Page 77 of Honor's Revenge

Black-box Oscar was the first to his feet. “What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

“Why the fuck are there three of you?” Lancelot shot back. “What are you? Clones?”

Black-box Oscar frowned. “What kind of dumbass question is that?”

Food Oscar was the second one to stand. “I don’t think they know there’s three of us.”

“Lancelot, you cannot throw knives at my brothers!” Sylvia yelled.

“Brothers?” Hugo demanded. He’d run his hands through his hair and it was standing on end.

“You met Oscar and Langston.” She pointed at black-box and food Oscars. “The third of the triplets is Walt.”

“Langston?” Lancelot demanded. “We only met Oscar. We went to his house, and then he came and helped us rescue you.”

Black-box Oscar snorted. “You’re as dumb as you look.”

“I’m the one who rescued Sylvia. Jesus. You two are so dumb, you couldn’t pour piss out of a boot with instructions written on the heel,” food Oscar said.

Lancelot blinked, staring at each man in turn. They had almost the same haircut, the same builds, but now that he was looking closely, there were small differences in their faces. Not in the structure of them, but in the expressions.

The third Oscar was still sitting on the floor, checking the contents of his backpack. “It’s okay. The PDRS is okay.”

Black-box Oscar crouched, peering into the backpack. “Want me to run a quick diagnostic?”

“No, I want to set her hand first.”

Sylvia groaned. “I don’t want you experimenting on me.”

“You want someone else to fix your hand?” backpack Oscar asked.

“No,” she said with a sigh. “No one is as good as you.”

“Triplets,” Hugo said. “You have identical triplet brothers.”

“Yes?” Sylvia seemed a little confused by how confused they were. “You really thought I only had one brother?”

“We don’t even look that alike,” black-box Oscar said. “I’m taller than them.”

“Which one are you?” Hugo asked, a bit desperately.

“I’m Oscar.”

Lancelot looked at the man who’d entered last and brought in the food. “You’re Langston.” Sylvia had even called him that during their rescue attempt, but Lancelot had thought she was confused.

“Yup.” He picked up the bags. “I’ll put this in the kitchen until Walt’s done.”

The man still seated on the floor looked up. “Hello. I’m Walt. No, I was not named after Walt Disney. I need someone to clean off a table and put it in the middle of the room so I can set this up.”

Hugo blinked, then started clearing off a side table, muttering to himself all the while.

Lancelot leaned back against the wall and started to laugh. “Three of them. Of course there’s fooking three of them.”

Hugo set the cleared-off end table in front of Sylvia, pushing the low coffee table out of the way.

“Oscar builds things, Langston blows them up, and then Walt patches everyone up afterwards,” Sylvia said.

“An oversimplification,” Oscar grumped. He was helping Walt assemble some sort of machine out of pieces they took from the big backpack. “And while we’re at it, who are you two, really?”

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