When his two attackers were good and done with kicking him - maybe a half an hour later - Robert was little more than fleshy pulp in a Relic Devo shirt. He felt worse than the time he'd been out in a Stormfront for a minute - every nerve registering a hot, throbbing agony. He twisted and writhed on the floor, unable to find any position that was less painful.

The Colonel had been busy collecting the cards he'd tossed away in a moment's anger. Now he had them all, or so it seemed. He was sitting in the chair by the upturned table, putting all the cards back in order to be sure they were all present and accounted for.

"That's the lot," he said, packing them away: "And so we are, at last, finished here."

"Fuck you," Robert said, plasm burbling from his mouth as he did.

"No last curses?" the Colonel asked, standing up and adjusting his middle: "You learned my name, did you not?"

"... can't..." the Oracle admitted.

"I thought not," the ugly man said: "Monty? Would you be good enough to do the necessary?"

"Gladly," the helper said, and leaned down with the knife outstretched: "Hey? Here's Johnny..."

"... all your lines from movies?" Robert asked, strangely not afraid of the man.

"Just the good ones," the helper grinned, getting ready to slash at Robert's neck.

"Anything from 'Midnight Cowboy'...?"

Monty's face reddened, and he slashed. The blade cut, but not deeply, and Robert rolled over, clutching his spurting neck.

"That was sloppy, Monty," the Colonel said: "Hold him still and do it properly-"

"You Do Nothing Further To Him," Someone said, just then. The voice boomed and rolled, as though it were receding thunder.

Robert looked up, by the door. There was someone standing there: some warrior come from the wastelands between the cities, from the looks of him. He was wrapped in rags and makeshift armor, and what little proper armor he had on - a breastplate and a helmet - seemed of Grecian origin, but was made of the same silvery metal as the blade Robert had just been cut with. A gladius rested at the newcomer's left hip, his left hand rested upon its pommel, and his right was behind his back, as though he were standing at ease.

The Oracle blinked, unable to believe his eyes: It was a Legionnaire of Fate, and from the way his eyes shone Robert didn't think he was quite himself at the moment...

"This is official Guild business," the Colonel said, putting his own hands behind his back "You have no right to interfere."

"Don't pay any... attention..." Robert winced: "Please... interfere..."

"Shuddup," Monty hissed, looking like he wanted to give the downed Oracle another solid kick in the stomach, but holding his place - for now.

"This Is Also Official Business," the Doomed man said, holding out his left hand as though he expected to be given something. He didn't seem to care about Robert's plight; In fact, he didn't even look in his direction.

The Colonel sighed, knowing exactly what the Legionnaire meant with that gesture.

"Sir?" Monty asked, and the Colonel looked at him and nodded: "Do as he says, good men. Hand them over-"

He was interrupted by a blur of motion, followed quickly by the sound of a shotgun blast. The man who hadn't spoken went down to the ground, his neck and shoulders little more than a smoking stump. The relic pistol he'd tried to pull out - as per their agreed-upon codewords should they be attacked, it seemed - fell to the ground before him, clattering amongst the spilled Tarot cards.

The Legionnaire stood there for a moment, still aiming at the man he'd just sent down to the Labyrinth. His face was blank and impassive, and remained so as he cocked his head to one side, and slowly aimed the gun towards the Colonel. His left hand was still outstretched, and there was another, as-yet-unfired barrel less than six inches from its target's melted and pox-ridden nose

The Colonel shuddered, and, without even a flourish, bent to take the silvery knife from his fallen helper's body. The process was complicated by the now-forming Nihil, there - one that took some of Robert's cards, but not the handgun. The Colonel made sure the knife was closed, and then carefully stood up and placed it into the Doomed man's hand.

Monty did the exact same thing, taking a careful step back as he did. He looked ready to burst into hysterical tears. {"Pussy..." Robert hissed at him, not caring if he heard or not.}

"You Know Why We Are Doing This," the Legionnaire stated to the Colonel: "These Things Are Not For You. And You Know This."

