Re: Pandora's Inheritance - Modern Fantasy RPG (Recruiting)

[Guest]

Way to put your foot in, Tony, his mind jeered at him. Yet, at the same time, something seemed off; Rachel’s voice went from pleading and quiet to louder and growling; it was far more threatening. Not like some goombah sayin, ‘Eyyyy-ah-oooh, fughedaboudit, eh?’ but something that provoked a much more primal and visceral reaction.

Tony used the momentum to walk past the nebbish and towards the stacks of supplies, while saying, “Alright, let’s all chill here. I think I was hasty in what I said, and we have ourselves an impasse…” to say the least. “Why don’t you let us get our soap, shampoo, change of clothes and other necessities, and we’ll be on your way?” There was something more compelling to Tony as well, perhaps it was the impression of heat shimmering the air near his person, the hot wind that seemed to blow through the place and the scrape of sand against the walls of the Quonset hut. He didn’t realize that he himself was factoring into the sudden fear that hung so palpably over the place.

The three men who the clerk summoned, who seemed menacingly thuggish moments before, seemed to shrink before Rachel, however. The vague impression of sand and dry heat, smokeless fire was adding to the intensity of the situation, but Tony was doubly unaware of it; the others, after all, were feeling the sweat evaporate off them. There might as well not be a swamp cooler keeping the place going.

“Yeah, Imhoff, why don’t you give them their fuckin’ soap?” ventured one of the fellows, seeing canines, tongue and the alpha-class numbering stenciled on the breast of the jumpsuit. Four-arms, having made his case, sat down on one of the cots; greenie and furball followed suit, leaving Imhoff rather alone, by implication. All three of them were watching Rachel and visibly thinking the same thing; they didn’t want to mess around with this crazy bitch. It would have been a little too much for them to leave the place, but they didn’t look like they were happy to still be sitting there and watching this.

“Yeah, Imhoff, right? We just got out of the solitary, man. We’re tired, dirty, coming down off the shit they pumped in us, sore from all the needles they stuck us with and just want to get our shit and find our bunk assignments so we can get on with it. I don’t care about whatever the fuck you’re doing here with the rations so long as we get ours.”

Without even waiting for the gremlin-man to respond, he walked past and to the stacks of shelves, gathering up two of everything, relying on Rachel to hold everyone down; that was one scary woman, it was hard to imagine she’d been the one trying to comfort him through the rough news he’d gotten. You got your divorce papers and you decided to take out your personal life on this little shithead instead of playing it cool. Great job, shitwit. The clarity hit him squarely between the eyes as he moved from aluminum shelf to aluminum shelf, letting the little Gremlin watch and verify that he was only taking the two he claimed he was taking. Shaw probably could have pushed it with Rachel there looking like she was the one now on the edge of her control. He wanted to tell her to stay cool, but he didn’t want to break the hold she had on these mooks. Had to hand it to her, he had her pegged for a white collar sort, the sort of woman that lived in a one of the trendier neighborhoods like Mount Vernon or Federal Hill, the urban restoration parts of the City. She fit the profile of an urbanite, upwardly mobile white woman professional with a lucrative job that didn’t want for anything. And he was shocked at how complacent his thinking had gotten and how he totally got it all wrong.

Surprise, asshole, something had to be up or she wouldn’t have been caged like an animal. If anything, he had to start to question his cop instincts, the way he read people, and start from scratch again. The little bastard was right about something; he was an EX-officer.

“By the way, Imhoff, thanks for the ‘ex-officer’ pep talk, you did me a big favor.” That threw the gremlin off guard and made him wary, which pleased Shaw immensely. Some things still worked just fine; a mindfuck was still a mindfuck, even in this brave new upside-down world.

Toothbrushes, combs, towels, blankets, spare set of prisoner duds, which included the underwear and so forth. It was a good thing he was used to gauging people’s sizes (like any man, he could pretty accurately figure out bra sizes, due to extensive speculator experience) and shopped for his wife or Rachel would have been in some considerable trouble here. Luckily, things were more or less in broad sizes and made to generally fit a broad range of sizes. He didn’t neglect the feminine products, which was probably a shocker; big tough cop that remembered the important little things. Then again, he also remembered the toilet paper.

