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The constable–a short, middle-aged Scot–looks you up and down and says, "What are you're doin' just wanderin' about, boy?"

Aaron and Christopher, emerging through the fog behind you, stop as they spot the bobby, as if unsure how much trouble he can make for you.

Static buzzes in your ears, and the muddy sky shifts and churns. Something is falling on London.

"Get out!"

A woman speaking Greek. She sounds impossibly distant.

"Get out, Crowchar! It's not real, but it will kill you nonetheless!"