"This is a pretty specific list you got here, Drummer Boy," said Rudolf Nhasinis, holding the file of keywords out in front of him and chuckling. "You gonna tell me what is about?"

"You know I won't," said Drummond, leaning forward. "So there's no point in asking, right?"

They were sat in a quiet corner of the Black Lantern, one of Zerder Colony's more prominent clubs. 'Quiet' corner might not have been the best way to describe it, actually, as even there it felt like someone was operating a jackhammer right into Drummond's ear. He'd never been a music person, so maybe that was it.

The interior of the club was a tiered affair, with five ascending levels - each level looking down at all the ones beneath them. Drummond and his local contact, Rudolf, were sat right at the back of the the fourth level, as far out of sight as it was possible to get. Down below, right at the bottom level, the crowds mobbed in their dancing. It looked more painful than anything else to Drummond - all the elbows - but it seemed they liked it.

Rudolf put the file back down on the table between them - it was a list of keywords Drummond wanted him to scan the local intelligence networks for. Basic stuff to do with the Holy Grail War, mentions of Servants and Masters, Command Seals and all that. Pretty much anything that could give Drummond a lead on the other Masters if they got a hit.

"So," Rudolf said, changing the topic as he looked at the girl behind Drummond. Saber was acting as his bodyguard, dressed discreetly in a leather jacket and jeans. "Who's the new face?"

Drummond began to speak, but was interrupted by Saber.

"That's none of your concern," she said, eyes cold.

There was a moment of silence - as much as there can be a silence in a building devoted to playing music so loud that it just becomes noise - and then Rudolf laughed heartily.

"Well said, well said," he chuckled, nursing his drink. "None of my business after all. You've paid me enough, after all."

He wagged the credit chip in front of his face - a hefty sum of money, straight from EarthIntel's resources. Then, he jammed it into his pocket.

"I'll keep an eye out, and an ear. But you've got me worried, Drummer. This is big money - government money. If you can't tell me anything else, tell me this - this is serious, isn't it?"

Drummond paused, deliberating over it in his mind. He'd known Rudolf for years, surely he could trust him. But he'd trusted before. Regretted it. Alara's face drifted into his mind, her smile - both innocent and duplicitous, depending on when you saw it. Widening, widening, grinning.

No. It really was better to keep your cards close to your chest. That way, you had something to block the dagger with.

"It's serious," Drummond conceded. "That's all I can tell you."

He felt Saber relax slightly behind him - she'd been against getting other people involved from the outset, which probably explained her brusqueness.

Rudolf sighed in disappointment, grunting as he stood up. "I'll get the word out, then. If someone so much as breathes these watchwords, I'll let you know."

"Thanks…"

"But, ah…"

"But?" Drummond raised an eyebrow. "The money's good, isn't it?"

Rudolf looked at him seriously, an unhappy smile on his face. "You're still doing this, man? Last I saw you, you said you were getting out. The time before that, too. When are you getting out?"

Drummond looked away, aware of Saber's growing interest in the conversation. It looked like she wanted to know more about the guy who'd summoned her - fair enough, he supposed, since he hadn't given her much to go on. He'd treated her mostly like he'd treat any of his assets in the field, detached and professional. There wasn't any need to give her his life story or anything like that.

But still, this was a question he needed to answer. When Rudolf had left EarthIntel, Drummond had said that he'd soon follow him. And he never had, out of a sense of what was at first duty and later became fear.

"After this," he said quietly, knowing he was probably lying, and watched Rudolf leave.

"Master," said Saber, following behind Drummond as they made their way back to the safehouse. Today had been a stormday, so the street was essentially one big puddle they had to wade through. That, at least, prevented an awkward silence.

"I'd rather not talk about it," said Drummond, tapping into his agent voice. Professional, but firm. It was yet another thing the Academy drilled into him.

"No, it's not that. We're being followed."

Drummond's casual gait didn't change, but within a moment all his senses were fine tuned to their limits - he could hear every drop of water in the area around them, see every ripple his feet made in the puddles beneath. Any anxiety vanished, and a terrible coldness rose up within him. A willingness to kill.

"How many?" he asked casually.

"Two. With guns." Drummond recognized that same coldness within Saber as well - her voice nor her body language changed either. That switch into soldier mode. It made sense; to go from a peasant girl to a warrior general, you needed a certain talent for compartmentalization.

"Alright. Mages?"

"No."

"Probably just looking to mug me, then. Or another participant hired them as muscle. Can you take care of it?"

"Of course." Her hand twitched - as if about to summon her sword right then and there.

"Wait," said Drummond suddenly.

She paused, looking up at him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance. "Master?"

Using his Servant to dispatch these thugs might be just what whoever sent them wanted - confirmation. No doubt there was some kind of surveillance watching this encounter, and if Saber started doing backflips and breaking the laws of physics as she pleased, it would reach the ears of people who Drummond very much didn't want to find out about it.

So, the course of action was obvious.

"Mundane combat only," he said, stopping. "No magic. Understood?"

"Understood."

As one, the two of them turned in the alley to face their pursuers. It was a burly looking man and woman who - despite their friendly expressions - had their hands in their jacket pockets and, no doubt, clutching guns or knives.

