The Last Red Shoulder (MK)

[Nemesis]

Patient Log: Wolfgang Holtz
Dr. Crane's Log
Diagnosis: PTSD



"Do you know what I remember, doc?

About the day the bomb dropped.

Yeah, I was there. Canberra, if you'd believe it.

I still see it in my dreams, every night. Hear the same sounds. The screams. The sound of the earth breaking, shattering, as tiberium sprouted from it surface, and all the horrors that came afterwards.

I feel that suit, slick with sweat and blood, gripping my skin tight. Smell the scent of the flames, seeping through the mask, choking me. Every night, I'm there. Doesn't matter what drugs I take. Doesn't matter what I do. Nobody can fix me.

God knows I've tried.

Not even the Antibodies will touch me. They say it's just a low antibody reaction, but I like to think the 'Chers can smell it, clinging to me. The fear. The stink of gunpowder and blood from that day.

Why do you think I'm here, with the Reclaimers? With Orphan?

It's peaceful down here, at the bottom of the sea. Soothing, even. It's the closest I've ever come to forgetting. I think a lot us here feel the same way. We're either running away from something, or running to it. Me? I'm a little of both.

There's people up top, landside, who just don't get it. They don't see how you could ever lose your faith. How anyone could look at all of this, all the beauty of creation and just go "yeah, nah - peace.".

But if they'd seen what I seen? Been where I'd been?

Brother, you bet they'd be lining up for at ticket out too, because there ain't nowhere this place is going but up in smoke."

---

December 20th
East Pendragon Laborer Flats
5:07 AM

Wolfgang opened his eyes, and stared at the ceiling. A hand came up, circumnavigating his chin, feeling the stubble. The travel razor just wasn't cutting it, he thought as he slipped out and into the early morning light.

It had been over a week since the encounter with that... bug in Orphan's depths. Since the Britannians had come to stay, and nobody seemed to have a word to say against it - at least not there, aboard the entity itself. For those in his cadre, who made their home on the Whale Kings, tending to the Bio-Zoids, it was nothing short of treasonous - how, they asked, could a so-called anarchist group so swiftly bend the knee to the most authoritarian, imperialist nation on the face of the Earth? Even Dahlia had gone starry eyed at the sight of the princess. At the same time, however, nobody had the stones to raise a hand against their benefactors or comrades - the enemies of Orphan were myriad, and infighting would on result in all of their demise. Nobody was willing to take the chance-

Except him.

Now dressed for the day ahead, he slumped into his chair, opening a book of notes. Some preferred everything digital - but not him. Communications were too easily intercepted, computers too easily hacked - and he could organize his thoughts better on paper than from behind a keyboard. A name was circled at the center of a web of notes:

Duke Vernon Hancock, former Warden of the Area 3 State Funded Prison.

Ever since their arrival, Wolfgang had dug as deep as he possibly could to learn about the Britannians, and this Duke Hancock was right at the center of his suspicions. All of this had started with Dahlia - ever since her return from his heroic rescue, she'd seemed... off. It wasn't long after that the Britannians had surged in popularity. He wasn't yet sure where the connection was, but he was going to find out through this man. Wolfgang's shiny new Britannian passport had been enough to get him across the border, ostensibly for sightseeing - but his time was limited, and the past two days he'd made little to no progress.

Duke Hancock's villa was well protected - understandable, given a man who'd formerly run a prison would have a lot of enemies. His resources were limited, and he had little in the way of friends and allies to call upon out here, surrounded by Britannians here, in the heart of their power.

He flicked through a long list of leads, each of them having been scratched out. Local insurgents? Nonexistent, or too afraid to act. Smuggling in weapons? Next to impossible. Hacking? Kidnapping? Blackmail? Pretending to be a long lost relative? All of it had lines drawn through it, and rightly so. He'd been hoping that a night's rest might bring with it new ideas, but...

Nothing.

