then flashed a grin. “Still, yer welcome to poke about, if that’s what you’re after. Just don’t mind the lads—they get a bit curious ‘bout strangers, same as me.”
“These your... lads?” Steed asked, his tone calm but threaded with curiosity as his sharp eyes flicked from one creature to the next.
Toby Jug beamed, clearly pleased by the question. “Aye, that they are! Me pride and joy, the lot of ‘em.” He gestured grandly around the room as several of the creatures moved in and out of the shadows, their movements eerily deliberate. “What’d ya think o’ me troupe, eh? Finest bunch this side o’ anywhere!”
Tara’s gaze lingered on the strange, humanlike figures darting around them, her brow furrowing slightly. “What... are they exactly?” she asked, her voice edged with both wonder and caution.
“Chimps!” Toby declared proudly, clapping his hands together. “That’s what they are—chimps! Ain’t they somethin’? Smarter than most folk I’ve met, I’ll tell ya that much.”
“Chimps...” Steed repeated, tasting the unfamiliar word as he observed the creatures. One of them leapt onto a broken beam overhead, its dark eyes glinting in the dim light, before disappearing again into the shadows.
“Aye, chimps!” Toby grinned. “You’re lookin’ at the best company a fella could ask for. Don’t let the way they stare fool ya—they’re just tryin’ to figure you out. Ain’t that right, lads?”
A low grunt sounded from one of the chimps, as if in agreement, and Tara took an instinctive step closer to Steed. “They’re... unsettling,” she admitted softly.
“They’re brilliant, that’s what they are!” Toby shot back, his tone light but firm. “Stick around long enough, and you’ll see. These lads’ve been with me through thick and thin, they ‘ave. Wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.”
Steed’s gaze narrowed slightly as he took in Toby’s enthusiasm and the chimps’ unnerving watchfulness. “They seem... remarkably aware,” he said carefully.
Toby chuckled, his grin widening. “Oh, they know what’s what, don’t worry ‘bout that. They’ve got their wits about ‘em, alright.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Sometimes I reckon they’re plannin’ somethin’. But don’t you fret—they’ve got no quarrel with the likes o’ you. Least not yet.”
The grin on Toby’s face lingered, but there was a flicker of something else—something unreadable—as he glanced toward the chimps, who continued their silent, watchful movements through the room.
Steed studied the peculiar man before him, his curiosity piqued. “How long have you been living here?” he asked, his tone measured but laced with genuine interest.
Toby Jug shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “For as long as I can bleedin’ remember, guv’nor,” he replied, his odd accent thick and unapologetic. “This ol’ place an’ me, we go way back, like bread an’ drippin’. Can’t say how long exactly—don’t much matter, does it?”
Steed tilted his head, his curiosity unwavering. “How did you come to be here?” he asked, his voice calm but probing.
Toby Jug gave a small, thoughtful chuckle, his weathered face crinkling with amusement. “How did I get ‘ere?” he repeated, as though the question itself were a novelty. “I’ve always been ‘ere, mate. This place and me, we’re like old chums, we are.”
Steed frowned slightly, glancing around at the ruins. “Are there any other humans?”
Toby Jug’s expression turned almost wistful, and he shook his head. “Gracious, no,” he said, his tone carrying an odd blend of finality and acceptance. “Just me an’ the chimps. ‘Course, they’re better company than most folks, truth be told.”
Steed hesitated before continuing. “Have there been others? At any time?”
Toby Jug shook his head slowly, his face creased in thought. Then, with a shrug, he said, “Might be a few ‘umans still about somewhere. Ain’t seen ’em meself, but who’s to say?”
Steed tilted his head. “What makes you think so?”
“Me mum and dad thought so,” Toby replied, the faintest glimmer of nostalgia flickering in his eyes. “Mother an’ Father. You know?”
Steed’s expression shifted to one of astonishment. “Mother and... Father? You actually knew them?”
Toby nodded, his grin softening. “Course I did. Can’t say they were perfect, but they were mine.”
