Still following. *ceonsored*. How could I have come this far without losing them? A scathing glance from the other side of the door frame and the thud of the back of a bent arm was enough to down the first.

Running to the end of the corridor and pulling at the door, which was evidently locked, turning where he stood to confront them, the distinct lack of fear and look of indifferent determination still worn upon his face perhaps more concerning to the pursuers than the matte silver, polymer hilted blade which grew from the blackened leather hand, morphing gradually to a separate entity as it began its departure from the palm. The arm raising itself to chest height. A cruel whisper as it sliced through the air, embedding itself in another arm, though not as painlessly as it had left the first.

Left and right, an avenue of escape. He took both and moved as quickly as would allow. Running for his life.

Through every door, more appeared.

Firing a single round to whichever presented the most immediate threat. To run and gun. Instant unbeing tolled the head shot.

A wry smile moving across their mouth as they heard the dry click of an empty magazine.

Watching each metal cartridge and dart as it left their respective chambers. Examining their trajectories as they navigated the quickest route, each one leaving behind a warped trail.

Their movements became slower. Each heart beat distancing itself further from the next. Terrified of what he knew, was... and had always been, inevitable.

The shapes swirled back into being, a loose connection of dots joining then not as the walls sprung from the floor, crunching through the abyss as becoming more tangible.

"So I hear you ran into some Exiles... well, that they ran into you."

"Thank *censored* for EJPs, eh?" half smirking as she tapped the still lit cigarette into the small black ash tray on the table.

X's head still ringing, running in circles, every fibre of his being still on edge from before. Each wave of pain moving across then dissipating as it hit the shore. The edge of the clean, crisp glass met his lips, the cold brown liqueur diluted, it's coldness intensified, by the half melted ice cubes which swirled around as he set it back down. "Mhm."

"It's so disorganised... so chaotic, yet fits together perfectly." she gave a quick glance.. "Wouldn't you say?"

"I haven't been here since another life time. I'd forgotten how good the music was. And the drinks." he smiled, slowly swallowing the same, his eyes resting upon the jazz band on the stage not far from where they sat. A collage of different instruments playing together and a voice... singing. Well, more like talking. A dulled, almost muted, lingering monologue interspersed throughout the musical dialogue.

So many colours and flavours. In one corner, a purple striped ball rolling across a green canvas. There were few places those of all organisations, allegiances and alignments could sit without the need for caution of reprisal or attack from any of the surrounding company. In the other, a shadowy figure in a tailored suit hidden behind an outdated newspaper. It's original ethic of a distinct black and white now distorted and faded to a darkened sepia.

A loud thud as the back door flew open and the late night moon suddenly entered, draggin with it, a tall figure in a lightened biege raincoat. "Everyone!" Everyone looked round. "There was an explosion down the street in the middle of the road! Noone was hurt but something about the Mer--"

"Shut. The. *censored* up! We're trying to listen!" followed by some random, though assuredly annoyed gestures towards the stage. The door closed again.

"Oh my. That sounds awful. The traffic will be stuck for hours now!" she gasped, turning back towards him.

"Truly terrible." Her falling into a methodical nod until a restrained grin came across him.

"Hmph! You know... I can never tell whether you're being serious." He began to laugh, her crossed arms slowly moving to a slight smile.

Scratching the back of his neck, his dark red hair ruffling in the process, he looked to the side for a moment, considering how best to proceed... how much he could safely say. Whether she could be trusted. Having reached a temporary conclusion, again shifting his attention back to the table, he flattened it with a single gesture, smoothing it defectlessly back to it's natural texture.

He leaned across but not so much as was uncomfortable. She did the same.

"What happened was..." The sound consumed the room, his words unintelligable to all but the occupants of the table.

"Without being able to impact our surroundings. Made to mould in a world that is unchangeable. Unchanging. All we have to turn to is ourselves. Sometimes others but mostly ourslelves... no?"

An answer to the statement was not expected, though it would, of course, as always, be welcome.

A light shining brightly through the intimidatingly tall, stained glass windows. Dust, like confetti gathering before it and mingling before falling to the ground. You couldn't be sure of what kind of light, but it didn't really matter. Afterall, it served the same purpose, invoked the same feeling, regardless. Illuminating nothing.

Someone sat hunched in the high backed wooden chair in the corridor. A decadently gold reflection shining off their sunglasses into the myriad of candles which lined the same corridor. Some of them lit, a tiny flickering shadow in the stoney, cavitous walls, echoing each which was.

The sharp end of the blade dug itself through the parchment, into the door, and all the way through to the other side.

The half arch to which it had connected swung open to the instant noise of clicking keys, a gaggle of one way telephone conversations and the flurry of several sheets of paper, followed by the emergence of a looming figure in a meticulously flawed, all encompassing, purple robe. Eyebrow arched and eyes narrowed at the solidified spectre casually walking in the opposite direction to which the blade had travelled.

A well manicured hand grasped at the piece of writing and pulled it down to eye level, allowing it to rip from the middle to the top. Luckily, all of the writing was underneath where it would tear.

"All we really seem to do is... talk. Consider. Question.
It's the conclusions that are dangerous, though.
Especially the really *CENSORED* meta ones." 

After having looked back up from the paper to see that the welcomed guest had now left, he read it for a second time before, again... pausing - this time erupting into a roar of laughter, the looming half arch again swinging shut; the rounded consultant and piece of scribbled paper going with it, and the corridor settling back into its comfortable, serenely calm of distant, echoed chant.

The payment would also be forwarded to the account, as had been agreed.