In the future, I am dead.
   Five long years are stretched out before my current self but there is no longer any doubt in the matter – in five years time, I will be dead. Six feet under, pushing up daises, dead as a dodo. Dead.
    The Marquis de Sade looks up from our game of chess, a worried expression upon his brow.
   "J'avais pensé," He proclaims, dabbing a fine silk handkerchief against his sweating forehead. I have trouble actually believing that this man thinks about anything. "J'avais pensé que ce dilemme à vous peut ne pas être aussi double bordé que lui d'abord apparu."
   I tilt my head and light one of the cheap cigarettes that sit in a small red and white carton. Breathing in, I realise I no longer have any lungs for the cigarette smoke to effect and curse my misfortune. I hate being dead.
   "Vous êtes mort, aucun?" He asks, it is a rhetorical question yet still I find myself nodding in agreement. "Mais ceci ne se produit pas pendant cinq années pour le moins. Ceci indiquerait que vous êtes en quelque sorte hors d'endroit ici et ainsi donc si vous êtes hors d'endroit, alors tout que nous devons faire doit trouver votre ' en place ' incarnation et empêcher votre mort de se produire."
   I shake my head and smile at him as if he's an idiot.
   "Il n'est pas celui simple, mon cher Marquis." I sigh and grind the half-smoked cigarette down on the chessboard between us. "Puisque dès que je vous retournerai de nouveau à votre temps, vous allez avoir oublié tous au sujet de la réunion j'ainsi, par la même logique, dès que je cesserai de marcher vers l'arrière par le temps, je , par défaut, retour à dix-neuf quarante deux."
   The Marquis looks disturbed by this, his weasely features wavering as the rug of certainty I tried to keep beneath him is pulled away in a gesture of cynicism even I have trouble dealing with.
   I sigh and light another of the cigarettes.
   "Vous croyez en Dieu, Marquis?" I ask suddenly, he looks up at me with confusion.
   This makes me smile.
   If I had grandchildren, I'd tell them that I confused the Marquis de Sade.
   Coughing loudly, he brushes away several of the chess pieces – my side, not his, I notice – and leans forwards, his elbows now obscuring most of my pawns.
   "Dans mon expérience, équipez seul est son propre Dieu. Il n'y a une étude pas plus élevée que la terreur d'une expérience humaine. S' il y a Dieu, alors ne soyez pas trompé, Monsieur Eternity, pour He est vraiment une bête."
   I look into his slightly askew eyes for moment.
   "Oh." Is my only response.
   He clears his throat again.
   "Ce qui vous croient dedans, Monsieur Eternity?" He asks.
   "Je crois en Dieu." I admit, somewhat embarrassed by my simpleton's faith. "Je crois qu'il y a une raison.  Il doit y avoir."
   The Marquis leans back in his creaky old wooden chair and unbuttons his trousers slightly, allowing the nausea to subside.
   "C'est avec précision ce genre de penser cela a l'humanité de subsistance enchaînée aux murs de caverne pendant tous ces siècles. Nous devons laisser aller, desserrer les responsabilités de la moralité et de la culpabilité et agir sur le désir. Seulement en servant nos la plupart des instincts de base peuvent nous vraiment être libres."
   A group of children playing outside thankfully diverts my attention from having to listen to the Marquis' philosophies.
   My eyes dart back and forth, following their game as it unfolds on the hot pavement outside.
   "Vous croyez au reincarnation, Marquis?" I ask finally, my brow furrowing in thought and confusion.
   de Sade laughs audibly.
   "Jamais avant ayez-moi a entendu parler de quelque chose si ridicule." He declares, slapping his hand against his thigh in a riotous gesture.
   "Je." I whisper, looking down towards the ants that crawl across the surface of my tattered shoes. "Et dans la ma vie prochaine, je serai mort."
 