He saw Imhoff’s wide, shark-toothy mouth twist bitterly as he pushed aside the single ply and found what he suspected was there; contraband, white gold in this place. Double-ply. There was an angelic choir in his head that went ‘aaaaaaah!’ as it was revealed and he picked it up a couple extra rolls reverently. It was a risk, but he glanced back at Rachel at the right time, to draw Gremlin’s attention to her; she was a walking ad for, “Think better of it.”

He gave the racks a glance over to make sure he wasn’t forgetting something important, and then stepped back towards Rachel, with a low voice, trying not to startle her any, “Hey, Rachel, I’ve got the stuff. Let’s get out of here and find out what the travel agent booked us into.”

Despite the tension, or perhaps because Rachel came out more menacing and dangerous, what might have been a bad confrontation turned fairly tame, if tense, because she’d out-snarled the heavies; granted, they were a bunch of low-rents, and amateurish ones at that. He’d expected something more like real criminals; the kind that knew to just shut up when a cop came to give them shit, because the cop was looking for an excuse to book them. He’d been too used to his routine, and got burned for it.

Once they’d gotten out the Quonset hut, blessedly away from the tension, Tony paused to say, “Hey, I’m sorry about that. I kinda reverted to how I deal with the bangers in West Baltimore, guys that know how the Game is played, and I fucked it up with that guy. I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand and all. Thanks for pulling me my ass out of the fire a bit with all that.” He was hesitant, because, well, it seemed like there was an exposed edge to her now, though he didn’t want to be judgmental. It wasn’t like he was shunning her, but rather that he was rethinking everything in the place. Perhaps solitary hadn’t put the dent in him that the divorce notice did, and the situation in there, which he tried to run according to the rules and methods he understood, drove home the change.

Finally taking his attention off the woman for a moment as they walked, he realized that others were watching the supply hut from windows, doorways, between quonset huts, and leaning against the sun-heated aluminum exterior walls, as if they’d somehow sensed the tension within the place. He glanced back to see that heat was shimmering off the roof of the place but didn’t quite connect the whole thing to himself; he, after all, hadn’t felt the heat. But he somewhat figured out how the camp got word, even if it was a belated realization. There were people who were sensitive to things in this camp, the ones that could see and feel ‘things.’

He tried to brush off the looks, though it was getting old fast, as he concentrated on not tripping over the bottom of the pant legs of the suit; he had a tendency to step his heel into the denim and it could trip him up. He would probably have to roll it up, but it was hard to do with supplies in hand. Instead, he picked his way down the plywood-overlaid path in the direction of his new digs.

Someone stopped him to ask, “Excuse me, sir, but I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in there,” and Shaw found himself wondering how the hell the guy could hear from where he stood, a good thirty feet away from the building, with all the other noise around them, before he just took it for what it was worth. “But I was wondering if it’s true that he’s hoarding the supplies?”

“I guess so, man, uh, I mean, there’s a lot of stuff in there, and there’s a lot of people that kinda look threadbare. Dunno what he’s doing with it all, because it doesn’t seem there’s much to trade for around here.” Shaw didn’t want to throw the Gremlin under a bus like he threatened, since he did actually get what he wanted, but at the same time, he wasn’t gonna lie and didn’t owe the muthafucka anything. But he felt a bit guilty.

“Yeah, that’s what it sounded like to me,” said the man, a rather tweedy, pedagogic seeming sort in his way. He oozed that in his bearing and approach, the crispness of his diction. He might have been polite, but Shaw got the feeling the man wasn’t asking merely out of idle interest. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

As the man wandered off, more like he strode off purposefully, Shaw said, aside to Rachel, “Damn, I think my big mouth just started more shit.”

It was a day where nothing seemed to go right.

He strolled along in silence, carrying the goods for both of them, perhaps some sort of Neanderthal-gallant atavistic behavior he just couldn’t shake before they got to the berthing locations, or at least his, “This one’s mine. Dunno where yours is, but here’s your stuff, Rachel. Time to meet my cellmates. I’ll let you know if I join the Aryan Nation for protection or something.” It was a lame joke, but he was trying.

