>>5475341No, you're not going to let it end like this. Maybe you want whatever intel he can provide on the syndicate, however little it might turn out to be. Maybe you just don't trust a hundred percent that he'll actually be dead, if the body sinks out of view and you don't see him die with your own eyes. Maybe it's a little of both. For whatever reason, you end up diving off the pier after him.
Lugging a person this size out of the water might be impossible if you weren't able to control your flow through the water with what few scattered drops of energy remain in your aura. Even with your abilities, it takes all your remaining strength to haul Wild Dog out of the water and back onto the wooden planks of the pier.
Local law enforcement is here by now, guns pointed, demanding answers and raised hands. You can provide both, showing your Interpol ID and your lack of weapons. It's still a chaotic mess of shouts and threats until Dupont arrives, speaking with the police commander. seems agitated -- possibly due to having his city's biggest annual sports event disrupted by a fistfight. It takes a tense few minutes, but Dupont is able to convince the commander to have his men stand down and allow Interpol agents to take the dripping Wild Dog away, as well as a couple of medics to see to your many scratches, bruises, and a few minor fractures.
"Miss Fields," Dupont says, approaching as the medics stitch up a gash from that second-story window glass. "Impressive work, as always. I'm sure that can't have been easy."
"What part?" you ask. "The part where I saved a scumbag's life, or that I beat him in the first place?"
"Both, is what I was thinking," Dupont says. "A commendable job. That said, ah -- the Grand Prix has many powerful people with vested interests, sports, motor vehicles, finance, government -- what I'm saying is, was it really necessary to throw him onto the racetrack? In the middle of the race?"
"Fred, he threw me through a goddamn window, and then he almost took my head off with a racecar," you say, glaring up at him, not angry, just tired. "It was the best option. Would you rather he succeeded?"
"No, no, of course not," Dupont says, and sighs. "I'll be getting a few nasty phone calls from egotistical men in expensive suits, but that's business as usual, really."
You watch as the van takes away Wild Dog. You allow yourself a small feeling of accomplishment, having overcome an old obstacle that troubled your thoughts. But he was nothing more than a bad memory. The Circle is the real problem. And today's battle was only the first step of many in taking them down.
