London was in an uproar. Scores of people flooded across the streets barking and shouting at others, yet not being able to make way or clearly denote where it was they wanted to go. The city was madness and rightly so; one of the oldest structures in London had been blown up. Meetings were called in parliament by the hour, guards created a menacing human wall stationed outside the Palace and the Ministry was on high alert.

Papers were flung to the streets by paper boys and girls harking the new reign of terror sweeping across the country. Gerard hurried through the busy streets overhearing conversations in passing that ranged from conspiracy to rage. Police, royal guards, and enforcers now wore badges and distinct uniforms, roaming the streets amongst the sea of people; wolves on parade. A few of the enforcers nodded to Gerard as he walked past them. He noted their clothes being garbed in a newer finery than what the old man was used to. The though dashed from his mind as he abruptly smacked into an oncoming shoulder of a larger man. "Use your eyes, 'ya foozler," said the man.

He plodded on the track towards the Ministry building's encroaching structure looming even higher above 'Big Ben.' Gerard clenched his fists gritting his screeching leather gloves together as more scenes of downtrodden, hunched over families peered out of dim allies at the mess of life. Their eyes darted over everything and he found himself plying his attention quickly away.

The entrance approached faster than he imagined, being caught in the slew of faces and glances coming his way, while his own intently studied everyone, curiously dissecting the essence of their makeup. Such was the mind of a scientist immersed in thrilling and horrific studies daily.

"Badge, please," stated one of the guards holding her hand out to Gerard. The old man rummaged through his coat pocket grinning mischievously, yet the guardswoman didn't return a kind expression, hastily tapping her foot while waiting. The leather encased slew of metallic cards slid from his hands to guardswoman's who flipped through each card, looking back to the older man. She came to the last one which stated in bold Class: Talon. The guardswoman astonished look never ceased to make him giggle, usually they didn't think a man of his age to be of much importance.

"My apologies, sir," said the woman. "If I had known..."

"No apologies needed, ma'am," interrupted Gerard. "You were only doing your job and a good one at that."

The woman smirked, signaled to the other guards, and proceeded to clear a path for him through the hectic procession of people crowding around the Ministry. Most were clambering against the gates surrounding the large building calling out in protest with boards labeled, "travelers or mongers?" Other signs read, "You will not control us."

Some tried to grasp Gerard until the woman brandished a sturdy baton twitching with an eagerness that was met by grinning patches of lost teeth and snarls. Other's shouted in attempt to provoke the guard, but she turned away nodding to Gerard as he passed through the tightly held border separating Ministry from London.

The doors leading inside were packed the same with travelers from all over the United Kingdom attempting to squeeze into the building. The files moved more smoothly though and soon the old man was at the forefront of assembly doors. Walls in this area were combined into a flowing mixture of slate and gold, ebbing like an ocean so detailed that some travelers were probing the architecture. The formation arched to the top connecting in curling spray that made up the grand entry hall and entry floor. Stairwells curved around a central desk heading upwards and ending at a series of wooden doors were hundreds of travelers waltzed into. A grand clock tolled noon looking like the full moon itself; a deathly keeper of time tolling the witching hour even though the sunlight poured in from the patches of glass roofing.

He was lost in the beauty of the place he had once spent so many years inside almost daily until Damien's voice snapped him back to reality.

You're my eyes and ears in there, Gerard, said a voice in his mind. You know where to meet me when it's over.

At the end of the large assembly hall rested Victor, standing behind a grand podium that paled in comparison to him. Two chairs were stationed near the podium created from iron and steel, tipped with griffin's in flight on the tops. The arm rests were highly detailed griffin heads with their mouths open, screeching out to those before them, yet the second chair was vacant.

My poor, Charles, said Gerard to himself. A pity it had to be this which almost brought us back together.

A mallet struck against a marble stack while guards clacked their heals together. The doors to the assembly room closed quieting the commotion to hushed whispers and small talk. A stew of men and women filled the from the sides to the beneath the front of the podium.

"Ah, the pompous, bourgeois intellectuals," whispered a man in front of Gerard. "Of course, they'd be here."

They all took a seat, yet one remained standing. "We will now commence with the hearings and appointment of the new chairman," cried one of the intellectuals.

Victor waited for the trailing interactions to quiet down, simply casting his stone gaze across the plain of waggling chins until all was silent. His hands gripped the sides of the podium looking as if he'd crush the wood at any moment.

"I'm not one for flowery words, so I'll be as blunt as I can be," said Victor. "As you all know there was an attack. We have lost a structure of great importance to our country, yet our will is not bent. We took a heavy blow though, we lost one of our best; Charles Ludridge."

Mouths wagged stirring a wave of hushed voices gasping and awing due to the news, for those who had not become aware of the news already. Gerard gripped the sides of his chair, shifting his leg across the other and his sights remained on Victor.

"Charles was a great man," he continued. "I had the pleasure to serve with him for so long. He practically built the Ministry to what it is, today. It is sad, but the time for grieving has passed as these events have shown us. We must not waiver for even a moment or else our enemies will strike with relentless brutality."

Victor slid behind the absent seat to his left tightly gripping the tops near the back rest. A small stutter in his fastening grip tipped the chair abruptly creating a sharp clatter. The intellectuals turned slyly around to make sure whatever the source was wouldn't come down upon their heads. Victor cleared his throat muffling the sounds of his deep notes.

"As you are all aware, I need a Gryphon as my second, being the newly appointed chairman," stated Victor. "My vote casts for Noah Van Kirk."

Gerard craned his neck to the sound of a door creaking open, covered by a bell tolled in the distance. Noah walked to the Gryphon's chair as Victor slid back to the seat of the chairman, still standing by its side rather than sitting. The young man slid into easily and looked like he was made for it, the chair forming to him. 

"I accept," said Noah, dryly.