Angus Bumby blinked, and suddenly found himself in a dark room. There was only one light, whose source he couldn't see, which shone down on him. It revealed that he had been strapped to a chaise lounge similar to the one he had in his office in Houndsditch for his patients. Exactly like it, in fact. Actually, it was it, only now it had straps like those on an asylum gurney that prevented Angus from moving any part of his body except his head, no matter how hard he struggled.

Blood suddenly started dripping down from the ceiling to Angus's left. It ran down as if it were filling an invisible mold. The blood looked like it might be human, but it was able to add detail to the thing it was making by carefully allocating darker blood to some areas and lighter blood to others. Eventually the blood finished pouring down, although it kept swirling regardless, revealing it had created a colossal likeness of a human in laborer's clothes seated on a simple chair with a cigar in one hand and a tankard in the other.

After studying it for a while, Angus realized that the person was in fact a giant version of himself.

The thing took a drink from its tankard, pouring dark blood into its bloody mouth, and then grinned at Angus. "Well, looks like we're rogered, eh?" he said in what was unmistakably Angus's voice.

"W-who are you?" Angus stammered.

"What," the apparition corrected. "And you can call me: 'The Brute.' Not much of a name, sure, but, then again, I'm not much of a person, am I?"

"What's going on?"

"I'm not really the one to answer that, mate. Just wait a bit and I'm sure he'll pop up." The Brute sighed. "He always does, damn him."

A fire suddenly roared up to Angus's right. It quickly formed another version of him, this one seated in an elaborately elegant chair and dressed in Angus's Sunday best, with a fine glass of wine in his left hand.

"Language, Brute," the new specter chided, his voice also Angus's, although with a strangely refined crackle to it.

"The fop's 'The Gentleman,'" The Brute explained, saying the last two words with exaggerated pomp. "He ain't the one I was talking about, but he's just as irritating."

"Funny," The Gentleman replied. "I was about to say the same thing about you."

"See, that don't even make sense. I was continuing a conversation with Angus that we'd started before you arrived. If you'd said what I just said, you would've sounded even dumber than usual."

The Gentleman rolled his eyes. "You see what I'm forced to work with," he sighed to Angus.

"Oh yeah, just keep acting uptight," The Brute growled. "That little network you built for Angus don't help you none in here."

"True, but neither does your violence," The Gentleman pointed out. "You can't hit me, so you're left with nothing but your lack of wits to use against me."

The Brute narrowed his eyes and puffed on his cigar. Instead of smoke what came out of his mouth were sprays of blood, like those created by slitting a throat or hitting a head with a hammer. "Oh yeah, real high and mighty, ain't ya? And what good did those wits of yours do for Angus with Lizzy, eh?"

The Gentleman thinned his mouth. "I will admit, that situation did call for drastic measures, but your measures were a tad too drastic."

"Hey, every piece Angus has ever gotten he got because of me!"

"Yes, his astounding one piece. The piece he'll never get to enjoy again, because subtlety and you go together like oil and water."

"Still more than you got for him."

Smoke suddenly rose from the floor directly in front of Angus, forming yet another version of him. This one wore what he did when he was at work and holding a glass of what looked like it might be water. He was seated in Angus's office chair and had absolutely no expression on his face.

"You're only confusing him more, you know," he told his two siblings.

"Ah, stuff it!" The Brute shouted at the newcomer. "You're just as narcissistic as he is, you're just too arrogant to admit it! Am I right, Angus?"

"Dr. Bumby," Angus mumbled.

"Hm?" The Gentleman asked.

"My name is… People call me Dr. Bumby."

"In here I'm The Doctor," the smoke version of Angus explained. "And, given how long we've known each other, I'd say that we're entitled to call you Angus."

"But… what is here?" Angus asked pleadingly.

"As I was trying to explain before I was so rudely interrupted–"

"Up yours!" The Brute shouted.

"There's nothing you could explain that I couldn't explain better," The Gentleman muttered.

The Doctor sighed. "They're both quite incorrigible, I'm afraid. Although, I suppose that's to be expected. We are, after all, in your mind."

"In my what?" Angus asked

"Your mind!" The Gentleman repeated, theatrically waving his arms about.

"That's impossible," Angus replied.

The Doctor shook his head. "Your reactio–"

"Ha!" The Gentleman interrupted. "I told you he'd prefer me over you!"

The Doctor blinked. "What?"

"Well, he didn't pay attention when you told him where we were, but he did when I told him."

The Brute groaned. "You know what? For all I've said, I'll admit that you did just do a fantastic job of demonstrating how smart you really are, Gentleman."

