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“It’s done. It’s finished.” Bruised and bloody, Gaston de Gévaudan shakily pulls a cigar out of his pocket and places it in his mouth. Blood trickles lazily into his beard. “Little help?” Felix Mansell, still calm behind glacier-blue eyes, leans over and obligingly lights the dangling object.

Watching Gaston struggle to smoke his cigar, Mansell says, “We should get out of here.”

Gaston grunts. “Why? It’s over. Red’s gone. End of the line. Wouldn’t mind just… resting my legs.”

“Not here,” Mansell replies in his peculiar staccato, placing the lighter back in his pocket. “New Bordeaux. I understand that this was not ideal for you. That, and with the deaths…” He looks around pointedly. “Some people are going to ask questions. Victor’s left, Alice gone, the doctor dead. Too much evidence.”

“Too much blood. Too many memories.” Gaston sighs. “All right. Where?”

“Gotham. I know a guy who owes me a favour. We can get set up, same as before. Big city, change of scenery. Gévaudan & Mansell, new and improved.”

Gaston pauses. “All right. And what about Red?”

“You said it yourself. End of the line.”

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Gévaudan & Mansell: Unreal City manunkind