The five of them made up a ragtag band, walking in a massively lopsided line, the gaps between them unequally spaced out. It made John wonder about this little team.

On the right of their formation walked two people who were almost shoulder to shoulder, both of them sporting sleek, slim golden armour polished to a mirror sheen. It seemed to hug close to their bodies in a way that should've made it difficult to manoeuvre, yet they were walking with the kind of predatory grace you'd expect from someone in a catsuit. Their gaits made him think they were both women, but their armour made it hard to tell. Maybe that was the ponytail-like golden plumage on the full-face helmets biasing his perceptions. They had no weapons he could see, but he couldn't discount the possibility they had Inventories of their own to hide things away in.

The gap between the golden pair and the one walking at the centre was somewhere between twice and three time as large. At first glance, John was sure he was looking at either a child or a little person, but through Eagle Eye he realised there was a mirage-like sheen about this person, centring around their silver armour, and really they were of average height, if he had to guess. It was hard to pin down any features with the way the air distorted, but he reckoned they were wearing only a sleeveless cuirass thingie and leggings, both with a foggy water-like texture to them. From the visible arms and hands, at least, he could tell this one was a woman. Again, no visible weapon. Again, didn't mean much.

There was another massive gap between the centre and the left flank, but these two on the left were even further apart than that.

The one closer to the centre wore armour that looked more modern—no, if anything it was futuristic, reminding him of a particularly bulky storm trooper with its black-white colour scheme inverted, and its helmet was a Daft Punk-esque glossy visor that covered his entire face. His, because John's Eagle Eye gave him enough clarity of vision to make out the rough outline of a scraggly beard beneath the dark visor. He was the only one carrying a visible weapon, a strange black contraption that looked like a mad combination of a crossbow and a minigun.

And on the far left of the group, with a gap further from the storm trooper than the storm trooper was from Ms Mirage, stomped a suit of armour that John could only describe as a human-sized Gundam. The mecha suit looked to be made of thick, heavy metal, painted white with black and purple accents abound, and the slightly awkward way it moved spoke of motors and actuators. He could imagine the soft whine of servos with every step it took, somewhere beneath the heavy clunk of its footfalls on tarmac. Strangely, it walked with its arms crossed, black wing-like protrusions on its back constantly shifting around to maintain the suit's balance.

John didn't need particularly impressive powers of deduction to come up with a theory explaining what these five were doing here. He looked back at Curtis, still in his sarcophagus, and drawled, "Friends of yours?"

Claire's breath hitched, and she shifted behind her father's stone prison. The man himself bared his teeth in a snarl. "Couldn't tell you unless I saw them for myself."

"Somehow, I doubt you've made many friends over the last few days."

"I haven't," Curtis admitted freely. "But I haven't made an enemy of everyone in this town, either. You don't know whoever's out there is some aggrieved group out for revenge, kid. Trust me, there's plenty of people in this hellhole who're even more selfish than I am. Statistically, it's far more likely they just saw your little stunt and tracked you here to kill you and rob you."

John sighed. "Yeah. You're not wrong."

"If you let me see who we're dealing with, I might be able to tell you either way."

The moment John had seen potential hostels approaching, he had immediately Flash Stepped a metre or two to the side, bringing him to the edge of the window so he could peer around it subtly rather than standing out in the open like an idiot—he'd made sure to immediately fall into a casual stance, leaning one shoulder against the window jamb and crossing his arms, and he'd avoided any penalty, so he figured it'd worked to hide the fact he was hiding.

Geokinesis had shifted Curtis' prison along a split second later, hopefully putting them both out of view from outside. Curtis hadn't had a chance to see what was going on, but he seemed to have picked up on the clues silently presented, keeping his mouth shut while John inspected the newcomers. He didn't think they'd spotted or heard anything, judging by their continued casual walk up the hospital's driveway. They were halfway through the car park, now.

"Can't really trust anything you tell me about them," John murmured. "You could lie and say these lot have killed a thousand people each, and I'd have no way of knowing if that's just a load of crap to get me to fight them while you sneak off."

"And can you risk trusting whatever they say? Again: there's plenty of people caught up in this shit who're just as bad as me, and many who are significantly worse."

Claire let out a soft whimper, and her father started whispering hushed comforts to her. John decided not to interrupt, turning his attention back outside.

Mana Sense showed him no monsters in his range. A quick look with Soul Vision gave him the same silver sheen he got from any living Earthlings—which reminded him to wonder what the fuck had happened to the birds they'd been teamed up with for so long. Hopefully they were alright.

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He didn't get a chance to think much of it, because the freaky five stopped just outside the curved reception room, at the edge of the horrendous giant bloodstain that stretched out from the front of the building, like the reception was a fishtank that had burst.

