As Gwen was about to dash in the direction of Dark’s pained voice she heard a loud whisper behind them, “Don’t go that way! LitPol are combing the back alleys!”
Falling behind the others, she turned to see a blond, crouched inside a darkened entryway motioning her inside. Crossing the threshold, Gwen saw that the room was a restored speakeasy.
“Your little gang has balls, that’s for sure,” the girl was peeking out the only window, hidden with slats on the outside. “You tell those kids to blow The Safe without even getting a ride from them? Your guy has a broken leg!”
“How do you know about The Safe?” Gwen asked.
“The LitPol’s had cameras in there for weeks. They’ve been monitoring everything you do. They are out on the prowl right now looking for each of you with full names and physical descriptions.”
“That’s not possible,” Gwen responded.
“I understand this is a change of plan for you, but regrettably I don’t have time to elaborate. I’m expected back in three minutes and forty three seconds and with what’s just happened I’m sure it will be a busy evening,” as the girl turned Gwen noticed a small black earpiece. “There’s a man out there called Jack the Ripper. We believe that he’s an American. He thinks his name is a cute take on the infamous serial killer, who I assume he believes was a great creative mind,” she scoffed. “After your stint blowing up The Safe-“
“That wasn’t us,” Gwen interjected, “If you really have seen inside The Safe you should know that.”
“Regardless,” the girl continued, “he decided that ‘violent’ Protagonists such as yourselves would be a great addition to his movement. You will soon be approached by a Ripper, maybe more, in an effort to either kidnap you or enlist you voluntarily.”
“How would they even find us?” Gwen questioned.
“I can’t answer that because I don’t know. There’s a lot of information on this man that my people haven’t been able to accumulate. He’s a ghost.” She checked the window again before continuing, “I work for a man who goes by The Bard. It’s not his actual name of course, but who goes by their given names these days?” she smirked. “He’s sent me here in the hopes that you will join us instead and embrace nonviolent means of revolution.”
Voices outside made them both turn and back away from the window. As the blond peeked through a slit between the aluminum plates in the wall Gwen noticed a tattoo, barely noticeable between the end of her blouse and the top of her trouser. One word in what used to be accepted as Shakespeare’s scrawl: Free. When the scattering of LitPol had passed she turned back.
“I know it doesn’t seem this way from where you stand, but the tide is turning. We want you and your comrades to be there when it collapses against the other side. Take this,” She handed Gwen a tattered business card, on the back it had an address and phone number with a thick, bright green lightning bolt dividing the two, “it’s the location of The Dark and Stormy Night. As I understand you are in the market for a sanctuary. You need no password to obtain entry, but be sure you don’t go there on a sunny day. I don’t need an answer now, but if you all do decide that this is the right road for you go to the address and call on me.”
Without so much as a courteous goodbye the girl glanced at her watch and opened the door, “My name is Scheherazade.”
“How do you know all this?” Gwen looked up from the card.
“I work for Antagonist interrogation.”