Wolfgang leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes with a groan.

Red Six, Red Six, requesting assistance. Do you copy?

The phrase surfaced to the top of his mind unbidden, a reminder of that day. Of the calls for help that were never answered. Fiddling around in his pocket, he pulled out the small radio he kept, turning it over and over in his fingertips. Nobody had spoken through one of these in years, he imagined - it served more as a comfort item than anything else.

He flicked it on as his mind wandered, letting muscle memory take over as it flicked to the old channel. His fingers worked the dial inlaid into its side, sending bursts of static that conveyed a signal.

S.O.S. S.O.S. S.O.S.

A moment passed... and a wry smile crossed Wolfgang's features. Of course nothing would happen, he thought. They've been dead for years. He was, for all intents and purposes the last Red Shoulder. But, as his fingers moved towards the power-

Gggzzzrrggg...

A squeal of static caused his fingers to freeze. It was followed by a series of short, sharp clicks - and he seized his pen, scarcely believing his ears, marking the encoded message down on his paper. When the bursts stopped... he read it back to himself, gripping the paper with trembling fingers.

THIS IS RED EIGHT. REQUEST FOR HELP RECEIVED. CONTACT AT THE FOLLOWING COORDINATES...

 

[Nemesis]

December 20th
Pendragon Battling Arena
8:07 AM

VwwweeEEEeeee...

The sound of roller-wheels echoed through the arena's interior. An off-red, dusty looking Scopedog darted nimbly through an obstacle-course like array of terrain, camera eye clicking back and forth as it scanned the surroundings. Its head moved left and right - and halted, catching sight of something. Its heavy machinegun blazed, sending a hail of bullets in the direction of a phantom target - but hit only air, the fluttering of a cerulean cape on the edge of its vision the only sign of life remaining.

A spray of dust splashed the lip of the empty seats ringing the battle zone as the Scopedog ground to a halt, quizzically searching for its prey - but this was all the opening its foe needed. A gallant silver KMF, wielding a golden lance, burst from over a nearby hill, arcing up into the air, spinning its weapon heroically overhead before bringing it crashing down on the AT's shoulder, stabbing it into the ground.

There was a tense moment or two, before both pilots emerged from their cockpits. From where he stood near the entranceway, Wolfgang Holtz could barely overhear their conversation.

"How did I look?"
"Just great mi'lord! The spin was a nice touch, if I may add."
"Splendid. We have some time for rehearsals before tonight, get some more of these rust-buckets lined up. I want to make sure there's no room for error..."
"Yes, my lord!"

The Reclaimer's face could have wilted even the most brilliant of flowers. He lowered the bread he'd bought along the way, somehow having lost his appetite, muttering to himself:



"What is this crap?"

"It's a show, obviously."

He was shocked to hear a voice - and turned. An older man watched him, bemusedly. He looked to be a janitor of some sort, pushing a cart of cleaning supplies, and spoke with an unfamiliar accent. There was a knowing twinkle in his eye, as he asked:



"You a tourist?"

"...Yeah." Said Wolfgang, hesitantly, as he pushed his hands in his pockets. The janitor smiled, knowingly.

"The Noble Brights." He explained, gesturing to the silver They're a Battling Team, sponsored by the local KMF manufacturers. Led by Blaine Pendragon - the guy with the perfect hair on all the posters.

Every Saturday they fight against their nemesis, the evil Red Vampires and their ATs. Sometimes it even looks close - but they always win in the end."

"That's not Battling." Interrupted Wolfgang, hand closing into a fist as he felt indignation tight in his throat. It was an insult.

"ATs aren't toys." He argued; "They're deathtraps. What if there's an accident-"

"They use a watered down PL liquid admixture. Just enough to get them moving, but not enough for them to catch flame at the slightest provocation. 'Course, that means they take a heavy hit to their performance..."

The Janitor trailed off momentarily, returning his gaze to Wolfgang before adding:

"...but you already knew that, didn't you?"