 
ANGELS OVER ALBION: IFS ISSUE #17
"LA SOCIÉTÉ DES MYSTÈRES"

Written and created by Jacob Milnestein
Edited by Jericho Vilar

Livingston Chance created by Jericho Vilar

Based on concepts and characters created by Neil Gaiman, James O'Barr and Alan Moore

 
"Pray,
 Pray to God,
 Pray to God, to Jesus, and all the Angels in Heaven,
 Because you'll be joining them soon."
- Bryan Hall
Abuse
 

2200

   "This was Saraquel's city once." Chance sneered, casually lighting a cigarette. "Didn't do the poor bitch much good, did it? Fucking waste of time."
   The stars above shimmered and the city lay out before him, devoid of illumination.
   Across the shores, the Angels were reclaiming his home, crushing into the ground beneath their feet and subjugating every poor bastard still in the country.
   Livingston Chance was not one of them.
   For too long the Angels had turned away from both him and the rest of Albion, ignoring them both as insignificant threats.
   Tonight was the night when they all learnt how wrong they were.
   Tonight was the night Livingston Chance would sacrifice everything he once loved for a united Europe strong enough to fight back against Raguel.
   He sighed, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette.
   They'd be here soon, people he once knew, a long time ago when he was someone else...perhaps even someone better.
   The wind gathered behind him, sweeping leaves off of the ground and tossing them aside.
   Chance turned, cigarette still hanging from the corner of his mouth.
   A ragged man in a torn costume of yellow, red and blue stood before. His hair was unruly, a mass of blonde locks and his beard tangled. He was the very image of a Norse god; those perfect cheekbones of his so well concealed beneath the beard.
   "I should have known you'd have turned up first." Chance said, his voice emotionless. "What are you calling yourself nowadays."
   "M." The hero replied. "Just M."
   His voice, dry and quiet as it was, carried the faintest trace of an English accent.
   "How very humble of you." Chance smirked. "So do you want an award for sitting on your arse in the middle of fucking Texas this past few centuries or are you just content in the knowledge that you've royally fucked me over."
   "Livingston..." M. protested.
   "Save it." Chance cut him short. "It may have meant something in 1938 but now it means fuck all."
   "If I'd known them what I know now..." M. sighed.
   "Then what? You wouldn't have fucking sold me out to a bunch of cunting daemons who would have liked nothing more than scoop my fucking bollocks out and force feed them to me? Do you know who fucking saved me, M.? Fucking Angels, that's who." Tears appeared in his eyes. "The same fucking race that did this."
   He held up his right hand and the missing index finger for M. to see and then thrust his arms out wide, turning slightly to indicate the dead scenery around him.
   "Well, thanks a lot, M. All this is for you. This world, this fucking shitehole that we've been dragged down into – this is all because of you and what you're fucking kind did during that oh, so 'golden' age of superheroes. This is what you get when you're kind start policing the world. I hope you're fucking happy."
   M. was silent, his deep blue eyes glazed over as he took in the world around him for the first time in centuries.
   "I must have killed thousands of your kind over the years," Chance continued. "And every single fucking one I wished it was you. But when the shit really hit the fan, when Heaven and Hell shat on all of us from a great height, did you stand up and proclaim that same old bullshit you would have given anyone else? No. You fucking turned tail and ran." He leant in closer. "This is what you've made us, M. This is what you've made me."
   Without further comment, he dropped the cigarette at the hero's feet and turned his back.
   "Its time to make up for all this mistakes, M. Time to start practising what you preach. I hope you're ready for this because a lot of good fucking people have died just to bring you out of hiding."
   "What do you have in mind?" M. asked quietly.
   "We're going to set fire to the whole city." Chance smiled. "We're going to burn it down and bring every last superhero here to the front lines against the Angels." He turned and pointed at M. "And you, my son. You're going to be the one who starts it."
 
   To many he was known as the Wandering Jew.
   Over the centuries, he had walked to the end of the universe and back...now he was walking back through time...all of them were, every immortal, every long-lived being who had made it to that bitter and cold end, they were all heading backwards now, back towards the initial sigh of breath that had signalled the beginning of all creation.
   Very soon he would be drinking coffee in a restaurant several months ago, the events of his now locked firmly in the future of everyone else and the dark, foreboding shadow of the Goat cast over both Albion and Elysium.
   He sighed, adjusted his spectacles and flicked his opponent's Black King over.
   "Checkmate." He shrugged.
   His opponent seemed preoccupied, a young man with a mop of straw-coloured hair, though often, due to the nature of his own movement back through time, his features would shift into the domain of the Left (his past) or Right (his future).
   "They'll all be here soon," The younger man muttered. "Just like it was, like it will be, in 1939. All of us together again; you, me, Chance and the Man in Texas."
   "Why do they call him that? The Man in Texas...it's not as if he was born there, is it?" Manny asked.
   "They call him that because he's a coward." Monsieur Eternity responded and left it at that.
 
