In the darkness, silence weighs the heart a lot more than it would in a jubilant atmosphere. No, I don't understand diddly-doo of the situation I'm in, and Archer's not too much on the right side of good company, but… without the two of them here? I curl up on the ground.

I wish I could have convinced them to stay.

I rub Takao's moleskin between my thumb and forefinger before tracing its edges gently. I softly put it in the inside jacket pocket on my right breast and cup the shield in my hand; even now it purrs. Wait a minute, how did Archer know that was a shield? He must have seen it when he came to rescue me.

Its only fifteen minutes. They're gonna come back in twelve, exchange information, and do it again. It makes sense that they'd divide and conquer, but now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure Archer was hesitant to leave me; mixed signals, to the max with that man. He'll go off on how I'm nothing more than a burden, but refuse to let me leave his sight… is there something he isn't telling me? Maybe I can go with one of them next time. Maybe if I let Archer carry me, he'll let me go.

Yeah, I'll try that angle when they get back. My new resolve helps me stand up, and I bundle my jacket tighter around me as the breeze drifts up and over the building. As I watch the lights around me, I can't help but look for a pattern in the flickering.

One-tap-two-tap-tap-three-loooooooong tap-four-tap-tap-five-

Wait a sec.

Tap… tap code.

... . .-.. .-.. - -..- / -... .-.. . . -.. .. -. -. / .- - .-. .-.. -..

Hiro used to play this game with me when we were little; he was so gung-ho about those American crime shows, and one of them (the hot blond, of course) decoded an invisible language called "Hat-code." We tried it out, realized it was "Tap Code," and tried to teach ourselves. Takao bought us a book: it was my favorite book in second grade.

..-. ..- .. / -.- ..- - -.. / . ... -..- / . .-. .. ... / -.- ..- - -..

Oh, oh dear God. I need them back, I need them back now.

It's a trap, I'm sure of it.

.. -. / - - -. .. -... ..- ... / .-. . -.- ..- .. . - / -.- ..- .- . ... .. ...- .. -..- / . - / -. ..- ... -.- ..- .- - / .. -. ...- . -. .. / -. .. ... .. / .. -. / .- -. -. ..- .-.. - / -.-. ..- - / .-.. .. -... .-. -

Oh God.

I've never been this far from the ground before. Like, never ever. I've still got nine minutes, it's not like anything will happen in those thirteen minutes, right?

I stand up and hug myself tightly as I walk to the edge of the rooftop. The fading light catches the many windows, giving of a reflection that could pass for a moment staring into the sun.

Anything is possible right now, I think, stepping on to the edge. Archer and Lancer had better come back soon.

"Another step my dear, and the poor doorman beneath you will be forced into a reality 'ne'er sought."

I spin around, legs apart like Archer, ready to fight. I'm still bundled tightly so I doubt I'm very threatening looking, but I scowl at the person hiding on the other side of the square space here in heaven.

"Who the hell are you? You better know, I've… I've got powerful friends!"

"Ah marry, the two seeking the cause of the electricity influxes." The voice isn't soft like Lancer's, and it's not sarcastic like Archer's: no, this guy is serious and almost… lecturing? "They are undoubtedly sharp and quick-witted, but I believe their initial absence is crucial f'r our salvation."
He steps closer and out of the shadow on the opposite side of the building. He's dressed in a traditional way, with an overcoat too big for his small shoulders, and a simple tie draping down his oddly simple chest, tucked behind a vest of some sort. His face is… polite, and his body petite. I think I'm easily about as tall as him, and as you know I'm a little shy of average. His hands are clasped behind his back, giving him the look of a glorified young man raised rotten by the spoils of money. His leggings are a little too short for comfort, but hey, whatever.

Actually, no! No "whatever!" What the hell is this guy doing here? Don't tell me he's the flipping mastermind behind all of this death! I grind my teeth and pull my hands out of my coat, fists at ready to fight him till the end (or, preferably, until my superhero bffs return).

He smiles wide, instantly looking about ten years younger than he probably is, and pulls the glove off his right hand. "I understand that the custom in this country is to bow, but I prefer a human being capable of adapting to the situation around them. And thus," He extends a hand, smile still massively puppy-like, "how art thou, maiden, on this wonderf'l night?"

