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Engomat’s reaper senses weren’t telling him anything. Of course they weren’t. Even before the existence of aberration-spawned Invisibility, there had been various means by which assassins could avoid detection. It certainly hadn’t helped, though. Dozer could’ve done without that little technological development from Morgunov’s side.

Hell, despite all the breakthroughs they’d made, it seemed like half or more ended up being too much responsibility for them to handle. Of what use was some great new technology if it just ended up in the Vanguard’s hands, anyway? He’d often pondered that question. If the Vanguard didn’t have their own threatening inventors, Dozer would have ceased bothering with this hassle eons ago.

Maybe he would’ve even killed them all himself. Sometimes, he thought that maybe Engomat was right about the advancement of technology, that their mission would be better off without the extra “help.”

If not for his dream, Dozer probably would’ve been convinced by the reaper a long time ago.

He proceeded back into the bedroom and began getting dressed. Despite his apparent age, he had quite the physique. In fact, that was in large part the reason why he’d wanted Engomat to let him age so much.

When he was younger, he’d cared not a whit for his own musculature, but by the time he’d hit a point when a servant might normally stop the aging process, he’d developed a new fascination with bodybuilding. And unfortunately, one could not build muscle while aging was halted by a reaper.

These days, he’d never felt healthier or stronger. Nonetheless, people still took to calling him “the Old Man,” like he was somehow past his prime.

Maybe they’d stop calling him that if he took his shirt off in public more often.

Bah. Silliness. He had no use for it.

Whoever was about to attack him, he appreciated that they were at least allowing him to look dignified for the occasion. He’d already experienced too many fights in nothing but a towel--or even stark naked.

Perhaps these assailants had some sense of honor about them. That would be a nice change of pace, though he doubted it.

He went for the gray briefs and black Domingo slacks first. The latter had a fine silver trim down the sides, which was perhaps a bit opulent for battle attire, but he didn’t mind. Domingo was a master of his craft who knew how to blend function and form perfectly.