“Later.”

And then, putting aside the trepidation he felt but tried not to show, he moved into the Quonset hut.

***
Flashback: July 5th

The office was lined with pictures and bookshelves, picturesque and intimidating, but with a warmth that money could buy and furniture of a solid, stately, somewhat antiquated construction. The desk itself was a power-desk, old world, very 1940’s. These were the places, here in the Russell Senate Building, or in the Dirksen or Hart, where the real business of the nation got done, reflected Arturo Siragusa. And Senator Eckert was laying the hospitality on thick today. He wants something.

He put the crystal tumbler to his lips and gave it a taste; single malt indeed. That was a sure sign that something was afoot, or he wouldn’t be getting the expensive stuff. He could taste the crispness of the stuff, and place the smoky, heavy peat flavors of an Islay; when the staffers went so far as to prepare a dossier that included your scotch tastes for a meeting, you knew that the meeting was going to be heavy on the intrigue. He wasn't usually one to drink in the morning, but Senator Eckert was notorious for either not understanding the custom or not giving a damn, and Siragusa was not about to offend the man's gesture. You had to handle politicians carefully, they could turn on you quickly.

“Look, Arthur, what we really want is for the DOD to allow some reporters to go through Nellis and see the camps. People are starting to ask questions and make accusations, and we have to assure them that these facilities are humane. But DHS needs to sign off on it. That’s your bailiwick.”

Siragusa swirled the whisky around in the tumbler, admiring the dark caramel color that said ‘age’ before replying, trying to phrase it in a politic fashion; you never knew when you would be held accountable by a politician in front of a committee for what you said in passing. Politicians were predators, and good at putting people at ease before hooking them. So with this fact in mind, as he sat in a plush, comfortable leather chair across from the Senator from Nevada with the big, solid, oak desk, understanding that this man had the power of oversight and funding over Department of Homeland Security, he knew he had to tread carefully and probably wouldn’t be able to say no outright.

“I understand the considerable publicity issue at stake here, Senator. However, the Nellis containment facility is vital to national security, and I think that the public, in many ways, is not in possession of all the facts of the situation and are prone to make snap judgments. I think that letting reporters is a bad idea, though it might not hurt to allow a limited, controlled tour of the facility for rights groups, so long as they are restricted from taking photos and divulging information.”

It was his best shot, and in Washington reading behind the lines was the town’s real sport, Nationals, Senators, and Wizards notwithstanding.

Senator Wayne Eckert understood precisely what the man was saying; that if they brought in the reporters, there would be a hue and a cry of what they saw and reported back. The tours had to be managed carefully to deny anyone access to the sensitive spots and that, most importantly, the Department of Homeland Security was, surprise, surprise, engaged in some questionable practices, all in the name of safety. When the man said, and he wanted to laugh, that the public might not understand what they were seeing because they weren’t in full possession of the fact, it was shorthand for, “They’d be pissed.”

“Senator McLaughlin shares my concerns on this issue,” a reference to the man who controlled the finance committee couldn’t help but prick up ears, “but I’m sure he will understand if this is a categorical denial on journalist access. Still, I was hoping we could work something out that would get the journalists in. I think it’s in all our best interests to make sure that the public gets a good impression of the Paranormal Protection Act.”

He could play the ‘between the lines game’ as well. He was really saying, Clean the mess up and let the journalists in or do with a substantially reduced budget.

Siragusa knew going in that he’d probably be pinned to the wall, but he didn’t expect Eckert to be so rushed and vicious about it.

“I’m sure we can arrange something. Let me talk to my superiors. Maybe we can arrange something in the next few weeks.”

***

Subject: RE: Developments at Nellis
Fr:siragusa@dhs.gov
To:Eckert@senate.gov
Date: July 7th, 7:53am

Dear Senator Eckert,
Secretary Norman agrees with your position and we are making the arrangements now with the press and other important people. If you have recommendations about who should be included in this tour, please let us know as quickly as possible so we can make the arrangements.