There was a long pause before Wolfgang could meet the old man's eyes - and when he did, he prayed he sounded as firm as he did, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

"It's been a while... Red Eight."

---

Pendragon Battling Arena
Away Team Garage
9:30 AM



"I see... So that's your story, then."

Wolfgang accepted a cup of hot coffee from the old man, and sat back at the bench. He was amazed he could hear his former superior over the constant clattering going on in the background, as mechanics set to work stripping, salvaging, mending and welding the ATs for tonight's "show". Every week the process repeated - and there was never any shortage of parts, shipped in from across Britannia at dirt cheap prices.

Red Eight - or, Richard Evans, as his Britannian ID stated, seemed deep in thought about the fantastic story Wolfgang had weaved. Despite it being years since they'd had any contact, the two had fallen back into their old ways as easily as if they'd barely been apart a week, despite looking so radically different from how they had.

"And you think this Warden fellow, the Duke, has something to do with this sudden change?"

"I do, yes."

"Well, what do you plan to do about it? Just walk right in and ask him?"

Wolfgang placed the empty mug on the table, looking into its contents. He didn't seem to have a lot of options - but he'd do what he had to. Orphan was the closest thing he had left to family - and for them, for Dr. Clint, for Dahlia, he would do anything.

"...I need an AT." He said, finally - but Evans just laughed, slapping his knee with such force it made the whole table shake.

"So what? You think you can ride up to his home, blow open the doors, and demand he tell you at gunpoint what you already know?"

Wolfgang's features darkened, and he tapped the surface in aggravation, moderating his temper as best as he could in the circumstances.

"You got any better ideas?"

"Wolfgang. You are not alone here. You don't have to go out in blazing glory, not when you have others waiting for you. Most of us are not so lucky."

At the last mention, Wolfgang's eyes widened with surprise.

"There are... others?"

Evans nodded, watching in the background as a rusted torso was lifted free of a Standing Tortoise AT, so that its grimy, waterlogged parts could be rummaged through and salvaged.

"Three more in the area, to be precise. I employed them as trainers, but they're not friendly with the Britannians either. Much like yourself, they've got their own reasons to oppose the regime, but they haven't had a chance to strike. If need be, we can call on them, but... Why not let me handle this?"

Wolfgang grumbled - but instead folded his arms, and listened.

"You got a plan?"

"As a matter of fact, I do..."

 

[MKR]

Pendragon Battling Arena
VIP entrance
19:48 PM

"Your Grace I must ask you reconsider." A voice called out as car doors opened, at long last his target had arrived as the portly man stepped out of the back of a limousine. A woman stepping out after him, worry clear cut on her features as she eyed the man. From her dress she was a servant of his.
"Think of your agreement with his Highness the Crown Prince."

The Duke paused as the limousine doors opened once more, a man stepping out from the passenger side. His clothes were that of a common butler but anyone with the expertise that Wolfgang had could tell his eyes were not those of a man whose talents were for cleaning or serving. No this man was a warrior though of what sort there was no way of telling.

"One night out won't harm anyone dear." The former warden finally answered "I've been stuffed in that house much too long, a breath of fresh air would do well. His Highness Lemuel el Britannia need not hear about this after all it is just two hours at most." He brushed her aside as he avoided the gaze of the 'butler'. "Besides would it not look peculiar if I not appear after their request to honor my service to our nation." His tone turned boisterous. "But the letter said-"

As the female servant started to rebuke his claim his gaze angled towards her.
"Regina, your service and advice has been much appreciated but you may wish to reconsider your words in this public environ."

She became quiet after that, sighing.
"Two hours Your Grace?"

"Just enough to watch the downfall of the Vampires."

She sighed once more, following the man as they headed inside. The 'butler' closed the door he stepped out of at last, but not before telling the driver something though he did not make himself as clearly heard as the disagreement between the other two. With that the limousine began to drive away from the entrance and towards the proper parking as the other three headed inwards.