   Johnny Faustus lit another cigarette.
   The small imp on his shoulder, its talons digging into his flesh and bulbous eyes looked wearily out over the night sky.
   It was a grotesque looking creature, skin the texture of old leather and discoloured by years of remaining in the world of mortals, attached to one person after the other.
   Its name was Mephostophilis, an insignificant little daemon corrupted by its time spent with Faustus and his kind.
   Over the horizon, ghost lanterns filled the water, the light dazzling over the oceans that separated the heartlands of Albion from its capitol.
   He sighed, watching the waters lap against the harbour as a sole, battered and decrepit boat limped painfully into the docks.
   The wind bellowed in his ears, drowning out the sound of the ship-hands.
   Harsh beads of rain bit into his face, all but decimating what was left of his cigarette as he slowly stepped out from cover and walked patiently towards the boat, hands deep in his pockets and the daemon shifting uncomfortably on his shoulder.
   The anchor dropped and the ship was moored to the docks.
   Faustus waited patiently, his jacket collar turned up around his neck in a vain attempt to protect him from the harsh weather.
   Two figures emerged from the docked ship, darkened and ignored by the ship-hands.
   The first a short woman, he hair died blue and her right eye replaced by a complex mesh of circuitry and technology. She wore a lengthy trenchcoat; the hem of her coat dragging through the rain soaked ground.
   The second figure was tall and thin, black hair cut short and dressed in a mis-matched suit that had seen better days. He wore a carefree expression that belittled the worry he must have felt at stepping back on his native soil.
   "Salutations, mes amis. Il est bon de voir que vous encore bien que je doive admettre les circonstances pourriez avoir été meilleur." Faustus greeted them.
   "Johnny Faustus!" The thin man smiled. "Il est été un long temps.  Là où est ce bâtard anglais, Chance?"
   "Il est parti..." Faustus muttered, almost shamefully. "Il a dit que nous devions le rencontrer à Paris. C'est où le M. est maintenant."
   "L'homme dans le Texas?" The younger woman smirked. "Ce fucker? Que lui a fait le rampement dehors de dessous sa cachette sanglante?"
   "Chance." Faustus answered calmly.
   "Ainsi c'est lui? Est ce ce qui j'ai tous qui attendent?" The second man sighed, attempting to light a cigarette of his own despite the gale.
   "Avons-nous le transport?" The woman asked.
   "Oui." Faustus replied. "Je fais modifier APC attente en dehors des docks.  Il est un vieux WildCATS modèle. La personne qui l'a vendu à moi a dit qu'il était le même cela Harkes, Shaft et Flagg a pris dans Londres pendant la rébellion dans 2185. Je ne crois pas un mot fucking qu'il dit, personnellement mais le mythe est genre de convenable."
   "Grand. Nous tous obtenons de terminer vers le haut de six pieds dessous puis?" The woman hissed bitterly.
   "Harkes et Flagg fait lui dehors." The other man pointed out.
   "Ouais.  Et regard comment ils ont terminé vers le haut." The woman snapped.
   "Il n'importe plus. Rien qui baise pas . Nous sommes ici pour Chance et voilà. Rien autrement. Il peut être une chatte fucking mais nous le devons." Faustus snapped.
   Silence descended for a moment as Faustus' words slowly sunk in.
   "Il a raison." The other man agreed. "Et le grand Arsene Lupin n'est pas on à sauter dehors sur ses dettes." He smirked and finally got a flame from his lighter.
   It was extinguished before it could reach the cigarette's tip.
   "C'est une pile si fucking de shite, Lupin et vous sanglant le savez." The woman laughed.
   The cigarette all but dropped for his mouth.
   "Et je suppose que le grand 'Midnight-Eye Marlowe' saurait mieux? Que la baise est-elle un 'midnight-eye' de toute façon?" Lupin asked.
   "L'minuit-oeil, pas 'midnight-eye', me permet de voir dans n'importe quel ordinateur dans le monde. Comme dans 'Goku Midnight-Eye', vous twat. Sans compter que son beaucoup meilleur que quelque chose vous pouvez faire. 'OH, mon nom est Arsene Lupin, je suis n grand grand cul français. Ma puissance spéciale doit voler la substance.' Sort fucking du bien qui est. Prévoyez-vous voler quelque chose sur cette mission sanglante de suicide, Lupin?"
   "Suicide?" Lupin questioned.
   "Oui, son une mission fucking de suicide. Et n'essayez pas et ne nous dire aucun différent, Faustus, parce que nous tous nous connaissons ne sera pas sortir de ceci vivant."
   "Je n'ai jamais essayé de vous dire quelque chose différent, Cassandra." Faustus said quietly. "J'ai des préconceptions au sujet du fait que nous allons mourir. Son été sur les cartes pour des générations. Du premier Marlowe et du premier Faustus à se réunir Chance nous faisons savoir le tout que pendant un jour, la dette s'appellerait dedans et cela que ce soit. La fin de nous et de notre futur." He sighed wearily. "Je suis simplement désolé nous ai dû vous traîner dans ceci, Lupin."
   Lupin shrugged.
   "Ce n'est aucun problème. Vraiment, il n'est pas. Je suis un d'une grande ligne de Arsene Lupins. Nous savons le danger comme nous connaissons les dos de nos mains."
   "Nous devrions obtenir allants si nous allons le faire à Paris." Faustus interjected. "Vous êtes tous dedans?"
   "Oui." Lupin said.
   "Oui." Marlowe said.
   Faustus nodded quietly.
   "L'ok alors,  disparaissons."
 
