Westminster Bank

Chapter 10: Chapter 7: Dragon Metro

Birmingham New Street Station.

6:07 PM.

Rain lashed down, splattering against the curved steel and glass in metallic-looking spray.

Baron stood at the station entrance, holding an umbrella, and surveyed the surroundings through the curtain of rain.

After confirming there were no surveillance cameras or suspicious individuals like the ones Lawrence had mentioned, he blended in with the crowd of people taking shelter from the rain and entered the station.

The entire hall was designed with smooth, flowing curves. A cold minimalism and a unique sense of history permeated every corner of the station.

First built in 1846 and reconstructed in 1968, the steel structure had carried a century of Britain’s glory and decay. Now, in the post-World War II era, it had become the busiest station in the United Kingdom outside of London.

The hall was bustling with people coming and going, all of them looking preoccupied and hurried.

"Birmingham Times: An hour ago, the Sheffield Industrial Bank on Birmingham New Street was robbed. Based on eyewitness reports and preliminary investigations, the police believe there were six robbers... Residents in the vicinity are advised to be on the lookout for suspicious individuals..."

A cold night wind swept through the concourse, carrying the mechanical voice of the news broadcast as it echoed through the air.

Following the directions, Baron found Window Number Five—the one mentioned in the newspaper as the way to the Inner Side.

Quite a few people were lining up at the window. Sharply dressed gentlemen in British-style suits mingled with noblewomen in expensive attire. Men in overcoats and dark sunglasses stood holding briefcases, looking like highly trained secret agents from a movie.

They were all at Window 5 to buy train tickets from Birmingham to Edinburgh.

When Baron arrived, they all looked up at him in unison for a moment before looking down again.

Baron pushed up the [Black-Rimmed Glasses that See the Unseeable] on the bridge of his nose and buried his face in the high collar of his trench coat.

The line shortened quickly. By the time it was Baron’s turn, the ticket agent closed her window and hung up a "SOLD OUT" sign.

"I’m very sorry, sir, the tickets to Edinburgh are sold out... If you need assistance, you can go to the customer service center..."

"Sold out this early? What a waste of time..."

The line behind him broke up in a commotion.

"Excuse my French," Baron said calmly.

The ticket agent froze for a second, glanced around, and then lowered her voice.

"The entrance to the last Dragon Metro is on the lower level, accessible from elevator four. Pillar four, row five. Departure is at 9:00 PM sharp, with a three-minute stop. The ticket price is one ounce of gold."

Baron, who had been about to take out his money, paused, then turned and walked away.

In 1987, one ounce of gold was worth over four hundred USD, which was almost two hundred British pounds.

’The original owner of this body earned 107 pounds a week. One ticket would cost him half a month’s salary.’

’I’ve already broken out of prison. What’s a little fare evasion?’

...

The doors to elevator four opened. After checking for cameras, Baron ducked into the elevator like a stray dog. freēwēbnovel.com

The elevator descended to the lower level. When the doors slid open, the damp smell of formaldehyde assaulted his nostrils. Baron cautiously looked around before exiting. In the parking garage, supported by a forest of massive pillars, he found "Pillar Four, Row Five."

It was a thick, long, rectangular stone wall that looked like a load-bearing wall. A huge billboard featuring John Lennon hung on it.

The musical genius, murdered by a mentally ill fan, was depicted holding a guitar and playing a rock song. Below him was a string of white painted numbers commemorating the date of his death.

Further down was an advertisement in red paint: [Westminster People’s Bank Insurance. Don’t let genius end with mental illness. Contact number...]

’Westminster People’s Bank... Why does that name feel like a weird mix of Chinese and Western styles?’

Baron tapped a few of the digits in the contact number field with the rhythm described in the newspaper. The billboard silently slid apart to the left and right, and a gust of cold wind blew out, accompanied by the sound of grinding metal.

Baron backed away, alarmed and uncertain, until he could clearly see another elevator revealed in the shadows behind the billboard.

The elevator doors opened. There was already someone inside: a woman wearing a windowpane-plaid wool skirt, chiffon gloves, and a gray knit hat. Her face was hidden behind a copy of the *Mercury Times*, a newspaper he’d never seen on the market.

Baron didn’t get in. Instead, he glanced at the newspaper’s contents. It was reporting on his and Lawrence’s "legendary prison break."

Baron grinned silently. He remained outside the elevator, deciding to wait for the next empty one, just to be safe.

But the lady didn’t grant him his wish. A pair of periwinkle-blue eyes appeared over the top of the newspaper. "Bloodless?"