I can't read him. If I try to increase all of my senses at once, none of them will really perk up that much. If I try hard enough, I could nullify my senses and jump from the building, but just because I can't feel the concrete doesn't mean I wont die. I step back in my hesitation and-

"Whoa, careful!" The young man lashes out to grab me before I tip over the building's edge. His blond hair illuminates off the many windows beneath us, and his green eyes glisten intently. "It would behoove of thou to not depart this reality, as it wouldst appear ye are essential to the wellbeing of this said reality. Ah, inter spem et metum! I would be in the greatest of danger if you retire from this life."

"Oh, please," I hiss, pushing against him like I did Archer on the gravel beach; unlike Archer, the man is forced to take a few steps back to stay balanced. He pulls at his coat once he regains his composure and brushes off some dirt. "My precious child, we must make haste with this conversation, a point has yet to be made. I am-"

"Child?! Child? Look who's talking, we could… we could be the same age! How old are you? Who are you? And what do you mean by the 'greatest of danger'? Why are you in danger now? And what's with the fancy-ass English?"

"English? Preposterous!" He takes another step back, shock in his dim green eyes; apparently, I've insulted his royal majesty. "English is but a language derived of the ingraft man in attempt to raise himself to the gates of the Ranker King! While I was born with this commoner's tongue, Latin is, t'with contrast, the language of the divine." He whisks out a hand and holds it up as if caressing a rose. "In simple man's terms, sola lingua bona est lingua mortua. However, you must fail to understand what I am telling you. However so this truth may appear, you did catch my numeric expressions, did you not?"

"Answer my questions first, then I'll answer yours." I growl.

He smiles again and pulls some glasses out of his right breast pocket. From his backside comes a handkerchief, and he starts massaging his glasses like an evil mastermind would some damn cat. "I was intrigued upon manifestation at the development of the world I left behind, but alas it hath yet to triumph the chains of reality. However, this language of sound was easy to understand – oh, how useful such a toy shouldst be in war! – and yea easier to convert to sight. But alas, compromise will not come to the weary." He folds up his handkerchief and puts on his glasses before taking an exaggerated bow. "I am Henry Jekyll, doctorate of biological sciences and master, of, oh how do I put it in today's terminology? I am a master of the beasts of the night, the… the beings that 'go bump'? Yes, I am a master of the things that go 'bump in the night'. Does this suffice?"

"What are you…" Wait a second. I don't have to ask what he's doing here, he's a Servant, a spirit just like Archer and Lancer! I pick up my chin a little, proud of myself for understanding some shit around me. Finally, I've got my act together. "What Servant class are you?"

"Ah, well, that appears to be our problem." He blushes and stutters momentarily. It's almost like catching him with his hand in his mother's cookie jar by the way he's reacting. He wrongs his hands tightly before extending them both out to me as he speaks. "You… you see, I am not particularly fond of that question. Haply we can get to wot each other better… if you first seek a different answer-?"

"If you wont answer it, then we're done." I cross my arms to emphasize that I'm the one in power here. His outspread arms slowly fall to his side as a pained expression flickers onto his face. "Ah… ah, ah well. I am here under the pretense of the Berserker class. I-"

"Berserker?" I can't say I know what that means, but this little cracker is in no way a berserker-ish dude. I mean, I know I'm no fighter, but I could probably take him down.

What kind of a heroic spirit is this?

"What do you want from me?" I ask, cutting him off again. The pain on his face falls away as he looks intently at me. "If you truly understood what my hidden code was, then you should be competent enough to understand my presence."

I unfold my arms. "You want my brother's moleskin." Dr. Henry nods, compassion knotting at his brow. "Yes… I, I am dearly sorry about thy beloved departed. His loss wilt weigh heavily on you… but sentiments aside, I wot that journal is the source of knowledge in this situation. I have not the time to research the matter at hand to the extent thy fallen sibling hath, thus I require it to resolve this global calamity." He speaks quickly, obviously aware of the situation he's in.