   "Smile!"
   The back of the Angel's head exploded in a mass of tissue, blood and mercury.
   "Do you have to be so brutal?" M. demanded, his voice harsh and reproving.
   Chance turned and fixed him in the gun's sights.
   The hero didn't flinch, he remained there looking down the barrel and awaiting the younger man's reply.
   With a sigh, Chance lowered the weapon and looked away.
   "Yes." He answered curtly. "This is the same fucking place my team were butchered for trying to get to in 2197. This is what good friends of mine died for and this is what's going to save us."
   He tucked his Beretta back into its holster and sat down before the Albion terminal.
   His fingers danced lightly across the pristine, stainless keyboard.
   A series of three-dimensional images scrolled across the screen accompanied with various words appearing at such a rate that it made them impossible for M. to read.
   "What is that?" The hero demanded.
   "Albion's defence web. With all the Angels preoccupied in the former UBR, aside from a handful of guardians left in the other cities, this whole fucking network is wide open. When Raguel took on all the responsibilities of the Inner Sanctum she made it a lot easier for us to get in. All we had to do was sit on our arses and wait for her to get distracted or fuck up in some way – and she's been doing that since they all waltzed into New York."
   "What are you going to do with it?" M. questioned.
   "I'm going to rewrite it." He smiled deviously.
   His fingers moved in a blur, flesh depressing keys faster than M. could register the words they formed.
   A whole new series of windows opened up before him, followed by the shrill-sound of the computer's dialling tone.
   "What is that horrible noise?" The hero said with distaste.
   "The sound of me dialling into a little present Anya left me." He said, a tinge of sadness entering his voice. "It's a virus that rewrites the server's personality."
   "What with?"
   Chance smiled and lit another cigarette.
   "That's my favourite part." He grinned, leaning back. "It overrides and rewrites the central system's personality matrix with my own."
   M. looked aghast. The idea of a global defence network with Livingston Chance's distasteful personality was not an idea he relished.
   With distaste Chance reached over and tore the comm-link from the dead Angel's decomposing skull.
   Delicately he attached it to his right ear and pulled up another menu.
   It remained blank for a moment before the familiar Planetary logo appeared. He sighed and tried not to think about it, tried not to think of all the bloody and hurtful memories the logo held for him.
   He tapped in a fake access code and the logo dissolved into blackness. Shortly after the familiar face of Faustus appeared, his pet daemon just visible in the corner of the screen.
   "Vous avez pris votre temps." Faustus said without a trace of emotion in his voice.
   The shields of the APC they were travelling within distorted his voice, making it difficult for Chance to understand his French.
   "Je suis désolé.  A pris ce vieux bâtard ici," He nodded in M.'s direction. "Pour obtenir son cul dans la vitesse et venir réellement me recherchant."
   "M. est avec vous maintenant, cependant?" Faustus asked urgently.
   "Oui." Chance answered. "Bien que nous exécutions un bit en retard. À quelle distance l'extérieur Paris sont-ils vous?"
   "Pas loin. Une autre demi-heure maintenant, je devrais penser."
   "Bon, bon. Bien que nous puissions être au milieu d'une guerre-zone fucking avant que vous obteniez ici. Espérez-vous tout emballé vos pique-niques."
   "Pas vous souci au sujet de nous, nous irez simplement bien. Vous vous assurez juste que tout est prêt à aller avant que nous y arrivions." Faustus smirked, the first trace of emotion he had displayed during the entire conversation. "Que diriez-vous de Mcray? Avez-vous pu l'atteindre encore?"
   "Aucune une telle chance. Donnez-moi l'heure d'obtenir ce système de la défense de batard reprogrammé et alors nous verrons au sujet d'appeler en faveurs. Jusque-là vous jeu juste tout par l'oreille, droite?"
   "Je comprends. Nous serons avec vous dedans au-dessous de trente." Faustus said and broke the link.
   Chance stared at the screen for a moment and then closed the window.
   "Let's just hope we're not all dead by then." He whispered to himself.
 