"Oh, hey there!" said the man, grinning and taking a step closer. "Sorry to bother ya at this late hour there, friend, but me and my wife are a little turned around, haha! Would ya, uh, would ya mind helping us out there, eh?"

"Sure, friend," said Drummond, smiling calmly and approaching as well. "You got a map or something I can take a look at?"

The moment the man leaned forward, Drummond lashed out with his fist at his throat, making impact with a horrible cracking sound. The man stumbled backwards, clutching at his throat with one hand while pulling a pistol out of his pocket with the other - but, without missing a beat, Drummond grabbed that arm and kept it pointed firmly away from him while he pulled his opponent until a hold.

The woman too pulled her gun out - but before she could fire at Drummond, she found Saber right in her face. The Servant hadn't moved so fast that it was impossible for a human, but it was close.

Saber reached forward - blindingly quick - and grabbed the woman's arm, bending it the wrong as easily as if it were a straw. She screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that no doubt reached for miles - and was silenced with another quick jab to the face by Saber, knocking her unconscious.

Then, without missing a beat, Saber span around and - lifting her leg high up off the ground - smashed it into the man's torso in a truly impressive roundhouse kick. He went flying, slamming into the metal wall and sliding down, thoroughly knocked out.

Drummond, after confirming both of their adversaries were disabled, inspected their weapons - basic kinetic pistols, easy to acquire on the black market. These thugs really weren't anything special. Still, there was the possibility that that affordability meant that someone had just hired masses of these thugs, rather than a single adept professional. Power in numbers was a real thing.

But, thought Drummond as he glanced at Saber - who was dusting herself off - it didn't seem like power in numbers was much of a concern for Servants.

"Damn," he cursed, standing up from the unconscious bodies. "No instructions on them. I'd wanted to know who sent them."

"Likely an enemy Master," said Saber. "Perhaps Caster or Assassin - those're the types that'd benefit from such tactics, in my opinion."

"You have experience?"

Saber shook her head. "No, sir. This is my first Holy Grail War. I'm approaching it as a hypothetical."

No, sir. It took Drummond a moment to figure out why that felt so uncomfortable for him - it was the same way he addressed General Barten. The same way he addressed any superior. He didn't care for it.

"Drummond is fine," he said quietly, resuming their walk through the alley - leaving the unconscious bodies behind them. "Too much formality will just get in the way."

"Of course." Despite her saying that, the formality in her voice didn't change.

"Please," Father said, trying weakly to rise from his bed - and failing, collapsing back each time. "You needn't do this, my daughter. I will go. I will fight."

"You will certainly not," she said, strapping on his old armour and inspecting his old, battered sword. "Hm. A little beaten up, but it should suffice."

"Your brother - your brother can fight."

"No. He is too young." She swiftly executed any hope he had that his daughter would not march off to war, knowing they were false. A kind mercilessness from a face as cold and loving as hers could not be denied.

"Then - then we just tell them I am too ill."

"They will not care," said Mulan, spreading out her long black hair - which she took care of diligently every morning and night - and roughly cutting it away with the sword. Tufts of black fell to the floor. "A body is a body. Even one as ill as you can block a sword."

"Mulan, please," her father begged. "My flower … you will die if you go. Many people will die. We will think of something else."

"There is nothing else," she said, running a hand through her now-short hair. After a moment, she nodded to herself, apparently satisfied. "It's fine."

"How is it - how is it fine? You could die, Mulan! You'll die."

"A body is a body. Someone will die regardless. If it's me, that's acceptable."

Her father looked at her wide eyes, at the girl who could decide her own death was fine so easily. It wasn't that she wanted to die - he knew that, knew the way that she loved being alive, took such simple joy in it - but that she was willing to look through the available options and calmly decide that her own death was necessary. She'd do it, too. She'd cut her own throat if it led to the best possible outcome.

"My death isn't certain, Father," she conceded, looking down at him, smiling faintly. "If you went to war, you would die. If my brother went to war, he would die. If I go to war, I may live. You see? We have the best chance for success this way."

Her father opened his mouth to protest further, to cling to any desperate reason why she could not - must not go to war. There weren't any. He decided then, in that instant, that it was useless, and shut his mouth.

Perhaps some of that same loving coldness existed in him too.

Drummond slowly - reluctantly - opened his eyes, shaking away the confusion from finding himself in someone else's memories.

Rain battered against the windows. Stormday had come again, it seemed.

He had been sleeping, passing a few precious hours of peace in one of the hotel rooms he'd rented out - there were more, of course, but there were decoys. Tripwires were set up near the door, and motion sensors were hidden on the balcony. An auto-turret hovered discreetly in the darkest corner of the room, ready to fire at any unauthorized targets that crossed its path. Against human enemies at least, this was an impenetrable fortress.

For Servants, he supposed he had another kind of turret. His eyes focused on Saber, sat in a chair against the far wall. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell she was alert. Drummond smiled bitterly to himself.

A girl who could do whatever needed to be done without hesitation, huh?

They appeared - the images, as clear as if he were still there right now. Ships covered in blood, crews slaughtered in moments. Families dead in their houses, murdered without remorse. Grand libraries burning, the last great secrets returned to cinder at his hands. The torch in his hand. Alara, her eyes wide with terror and betrayal.

Ridiculous. She really wasn't a Servant suited to a coward like him.