"Winged Man!" A husky woman's voice called out. He couldn't tell which one it was, since he was pressed to the side of the window frame, peeking around the corner. Ninja was coming in clutch here, its Danger Sense aspect giving him an instinctual understanding of where to stand to keep out of sight. "We know you're in there. Show yourself!"

John shot an unimpressed look back at Curtis. He felt the man's shoulders try to lift in a shrug through his Geomancy.

For a moment, he genuinely considered giving the man up to these five. Or at least finding a way to give him up without looking like he'd done it in purpose. It almost seemed like a nice, neat solution; if he wasn't the one to execute Curtis for his crimes, then maybe Claire wouldn't absolutely hate him, and he'd be able to hand her over to Alissa and Sam without any hard feelings or rebelliousness.

That idea was dashed when an Asian-accented man's voice boomed out: "And bring your cunt kid, too."

That time, he could tell it came from the Gundam from the way its eyes flashed along with the words, letting him identify that one's gender, at least. The next voice was another female one, higher, and felt like it came from the further end of the formation, one of the golden duo, and it was filled with enough spite and venom to put an elephant down.

"Yeah, we know about her, you piece of shit. You're gonna hear her scream before we're done."

John looked back at Curtis, and was surprised to find the man's face utterly blank. He'd expected utterly apoplexy at that taunt, but there was only implacable calm. He arched an eyebrow at John as if to say, 'I told you so.' John arched his eyebrow right back in his own 'I told you so,' except he hadn't actually had the chance to directly point out that Curtis' ruthless selfish streak was going to come back and bite him in the arse eventually, whether it be through someone taking revenge for his ruthless actions, as appeared to be happening now, or through finding himself in a sticky situation with no one willing to fight on his side, which was also pretty much happening now.

As if Curtis knew that, he let his other eyebrow climb in challenge. A what are you going to do about it kind of expression.

Suppressing his contrarianist desire to give up Curtis to these guys just to spite the smug twat, John turned his attention back to the five outside. They were talking softly among themselves now, though they maintained their distances. It didn't strike him as a particularly tight-knit crew. Just a group who'd banded together to take revenge against Curtis and, he suspected, who fed on each others' anger and grief until they'd built themselves up into a frenzied state where revenging themselves on the innocent daughter of their enemy was an okay thing to do, in their minds.

Even if he still wasn't sure what to do with Curtis in the long term, he knew what to do about that. No way was he letting anyone torture a little girl to death.

At the same time, he wasn't about to 1v5 this group over it. Not when they were so intoxicated by their lust for vengeance. That battle would involve deaths. He was certain of it.

Leaning on Ninja's capabilities, he silently crossed the room in a few strides and took the stone prison and the little girl leaning against it in hand. For a moment, he considered simply leaving Curtis there to fend for himself. I could play it off as if the Spell malfunctioned.

But at the last instant he decided against it. Teleportation activated, and a 3-D render of everything in a 100-metre radius flashed through his mind. The hospital building was essentially at the back corner of its property, so he was able to transport them about ninety metres out into the parkland that bordered the grounds, plopping them down behind a bush.

Not a moment too soon. An explosion erupted behind them with all the force of a volcano. The shockwave hit first, sending Claire to the ground and cracking Curtis' stone prison. John had to put a hand against the sarcophagus for balance. Next came the sound of the explosion, and it wasn't what he expected. There was the deep rumble of rubble crashing down, of course, but beneath it was a high-pitched whine like the flash on an old camera.

It was followed up by more explosions, tearing the hospital apart. Evidently, the furious five had decided to flush their enemy out.

Despite himself, a pang of guilt wormed its way into John's heart. That they were willing to go to such lengths to hurt Curtis spoke of deep pain, in his estimation. He found himself wondering who or what they'd lost in the course of Curtis' crazed quest to revive his daughter. Did they have loved ones of their own to bring back? It seemed likely.

Again, indecision warred. More and more, he felt Curtis needed to answer for his crimes. Grieving or not, manipulated or not, the man had still inflicted an unimaginable amount of misery in his rampage.

He grimaced at the stone prison, and the girl leaning against it. I could seriously just leave him. What's Claire going to be able to do about it, exactly? She'll be sad, and she'll hate me, but so what? Whatever she'd feel for me wouldn't be a fraction of what all those people feel about Curtis, I bet.

And then, more pragmatically: And she has no fucking system. She can't do anything about her hate for me, even if her hatred for me burns brighter than any emotion that any human being has ever experienced in history. She's not a threat.

John stared into Curtis' eyes. He swallowed. The man was scrutinising him with an empty gaze. His eyes were like black pools, not a hint of human emotion in them.

Looking at those eyes, John could see a man who'd murdered 500 people for his daughter. A man who'd murder 500 more without hesitation, too.

Then John looked at the daughter in question, a daughter whom, it had to be said, he hadn't heard many opinions from, and a question occurred to him. "What do you think about what your father has been doing, Claire?"

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