   Manny Weiss looked up at the lights, watching as they flickered.
   Monsieur Eternity had left in the middle of the game, making his excuses and explaining that he had to go leaving the old Wandering Jew alone with his thoughts and the aftertaste in the air of Eternity's cigarettes.
   This was the earliest stage of the world's conclusion. The dirt and ice that happened in the future was all directly linked to the events that were currently taking place now.
   It was a slow process, one that would take centuries to eventually reach a head but it was also one that could not be stopped...ever...no matter how much any of them wished it could.
   Sighing deeply, the Wandering Jew moved the chess-pieces once more, rearranging them in no specific order other than that they were opposite to the ones he had seen when last he was here, three days in the future.
   He picked up his belongings and started walking again, a long and lonely path back...back to the very beginning of it all.
 
   "Pensez-vous que, si vous aviez la chance de vivre par toute la ceci encore, si vous aviez la capacité de changer non seulement les décisions que vous avez prises pendant votre vie mais également les décisions que vos ancêtres ont prises pour vous - pensez-vous que vous auriez fait un quelconque de ceci différemment?" Cassandra asked.
   Lupin smiled, smoke drifting from the end of his cigarette.
   "Non. Non, naturellement je pas . Je doute de qu'il aurait été demi autant amusement si j'essayais de faire cela."
   Cassandra Marlowe smiled also, relieved by his response.
   "Merci, Monsieur Lupin. Je suis heureux nous puis convenir sur quelque chose."
   With delicate fingers she reached over and lifted his cigarette packet from his pocket, lighting it with her own cheap, disposable lighter and placing it in her mouth.
   "Cet endroit nous allons à, non son emplacement géographique mais sa signification vraie, cet endroit est où Chance a toujours vécu, n'est-ce pas? Son son lieu de naissance spirituel et son marqué par toutes les personnes qui ont été prises dans ses batailles personnelles et sanglantes." She paused and exhaled. "C'est pourquoi nous sont allant là, n'est-ce pas? Nous sommes d'être pourtant plus de victimes sur le champ de bataille sanglant de la guerre de cet homme."
 
   The Albion terminal continued to flicker.
   "Alright, we're getting somewhere." Chance smiled, biting his tongue in concentration. "Let's see if I can do this right and pass it over to Marlowe's midnight-eye or whatever it is and...ta-da!"
   A green light binged on the screen and suddenly the entire installation went into defence mode.
   He flicked the window up again and dialled the APC.
   "Nous sommes ici." Faustus' voice announced.
   "C'est bon," Chance smiled. "En raison de juste a récrit le reste du réseau de la défense d'Albion. Il devrait venir à travers à Marlowe n'importe quelle minute maintenant."
   "Je l'ai!" Marlowe shouted from behind Faustus, then: "Enfer fucking, vous avez attaché ceci vers le haut de ordonné!"
   Chance's smile broadened.
   "Je me glorifie sur mon travail, plus ainsi que je fais sur prononcer ce langage fucking du votre. Il est comme des bollocks de parler. Mais c'est sans compter que le point. Les dames et le monsieur, nous sommes maintenant dans la commande d'Albion!"
   "What are you saying to them?" M. asked.
   Chance turned, momentarily distracted. He had completely forgotten about M., an arrangement he had been quite content with up until now.
   "I'm telling them that we're now in control of Albion. I've cut off the Angels from their own defence grid and as we speak, each defence system they have is now primed to take out any Angel left in Europe. We've contained them all, shame, we're going to have to blow up Britain to stop them getting out."
   "Est-il ce M.?" Faustus asked over the comm.
   "Oui." Chance said, turning his attention back to the terminal. "La merveille de Dickless ici veut savoir ce qui continue. Ne peut pas comprendre un mot du français. Le bâtard a probablement passé toute cette fois chez les vaches fucking au Texas vers le haut du shitter avec le son Oh, langue ainsi superbe-super-powered et règle de chant Britannia sanglant. Vrai patriote, il est."
   Faustus laughed loudly, the first time in years.
   Chance grinned back too, the hurt and pain slipping away for a moment or two.
   "What's he laughing at?" M. asked.
   "I told him the Angels were royally fucked." Chance replied with a smirk.
   "Ouvrez les portes pour nous, Monsieur Chance." Faustus announced. "Nous sommes prêts à entrer et jouer maintenant."
 
