Chapter 112 - Wrong Number

Chapter 112: Chapter 112 - Wrong Number

Lucius had refused to help humanity, but refusing heroics did not require him to remain thirsty.

He drifted above Greenwich until a coffee shop appeared between a chemist with shattered windows and an estate agency whose display still promised quiet riverside living. The Dark Elf vessel hanging over the district had made the advertisement ambitious, though not technically fraudulent. Parts of the river remained quiet whenever the explosions paused.

Dreadspire vanished from his hand before he descended. The staff could answer his thoughts whenever he required it, while carrying a long runic weapon into a coffee shop risked making the staff responsible for an unnecessarily narrow doorway. The armour, however, was staying.

Lucius landed outside the shop and studied the entrance. The glass door had survived the first minutes of the invasion. It did not look capable of surviving his shoulders, the backward sweep of his horns, or the ragged cloak moving behind him without any wind.

He turned sideways, lowered his head, and entered with the care normally reserved for transporting furniture.

The bell above the door gave one frightened ring.

Behind the counter, a young barista had been trying to decide whether to leave through the front or hide in the stockroom. The arrival of a horned skull with red light burning through every seam simplified neither option. He backed into the espresso machine and caught a stack of paper cups before they fell.

Lucius straightened as far as the ceiling permitted. One horn stopped several inches beneath a hanging light. The skull faceplate withdrew into the helm, revealing the broad grin which had entertained Asgardian warriors and would have looked considerably more useful on something smaller.

"A pleasant afternoon, all things considered."

The barista looked through the window at three Dark Elves advancing behind an overturned police van. An armed response officer fired from the shelter of a brick planter. The Dark Elves answered with a blast that removed the planter, most of the pavement around it, and any remaining faith the Metropolitan Police might have held in stern verbal warnings.

He looked back at Lucius. "Bit busy out there, mate."

"That is why I came inside."

Lucius approached the menu written across a chalkboard. His cloak brushed two chairs aside, and the red-eyed skull worked into his breastplate reached counter height before the rest of him did. The barista followed its approach with the fixed attention of a man who had never expected workplace training to require an opinion on ceremonial murder armour.

Outside, the Convergence continued improving London.

A six-legged animal dropped onto the roof of a parked taxi, drove four sets of claws through the metal, and crushed the sign beneath its belly. A flock of strange birds poured from another portal and struck the side of a bus before scattering without injury. Farther down the street, something covered in blue fur burst from a tear showing an upside-down forest and chased two Dark Elves into an off-licence.

Lucius read the board from top to bottom.

"One extra-large Americano."

The barista reached for a cup. "Black coffee?"

"I asked for an Americano."

"Yeah. Black coffee."

Lucius lowered his gaze from the chalkboard. "Those are not identical terms."

"Espresso, hot water, no milk. That’s black coffee, mate."

"Filter coffee is also black coffee. An Americano is a specific preparation."

The barista stared at the armour, then at the Dark Elf ship outside. "The grinder’s dead, the till’s lost the internet, and something with six legs has flattened a taxi. Today, if it comes out black and hot, it’s an Americano."

Lucius considered the espresso machine. One warning light blinked on its panel, while a thin stream of water escaped underneath and crept towards the barista’s shoes. The machine had reached a professional standard very similar to that of the British police.

"Hot chocolate."

"That’s not coffee."

"It is the only item in this conversation which has retained its identity."

The barista opened his mouth, thought better of whatever had been prepared, and pulled a metal jug from beneath the counter. "Large?"

"Large enough to justify the interruption."

While the milk heated, the barista kept glancing towards the door. Each new group of civilians running past seemed to pull him closer to it. They moved without any agreement on direction. One family ran east, encountered Dark Elves, and returned west with three strangers who had apparently accepted them as local authorities. A man in a business suit crossed the same intersection twice before choosing a side street currently occupied by the blue creature.

Staying behind brick walls had not become the city’s preferred survival instinct. Londoners instead fled cover to join a larger crowd of equally frightened people, perhaps trusting that alien weapons selected victims through a democratic process.

Who was Lucius to dictate how people protected themselves during an invasion? Offering competent evacuation advice might weaken his earlier lesson about humanity solving its own problems.

The barista poured the hot chocolate, fixed a lid over the cup, and slid it across the counter with both hands. His attention remained on the street.

"There you go, mate."

Lucius took the cup between black gauntleted fingers. The armour adjusted the pressure with more delicacy than the cup deserved.

"How much do I owe you?"

"The till’s gone down."

"A tragedy for modern commerce."