"As I was saying," The Doctor continued, still not betraying any emotion, "your reaction is understandable; in fact, it's commendable. It would be far more worrying if you easily accepted such a fantastical idea. Still, as I suspect your foolishness has made our time run short, I must ask you to accept this fact, implausible as it may be, as quickly as possible."

"But, why am I here?" Angus asked.

"What, you want to be there when the train hits you?" The Brute chuckled.

"Amazingly, The Brute is correct," The Doctor explained. "The most likely explanation is that your imminent demise forced you here as a self-defense mechanism."

"It's a pity I'll never be able to make you grow a spine, Angus," The Gentleman sighed.

The Brute snorted. "You wouldn't know a spine from a spinach leaf."

"Wait, if I'm in my mind, then who are you?" Angus asked.

"We're–"

"Hold it, Doc," The Brute interrupted. "Who made you spokesman?"

"Would you prefer explaining our circumstances to this dullard?" The Doctor asked.

"Well, I didn't say that…"

"I'll do it." The Gentleman offered. "Look, it's quite simple," he explained, turning to Angus. "Like I said, I'm the Gentleman. That's The Brute, and he's The Doctor."

"He already knows that, you git!" The Brute yelled.

"I know, I know, just give me a minute!"

"Why?" The Doctor asked. "You didn't give me one."

"Look, if this keeps up, he'll be crushed before we've explained anything," The Gentleman sighed. "How about from now on we don't interrupt each other unless we actually have something important to say, agreed?"

"If only those who are important may speak, then couldn't you two just leave?" The Doctor asked.

"Firstly, that's not what I said," The Gentleman replied. "Secondly, go to Hell."

"I'd say we're well on our way."

"I'm game if Doc's game," The Brute shrugged. "Anything to stop this back and forth. It's no fun if you can't punch the other guy."

"Very well, for the sake of expediency," The Doctor sighed.

All three turned to Angus.

"…Oh, uh, I agree."

"Wonderful," The Gentleman said. "So, to answer your question, we're the primary aspects of your mind. We basically control everything you do. In fact, we practically run your business for you. I handle the excruciating task of maintaining our public image, building a network of actually valuable connections, and doing accountancy, while The Doctor brainwashes and The Brute handles sales."

"Since I am the one who is actually creating our business's product, I'd say I'm the one working the hardest," The Doctor pointed out.

"Screw you," The Brute replied. "Neither of you two pansies would last ten seconds where I have to go. Besides, Doc, it's your fault we haven't had sex in… well, just about ever!"

"One does not dip into one's own supply," The Doctor replied. "May I remind you that virgins are what our clientele is demanding?"

"Well, fair enough, but then why can't we dip into someone else's supply? I could get a whore who can twist her legs into a pretzel in less than a minute in less than a second, and even I'll admit The Gentleman could probably manage to get us at least one affair."

"I agree with The Brute on this," The Gentleman said. "Only this, mind you. Some temperance is a good thing, but this is blatantly excessive."

"We needed to stay focused if we wanted to accomplish anything," The Doctor replied. "Need I remind you of the catastrophe that occurred the last time Angus tried to have sex?"

"Those were extenuating circumstances!" The Brute shouted.

"They always are. Besides, I'd say it's a little late to have this argument now."

Sensing an opening in the discussion, Angus asked, "Why do you look the way you do?"

"You mean you haven't figured it out yet?" The Brute asked.

"We are formed from the most important components of the night you raped Elizabeth Liddell and murdered her and the majority of her family," The Doctor explained.

"Why?" Angus asked.

"It's your mind," The Gentleman pointed out. "You tell us."

"Personally," The Doctor suggested, "I believe that the memory of the Liddell Fire holds a prominent place in your mind, so it's only natural your frankly somewhat lackluster imagination would rely on it as a crutch to envision us."

"But… But why am I here?" Angus asked again.

"Do we really have to cover the whole train thing again?" The Brute groaned.

"I mean, why here, specifically?"

"…As opposed to where?" The Gentleman asked.

"You're mind is a rather barren place, I'm afraid," The Doctor explained. "Not because you're dumb, of course, but because you have little time or patience for escapism."

"He could have at least thought up a brothel," The Brute muttered.

There was a long pause.

"So… what now?" Angus asked.

"Now nothing," The Brute replied. "Now we wait patiently until it's all over."

"But… aren't you going to do something about it?"

The Gentleman chuckled. "Unless The Brute suddenly figures out how to punch through trains, I'm afraid that's quite impossible."

"Actually, I was gonna suggest The Doctor try convincing the train to derail itself," The Brute said.