Tara stepped closer, her voice hushed. “And... and how were you grown? Was it... inside your mother?”
Toby blinked at her, as though surprised by the question, before letting out a loud laugh. “Ain’t you a curious one! Inside me mum, aye. That’s how it works, lass. Ain’t that somethin’ they teach where you’re from?”
Tara hesitated, her voice soft and uncertain. “Are you sure?”
Toby Jug nodded solemnly, his gaze distant. “Aye, Mother an’ Father said so... you know? They told me all about it.”
Steed tilted his head, studying Toby. “And where are they now?”
Toby’s expression darkened, his voice quieter, laced with sorrow. “Dead… they’re dead… and buried.”
“Buried?” Tara echoed, the word foreign on her tongue. She glanced at Steed, the confusion in her eyes clear. “What does that mean?”
Before Toby could answer, Steed stiffened. His keen ears picked up the faint sound of a door creaking somewhere in the shadows, opening just a fraction wider. All three turned, their gazes locking onto the darkened gap. A shadow moved within, and then, almost casually, a chimp stepped into the room.
The creature paused, its dark, inquisitive eyes scanning the humans with an unnerving intelligence. For a moment, it just stood there, almost as if daring them to question its presence, before it moved to the side and perched on a broken column. Its calm, deliberate manner was anything but ordinary.
“Well, look who’s decided to join the show,” Toby Jug said, his grin widening as he gestured toward the chimp. “That there’s Gus. Likes to make an entrance, he does. Oi, Gus, you didn’t ‘ave to kick the door, mate!”
The chimp offered a low grunt, as if replying in disdain, then settled into its perch, watching them with a piercing, almost judgmental stare.
Toby clapped his hands together, pleased. “Now that’s a lad what knows ‘is way about, eh?” He turned back to Steed and Tara with a theatrical air, clearly energized by his audience. “As I was sayin’ before Gus interrupted with his grand debut, me lads all ‘ave proper names, don’t they?”
Steed raised an eyebrow. “Proper names? For all of them?”
“Every last one!” Toby puffed up his chest proudly. “You think I’d ‘ave a bunch of nameless chimps wanderin’ about like common riff-raff? No, sir! Names, I tell ya. All from me noggin, too!”
Tara tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “How many of them are there?”
“More than you’d believe, lass,” Toby replied with a wink. “Enough to keep me on me toes, I’ll tell ya that much. But don’t worry—each one’s got a name as grand as they are.”
Steed crossed his arms, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “And how do you come up with such grand names?”
Toby’s grin widened even more as he tapped his temple. “Ah, now there’s a bit o’ magic in it, ain’t there? All up ‘ere. Sometimes, though...” His voice shifted, growing theatrical. “I borrow a bit o’ inspiration from the great minds o’ history!”
With that, he launched into another recitation, his accent twisting the words until they barely resembled the original.
“Gus is the chimp at the theatre door,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmA7FbrkLGe
‘is name, as I reckon I told ya before,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCMita8przw
Ain’t nothin’ but Gus! Though, aye, truth be told,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs6CShXoQzO
It were Asparagus first—so I’m told!”
The words hung in the air for a moment before Percy, still perched on the column, let out a sharp hiss. The sound was almost dismissive, as though the chimp had grown tired of Toby’s antics.
“Oi now!” Toby wagged a finger at the creature. “You keep that up, and you’ll get no bananas tonight, mate!”
Steed smirked faintly, his tone light. “Is Gus as grand as the others?”
Toby let out a hearty laugh. “Gus? Grand? Nah, he’s just a cheeky little blighter, always makin’ a scene. But he’s got his name, don’t ‘e? That makes ‘im one o’ the family.”
As if to emphasize the point, Gus leapt from the column and disappeared through another opening, leaving the humans with the unsettling impression that he was more in control of the encounter than they were.
Toby Jug leaned in, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he pointed at Steed’s hand. “May I see that again, mate?” he asked, his Cockney accent thick and his expression almost reverent.