The vehicle emblazoned with the heraldry of house Hancock upon its roof, even though the coming darkness obscured it, passed by Wolfgang as it moved to the place where it would have to wait.

 

[Nemesis]

Boom, boom, boom.

"Welcome, lords and ladies! Tonight's show is a very special one indeed, as we will be honoring the life and achievements of the great Duke Hancock, whose family has kept us safe from harm for generations..."

The crowd roared as fireworks flashed out and above, coloring the skies as triumphant music filled the air. They were really going for it tonight. Even from where he stood, shrouded in shadow, Wolfgang could hear the muffled whine of roller wheels and land spinners as the combatants jockeyed for position overhead. It sent chills up his spine - the music, especially.

Whoever had chosen it had done their research. The anthem of the Red Shoulders, as if it hadn't been burned into his mind already, made his heart pound even harder in his chest. All the while, the Reclaimer tried to absorb what he'd overheard. Lemuel El Britannia? He scribbled it down into his notebook - as well as how strange the "Butler" looked, letting his pen slow to a crawl on the pad.

Is the Duke being kept prisoner?

Nevertheless, he pressed on, walking down the ramp, doing his absolute best to look disinterested - just a tourist who'd left something in his car, all the while his eyes scanned the garage, looking for the car in question. It was hard to miss - the elongated limo had been moved to the VIP area for just such vehicles with its peers.

"...There it is." He said under his breath, putting away the notepad and making a final mental check of all he had - armor magnum, a silenced 9mm, two plastic explosives, a knife, a rope with hook, lockpick, hacking tool, small flashlight, the radio, and of course - his notebook and ID. He hoped he wouldn't need to fight, but just in case he encountered any unexpected resistance... He couldn't afford to show mercy.

Fishing the keys out of the office, courtesy of the valet, he dropped into a low crouch - out of sight of anyone who might happen to remain in the automotive and sneaking a glance through the rear view mirror - and made his way to the back of the limo. With a gentle tap of the fob against the trunk, it slowly began to open - but his fingers grasped its lip quickly, not allowing it to rise any further, any longer than it needed to as he crept inside, closing it behind him - and dropping the key on the pavement outside, for the valet to find and return as agreed.

Concealed now in the darkness, he tried to let his breathing slow. All he had to do now... was wait.

 

[MKR]

The back of the limousine was fortunately mostly empty, on the downside however he was all by himself. Sealed in darkness in a tight space with nothing but his belongings to keep him comfort and his thoughts being the only wo-

A muffled laugh from in the front of the car. Faintly heard through the interior were the words "That frog never fails to crack me up." So Wolfgang was not quite left with just his thoughts but also the intermittent chuckles and comments of a young man that had failed his job of keeping the car safe.

After some time, though even with the distraction slash annoyance in front it was still difficult to tell how much time, the sound of a car door unlocking followed by three individual doors opening.

"Actually Regina why don't you participate sometime? It's been entirely too long since I've seen you in action." the Duke's muffled voice came from the back of the car, mere inches away from Wolfgang himself.

"Your Grace I'm afraid I must decline once more. Those days are behind me."

A sigh came and went as the former Warden relented. Somewhat. "Then what about something like the battling arena? A controlled environ."

"I'll consider it Your Grace." the tone made it easy enough to tell she was somewhat placating him with that but a hint of genuine contemplation came through.

The conversation would continue as the car began to drive, now came the real test of silence for Wolfgang. Whether he could keep any sounds to himself in the trunk, at least the Britannian roads were well maintained.

 

[Nemesis]

The Reclaimer sat patiently, and waited in the darkness.

For two.

Whole.

Hours.

Just as he was starting to contemplate firing the armor magnum from within the trunk purely to silence the offending noise, he almost breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the doors opening and closing. As a slight precaution, he took a length of rope and placed it in his mouth, biting down on it to muffle any noises he might make during the trip... and worked to calm his nerves as best as he could.

