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It does not take long for a man as clever as Pavel Kohller to access the security network in his office block. In less time than it takes to start a fight on a Saturday night, he is wading through the mass of footage that is generated by this system every day. Every corridor and every stairwell has at least one camera pointed at it. Not a moth can flutter in this place without it being recorded; you would think that there is actually something of value here to protect. Well Pavel Kohller defiantly does have something to protect and for that reason, he has a camera of his own fitted in his lab, running on a different circuit from the rest of his equipment. Though he had no time to check said camera last night, he now decides to review the footage from both his lab and from the building’s reception together. Accordingly, he sets up a pair of screens and begins. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he starts the process at the previous midnight, the time when disaster struck. At first, he skips forwards as fast as he dares. Downstairs the only thing that moves is the night security guard, whizzing around the screen like a demented insect in a rubber room. In the lab it is dead black but the camera’s night vision picks up Pavel Kohller tripping on tangled wires, banging his head on the under side of benches and generally doing a half decent impression of a clown that has been snorting the coffee. After a few minutes of this, Pavel Kohller is getting edgy. Nothing of any importance seems to be happening when, hold on a minute, look at this. Hit the pause and back up a few seconds. You want action? Here it is. 03.23. Upstairs Pavel Kohller has fixed up some emergency lighting and now only his legs are visible as he tries to wire an unfeasibly large stack of units from underneath. Downstairs the security guard is lounging at his desk idly massaging his beer belly when the phone in front of him rings. You can see him give a little start and lean forward to scoop up the handset. This is where it starts to get a bit interesting. As he listens intently for a few moments, his eyes glaze over, his movements slur, he lurches unsteadily to his feet. Now it really kicks off. As if in a trance, he moves towards the front entrance to the building and unlocks the door. Without missing a beat, or stopping to look at what might be out there, he turns and heads towards the plush gents toilets, off screen and out of the action. That is defiantly not in the security guard’s handbook. Pavel Kohller is tense, Pavel Kohller is stressed, Pavel Kohller can hardly bare to look as, almost before the guard has left the set, the front door bursts open in a gust of wind and weather. It would be impossible for the potbellied protector of offices to have heard nothing, but he is not coming back to check it out. Accompanied by a visible squall of rain and turbulence, a strange figure almost falls through the door, obviously in a bad way. You could easily mistake him for a street drunk. His clothes are dark and dirty and frayed, he would be taller than average but holds himself in an odd, hunched posture as if expecting that a blow might come from any direction, or as if he is too broken to stand up straight. Clearly, he needs medical attention, as one side of his body seems to have little or no movement. The jerky way he makes progress reinforces this impression as he takes half a step at a time with his good leg, then has to haul the other side of his body round so it can catch up. Slowly he scuffles and shuffles towards the lift. Pavel Kohller cannot see the intruders face as the picture is poor and the angle is wrong. There is no clue to his identity during the long, frustrating seconds it takes him to move past the desk towards the lift. Whoever he is, the intruder is wearing a long cape, ripped and muddy, tattered and battered, with a hood that completely covers his head, cowling him in anonymity. One arm hangs at a strange angle and he has to swing his whole body round to press the button for the lift. Pathetically, he seems almost unable to stand unaided. He balances on the spot by force of will, but is about to fall when he props himself against the lift door. It is almost a miracle that he does not tumble in a heap when it opens. The angle of the camera’s field of view leaves the sign above the lift door easily visible, and Pavel Kohller finds himself holding his breath as he waits for the inevitable. Numbers light one after the other until the lift stops on the same floor as his office and lab. Well of course it does, this guy has not just popped in to do a shoot for the internet porn company upstairs has he? So now, look at the other screen. While the lift is ascending with its mysterious passenger, last night’s Pavel Kohller is still attacking a giant rack of complicated equipment from below, but not for long. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, the visible part of his body tenses. As quickly as he can manage, he scrambles out from under and dives for his coat, which is on a chair by the door. Franticly he searches through the pockets and pulls out his mobile phone. It is lit up like a neon hand grenade. Pavel Kohller answers his phone and as he listens intently for a few moments, his eyes glaze over and his movements slur. Unsteadily, as if in a trance, he lurches towards the back of the lab, flipping his phone shut as he does. Pavel Kohller, the Pavel Kohller watching all this on this on the security footage, feels a shock of dread grip his intestines. He does not remember any of this but somehow he can predict what is about to happen. He swears in his native tongue as the figure of himself on the screen picks up a screwdriver and heads to the alcove where server C003 is located. Server C003 is the final resting place of the soul of Solomon Brown. Server C003 is the server that Sir Connor Lord is demanding be found on pain of a blood soaked death. Server C003 is what all the fuss is about. Server C003 is in a part of the lab out of the camera’s field of vision. Pavel Kohller waits, dry of mouth and damp of brow, but it does not take long before his on screen self is back in shot, moving like a sleepwalker and carrying a sleek and featureless box only slightly larger than a laptop. Blank and black it has a light unlit, a fan unfanning and resembles, to Pavel Kohller, his own tombstone. Oh dear, it is, without a doubt, the missing server. On screen, he opens the door. Silhouetted in the light of the corridor the stranger is waiting outside. His face is masked in shadows but he bears a remarkable resemblance to the Grim Reaper after a particularly hard night. At this point Pavel Kohller feels that maybe death would have been the easy option. He watches himself tuck the server under the man’s good arm. Mission accomplished, he shuts the door, returns to the lab and slides back under the stack of equipment as if nothing had happened. It is all the watching Pavel Kohller can do to restrain himself from throwing up. If Sir Connor Lord ever finds out about this, he is a dead man, an excruciatingly dead man. Last night the lift descends to reception. The doors open and the stranger limps out clutching his prize, his identity still concealed. Part of Pavel Kohller wonders if there are any orders of light-fingered monks in this part of town with a reputation for stealing technology. He doubts it. It has been a long hard day, maybe the worst day of Pavel Kohller’s life so far but there is still one more twist of the knife to come. As the thief pauses to allow the front door of the building to swing open, another blast of wind and rain, just for a moment, blows back his hood. He is right in front of the security camera and in that moment, his face is revealed to Pavel Kohller. In that single moment, all the traumas of the day seem like so many pranks and games. Uncomprehending shock freezes our portly professor’s ample guts. The face that Pavel Kohller sees before him is bruised and abused. Pale of visage and dull of eye, his beard is worn and his cheeks are torn. He has more lumps and cuts than anyone should acquire in a lifetime. This is a face that belongs to a broken stick of a man. Still, it is unmistakeably the face of Solomon Brown. 15. The day has died and, standing in the belly of an imaginary dragon, Ebony Wild is interrogating an Angel...
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