Meanwhile on Edwardiana…

Sergi sits quietly in his office, sipping slowly from a large glass filled of ice-cold Vodka. It has been a long day, tending to those whose minds have been broken, possessed or unduly influenced.

He knows he is good at what he does, but people often expect ‘miracles’, but these ‘miracles’ take time and effort if they are going to last.

Then he is hit by It. A feeling of something very, very wrong followed by a cacophony of familiar voices. Overwhelmed briefly, he drops his glass and it smashes sending Vodka, ice and shards of glass everywhere.

Regaining his senses, ‘Enough, already’, he screams at no-one in particular.

Sergi gets to his feet, takes a sharp intake of breath and allows himself a few choice swear words in Russian, before taking a large swig of Vodka straight from the bottle.

“Cicada, my Dear..”, he begins to say and she is there. A brief yet tender embrace is shared before he continues. “We need to go. I think there is a big problem.”

A Pilot tendril appears and the pair are gone.