From the sound of it, his other servant was just as capable, if more trusted than the 'butler". His hand moved to his notebook - but he quickly realized there was no light, and consequently, no way for him to write. Oh, well. He busied himself seeing if there was anything to obscure himself, in the off chance they decided to open the trunk upon their return.

It wouldn't be long until he was in the belly of the beast.

 

[MKR]

The drive fortunately was much much shorter, the imperial capital of Pendragon may be a king of congestion but that was why most nobility lived right outside the city itself instead of inside. The major exclusion there being the imperial family and their immediate associates for whom traffic was less a concern.

So instead of the two hours? spent in solitary darkness these ten mere minutes were a piece of cake, though the noises in front were likely to make it tougher to bear. As the vehicle slowed down and the front gates of the estate opened, automatic mechanisms clear to hear even in the back, and perhaps in dire need of some oil.

The chatting pair left the vehicle and became distant once more, with a simple yet high quality tarp covering him Wolfgang heard two more doors open and shut before a grand wooden door creaked open and closed.

Then, silence. Followed by silence. The car was no longer moving and the engine was quiet, he was at the destination but the one problem was thus.
The car was parked in front of the estate, thus behind him were the gate guards alternatively called a rock and in front the main building looked out over the courtyard, ergo hard place.

The only solace was the collection of plants near the front of the building to provide even the suggestion of cover.

 

[Nemesis]

A while after the silence had continued, the trunk of the car opened minutely, just enough to permit its occupant a glimpse of the outside. He scanned the guards in the distance, their faces turned outward - but for how long, he couldn’t be certain.

After observing a few minutes more, and determining they weren’t the type to spare a backward glance, in one smooth motion he slipped out of the trunk, dropping to his knees, and closing it behind him.

That’s right fellas. Keep those eyes where they belong, he thought to himself as he slipped into the foliage, keeping his gait low, and his footsteps as quiet as he could make them / just close enough to mask his approach, without the rustling of the leaves.

Time to find a way in. He began to move clockwise from his position, up the side of the rotunda, staying in the shadows, the adrenaline in his system keeping him alert to any approaches as he began to slowly circle the house, looking for entrance points.

 

[MKR]

Under better light and better circumstances there may have been some consideration for the well maintained state of the plants. Of course before they were pushed aside to make way for an uninvited guest, said guest would fortunately go unseen for the moment as he approached the edge of the buildings facade, a light behind him going on in seeming response yet no cries of thief came.

Around the corner a pair of men were walking, one in a uniform like the men in front and another in different garb. Even under the veil of night it was clear to see, a stark white with gold decor that glimmered in the window light. Around the capitol only select people were permitted to wear those colors as they in combination indicated status and position.

It was why the Lancelot, ancestor of the modern KMF, was colored thus after all. In knowing mimicry of the Royal Guard of the Crown Prince.
"His Grace has returned." the guard spoke to the man in white.

"Very well, take your place in the guard shift." with that steps moved to the side and a door opened, letting light out of the staff entrance. The guard turned towards the front and began moving to the gate.

Along the side of the building a window was open beyond the door, no light coming from it. Another a floor above was dark yet open as a method of introduction into the interior.

 

[Nemesis]

Hearing voices, Wolfgang dropped into a crouch, trying as much as humanly possible to seem more hedge than man as he listened intently, spying the beautiful and unique colors one man wore. Britannians were known for their ceremonious nature, and so far had failed to disappoint. He paused a moment to scribble in his notebook:

Royal guard - Britannian royalty involved? Must investigate further.

Spying the staff entrance, he maneuvered around the lights, keeping his distance as he moved instead towards the two open windows. Slowly the rope was unwound from his belt, and with a swift toss, it’s hooked metal end was pulled taught over the lip.

