“And to your left, the greatest castle that never was. Four concentric rings of formidable defences,” the tour guide continued to drone, although my patience had finally expired. Not that I had all that much to begin with. This had been Anton’s passion, not mine. All I could tell was that Edward I’s masterpiece at Beaumaris had gone the way of so many writing contests; a lot of hard work ultimately in vain. And probably some bad judging not paid for in my experience.

“The outer walls alone contain 300 arrow loops,” the tour guide was still musing, somewhere in my general direction; hopefully at the more interested people behind me. I was very tired of the nasally little shite. From the widening gap around me, I began to suspect that my face was not doing a good job of hiding that complete lack of interest either. Still, I came here to improve myself, not to have a good time and in addition to learning that this castle was an expensive white elephant, that much was pretty fucking clear.

“The Llanfaes gate was barely started before being abandon-“

“Excuse me?” some rude gobshite had interrupted. I was thinking about the cheek of some people, not letting a man give his god damn tour in peace when I realised the 5 other people on the tour and the man himself were all looking right at me. Ah shit. I’m the rude gobshite – not part of the plan.

“Er, yes, Mr?”

“Eight,” I said in a voice that was laced with all the impotent anger of a FrankCastle dupe despite my better efforts to reign it in. “I had a friend who was dead into castles. Loved them. He was a very learned man, you see. Very wise. Multiple degrees and-

“I don’t really see what this has to do with the tour, Mr..Eight?” Impatient Tour Guide spat, about to resume his chat. Only his arse had dropped out of his pants and was hanging around his ankles. I’m not entirely sure if I had the gun in my hand before he spoke or after, but as I was now pointing it right into his face, there was very little doubting that it was there and he was aware of it.

“I’m sorry, would you like to say something?” Impatient Tour Guide is now not very talkative. The best he can manage is a tentative shake of his head. The enormous Chicago Stadium-esque crowd are now rapidly dispersing in all other directions. This is really not part of the plan.

“Fucking grand. So I can finish telling you about my friend?” Another tentative head movement, complete with involuntary shudder and slight tremble. “Fantastic. Now, as I was saying, he loved castles. Me? I’m not particularly enamoured with them. I tend to think they are enormous fucking eyesores from a bygone era, in a stupid country that revels in the past.”

I pointed the gun up at Beaumaris at this point, which allowed Pissing-his-pants Tour Guide to take a weedy little breath.

“But I came here anyway to learn about them, hoping to get some sort of insight and to deal with what has been bothering me. I thought if I came to something that my pal had loved, I might be able to get free from the weight around my neck. Maybe I’d get…what do you call it? Some sort of cathartic release?”

Gun was now back to waving in Near-fainting Tour Guide’s direction and he mumbled something entirely unintelligible, maybe about his wife. That caught me off guard and I felt myself snort out a laugh.

“Women. Ha. You don't need to preach to me, pal. Believe me. I made one my second in command because I'm not some insecure nerd, and you know what some cheeky fucker said? “virtue signalling”. Ha, I know, right? I don’t seem very fucking virtuous, do I? You know that as well as anyone. Don't worry though, he won’t be making that mistake anymore, he’s swimming in…what did you say that was?”

Guidey follows the line of the gun barrel pointing towards the water. “The m..moat?”

“Ha! Yeah. He’s in a moat all right. Well, not really. More like a lake...” I was starting to feel a bit flat now. Anton was gone and TheLoopCL had appeared out of thin air and sent me packing with a flea in my ear. No amount of righting wrongs to try-hards was going to change that and it wasn't why I came here. I was hoping that I’d find something in the Welsh countryside that could inspire me, improve me. Help me to get past this. Maybe I hadn’t looked hard enough or maybe it didn’t exist, either way it hadn't work. I let out a sigh and the guide must have thought that was signal that he was about to get clipped as he fell to his knees and started sobbing his heart out.

“Woah, woah, woah.” I said feeling a bit embarrassed for both of us. I tucked the gun into my belt and reached into my pants finding a heavy lump. I dropped the wad of notes into the quivering wreck’s hands. “Here. I’m sorry. Calm down, here, look, take it," I bundle it into his shaking palm and close his clammy fist around it. "Buy your Mum something nice on me. An apology. I'd give you more but some pipsqueak called Lordian ran off with $50,000,000 of mine and was too cowardly to ever show his face again and own up to his failures. I'm trying to go the other way and own my mistakes. It is hard and I’ve just got a lot on my mind these days, pal, honestly." 

I look down at my hands, seeing the blood on them. I turn them over again choosing to forget. "When people have been trying to kill you for as long as these losers have been gunning for me, it starts to wear you down. Call someone paranoid for long enough and they start to see enemies everywhere, you understand? Nothing personal. You were just trying to give your shitty little tour and I should have respected that. Got caught up in my own sad bollocks. Losing a friend can do that.” I split a sad smile. “He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea and he caused me an endless amount of trouble, but I was fond of him. Not a man to order muesli for tea, our boy. No, two fat poached eggs – that was his favourite.”