"Well, perhaps The Gentleman could bore it to death," The Doctor proposed.

"But… but I don't want to die," Angus whimpered.

"Oh, man up!" The Brute snorted. "You may be a wimp out there, but you can at least try to have some stones in here."

"But I don't deserve this!"

"Actually, you sort of do," The Gentleman pointed out. "You are quite possibly one of the most irredeemably evil people we've ever met, and remember, we've met the worst of both worlds."

"If… if I hadn't done it, someone else would have!" Angus protested.

"There are very few psychiatrists who make the transition to pimp supplier," The Doctor countered. "In fact, I'd say it's a somewhat singular phenomenon."

"I… I can't die!" Angus protested. "The East End needs me!"

There was a pause, and then both The Brute and The Gentleman burst into laughter. Even The Doctor smiled.

"I mean it!" Angus insisted, his cheeks glowing hot with embarrassment.

"Damn, Gentleman," The Brute chuckled. "I guess you really are a great conman."

"As flattered as I am, surely you can see at least partially through my carefully constructed web of deceit," The Gentleman said, smiling.

"But… I was doing good work!" Angus protested. "If I die… If I die, there will be people who miss me!"

"Oh, certainly," The Brute agreed. "The perverts of London have lost a great friend today."

"Your death probably will trouble our important friends for at least five minutes," The Gentleman added.

"And who knows?" The Doctor concluded. "Perhaps a few decades from now a psychology student will get his hands on some of your notes and steal some of your ideas for his thesis."

"It's not fair," Angus whined, on the verge of tears.

"Come now, you're not some rosy-cheeked idealist," The Gentleman chided.

"Why are you being so mean to me?" Angus cried out. "I'm you!"

"Actually, we're you," The Doctor corrected.

"Plus, in case you haven't noticed, we all loathe each other," The Brute explained. "When we see you, we see ourselves, but we also see the other two. It's two against one, you see?"

"Please," Angus asked, now actually crying. "Have you no sympathy?"

"Why should we?" The Doctor asked. "You don't."

"I did what I had to do!" Angus screamed. "I didn't have any choice! I didn't know any other way to make that kind of money while appearing righteous! I needed money and respect to help the East End! I… I really did think Lizzy loved me!"

"You can lie to everyone else, but you can't lie to us," The Brute replied.

"It's the truth! I couldn't help it!"

"You're right, you couldn't." The Doctor agreed. "But not because you had no other options. You've always been ruled by your compulsions, Angus, that's why I said that we control you, not the other way around. Or did you think the fact that you're tiny and bound while we're huge and free was meaningless?"

"When's the last time when you've actually denied yourself when you had the chance to get away with something?" The Gentleman asked.

"I… I…" Angus stammered.

"Exactly."

"That's… That's not true!"

"Of course it is!" The Brute said. "And if you still don't believe me, see if any of this sounds familiar: 'I need to make Elizabeth mine.'"

"'I need to be loved by all, even if it's all built on a lie,'" The Gentleman offered.

"'I need to be rich and powerful, no matter the cost,'" The Doctor sighed.

"'I need to ruin that person,'" The Gentleman chuckled.

"Any of this ringing any bells?" The Brute sneered. "And tell me, how many of those did you actually 'need,' huh? I'll tell you: none! For all your airs, for all your posturing, all you are is a sad little man with no self-control who decided the bit of power he'd managed to scrape together made him worth more than the people who actually managed to have more self-control than a magpie!"

Angus broke down sobbing.

"…Good Lord, did that actually break him?" The Gentleman asked. "We put Alice through a nightmarish brainwashing, and she manages to not only overcome it, but actually emerges with more of her memory intact; however, just yelling at him utterly destroys Angus?"

"Guess he wasn't used to blokes talking back to him," The Brute shrugged.

The Doctor shook his head. "I can't believe he actually created us."

"I imagine the Devil once said the same thing about God," The Gentleman remarked, pulling out his watch. "Anyway, it looks like it's about to no longer matter. Any final thoughts?"

"Only that I'm happy to die if it means all of you die too," The Brute replied.

"It's been fascinating trying to determine why you're both so utterly insane," The Doctor offered.

"Civil as always," The Gentleman muttered. "How about one last toast before we go, then?"

"If you insist," The Doctor sighed.

"Well, I suppose we might as well go out on a semblance of a high note," The Brute shrugged.

The three horrifying specters raised their respective glasses, and then brought them together. For some reason, the sound they made when they collided sounded to Angus exactly like what a train pulling into a station might sound like if it hit someone.