Checking about one last time for any unwelcome eyes, Wolfgang hurriedly scaled the wall, clambering over the lip, winding the rope up behind him as he went, to drop into a crouch as he let his eyes adjust to the darkness, other hand already moving to the silenced pistol’s grip.

Just in case.

 

[MKR]

Horizontal navigation turned vertical as the side of the house or rather mansion was traversed the second of three floors was accessed by the interloper. While not breaking, entering was still a crime. Though that ship had long sailed after the limousine, now he was shrouded in darkness in the second story floor.

Taking no time to look ahead of himself and going into the unknown Wolfgang would find himself surrounded by the smell of dried laundry and footsteps just outside. Arrayed around him were racks of clothing and though the light in the room was out, the moonlight shining in showed an array of maid uniforms around him.

The steps outside paced back and forth rapidly some distance away from the door. Sometimes drawing closer.

 

[Nemesis]

At the sound of footsteps, Wolfgang froze. A hundred different thoughts and possibilities ran through his mind - but there was, ultimately, only one option. He could run to the closet, but his muddy footprints would give him away. Rappelling back down wasn't an option either - too big a chance of being seen.

His hands moved quickly, closing the window as quickly and quietly as he could, while also flipping the light switch. He tore one of the maid uniforms from its hangar, wiping as much mud from his shoes as he could as he loped towards the light switch, flipping it on - and then turned, depositing the dirtied uniform into a waiting laundry hopper. Now, he waited... and, silently, tried to rehearse a cover story as quickly as possible, his back turned to the door as he grabbed some soap, busying himself as though he were an ordinary man doing his laundry...

...with about four times the normal soap.

 

[MKR]

After many steps back and more forth the door opened, a hand moving towards the light switch before pausing as light came back already. The door opened further letting a young maid look into the room and directly at Wolfgang.

A scrutinising gaze burned into his hide like twin bullets a wound, with the luminescent rays from above it was very clear this was a room for women's laundry only, uniforms like the one worn by the woman opposite to him dotting the room with fancier variants to the side.

"What are you doing there. Ser." while formal the tone was accusatory and far from quiet. Especially the last word, w verbal declaration of war. Her eyes scanned him trying to recognise who he was.

She also wasn't approaching, staying outside as her arms crossed.

 

[Nemesis]

"Oh."

Wolfgang turned, his face the picture of faux-surprise. Though not the best actor, he could at least keep his expression under control. He looked down in the water, and lifted a sodden set of maid linens in the air, gesturing to the dirt stains across its surface and giving what he thought was an agitated scowl.

"Pardon me." He said apologetically, "Was just dropping these off for the garden staff... Someone took a tumble, y'see."

Flashing a forced grin, he was vaguely aware that the excess of soap was now causing the machine to spill copious amounts of bubbles onto the floor, sloshing out and onto his shoes. He took a step back, as already, the machine was rattling loudly and threateningly as more froth surged over its open top, threatening to engulf the other clothes in the room, the dial having been turned to maximum in the fashion of single men unfamiliar with the intricacies of laundry machines everywhere.

"...I'll, uh... let myself out." He muttered unconvincingly, moving to hurry out of the room as fast as possible before the impending eruption could take place.

 

[MKR]

Accusation was replaced by horror as the sight behind Wolfgang became evident, a gaze dashing between the two as she rushed forward. First raised a hand upwards to reach the cheek of the vile destroyer of expensive garments with a well justified strike and slap before rushing past him to the machine.
Cursing him out at the same time as accusations of perversion and idiocy flowed from the already stressed working woman before her day was annihilated from orbit.

Several doors opened in response, a few of her colleagues peeking out of rooms they were working or resting in to see the man shuffle out and hear the machine going rampant.

They stared at him, having heard most of what was going on. One filed out and down the stairs as the rest moved to assist their colleague, for now he was not their focus but now it was very much known he was present in the building.