Cringing Tour Guide was shaking like a leaf and nearly hit the ground as I patted him gently on the shoulder. “And now he’s gone, and I’ve got to change too.” I stood up, looking up at the magnificent flawed shithouse that was Beaumaris. “Took me awhile to realise that, pal. I thought we could just go on as before, but we can’t. Adapt or die, Son. Adapt or die.” A final pat on Sobby’s shoulder and I was off, trying and failing to draw no more attention.

I’d had enough of Wales. Shit weather, shit food, time to go. It didn’t feel like it was time to go home yet either though, the anger hadn’t gone away; I’d nearly clipped a tour guide over nothing. No, the Gang would be fine with OctopusLegs and TwoKnucklesDeep for awhile longer yet. I still had more growing to do.

“Please,” I laughed out loud as I listened to the man speak, “If you were interested in bettering yourself, you would have put a stop to this well before any of this stuff with your friend happened. It’s not like numerous people brought their concerns to you numerous times or anything.” I rolled my eyes. 

Turning away, I ignored whatever was coming next. It was clear that it would have been as self serving as everything else that spewed out of his lips. As with everything else, the truth would come out soon enough. The vile protected the vile. That’s exactly how this mess was allowed to continue in the first place. It was all a big joke. 

”You aren’t going to change anytime soon,” I scoffed, “You’re one of the main reasons that your friend was allowed to do what he was doing for as long as he was. You supported him. You protected him. In some regards, that makes you worse than him. In order for evil to triumph, the good must do nothing. And while it is certainly a stretch calling you good by any means, you let it continue. Maybe you thought it was just as funny as him. Maybe it was just a joke to you.”

I didn’t even bother hiding my disdain at this point, “Your friend is now gone because you refused to pull the reins. You were probably the only person that could have and you refused, for whatever reason. Whatever happened is just as much on you as it is on him.” 

Honestly, it wasn’t worth the hassle anymore. This guy couldn’t possibly fathom that his inactivity could have led to this. That his inactivity led to his so called friend’s death. He had set this in motion as soon as he handed him power time and time again. That was probably his end game the entire time. Give a monster power and then sit back and watch the chaos. His friend had proved over and over again that he was here for the sole purpose of destroying this place from the inside out. To make this place as uncomfortable for others as he was. The vile will always protect the vile after all. 

”Your friend would still be alive if you did something other than sitting around and watching him work. Something other than supporting him. Something other than making sure that he was borderline untouchable. He’s gone because of himself and because of you.”

Duggee was heading home, he had had a productive day, many of the Squirrels had earned a couple of new badges. The move to Detroit had certainly proved to be the right one, after all, Vegas was no place for kids, and all his friends from Vegas were gone now. Cohle had stepped down and gone quiet about the time he had stepped up. Sure the crew was small, but they were a close nit group, and there was always the chance that one day he could be Godfather of 12th Street, but that was months away. It was during this reverie that he came across a strange sight, a bizarre looking little man, possibly an associate of one of the NY families, but Duggee couldn't be certain, and he was shouting at the sky. It reminded him a bit like Don Quixote, a poor man driven crazy by his desires, who spent his time shouting at the sky and challenging Windmills to jousts. At least he believed it was Don Quixote, it had been so long since he had read El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha that he couldn't be sure. 

Part of him had thought it best to just hurry on home. The actions of an associate from another city were hardly any concern of his, but at the same time wasn't it his duty to help those in need, anyone in need? The man seemed to be ridiculing someone, blaming him for the death of someone, for the death of a friend? The man seemed to be really confused, turning away as if he were conversing with someone. Duggee looked hard, into the shadows, all around the man, but he was certain there was no one else there. He took a deep sniff of the air. He could smell stale sweat, alcohol, opiates, stale urine, but they were all coming from the same place, there was definitely only one man there. 

Associate 'Quixote' was rambling still, "Your friend would still be alive if you did something other than sitting around and watching him work. Something other than supporting him. Something other than making sure that he was borderline untouchable. He’s gone because of himself and because of you." He must be talking about Anton and if he was talking about Anton that must mean the invisible man was Consigliere Grin-08. He was certain Grin wasn't here. At the last Commission meeting they'd been informed that Grin had taken a temporary leave of absence and was travelling around Europe. Wales specifically the last he'd heard. Why he had chosen to go to Wales was anyone's guess, but I suppose different strokes for different folks. He thought to himself that he must tell Grin about this strange encounter when he got back, but then again he thought perhaps it was best if he didn't. Grin had enough on his plate coming to terms with the last week without adding to the burden.