Steed hesitated for a moment but then extended his left hand, the ruby implant catching the dim light. Tara, watching warily, did the same. Toby Jug took each hand gently, his rough fingers brushing over the glowing jewels as he examined them with childlike delight.
“Blimey,” he murmured, his voice low with awe. “They’re beautiful. Like nothin’ I’ve ever seen before. Could I... could I ‘ave one, d’you reckon?”
Steed withdrew his hand, his tone polite but firm. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
Toby Jug’s face fell, his excitement turning to a pout. “Well, that’s not fair now, is it?” he grumbled. “I’d trade ya, I would! I’d give ya one o’ me favorite lads.” He gestured toward a group of chimps lounging near a toppled column, a few of them watching the exchange with an almost unnerving intelligence.
Toby’s demeanor shifted suddenly, and he stood straighter, as though summoning some hidden theatrical flair. With a grandiose wave of his arm, he began to recite:
“‘The baboon is a curious sort,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfzMZTN7wlC
With teeth so sharp, a wild retort!22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0zXtSdRjQn
But clever he is, as sure as can be,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9EPhyTW1KY
A thinker, a dreamer—more than just me!’”
His attempt at quoting the long-forgotten lines was clumsy at best, his accent mangling the rhythm and flow of the verse. Yet he delivered it with such conviction that Tara couldn’t help but stare, equal parts amused and bewildered.
Steed raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And that’s meant to be about chimps, is it?” he asked dryly.
Toby Jug grinned. “Close enough, innit?” he said with a shrug, the humor returning to his face. But his gaze drifted back to the ruby implants, his longing unmistakable.
Tara, sensing his disappointment, reached into her pocket and withdrew a small ring, a simple trinket she had managed to salvage during their journey. Without a word, she held it out to him.
“Here,” she said softly. “You can have this.”
Toby Jug’s eyes lit up as he took the ring, turning it over in his fingers. “What kind o’ jewel’s this, then?” he asked, clearly pleased with the offering.
“I don’t know,” Tara admitted, her voice sincere.
Toby Jug smiled, tucking the ring into his coat with a flourish. “A fine trade, miss. A fine trade indeed,” he said, his mood restored. But his eyes lingered on Steed’s hand for just a moment longer, as though he couldn’t quite let go of the thought of those mysterious gems.
Toby Jug leaned back in his makeshift chair, stroking his chin as he stared at Tara and Steed. A sly grin curled at the corners of his mouth. “You two,” he said, pointing a finger that wavered between accusation and admiration. “You’re both full o’ secrets, just like Macavity.”
“Macavity?” Steed echoed, intrigued.
“Aye,” Toby Jug said, nodding emphatically. He held up the ring Tara had given him, squinting at it as though trying to divine its mysteries. “Did ya nick this, then? Like ol’ Macavity’d do?”
“No,” Tara replied firmly.
Toby’s grin widened, and he straightened up, preparing for another one of his theatrical recitations. With a flourish, he began:
“Macavity, Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1kUsqpSO7O
A proper sly one, a chimp o’ suavity!22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy9vKGcTseU
He sneaks through the dark with nary a sound,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0roLDmNdHX
An’ leaves not a trace when he’s been around!”
His Cockney accent twisted the rhythm, but the performance was undeniably spirited. The chimps in the room seemed almost to respond, one swinging lazily from a crumbled arch while another scurried across the floor, chittering in approval.
Steed tilted his head, studying Toby with mild amusement. “Quite the poet,” he said dryly.
“Ah, don’t I know it,” Toby replied, puffing up with pride. “Macavity’s got nuffin’ on me, though.”
Steed shifted the conversation. “Do you know what lies beyond this place?” he asked, gesturing toward the crumbling walls and shadowed corridors.
Toby Jug’s demeanor darkened slightly, and he shook his head. “Nah. Never been past the edges o’ this place meself. Mother and Father—they never spoke o’ anywhere else neither. As far as I know, this is all there is.”
