Following the fight, Kelvin looked around the room, taking stock of the situation. The clawed man had limped out of the room after being shot in the leg. Two of the defenders were down, one with a cut throat, the other with four parallel slashes across his face, one of which had cut through his eye. One defender was on his feet, but with a large cut on his arm.
He checked the two defenders on the ground. The one with the cut throat was definitely dead. The other one, who had lost an eye, was still alive, just unconscious.
“This one’s still alive.”
“Who exactly are you people? Not that I’m not grateful, but who are you?”
This was from a fat man standing near the door.
“I’m Dominica. I’m actually a student here. Kelvin’s around here somewhere. Not sure where he is, actually. Hey Kelvin! Where did you get to?”
Kelvin stood up. “I’m right here. Right in front of you.”
“That’s odd. I didn’t notice you there. Well, no matter, let’s move on.”
As Dominica said this, Kelvin realized that the unconscious man had stood up. His jaw was clamped tightly shut. The wounds on his head were bleeding profusely, and he was swaying slightly. The man wiped the blood from his eyes with a hand, and hissed in pain as he touched the wound.
As the man stood, Kelvin took a moment to look him over. He was tall, of average build, but extremely thin. He looked like he could have been anywhere from 25 to 50. He was wearing a cheap suit, covered with blood, and an equally bloody tie. He had short, blonde hair.
When he spoke, his voice showed that he was British.
“Did he get away?”