Baron froze. His hand subconsciously tightened on the handle of his briefcase. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded.

"Curious how I could tell?" She lowered her newspaper and gestured for Baron to enter. "I guessed."

Baron didn’t refuse. He stepped into the elevator and watched the woman press a button. The numbers changed, and as the elevator descended, he felt a strange sensation of rising.

"Want to read the paper and learn about the real world? I’m guessing your memories of the Inner Side are starting to get fuzzy."

The elevator doors opened, and the woman left. A newspaper had been placed in Baron’s hands.

He looked down at it. The black-and-white pictures on the paper moved like video clips, like living photographs.

And as he focused on the text, the words flowed like tadpoles before rearranging themselves into new paragraphs, not much different from the Fantasy World he had imagined.

[Hailanbas Island Reappears Off the Coast of Ireland. Templar Order Dispatches Over a Dozen Black Iron Tier Celestial Horse Knights to Investigate...]

[Number of Missing Unicorns Increases Daily. Holy Cross Association and Holy Mechanism Jointly Announce a Thorough Investigation into Whether This is the Work of Heretics...]

[Britain’s Boldest Prison Break Ever! Two Death Row Inmates Successfully Escape from London Thirteen Prison This Afternoon! Prole Court Claims Report is Baseless!]

Baron carefully read this section. Perhaps for some political reason, the Prole Court had not acknowledged his and Lawrence’s escape.

The newspaper’s story, on the other hand, came from several London residents who had looked up at the sky. They had seen a fast-moving dark shadow in the clouds and identified it as some kind of alien technology.

This had attracted the attention of reporters from the *Mercury Times*. Following the witness accounts and subsequent interviews with a carriage driver hired near Westminster Cathedral, they learned that an unprecedented, great escape had occurred from the prison that had once held a Golden Knight—the prison known as London’s most secure Old Race facility.

At the very end of the article, the author had thoughtfully left their email address, hoping that some director on the Inner Side with artistic ambitions would contact them to consider turning the "escapees’" experience into a movie.

Baron smiled silently, not because of the newspaper’s witty humor.

But because this report, at least on the surface, told him one thing: the Prole Court had not yet issued a public kill-on-sight order for him and Lawrence. This meant his current flight risk wasn’t at five stars yet.

His gaze moved down the page.

[Blood Biter Strikes Again on the Outer Side! Birmingham Family of Three Brutally Murdered!]

Baron’s expression tightened. He wanted to keep reading, but he heard the elevator behind him open and close again. He nonchalantly folded the newspaper and, briefcase in hand, slipped straight into the bustling crowd on the platform.

...

Beams and trusses crisscrossed beneath a smooth, curved dome, like a giant eggshell held up by a steel frame, soaring toward the sky.

From below, the crowd looked like they were walking inside an eggshell. The torrential rain hammered on the dome, making a crisp sound like a shell cracking.

The platform was positioned like the yolk in the center of the egg. Two tracks ran along each side of it, extending forward. The guide lights along the tracks flickered in the fierce wind howling from the end of the tunnel.

Baron also noticed that in some of the more hidden corners of the "eggshell," there were special runes glowing brightly.

But when he took off his glasses, he couldn’t see them anymore.

’This must be the Alchemy Array Lawrence was talking about.’

Baron walked with the crowd, which was as dense as a woven tapestry. The scent of perfume wafted through the air, and the sound of leather shoes and high heels clicking on the terrazzo floor allowed him to relax his nerves for a moment.

Everyone was lining up on both sides of the platform. Baron glanced at a sign, confirmed it was for a train to [Inner London], and was about to get in line when he heard a noisy argument from the queue on the other side.

It seemed someone had cut in line.

Following the crowd’s gaze, he saw a slender man in a trench coat yawning at the very front of the line, looking utterly bored and weary.

The woman behind him was so angry she tried to hit him, but he grabbed her hand and taunted her with a nasty grin.

No one around dared to help the woman who had been cut off, because they were saying the man in the trench coat was from the Frank Clan.

The Frank family was a renowned Demon Hunter Clan on the Inner Side. Many Law Enforcers in the Demon Hunter Association had received favors from his clan.

And the man who had cut in line was the second son of the Franca Family, a Bronze Demon Hunter, Bill Frank.

Baron only glanced once before looking away. Having been "baptized" by countless cautionary tales on the internet in his past life, he had no intention of getting involved.

Even though the woman whose spot had been taken was the same one who had given him the newspaper in the elevator.