After a pause, Steed asked, “Would it be alright if we stayed here for a while? We could use the rest.”
“‘Course you can stay,” Toby said, his grin returning. He spread his arms as though to encompass the entirety of the ruins. “This place belongs to the people.”
Tara frowned slightly. “What people?”
Toby hesitated, scratching his head. “Ah, that I couldn’t tell ya. But it does. Always has. You’re welcome to say an’ do whatever you like ‘ere. That’s the whole point, innit? That’s what the name of this place meant—‘to speak.’”
Steed’s brow furrowed. “What was the word?”
Toby shrugged, looking genuinely stumped. “Dunno, mate. Can’t rightly remember. Funny, that.”
As he stood and began to shuffle toward a battered door leading to another chamber, he stopped suddenly, turning back to them. “Oh, right, one last thing about me lads,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the chimps scattered about the room. His voice dropped into a sing-song cadence as he recited:
“Don’t speak till you are spoken to,22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrVVBayW7Qp
That’s the rule they’ll all expect from you!”
With a wink and a crooked grin, he disappeared into the adjoining room, leaving Steed and Tara to process his strange hospitality and the peculiar world they had stumbled into.
Steed brushed aside a scattering of papers and an overturned chair, clearing a space for himself and Tara to sit down. Tara picked up a battered, dusty book from the pile on the table, her fingers trailing along the cracked spine as she leafed through it. Her expression shifted between fascination and confusion, her voice low as she spoke.
“How curious people used to be,” she murmured. “All these books... they wanted to know so much.”
Steed didn’t reply at first. He leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. The quiet of the room, broken only by the distant chittering of Toby Jug’s chimps, seemed to press in on them.
Finally, he spoke. “That eccentric fellow—Toby Jug... how could someone like him come to exist?”
Tara closed the book gently and looked at Steed. “He had a mother and father,” she said softly. “And he knew them.”
Steed allowed himself a faint smile. “One in a million, I suppose.”
They both sat in silence for a moment, their thoughts intertwined. Then, almost in unison, they said, smiling, “Who knows?”
Tara’s smile faded first. She placed the book on the table and looked directly at him. “We’re going on, aren’t we?”
Gazing distantly, Steed hesitated. Slowly, he shook his head. “There’s nothing to go on to, Tara.”
“But there is!” Tara leaned forward, her voice rising slightly. “There’s Sanctuary! There has to be!”
Steed met her gaze, steady but calm. “Tara, you want there to be one. But wanting doesn’t make it real.”
“It is real,” Tara said, her tone urgent now. “It has to be! I know it exists!”
“No, it doesn’t,” Steed replied gently, his voice almost a whisper. “Not really. It’s just... hope. So many want it to exist, so many who don’t want to die. They’ve convinced themselves there’s a Sanctuary. But it’s not real, Tara. It never was. Just the hope of it.”
Tara shook her head, her voice trembling as she became more emotional. “You’re wrong! It has to be real! It just has to be!”
Steed said nothing, letting her words hang in the air. The sound of a chimp scurrying across the floor punctuated the heavy silence that followed.
Tara stood still, her head lowered, trying to suppress the sobs that threatened to rise. The weight of Steed’s words—that there was no Sanctuary—had hit her harder than she expected. She wanted to believe, but his calm certainty had shaken the foundation of her hope.
Steed moved closer, his arm around her shoulder, trying to comfort her, though his own thoughts were clouded with doubt. The quiet chamber seemed larger now, the weight of its age pressing in.
Toby Jug shuffled back into the room, a large framed portrait clutched in his hands. His grin stretched wide, though his voice softened when he noticed Tara’s expression.
“Oh, my, don’t cry,” he said kindly, his Cockney accent turning the words into a singsong melody. “Look at this! You’ll love this one!”
He held the portrait up proudly, brushing a bit of dust from the glass. The painting showed a younger version of himself, perhaps in his twenties, with auburn hair and a broad, confident smile. He ran his fingers over the frame as though stroking a memory.
