He Doesn't Talk Much - Jacksepticeye Egos Fanfic

Chapter 15 - The Newcomer

London's dreary streets have seen many wretched wanderers. A single man could get lost among them very easily, and this was, in fact, what one man hoped to do.

He stepped out of the shadows of an alley and fell into the stream of pedestrians making their way through town. Rain drizzled down intermittently, leaving a veil of shimmering dew on everything.

This man was relatively unfamiliar with London, but he wasn't worried... he made his way through the streets like a local, following not a map, but an instinct. He strode confidently through busy intersections, took back alleys and roundabout paths, and eventually made his way to the hospital.

The man jogged through the street toward the gleaming white building. Then, he winced and hopped with a yelp as his foot landed squarely in a puddle next to the curb. He leaped onto the pavement with uncanny grace, and scowled plaintively at his newly wet shoe.

"Shit," he muttered, before puffing an errant strand of hair out of his face with a sigh.

He tapped his shoe on the ground a few times, shaking the water droplets off, and then shivered inwardly. At last, he turned on his heel and strode into the hospital, briefcase hanging at his left hand side.

The room of Sean McLoughlin was empty at the time, except for Jack himself, lying silent on the cot. His heart monitor beeped steadily in the background. The strange man slipped into the room and closed the door behind him before locking it inconspicuously. Then, he took a seat at Jack's side and took off his hat, revealing a mop of long, dark, green hair tied into a messy bun at the back of his head.

"My friend," he said, quietly. "What a pity."

The man made a low tsk tsk noise in the back of his throat. He took his hat in one hand and shook the water off it with a few flicks of the wrist. He shook his hand once, twice- and then the hat vanished, leaving the man's hand empty.

He laid this hand comfortingly on the side of Jack's bed, and, with the other, he lifted his suitcase onto the bedside table. The latches flicked open, seemingly of their own accord, and the man pried the case's lid open gingerly.

With a glance at Jack's still face, he said aloud, "Yes, yes, it's dramatic... but you know how I like to do things."

The man stood up, shrugged out of his wet trenchcoat, and let it drop to the ground behind him. The folds of the coat seemed to flutter into the ground, and in a moment, the coat met the same fate as the man's hat- vanished.

Underneath, he wore a navy blue dress shirt with rolled cuffs above the elbows. A black cloak was hung around the man's neck, tucked under the collar of the shirt and  draped neatly over his shoulders. It fluttered about him as he rummaged in the suitcase.

"Mmm, no, no, no- where did I put it?" he muttered. Then, the consternation written on the man's face dissolved into a smug smile. "Aha."

With his thumb and forefinger he lifted the last bit of his costume from the case. It was a thin, ivory-colored half-mask in the shape of a cat's face. The man smiled at it before laying it gently over his brow and nose. In the center of the mask's brow were the suits of a deck of cards, arranged in a diamond. The mask had an impressive, mysterious aura... some might even call it magnificent.

"Excellent," the man sighed. His burning eyes peered through narrow slits, expression obscured by the mask. "Well, Jack," he added, turning his attention back to his friend. "Let's see what Anti's done to you."