Julius Zeppeli drives his old jalopy through the streets of London, making his way to the museum. A small, black and white bird flies overhead, keeping an eye on the car. As Julius passes an Indian restaurant, he reaches down and grabs one of his Beatles from its holster. He throws the glass sphere at the plate of a customer sitting on a sidewalk table, sealing it within the glass sphere, and summons the sphere back to his hand. He throws it straight up, striking the bird. "Son of a bitch!" Kan shouts, clutching her eyes. She sits in the back seat of the white convertible, which is tailing Julius from two blocks away. "What's wrong?" Johana asks. "He threw a plate of curry in my eyes!" Kan shouts. "Or...Dora's eyes? Our eyes? He threw a plate of curry in our eyes!" "It seems that he does not want us to follow him," Nero says. "Do you have a bottle of water, to wash my eyes out with?" Kan asks, forcing her eyelids open with her fingers. "I don't think that'll help much," Johana says. A glass sphere lands in the back of the car and burst open, dropping a piece of paper in Johana's lap. She picks it up and reads it aloud. "Go home, children, before I drop a car on you," Johana says. +++ The man in the black raincoat and grey stocking cap, Stanely Mathers, sits on a bench inside the Tote Museum, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. The museum is bustling, as various visitors, tourists and Londonites alike, tour the various exhibits. A woman with white hair wearing a red dress sits next to him. She wears black sunglasses and a blue headscarf. The duo hold hands. A nearby security guard coughs, gaining Stan's attention. "What?" Stan snaps. The guard taps on a sign listing of an absurdly long list of rules. No running in the museum, no flash photography, no outside food. And, of course, no smoking of tobacco. "Not tobacco," Stan says with a smirk. The guard crosses his arms and walks over. Stan's companion lowers her sunglasses and stares at the guard. He freezes. "We'd prefer it if you left us in peace," she says. The guards sheepishly apologizes before backing away. "I could have handled that, you know," Stan says. "I know, sweetie, but I don't want you to worry about this kind of thing today," the woman says. "Your new exhibits opening, that has to be nerve-wracking." Stan kisses her on the forehead. "I love you, Stef," he says. "Yes, I'm well aware. Speaking of your exhibit, you should probably get going. It's a bit gauche for the artists to be late for the unveiling of his new gallery." Stan rolls his eyes. "Is there anything I do that isn't gauche?" He sighs, tosses the cigarette into a nearby trashcan, and stands up from the bench. "Stefani, there's something you should know," he says. "Woodstock called two days ago, helped me arrange a fight with the man that I've been hunting. He's some Italian bloke named Zeppeli." "That's great honey," Stefani says. "I know how much this has been eating you up. When's the fight?" "That's the thing, it's happening today." Stefani frowns. "I see," she says. "I assume this is the part where you tell me to run home so I don't get hurt?" She extends her arm, showing off the silver bracelet around her wrist for the world to see. "Lest you forget, I am more than capable of taking care of myself."