“That’s me, that is,” he said, a flicker of pride in his voice. “Back when me hair weren’t this frosty white. Handsome devil, weren’t I?”
Steed nodded politely but didn’t comment, his eyes wandering past Toby Jug to a set of larger portraits lining a distant wall.
“There’s more of ‘em over there,” Toby Jug said, gesturing grandly toward the far corner of the room. “Bigger ones. Dunno who they are, though. Maybe family, eh? Or famous folk? I’m not sure. Never bothered to sort it out.”
Intrigued, Steed let go of Tara gently and followed Toby Jug across the chamber. The light grew dimmer as they approached the corner, where large, imposing portraits leaned against the wall, their faces frozen in time.
Toby Jug chuckled as he waved at the collection. “Look at ‘em! A right bunch o’ posh sorts, eh? Could be anyone. Kings, explorers, bakers—who’s to say?”
Steed’s gaze fell on one particular portrait, and his eyes widened. The figure in the painting was unmistakable, a man with a gaunt face, a high collar, and a stovepipe hat.
“That one,” Steed said, pointing. “That’s the man the statue outside represents.”
“Is it now?” Toby Jug said, scratching his head. “Well, I’ll be! So he’s important then, is he? If he was so grand, why ain’t he first in the lot, eh?”
Steed stepped closer, examining the details of the painting. The face was familiar—he had seen it before, but he couldn’t place where. A name hovered on the edge of his memory, but it refused to come forward.
Meanwhile, Tara remained near the center of the room, her shoulders slumped as she glanced around aimlessly. She caught sight of the chimps swinging lazily from beams and ledges, their antics muted compared to before. The world outside this place felt further away than ever, as though it no longer existed at all.
Steed turned back to Toby Jug. “You’ve no idea who these people are?” he asked.
“Not a clue, mate,” Toby Jug said, shrugging. “Could be anyone, like I said. But they’ve been ‘ere longer than I ‘ave, that’s for sure.”
Tara sighed softly, the sound barely audible. Steed heard it, glanced toward her, and frowned. “We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though whether he was speaking to her or to himself, even he wasn’t sure.
In the dim, echoing depths of the ancient building, Tara stood frozen near one of the towering columns. The weight of history pressed down on her; the shadowy halls lined with relics of a bygone era. The oppressive silence was broken only by the slow drip of condensation from the ancient stone ceilings. Tara's breath was shallow, her heart racing as she strained her eyes to see through the darkness.
Without warning, Emma appeared at her side, as if materializing out of the shadows. Tara flinched, her terror rendering her speechless. Emma’s expression was calm, but her eyes gleamed with something far darker. She didn’t waste a second, her gaze flicking across the chamber where Steed stood, unaware of the exchange between the two women.
Tara instinctively took a step back, but Emma closed the distance swiftly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.
"What is that?" Emma hissed, her tone dripping with disdain as she gestured toward Tara’s outfit—a second-hand, psychedelic blouse paired with a short miniskirt. “What kind of absurdity do you call that?”
Tara glanced down at herself, confused by the venom in Emma’s words. "It’s just... clothes," she replied cautiously, her voice trembling under the weight of Emma’s contempt.
Emma circled her, her movements sharp and deliberate. “Clothes?” she spat. “That’s what you call this... this ridiculous ensemble? You look like you fell out of a child’s fever dream.”
Tara held her ground, despite the anger radiating from Emma. “It’s from before,” she said simply, her tone steadying. “A time when people expressed themselves however they wanted.”
“That’s rich,” Emma sneered, her lip curling. “And yet, here you are, wrapped up in this vulgarity like it means something. Do you even know what you’re doing? Do you have any idea what you've ruined?”
Tara frowned, genuinely baffled. "Ruined? What are you talking about?"
Emma’s eyes darkened further. “Him,” she said, her voice dropping into a low growl. “Steed. Do you even understand what you’ve done to him? Why you?”
