He regarded her for a moment. It didn't take much thought on his part - he was tired, and sore, and just didn't care, so out it came. The whole story.

The people of Whitechapel were rebelling, and while their first attempt had been nothing more than a spur-of-the-moment riot, they were planning now. Rumor had it that they had access to the plans of a certain device - a device that could kill a God (or two, as the case may be) - and under Grandfather Clocks orders, he was to intercept these plans, and if the opposition already had them, well, they were supposed to die.

But all that had failed. He had failed, in his duties to his God, and to his city. All because of one armor-plated, beast of a man that he never saw coming. By rights, he should be dead.