   Eternity watched as the energy web that encompassed the former Albion territories flickered and then came back on, now with a new purpose.
   Across France, Germany and all the other countries that once came under the dominion of Elysium, every single defensive system was turned against those birthed by humanity's Father, those who had once served the role as humanity's teachers and mentors.
   Shrieking bolts of powerful energy crossed the sky as feathers began to fall over each of Europe's major cities.
   But Eternity was not born of Heaven...he was cursed by it.
   In 1946 he had died and Heaven had sent him back down to Earth, doomed to wander, a Hungry Ghost with no purpose, no direction.
   And idle hands were the Devil's...or whatever the old saying went like,
   The vast tower, a replica of the original Watchtower in New York, lay before him at the centre of the city.
   There was one in every city Elysium had claimed – London, Madrid, Rome, Paris. They were everywhere.
   He stood and watched as the assembled cast of Chance's new Mystery Society disembarked the APC they had used as transport into the city, watched as the steel doors of the Paris Watchtower slid open and watched as they entered safely inside.
   He watched and waited. Soon they would have to come back outside and when they did, they would bring Chance with them.
   And then...
   Then it would all begin, or end, or one of the two.
 
   The doors slid open behind them.
   Chance remained hunched over the Albion terminal whilst M. stood in the corner, desperately trying to look heroic.
   "Fuck." He muttered.
   "What is it?" M. asked, suddenly stepping forwards.
   "Something's fucked up. I can't get through to Mcray, we're cut off." He turned and looked at the other members of the Society and recapped in French: "Nous avons été coupés de Mcray. La baise sait mais quelque chose qui nous arrête des transmissions eastablishing avec le Nova Britannica."
   "Que signifie-t-il?" Marlowe asked.
   "Il signifie qu'un certain bâtard cunting est sur nous." Chance answered, he turned and looked slowly at each of them in turn. "M. – you've got the short straw, I want you up in that fucking atmosphere and ready to take on whatever Elysium can throw us five minutes ago. Marlowe, Lupin et Faustus - vous êtes tous avec moi, vous chanceux lambine. Marlowe là va couvrir nos culs tandis que je mets en évidence les grands pistolets et nous nous dirigeons dehors sur les rues. J'obtiens le sentiment qu'une certaine chatte va frapper en arrière à nous et elles frapperont dur. Je ne veux pas risquer cet obtenir hybride d'ordinateur trashed, pas après que tout nous a été par ensemble ainsi Marlowe va s'occuper du Watchtower trop aussi bien qu'être baisse complètement magnifique et nous sauvegarder d'obtenir nos intérieurs éclaboussés au-dessus des monuments locaux. Ce bruit bon?"
   "Je vous ai dit," Marlowe said, looking up at Lupin. "Mission fucking de suicide."
 