Tara tried to speak, but Emma cut her off, her rage rising. “You don’t deserve this! He doesn’t deserve this!”
From across the chamber, Steed appeared, stepping out from behind a broken column. “That’s enough, Emma,” he said firmly, his voice steady and authoritative.
Toby Jug chuckled, “Well now, ain’t this a treat? More company…”
Steed barely heard him. His thoughts were tangled, memories surfacing in a chaotic rush. Emma was before him, her face contorted with raw emotion.
Tara bristled but held her tongue, her gaze flicking between Steed and Emma.
Steed’s expression remained calm, though his eyes were fixed on Emma with an intensity that silenced her. “Let it go,” he said evenly. “This isn’t about her. It never was.”
“We had such good times together…” she whispered, her voice fractured, lost in disjointed thoughts. Then her expression hardened, something breaking inside her. “I let you go.”
Emma's voice climbed to a frenzied pitch. “You didn’t ice a Runaway, and I let you go!” She took a step back, breath quick and unsteady. “She did this to us! How could you let her? Look at her!” She gestured toward Tara, her contempt palpable. “A relic draped in rags??!” With a violent shove, Emma threw Tara to the ground, sending her tumbling across the ancient floor, landing hard, stunned into silence.
Emma drew her blaster in a single fluid motion. She turned back, eyes burning, the mark of a killer with no hesitation. “And what about Steed-7 and Emma-9?” Her voice cracked. A tear gleamed in her eye, but she didn’t wipe it away. “Why didn’t you think about them? Her anger surged. “There’s over two hundred years of Icemen’s blood in you, Steed… and now you’ll spill it for a stinking Runaway?”
Steed didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he raised his right palm. His voice, when it came, was calm—almost too calm. “Look at your palm, Emma,” he said. “Look. It’s clear. Clear.”
With a heavy, reluctant motion, she peered down at the ruby embedded in her palm. The once-vibrant glow of the crystal had been extinguished, leaving behind a flawless, crystalline brilliance that shone with an unsettling purity. Its deep red hue, once a symbol of life and passion, now appeared cold and static—a stark testament to a fate sealed and unchangeable. Emma’s breath caught in her throat as she traced the smooth contours of the gem with a trembling finger, her mind swirling with a mix of disbelief and profound sorrow.
Steed began to speak, his tone low and measured as he tried to unravel the web of falsehoods instilled in every Dome-dweller about the rubies. “The rubies—they’re nothing but a lie, a sham designed to—” His words faltered as, in a heartbeat, Emma pounced on him like a feral cat, her arms lashing out and pinning him to the cold wall. Steed’s sentence died in his throat, his explanation cut brutally short as Emma’s grip tightened, leaving him silent and struggling against the force of her attack.
Steed tossed his hat high into the air in a desperate bid to deflect Emma’s wild swings, but the battered brim barely slowed her ferocious advance. In a frantic second, he grabbed his ancient umbrella and swung it at her, only to see it shatter into splinters on impact. The flimsy contraption offered little protection, and soon their conflict devolved into raw, hand-to-hand combat amid the echoing chaos of the ruined chamber.
Emma’s fury was unrelenting—her blows came fast and merciless, each strike fueled by a rage that left no room for mercy. Steed parried and dodged, the dull thud of fists against flesh mixing with the crash of debris as furniture and rubble were scattered about. At one desperate moment, Emma seized a heavy, fallen piece of concrete and brandished it like a weapon. With a savage swing aimed to end him, she sent it arcing through the air, and Steed barely managed to sidestep its crushing impact.
The battle raged in a blur of grunts, shouts, and the clatter of improvised weapons. Amid the ferocity, Steed’s eyes caught a glimmer—a clear, white pulse from his right palm. The ruby that marked his time now shone unerringly, a beacon of hope amid the brutal struggle. His vision flickered with the memory of better days, of the possibility of renewal.