"There's a war on, in case you didn't notice," the Colonel huffed, careful not to sound at all threatening: "We need all the weapons-"

"You Have All The Weapons You Need, Oracle," the Doomed man interrupted: "But Certain Factions Of Your Guild Have Been Seeking These Things Of Ours In Particular, In Spite Of Knowing The Penalty From Before."

"Needs must when the Devil drives," the Colonel said: "You were happy to give us the products of your forges when it suited your purposes."

"It Does Not Suit Our Purposes At This Time. And Now You Are Given Another Reminder."

With that, he swiftly turned the gun towards Monty, and fired. The shot impacted wetly in the man's chest, and tore such an immense hole through him that his head and arms flew across the room in separate directions.

The fractured body's trunk and legs wobbled one way, then another, and then fell down, decaying to mush before it hit the floor. The Doomed man had neatly and quickly reloaded the weapon before it did, and pointed the reloaded gun anew at the Colonel's nose.

"You Return, Alone, To Copenhagen," the Legionnaire stated, his face still an emotional blank: "You Do Not Return To Boston. Any Other Members Of Your Group Who Attempt To Come Here Meet The Same End As Your Companions."

"Jesus fuck..." Robert hissed from where he lay: "Don't let him go!"

"He Does Not Meet His Doom Here," the Legionnaire said, not looking in Robert's direction.

"Bastard... s'got blood on his hands ... killed Xoser, Charlie ... Lady knows who else-"

"That Is Inconsequential To The Here And Now. We Say Again, He Does Not Meet His Doom Here."

"... letting ... rapist piece of shit... walk-" Robert started to say, but was silenced by the speed at which the Colonel turned to face him.

"Be silent!" the man shouted, regarding his accuser with a look of pure hatred: "I shall not be impugned by you, or by anybody! How dare you-"

"Straight outta your... mouth... asshole," Robert said, not the least bit afraid of the man, anymore: "... name was Josette...?? She's your first...?"

The Colonel blanched at that, and his fists began to shake.

"What was that... you said?" Robert pressed, enjoying the sight of the man being confronted by his own, dark secrets, and taking strength from each and every word: "'All women want... is a good smack or two... just so they can call it rape? That way they don't have to... admit they really want it?' Was that how you... justified it to yourself?"

"Legionnaire, I beseech you," the Colonel said, staring holes in his former captive's face: "This man is a danger to the stability of things ... the order of things. Please let me destroy him, so that he might poison no more minds with his-"

"No," he man with the gun said, his eyes not as far away as they'd been, before, and his voice losing much of its thunder.

"You have interfered too much, here!" the man shrieked, moving to pounce upon the gun one of his men had dropped. But he stopped in his tracks at the sound of the Oracle's gun being cocked behind him, and turned around to see that the gun was even closer to his face than before.

"I am permitted to interfere even more," the Legionnaire said, his voice a lot more... human, all of a sudden: "He is far more important to the Loom than you are. And if I have to speed your Doom up in order to safeguard his... I will."

The Colonel gritted his teeth, shaking in anger.

"And Now You Leave This Place," the Legionnaire said, his eyes going wide and his voice booming once more. He stepped aside so that the Colonel could do as he was bidden, but still kept the gun trained on him.

"But why-" the Colonel started to shout.

"We Do Not Answer That," the Doomed man stated, plainly, and waved to the door with his free hand: "And You Leave Here Disgraced, Frustrated And Puzzled."

The Colonel did just that, shaking in anger all the way down the road. Even the Spectres the wind had brought along avoided him and his diseased gaze as he walked to the docks.

The Legionnaire of Fate stood by the door, after that, watching the Colonel leave. Once the man was out of sight, he took a deep breath - such as his dead lungs were able to do so - shuddered, and lowered his gun.

"In your name, My Lady," he whispered, feeling Her presence leaving him. The fugue state receded, and he could no longer feel the connection with the Loom as strongly as he had a moment before. His eyes came back to the here and now, and he slid the gun into its carrying case across his back.