   He watched as the hero, the same one who had been responsible for much of the Society's reputation in 1938 broke through the skies, heading into the upper atmosphere in order to scout for enemies.
   Dealing with him was easy.
   Closing his eyes, Eternity opened a doorway into the future right in the hero's flight-path.
   He tore through the air and then blinked out through the window and into the heart of the sun at the moment it went supernova.
   Eternity smiled to himself.
   The enemy had never had wings. Raguel, the Inner Sanctum, the Mission – none of them gave to shits about France; they were far too occupied with the situation in the former UBR.
   No, he was the true enemy.
   He was the one preventing their communication with Britannica.
    Moments passed as the secondary defence systems came, huge weapons systems springing from the loam and concrete around the tower as the doors slid back.
   Eternity didn't care.
   He wasn't interested in Albion; he wasn't interested in the Watchtower; all he wanted he had before him.
   Three figures emerged.
   The first was a young woman, all cyborg chic. Briefly Eternity wondered if hurt Chance to look at her and remember his former comrade. Then came the tall man and the man with the daemon on his shoulder.
   Then Chance himself.
   The others were fodder, a breed or generation apart but still related to heroes he had put in the ground the first the Society had crossed paths with him. It was Chance he wanted.
   "À ce jour votre Anglais de vol devrait être moins qu'incinèrent flotter sur le nothingness de notre futur mort." He announced with a smile, stepping through a doorway and sliding out the other side in front of them.
   "Écoutez, accouplez, vous vous occuperiez de sodding hors fonction, nous êtes genre d'occupé à l'heure actuelle." Chance snarled, not really paying attention to what he said or his cheap little parlour tricks.
   "Vous avez entendu l'homme, faites sortir la baise d'ici." Marlowe added, training a weapon on Eternity's face.
   "Vous baises stupides! N'avez-vous pas écouté ce que j'ai dit? Je l'ai juste détruit! Votre prétendu homme des miracles. Baiser I détruit lui!" Eternity screamed, throwing his arms up in despair.
   Chance raised an eyebrow.
   "Vous maintenant? Ne peut pas vraiment dire que je l'ai aimé beaucoup de l'un ou l'autre. Quelqu'un a été lié pour le faire."
   "Vous chatte de baiser! Vous sans valeur de cunting wank! Vous ne vous rappelez pas même qui la baise je suis." Eternity screamed. "Je baise Monsieur Eternity! Baiser I détruit la plupart d'entre la Société de Mystère en 1939 et vous ne baisant pas pour se rappeler. Regardez," From within his tattered jacket he drew out a long sword and stabbed himself between the ribs. Nothing happened. No blood, nothing. "Je baise complètement! Je suis mort en 1946, explosé par un Nazi fucking U-Boat. J'ai été envoyé au ciel et puis dit me pour fuck.off car il n'était pas mon temps ainsi j'étais renvoyé vers le bas ici comme ordinateur de secours affamé. J'avais essayé de vous détruire depuis lors becuase qu'ils pensent que vous êtes le nouveau Messiah! J'étais votre nemesis, votre vieil ennemi d'âge et vous même ne baisant pas pour se rappeler me!"
   Chance squinted hard, looking at the madman's face.
   "Désolé, compagnon.  Je ne me rappelle pas vous." He said.
   "Les anges pensent vraiment que vous êtes Jésus ou quelque chose?" Marlowe asked, lowering her gun slightly.
   "Baisé si je connais." Chance shrugged.
   With a scream, Eternity leapt forwards, slicing time in half directly down the middle of Marlowe's body.
   There was a horrible moment of nothingness and then half of her body fell apart, rotten and decayed, machinery still hanging off it.
   "Ce fucking le fait." Chance growled.
   As Eternity jumped up into the air, eyes wild with madness and fury.
   "MONSIEUR CHANCE de MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE! MATRICE!" He screamed.
   Effortlessly, Chance pulled the trigger.
   A single beam of quantum energy hit Eternity's head, tearing it shreds. A second later his body fell to the ground.
   "Baise!" Lupin whistled, he hands still in his pocket and the cigarette still protruding from his mouth. "Ainsi... maintenant ce qui?"
   Chance sighed, lit his own cigarette and dropped his gun.
   Falling down on his arse, he looked up at the moon and the stars above them.
   "Maintenant, Monsieur Lupin, je donne vers le haut. Les ses étés si longs et moi suis si fatigués. Maintenant je commence à faire face jusqu' au passé. Ce pauvre bâtard. Je dois vraiment pissed il hors fonction et je ne me suis pas même rappelé son nom fucking." He reached into his pocket and drew out the half-full bottle of vodka. For a moment he and the drink just stared at one another and then he quietly closed his eyes and tossed it aside. "J'ai fait ce qui je bidon pour Albion. J'ai détruit mon propre pays fucking dans l'intéret du Christ. L'un endroit dans le monde que je réellement ai donné un shit environ et le fucking de I l'a assassiné. Personne ne peuvent indiquer que je n'ai pas renvoyé les faveurs. Maintenant je me dois ce combat un dernier... maintenant I récepteur à Planetary."
   The wind howled about the three of them, the last remaining members of the Mystery Society, and a small tear ran down Livingston Chance's cheek.
   Soon the future would be coming for him also.