Just as Emma raised the concrete once more, her intent unmistakably lethal, a piercing cry cut through the melee. Tara, in a moment of fierce resolve, had snatched up the blaster from the scattered remnants of the chamber. With trembling determination, she leveled it at Emma. The sudden intrusion of cold, precise technology halted Emma’s swing mid-air, her expression twisting in shock and disbelief.
Steed’s gaze locked onto Tara’s, and then on his own palm, where the clear light of his ruby pulsed steadily—a silent testament to what might yet be saved. For a long, breathless moment, the violence around them slowed, every heartbeat a fragile promise against the darkness. And in that suspended instant, with Tara’s blaster poised to decide the final act, the future of their fate, and perhaps of everything they believed in, hung uncertainly in the balance.
Tara’s hand shook as she gripped the blaster, her inexperience belied by the fierce determination burning in her eyes. With a trembling breath, she squeezed the trigger. A searing beam of light burst forth from the muzzle, arcing through the cold, stale air like a shard of pure energy. The brilliant ray struck Emma squarely in the midsection, igniting a violent explosion of heat and light. In an instant, Emma’s body sizzled and writhed, her skin darkening and emitting thin wisps of smoke as if seared by an unseen inferno. With a final, shuddering gasp, her smoldering form crumpled to the ground, the chaos of the moment momentarily swallowed by a profound, oppressive silence.
As the echo of the blast faded, Emma’s eyes flickered open for a heartbeat, catching sight of Steed’s outstretched right palm. There, the ruby implant that had once pulsed vibrantly was now dull and colorless—a silent, heartbreaking testament to the failure of renewal. In that final, fragile moment, Emma’s voice emerged, soft and barely audible: “Steed... congratulations… on passing Commencement.” The words, laden with sorrow and a twisted sense of irony, hung in the air before they, too, faded into silence, leaving the darkness to claim her life and the promise of what lay ahead.
Toby Jug strode over to Emma’s still form, his weathered face creasing into an expression of bitter sorrow. “Oh, me… she’s done for,” he muttered in his thick Cockney accent, his voice trembling with both grief and anger. Emma lay silent on the cold, hard floor of the ruined chamber—a stark reminder of what had transpired.
Steed, his eyes clouded with regret, could only stand there, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. The weight of his actions pressed down upon him, and in the silence that followed, Toby Jug’s next words fell like a death knell. “We’ll have to bury ‘er, that’s what we must do.”
Tara, who had been watching from the sidelines, recoiled in horror at the very notion. “Bury her?” she whispered, voice quivering. “How can we lay her to rest in the ground, as if she were nothing more than dirt?” Her tone was laced with disgust and disbelief, as if the idea of consigning a life to the earth was an unbearable desecration.
Toby Jug shook his head, his eyes dark with remorse and frustration. “It’s the way of things, love,” he said gruffly, his accent thickening with each word. “They’re laid in the ground so the livin’ can come and visit ‘em, remember? That’s what they used to say.” His words held a bitter irony, as if the practice itself was a relic of a bygone era—one that now only deepened his sorrow.
Steed’s heart pounded as he looked from the mournful old man to Tara, who remained transfixed with a mix of indignation and sorrow. “Are ye ready t' put 'er in?” Toby Jug demanded, his tone both accusatory and resigned.
Steed’s response was a heavy, regretful shake of his head. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice barely audible above the distant echoes of the ruined chamber.
Toby Jug sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as if burdened by the weight of centuries. “Alright then,” he conceded softly, the words hanging in the air like a final farewell.
Toby Jug sat down heavily on a weathered bench, his eyes glistening in the low light as Steed knelt beside Emma’s still body. With gentle care, Steed lifted her limp form, trying to straighten out the twisted position she had assumed when she fell. After setting her down once more on the cold stone floor, he cradled her head in his arms, as if to honor the memory of the life that had slipped away.
The scene faded into the dim night of the cemetery, viewed from high above—a vast, open grave under a star-studded sky. In the eerie quiet, Toby Jug’s resonant voice broke the silence: “Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night.” Steed and Tara, standing at the edge of the grave, watched in somber silence as Toby and Steed began to shovel earth into the opening, methodically filling the void that Emma now occupied.