 

[Nemesis]

A stinging CRACK across the cheek ensured Wolfgang wouldn't get off quite as easily as he'd hoped, shoving his way past the maid's protests and out into the hallway - as the doors opened, he had a momentary "deer-in-the-headlights" look about him. They looked at him, and he looked back. What should he say, he thought, or rather what could he say?

"Just a minor equipment malfunction, ladies. Nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep." He said, raising his hands as though to call for calm, as a tidal wave of white foam sloshed treacherously about his feet, slipping down the hallway as he backed away, trying for all in the world to look professional and nonchalant. Exactly like he belonged here, just like everyone else.

His slow, measured pace turned into a jog as he rounded a corner, a hand coming up to touch his now pink face, marred with the imprint of the woman's hand. If only he could say, he thought, it was the first time he'd felt such a pain. For now, he needed to get out and away from this area, reorient himself - he slowed his pace, and began to look for any indication he was closer to his goal. Based on his mental map of the place, or at least what he'd observed of it, he ought to be heading closer to the center... He hoped.

 

[MKR]

His hopes were well founded as when he moved forward the wall opened to unveil a grand hall, the rambunctious machine behind grew silent, the distraction partially disposed of as that now left the cleaning. The maid that went another direction rushed back behind him with her colleagues in tow and cleaning equipment suited for the task.

The grand hall was well decorated, expensive paintings and statues both before and after the exodus dotted the sight, sitting at the centre of it all between two winding stairs going up there was a enormous painting of a man, similar to but not quite the Duke. An ancestor perhaps.

To his side a woman and on her lap a young boy. Beneath that painting between the stairs there was a door made of fine wood, visible through the window in the middle there was a desk and even more decor.

 

[Nemesis]

Awed by the display of wealth, Wolfgang made his way into the hall, head on a swivel as he eyeballed the various statues and paintings. Could he, he thought, be happy if he lived in the lap of luxury like this? Would his conscience permit it, knowing upon whose shoulders said wealth rested? No. Such a life wasn't for him. He'd be content traveling the stars with Orphan, if it meant his nightmares would end for good - no amount of money, he knew, could ever change that.

With trepidition, feeling the wet squelch of his shoes with every step, the Reclaimer made his way down the stairs, keeping his eye out for others, but finding little in the way of obstruction... or other personnel. He sidled up to the wooden door, below the eave of the painting, and with one eye still on the lobby, leaned in close to listen. Were he to hear nothing, his hand would close about the doorknob, testing to see if it was locked or not.

 

[MKR]

On the other side of the door was silence, not even crickets to indicate just how silent it truly was. The inside from this angle was clearly an office and while well maintained it was equally clear from how things were placed that it was until recently unoccupied.

Now a half empty bottle of wine and associated, clean, glass next to it adorned the desk of wood adorning the room front and center. The next issues was that the door, at least this door was firmly locked. Another door knob visible on the other side of the door and no keyhole evident on that side of the glass.

Another door was visible on the left side of the room seemingly leading to some sort of private study though whether someone was there he couldn't tell courtesy of the wall in the way. But that room seemed to be the same to his own left, the door there was half ajar.

 

[Nemesis]

Wolfgang squinted through the window, feeling for all in the world like a nosy neighbor. The quietness of the place was starting to occur to him now, and he wondered if something was taking place - had he been discovered already, and the Duke evacuated? It might explain the half-drunk bottle on the desk. Or, perhaps he was just overthinking it? ...Already, it was giving him a headache. This was why he usually left the decision making to Dr. Clint, or Dr. Crane. Just the thought of seeing the latter again made him steel his resolve.

He was going to get out of here, and figure out whatever was going on - one way, or another. Despite an uneasy feeling stirring in his stomach, he gently pushed open the ajar door and let himself in, keeping against the wall, his hand on the silenced pistol's grip as he kept his eyes peeled - and more importantly, his ears open.