"Global?" I didn't know this was happening across the world. How many Holy Grails are there?

The man opens his mouth again but nothing comes out; instead, a seriousness marries his young face as he whips around, arms out as if to protect me. His overcoat drapes him like a black king's cape on the chessboard; even now, I can't help but wonder who this guy really is.

I have to peek around him to see Lancer standing sideways on a ledge opposing us: I have never seen his face so… rigid! He looks as pissed as Archer! He pulls a staff out in front of him, between himself, Dr. Jekyll, and me.

"This is your only warning, gentleman." His luscious voice barks, rage (and… is that a crack of despair?) flowing from his throat. The blond man takes a step forward and pronates his wrists, offering his hands up in prayer to the newcomer. "Oh, you see, this is but a misunderstanding! I am not the foe tonight, I am but a messenger of the divine. With God as my judgment, Veritas Lux Mea. Greetings, noble knight. How fairs the land thou scour'd?"

Lancer ignores his question. He keeps watch on the man but addresses me. "Ms. Hashimoto, has this man harmed you in any way?"

"Nnnnnn-no, but Lancer please-" Wait, why am I defending this creep? My hands are drawn to my face in worry. He came out of nowhere, and there's a hell of a lot I don't know about him. Berserker draws back, closer to me, in my hesitation. I frown at him, if nothing else, the most confused that I've been the entire night.

I step back and on to the rim of the ledge again, but bump softly into the wide chest of my scarlet savior. I look up at him, startled but instantly safer in my own skin. He grips me on the shoulder and I step closer to him for reassurance. He squeezes slightly, whether intentional or subconsciously, I couldn't tell you.

"Berserker, is it? If I heard you correctly," Dr. Jekyll spins around, a scowl on his young face, "then you should clearly understand why you should be dead to us."

"What? Why?" I can't help it, I have to ask! Archer doesn't answer since its supposed to be obvious; he keeps his eyes locked on our newest guest. "Alliances are hard to manage, and I have already agreed to work with the green fool before you." Lancer tightens his jaw at the insult, but doesn't move otherwise. "So why should I go through the effort of attempting to work with you? Your class is infamous for a reason."

"I may be the victim of a vicious title, but I am a master of sciences - a scholar, first and foremost. Heed my words good sir, f'r I am speaking in sooth when I note my abilities in the ways of alchemy."

Alchemy? That's a bit old-fashioned. I look at Archer, his hard-assed face set still as he thinks over the situation we're in.

Lancer barks as he steps closer, breaking down the space between us all. "Enough! Personal skills aside, you are but a beast! You see this, Ms. Hashimoto? This fraud of a man before you is marked a killer by the Holy Grail." He spits sideways, orange eyes narrowing into tiger-like slits. "To work with this mad dog would be nothing short of foolish!"

"Foolish? What…. What nonsense!" Berserker turns around, almost pleading with Lancer. From my senses, I can tell his heart rate has picked up a little… almost dangerously fast. "And thou assess me by the empty and unspoken words of a faceless deity? What hath the world spiral'd into post my departure?"

"Lancer-"

"No Archer, enough talking. This dog is nothing to us but a piece of dark trickery waiting to happen!" He steps closer again, face tight with fury. "Nothing good comes from the treacherous. It is nothing before us; we should take it down before it reveals its true self."

"Lancer, wait." I step closer to Berserker again, hesitant and arms curled into my chest. Berserker's eyes widen as everyone focuses on my silence.

Lancer's fists get smaller. "Well? What have you to add?"

"He… he's not a dog, Lancer. We should give him the opportunity to work with us. He… he seems genuine enough. We could use the manpower, we cou-"

Diarmuid's eyes soften slightly as they focus on me. "My dear, you do not understand the man before you. That thing is a killer by raw definition. It-"

"Well, aren't you? That's what soldiers are."

That hurt him, physically. Lancer recoils as if I've slapped him across the face, then refocuses, his intensity peeked. "Enough. We are not here to leave behind what we believe in. To fight is one thing, but to carelessly toss aside your ideals for the sake of winning is another!"