Later, in the early light of the next morning within the hushed corridors of the old Parliament chamber, the remnants of last night’s sorrow lingered. Steed lay sleeping on a cot, while Tara and Toby Jug engaged in a soft, spirited conversation in a far corner of the room. As Steed stirred awake, he heard Toby Jug’s measured voice: “Of course, that’s all sorted then, mate. But don’t ya forget what ya promised, eh?”
Tara, her face both weary and resolute, replied quietly, “We’ll remember. But that’s a long time off…” She moved over to Steed, smiling gently as he rose to meet her, the weight of the past mingling with the fragile hope of a future yet to be written.
Steed frowned. “What exactly are we promising him? What can we possibly give him?”
Tara glanced at Toby Jug, then back at Steed. “He asked if we’d bury him when his time comes.”
Steed hesitated, then shook his head. “We can’t. We’re going back.”
Tara’s expression darkened. “Back to what?”
“I’m going to try and tell people what we’ve seen—”
She cut him off, her voice rising. “You’re lying! You’ll never get the chance to tell anyone anything! The moment you’re seen, they’ll kill you!”
Steed’s jaw tightened. “Do you expect me to let things go on without trying to change them?”
“Things won’t change,” she shot back. “You know that! We could stay here, Steed. We could live here, together, for as long as he does.”
Steed raised his palm, the colorless life-ruby glinting in the dim light. “Things change.”
Tara recoiled. “You just want to go back to kill, don’t you? Now you’ll want to kill your own! Kill the Icemen! Killing’s all you ever—”
She was shaking, her words bordering on hysteria. Steed grabbed her shoulders, steadying her.
“Tara, listen to me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Listen.”
She took a trembling breath, her eyes locked onto his.
“The life-rubies made me kill Emma,” he continued. “They make people die or be killed every day. If I didn’t try to end that… I couldn’t live here. Or anywhere.”
Toby Jug, who had been watching silently, shifted uncomfortably. “‘E’s right, luv. Ain’t no life, waitin’ ta die. Ain’t right at all.”
Tara's voice was quiet but firm. “I want to be alive and with you. That’s all I want.”
Steed put his arms around her. “I know… I know…”
Toby Jug approached, his head tilted in curiosity. “Wot’s all this, then?”
Steed looked at him. “We’re leaving.”
Toby Jug’s face fell. “Wot a bloody pity. I was ‘opin’ you’d be ‘ere ta bury me.”
Tara reached out a hand. “Come with us.”
Toby Jug frowned. “Where to?”
“To a city,” Steed said, “with thousands and thousands of people.”
Toby Jug blinked. “Alive?”
Steed nodded.
“Thousands an’ thousands…” Toby Jug’s eyes flicked around, as if trying to picture it. “As many as me chimps?”
“More,” Steed said. “Many more.”
Toby Jug’s mouth opened slightly. “An’ all alive, ya say?”
Steed nodded again.
Toby Jug rocked back on his heels, muttering to himself. “Fousands an’ fousands, all livin’… young folk, too, I reckon?”
Steed hesitated. “Very young.”
Something in Toby Jug’s expression shifted. His accent thickened, his words almost slurred together. “A city, wif fousands an’ fousands o’ young people? All o’ ‘em kids? None past their thirty? None at all?”
Steed and Tara exchanged glances.
Toby Jug let out a strange, hoarse laugh. “Ohhh, now that ain’t right, is it? Ain’t right at all.”
His eyes darted toward the shadows where his chimps lurked, watching. “They never let ‘em get old, do they? Ain’t no old folk in that city o’ yours.”
Steed exhaled. “No.”
Toby Jug’s hands curled into fists. “Bloody ‘ell,” he muttered. “I’d like ta see that for meself.”
He shook his head, mumbling under his breath. “Fousands an’ fousands, all young… oh, my…”22Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHI1ai2zaIK
