Alzheimer's = Mind control?

The next day Michael was slowly making his way through Londinium with a slight blush on his face. Luckily, Tiffania hadn't understood why the sheets were slightly sticky in the morning, and he didn't have any intentions to illuminate the fact for her either.

With three days left to get everything sorted, Michael was doing his best to search for any herbalist, fishmonger, exotic grocer, etc. He'd need the poison by the day after tomorrow if he wanted to go ahead with his plans, so everything else could wait for now.

He'd already spoken to many grocers and herbalists already, but all of them heavily restricted any potentially dangerous products. He could only buy enough to lightly poison a single person if what the shopkeeps answers to his vague questions indicated. Certainly not enough for his purposes.

He could try and buy small amounts from many herbalists, but that'd likely be a cause for concern if anyone found out. Getting caught after that was the natural progression.

Michael lets out a sigh as he passes by the ungodly smelling fish market, having failed for the seventh time to find anything of use. If this went on, he'd run out of stores before he was anywhere close to his objective...

He's about to abandon this store for the next when he spots something that seems familiar, he couldn't see their face behind their cloak but he recognised their body type nonetheless. He dips into an alley and becomes invisible before following the man, eventually catching a glimpse of his face. "Julien." he mentally intones, as he continues to silently observe the loyalist knight.

The man seemed to be heading somewhere with a purpose, the man held a slip of paper that had directions on it, judging by how he glances at it after rounding each and every corner. Was he heading to some loyalist hideout or something?

Regardless of the point, Michael closely follows the man even as he steps into a dilapidated building that looks half ready to fall apart. Once inside though, Michael was surprised to find it relatively well furnished, as if the exterior was just a front to throw off the public.

Julien looks around cautiously before heading deeper into the house and down some stairs to what is presumably the basement. Michael's assumptions are knocked clean out of the water however when he finds himself stepping through a secret passage from the staircase leading to the sewers, the smell of which immediately assaults him.

Doing his best not to gag, he watches as Julien glances at his paper and trails a hand along the wall, until his hand eventually slips through a part of the stone wall as if it were only an illusion... Which turned out, it was, judging by how Julien takes a breath and steps through like Harry Potter at the train station.

Michael of course follows, and lets out a sigh of relief when his invisibility holds as he walks through the illusion, stepping into a large underground room. It was dimly lit and had many people walking in through other secret passages at different points, but Michael was more surprised at how something this large existed without Cromwell destroying it.

Clearly, this was a black market of sorts, judging by how many people were quietly peddling their wares are crappily-constructed stalls. There weren't any buildings down here, so tents were used to replace them. The smell of the sewers was still present too, so Michael didn't envy any who choose to live here.

Michael stops following Julien and dips into a corner where he turns visible again and pulls his hood over his head. If this place didn't have what he needed then no other place would.

He takes a cautionary walk around the black market and notices that many people were selling magical trinkets and artifacts, most prominently were ones that protected against mind control... Though, Michael doubted that these worked at all, especially with the scuffle happening before him.

"You lying whoreson! Your damned trinkets did nothing to protect my father! He's become like the rest of them now! A lifeless drone that barely even recognises me! IF I'D KNOWN YOU WERE A FRAUD I'D HAVE FLED THIS PLACE, BUT YOU!" a young man wearing average clothes exclaims, looking ready to beat the life out of a hunch-back merchant.

The merchant just raises his hands placatingly while trying to project an aura of confidence, only for the beads of sweat that ran down his face to reveal just how anxious he was. This was the black market after all, so getting beaten to death wasn't an impossibility. "P-Please sir, perhaps a different ailment affects your father? I know the mind sickness is common among the elderly-"

"HE'S ONLY FORTY WINTER OLD! WHAT MIND SICKNESS!? THIS IS MIND CONTROL YOU PIECE OF FILTH!" the man angrily shouts while raising his fist, finally losing his temper.

Michael glances around to see if anyone would intervene, and unlike topside, people did take notice of this, but still, none bothered to get involved.

*Thud! Thud! Thud!*

The young man's fists strike the hunchback man over and over, sending the merchant to the floor as he continues to kick and beat him. Michael just crosses his arms and waits for him to finish, he himself not liking scammers either, especially those selling items that would either heal or prevent sickness in you or your loved ones.

To be honest, right now he was more worried about Tiffania, since some kind of mass mind control was slowly taking over the city. He knew of Cromwell's ring, but that required him to directly cast a spell on you, not whatever was ailing the young man's father.

Once the merchant is beaten into a bloody pulp, Michael steps forwards and casually greets the youth with bloody fists, the man quirking his brow at him. "Do I know you? Are you here for him?" he gestures at the merchant and Michael shakes his head.

"No, I was just listening in and wanted to ask about this 'Mind control' you were talking bout."

The man scoffs, "Have you been living under a rock, man!? Have you not watched the people walking through the city streets dull-eyed and lifeless!?" he asks, his voice increasing in volume as he becomes more fervent as if he were a priest proselytising his lord.