"We aren't tossing anything aside!" I throw back. "If he wanted to hurt me like Saber or that Nightmare lady, then he would have. Instead, he had a conversation with me." I glance sideways at Dr. Jeykll, pain creeping on his brow in the tight spot he's in. I turn around to face Archer. "That alone should make enough sense that he's on our side here. He wanted to moleskin, not me, and was willing to talk to me about it. Give the man a break and hear him out."

I wait for someone to stop me, but no one interjects. Archer sighs. "Well, anything to add, Berserker?"

He smiles, lowering his protective arms slightly. "Fiducia virorum in sinistra non in dextra est. I may not be a real man by definition, f'r I am Icarus by design. Howev'r my complexion may form before thou, my intentions art true." He turns around fully to face Archer. "I hast nay intention of killing this young woman. She is key to re-writing the infrastructure of the Holy Grail, after all, and we art but dead men trying to find ourselves six feet under once more."

"How do you know her relevance?" Archer demands.

"Think about it. The novel's energy signature is an imprint of her dearly departed's, is it not?" He turns to me, eyes piercing with question, face bright with anticipation. "It reacts to her because she carries his karyotype, his genetics."

"Genetics weren't around during your time," Archer muses, a brow raised. Dr. Jekyll grins. "Perhaps not in the current of the time, but alas knowledge is a wave of perseverance of the mind. Success is but an idea, as action is the fruit of ideas." He winks at me. "Did you hear that one? Record it as you may, for that was an original." Again, he tugs at the edges of his overcoat to straighten it out and pulls some small glasses out of his breast pocket. "If thou would honor me so, Madam Hashimoto, I would appreciate the opportunity to take a glance at thy brother's novella."

I glance around – Lancer's nothing short of pissed, and Archer is curious.

It's my brother's book. It's my decision.

And I decide.

.

.

.

.

.

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So, here's Berserker!

Minor research suggests that the life expectancy in the 19th century, which the story The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde occurs in, suggests that a well-aged man would be about fifty years. Regeneration on the cellular level is a lot of where his Berserker ability comes from, so I imagine that his "human" or "totally normal" version would keep him shaping back into the peek of his life, which would equate to be about his twenties. That would set this Dr. Jekyll pretty young, a lot like his Prototype counterpart.

The funky italics and the Morse codes are Latin expressions. I suggest you look them up if you want to understand the story better. I'm pretty sure you can actually punch in Morse code somewhere to translate it.

For plot purposes, I shifted his character a little. I haven't actually read Fate/Prototype (actually, I haven't read any of the Fate series, only seen Fate/Zero and /Unlimited Blade Works, don't shun me plz) but he appears to be pretty collected there. So I tweaked him a little more to follow the bipolarism he suffers from. You'll be seeing that more in the future.

One of the hardest things about writing this chaos is fitting the characterization to the time of the actual character. I've been in the midst of researching Shakespeare and old English novelists, so this is my take on how the good doctor would speak. Below are some comments, if you had a hard time with them, and their meaning:

*Retire = "die" – through true etymology, 'to retire' literally means 'to die'; so no, she's not off to get a final paycheck.

*Ingraft = "common"

*Ranker = "greater"

*Haply = "perhaps"

*Wot = "to know" – he suggests here that the two get to know one another before he has to explain the situation.

*Alchemy = "magic" – an actual term still recognized today, but sometimes confusing. Alchemy refers to the research and study of things supernatural; usually implying magic, but not always.

*Hast nay = "have none"

* Heed = "take into consideration" – literally, 'listen up, my point is valid'.

* Post = "after" – post itself is a Latin root for 'after' a given event. Post Paternum, Post Hoc, etc.

* Current of the time = "mainstream" – Dr. Jekyll insists that he knew more about the genetic make-up of his fellow man better than most, that he knew more than "mainstream science."

*Novella = "short story" or "small book" – actually a term used today. Idk how many people have taken Analytical English though… I don't recommend the class

* Icarus – a boy highlighted in the Greek legend of Icarus and Daedalus. He learned to fly but became so full of himself, the higher he went (and the closer to the gods, as the metaphor extends), the more dangerous the situation. He died… look him up, it's a good story.