"Well, I'm just... over here," Robert said, holding his neck and lying in a pool of plasm: "Don't feel you have to... fucking help me up or anything..."

"Sorry," the man said, walking over and kneeling down beside the stricken Oracle. His touch healed, and before long Robert felt his strength returning to him.

"Couldn't you have gotten here just a little sooner?" the Oracle sighed: "I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for the assist, but..."

"Actually, I didn't have any provisions for your surviving this encounter at all," the Legionnaire said, sitting back a little: "I came here expecting you to already be gone."

"But all that stuff about me being important to the Loom?"

"My words," the Legionnaire said: "Not Hers."

Robert's mouth gaped open, and then shut: "I hate you zombies," he whispered a moment later, obviously disgusted.

"You're welcome," the man replied, leaning back on his knees: "For what it's worth, you're free."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"Just what it sounds like," he said: "Your Doom was supposed to be here and now. It's not. So you get to go do what you want with it."

"But I thought-" Robert said, to which the man answered by holding up a finger and putting it to his lips.

"It's like sausage, friend. The less you know about what you're eating, the better off you are."

"Now that I understand..." the Oracle said.

"A piece of advice?"

"Sure..."

"Start running," the Doomed Legionnaire said plainly, pulling his gun out once more, so as to reload it: "Your own Guild isn't the only one who'll want you in the Void after today, and it's not my job to protect you."

"Who else would want me destroyed?"

"The ones who've always wanted you down there, for a start..."

"Figured as much," the Oracle said, getting up - however unsteady - and starting to pick up what remained of his cards: "Anyplace in particular I should go to?"

"That depends on what you want to do. You've got your life back again - what are you going to do with it?"

Robert thought about that, for a second. Inches away from his hand was that single card he'd seen, right at the start of the interrogation. The one that he'd reached out and grabbed onto with his heart, focusing all his hopes on it, as he had nothing left to lose.

It was the Nine of Wands.

"I think I'm going to go fuck shit up," Robert said, smiling in spite of the pain: "If they want to take me down for speaking the truth about what I see, I'm not going to go quietly."

"So be it," the Legionnaire said: "New York's a shithole and Jersey isn't much better. Other than that, the seaboard's wide open, and D.C.'s going to be swimming with Juice this year."

"Sounds like a good place to start raising hell, then."

"I would wish you good luck, but..."

Robert nodded, understanding: "Why don't you come with me?" he asked.

"I have my duty," the man said, rising to his feet: "And I can't escape it."

"Well, if I could-"

"Sausage," the man said, looking at him pointedly.

"Well... if you see me again, and you've changed your-"

"I think we will not meet again," the Doomed man said, a slight smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"But you've seen it too... haven't you?" Robert asked, turning the card over in his hands: "The Mark, the visions... the difficulty in using the Art? All those prophecies? How can you turn your back on it?"

The Legionnaire of Fate looked at the man he'd saved, looked off to the sky, and shook his head.

"I can't honestly say that I've seen any of that," he replied: "Not a damned thing."

And then, gun in hand, he walked out of the Haunt. It was only then that Robert thought about asking him if he knew where Sam Greely had disappeared to, but by the time he did, the other man had disappeared as well.

Some time later, Robert followed after. He left his chairs and table behind him as he went, along with any claim to the name "Oracle." And he left his Tarot cards, too - scattered all over the floor for whomever might want them.

The only things he took as he left his life behind were the two guns the other Oracles had dropped, and the Nine of Wands. The guns were to protect him from the hell he was sure was coming, and the card was his reminder as to why he was risking it. It spoke of where he'd been {courage in nonconformity} and what had brought him to this point {taking action}, and it was also a warning of what was to come {expectation of difficulties, hidden enemies at every turn}.

But it also promised him both the ability inspire others - which he hoped to be doing quite soon - and liberation: blessed and complete. His death was his own again, and there were people who desperately needed to hear him say "fuck you" for having tried to take it from him.

And if The End was well and truly coming... well, he had more than enough birds to flip at it before it got here.