"Just take it and go."

Lucius had intended to pay, and being denied the opportunity offended him in a minor but definite way. He placed the exact price in notes beside the dead card reader. No tip followed. The service had included an argument over beverage classification, which disqualified generosity even before the barista tried to abandon the building.

The man pulled off his apron.

"I would remain here," Lucius advised.

"My sister’s two streets over."

Lucius glanced towards the street, lifted the cup in farewell, and turned sideways for the door.

"Try not to become involved in any arguments about coffee on the way."

The barista gave the back of his cloak a look which might have contained an insult if survival had left room for one.

Lucius stepped outside, rose above the street, and tasted the drink. It was hot, sweet, and vastly better than the coffee he had failed to order.

Greenwich spread beneath him in bright interruptions. Portals opened across roads and building fronts, each offering a brief view of another realm before closing or shifting elsewhere. One showed red grass bending beneath a black sky. Another replaced the upper floor of a bank with a stretch of ice long enough for a freezing wind to scatter paperwork over the street. A third opened under a Dark Elf and returned him from thirty feet above a police car.

London’s usual grey ceiling had therefore become scenic. The new tourists were also better behaved than the regular variety. Dark Elves arrived armed, but they did not block pavements to photograph signs, disembark from coaches in dense Chinese tour groups, or reach British shores in small boats before demanding directions. Even the displaced wildlife added colour to a city which ordinarily rationed it.

Lucius floated through the improved weather and drank his hot chocolate.

He noticed a man on the rooftop because everyone else was trying to leave. The man remained crouched behind a chimney stack, making repeated calls while watching the streets below. His dark coat concealed body armour poorly, and the earpiece behind his right ear was more interesting than the phone in his hand.

As a responsible person enjoying a properly purchased invasion beverage, Lucius changed direction to determine whether the man was trapped and assistance was required.

The man’s call connected just as a shadow passed over the roof. He looked up, saw the horned skull descending through the smoke, and nearly threw the phone over the parapet. His free hand reached beneath his coat before professional judgment overtook training.

Lucius stopped several feet above the tiles.

The faceplate withdrew.

Recognition replaced terror without producing much relief. The man removed his hand from the weapon under his coat and spoke into the phone.

"Yes, sir. I’ve managed to reach him."

He extended the device.

Lucius accepted it, thumbed the speaker control, and held it beside the cup. "Yes?"

"Noctis," the familiar voice answered.

The voice belonged to the one-eyed bitch whose organisation had mistaken attempted kidnapping, forced employment, and armed assault for an opening negotiation.

"Nick."

Lucius took another sip during the silence. "I believe you have the wrong number. There is no one named Noctis here, Nick."

Fury had spent enough years speaking with Lucius to recognise a trap that offered no useful exit. He stepped over it.

"London is a war zone. We need your help evacuating civilians and containing the aliens before this spreads beyond Greenwich."

Lucius pursed his lips. The rooftop agent watched the change and took one careful step away.

"First, you xenophobic racist prick, they are not aliens. They are Dark Elves. Labelling them by their race is already questionable, but just because there is the word dark in their names does not permit you to add whatever insults you please."

"They arrived in a warship from another world."

"Another realm, Nicholas."

"They are shooting at civilians."

"That makes them criminals, not aliens. SHIELD has spent years explaining that legal distinctions matter whenever its own crimes are mentioned. I am surprised you have abandoned the principle. Plus, I’m still searching for some female Dark Elves. Did you notice any while spying on them?"

Fury’s breath reached the speaker with the patience of a man deciding which crisis deserved to be strangled first. "Fine. Dark Elves are turning London into a battlefield. The police cannot hold the streets, the portals are breaking every evacuation route we establish, and my teams are too few. Help us move the civilians. After that, you can go back to insulting terminology."

"I agree that you need to evacuate them. Buying a drink has become a chore because elves are upsetting the locals."

The agent turned his face towards the street. His shoulders moved once before discipline restored them.

Lucius continued, "Last but not least, and this is the important point, I do not give a single fuck what you need. Send your agents, send the army, or tell the politicians who wanted compulsory service from enhanced people to demonstrate the proposal personally. I’ve already declared that I would not lift a finger for ungrateful people. Let them enjoy the wonders of the universe."

"People are dying."

"Then your schedule has become urgent."

"Noctis."

"Wrong number."

Lucius ended the call and smashed the device.

He turned towards the SHIELD agent.

The man looked at the remains of the secure phone, then up at the red-lit skulls covering the enormous figure in front of him.

Lucius glared.

The agent gulped.