Finally deciding that there was nothing he could do here, he moved along home, thinking to himself 'Well done Quixote, you've earned your Persecutory Delusional Disorder badge.

“A fucking walkabout!” @OctopusLegs complained to MG-PPR over dinner.  “Who gave him this ridiculous horse shit idea anyway?  That’s what I would like to know.”

Honestly, Octo just could not fathom her shitty luck.  She had gotten involved with the Grin Gang at a young age with the hopes that she could quietly coast on the money her arms had earned back in Seattle and get away with doing the bare minimum.  She was doing swell then she quietly watched as ranking member after ranking member got sent away to handle business outside of Chicago or to set up their own small operation down the street.  Eventually to her great horror Eight had asked her to take on some responsibility around the HQ.  She knew he was really scraping the bottom of the barrel, so she agreed to help, especially since Eight would always be there to call the shots, and since Anton would always be there to keep an eye on 10.  Now here she was sitting under a mountain of fucking responsibility watching 10 attempt to twirl spaghetti around a fucking butter knife. 

She turned to her friend with an exasperated sigh.  “Can you get that knife away from him and give whoever gave it to him a slap for me?” she asked him.  MG-PPR rose without a word to take care of 10, and Octo threw her napkin on the table with disgust. She needed a drink and strode purposefully to the den to pour herself some whiskey, but she was surprised to see TwoKnucklesDeep already waiting for her with his own glass and a stack of messages. 

“We got a letter from Zoom.  Thought you’d want to hear about it.” He tossed the letter onto the desk and casually leaned against the wall behind her chair.  He was also eager to hear the news.

Dear OctopusLegs,

Per your instructions I followed the boss to Wales, and today he went on a tour of some never-finished castle.  Eight interrupted the guide to talk about Lordian I think.  I am sorry to tell you that I was distracted because I noticed none other than FrankCastle skulking in the back of the crowd.  Why would he randomly be at the same event as Eight in Wales of all fucking places?  Man can’t be trusted, so I went to see what I could find out. 

As I approached, I heard him muttering some unintelligible gibberish, but I did manage to make out a bit.  He was going on again about Anton’s death.  No surprise there.  I think he said “…your friend is now gone because you refused to pull the reins. You were probably the only person that could have and you refused, for whatever reason. Whatever happened is just as much on you as it is on him.” He went on grumbling, but I realized that Eight wasn’t talking any more, and when I searched to find him in the crowd he was no where to be seen.   Since the boss was my priority, I left FrankCastle and ran off to Grin-08’s hotel, hoping to catch back up but he had already left.  I regret to inform you that I have no hint of Eight’s current whereabouts.  I sent a few contacts out to check, and they weren’t able to catch Frank either. 

I should be back in a few days but sent this letter ahead as it should reach you quicker. 

Regards,

“NO NO NO NO NOOOO!” she shouted, balling the letter up and chucking it across the room.  “What in the hell is FrankCastle doing there?  Crazy goddamned stalker.  He has to be the whiniest bitch I have ever come across.  How the fuck is Eight ever going to calm down and come back to work with that stress following him around.” Just then she heard 10 screaming blood murder from the other room.  She stood and walked to the bar.  She was going to need that drink after all. 

The staff at MG-PPR had been surprised at the dinner offer from OctopusLegs.  Come for a meal she said.  Get to know me better she said.  Chat about fun things she said.  MG-PPR staff suspected the invitation was more an attempt at giving old OctoLegs an opportunity to sway any future surveys into portraying her in a good light.  The choice of restaurant had been odd, a small Welsh café that wouldn’t know fine dining if it appeared as a freshly caught trout and slapped someone across the face.  MG-PPR reflected that trout slapping had gone out of fashion in the same way as large castles.  A throwback to an age when things were simpler, lives were more thuggish, brutish and short.

Now, all OctopusLegs wanted to do was complain about being asked to do a little light exercise and heaven forbid…learn something.  She really needed to be asked whether she wanted a little whine with dinner but the temptation was resisted.  Never happy was the phrase most likely associated with old eight legs. 

“I have nine brains” she had proudly proclaimed one day having taken MG-PPR out for coffee.  The collected hacks didn’t have the heart to say that sometimes quality outweighs quantity.  Speaking of heart, old eight legs nine brains was rumoured to have three hearts so she would have had the heart to say it and still have two left over.

“Well rather you than me.”, one of the MG-PPR staff writers had proclaimed.  “My parents took me to all these sorts of places as a child.  Once you’ve seen one castle, they are all simply variations on a theme.  You could call it a chateau, a donjon, an alcazar or simply a fort but it’s all just the same thing…walls, turrets, shit like that…but inevitably all just old and boring.”

Old nine legs, eight hearts and three brains left, stiffing MG-PPR with the bill for dinner.  This was unsurprising, the bag she had brought looked like it was closed tighter than a limpet gripping a rock surface.