>Wayne Eckhert wrote:
Hello Arthur,
Due to ongoing developments at Nellis AFB, I was hoping that we could push up that thing we talked about to tomorrow; I understand that you have problems on your end, but the press is uneasy about the whole situation, particularly since a protest at the gates of the base went sour. I’m sure you can understand everyone’s interest here. We need to reassure everyone that Nellis is a well-run, humane operation. Because this affects my state, I intend to come along on the tour.<

[Buzzwulf]

The vision quests of the Mohave were never safe. Venturing into the desert with nothing more than your own two hands was perhaps not the wisest of customs, but it did separate the strong from the weak. Those who never returned from their quests had been lost in the dreamland, taken by the ancestors as their toll to keep the world alive. John knew that this was ridiculous, but walking in the wasteland that was the Mojave Desert… it seemed not quite as insane as his father had made it sound. He could admit the desert held a certain majesty, a certain agelessness, even as he was sweating all over it.

John had quickly decided that walking in the full heat of the sun was foolhardy. He’d been moving towards an outcropping of rock for more than an hour, and it didn’t look any closer at all. His father’s rifle slammed against his back with every step, and the knife he’d recently bought at Fort Mohave drug store dug into his hip more often than not. He could recognize the plant life out here, either the dried, gnarled remains of dried vegetation or the sweetly enticing water-swollen cacti that were rampant along the ridges of the desert. John wasn’t fooled. Most of the cacti had some way to defend themselves that didn’t include spines.

After today, John would be traveling mostly at night, in order to conserve water. Already, he could feel his body had gone into shutdown mode, conserving all of the water it already had. The surface of his skin had taken on a gritty feel, and he could already feel pores constricting as they tried to suck the precious water he’d already sweated out back into his skin. Finally, he reached the rocky outcropping, which proved to be much larger than it had looked in the distance. The shade from the overhang was a blessing, much cooler than the surrounding desert, and john sat down for a moment and had a sip from his precious waterskin. Even the warm water from the spongy inside of the small pouch tasted wonderful, and John wanted to keep drinking, but forced himself to stop. The water was all he would have for the time it took to cross the desert, and the desert was large. Loosing himself for a moment in the brilliance of the blue sky above him and the warmth of the ground and hard rock behind him, he drifted off for just a moment…

When John awoke, the sky had already passed its darker navy phase and gone straight to pure black, shot with sprays of stars. For a moment, john gasped at the brightness there, then shivered. The temperature had dropped considerably, and now it was cold out. He heard a rustle off to one side as a desert lynx curiously approached the invader into its territory. It was a white-tipped lynx, with tufts of fur on its ears and dark spots along its sides, and it slunk more quietly than John himself would ever be able to manage. The small cat paused for a moment near John, than gave him a quick bite. Ignoring his cry of pain, it bounded onto the top of the rock John was sitting under and perched there, imperiously staring down at him.

“Excuse me for being here,” said John, up to the animal “But I’m just passing through. I’ll be out of your way in no time, and then you can be back to hunting owls, or bats of whatever.”

“Mice, actually. I am a cat, after all. It’s our general fare, and you should know that by now, boy.” Somehow, the voice coming out of the Lynx’s mouth seemed just right; haughty and arrogant, but with just a hint of protectiveness. John wasn’t surprised when the Lynx talked, he’d been hearing animals for a little while now. With the stories he’d grown up with, it seemed that everyone and their brother could talk to animals. Why not him?

“Well, whatever you eat, I think I’ll just be on my way now. There was no call for biting. I’ll just go, if you don’t mind too much”

“Truthfully, I do mind. Why are you out here, human? The desert hasn’t seen one of your kind for some time, and she grows so lonely on her own. Maybe you’d be willing to stay a while.”

“No,” said John, “I really do need to be moving on. I need to get moving and find some other shelter by the time day arrives, and maybe some water, if I’m lucky.” He knew he wouldn’t be. In the desert, the best he could probably hope for was the rare edible cactus, and that was stretching it.

The lynx yawned and stretched. “I suppose,” the cat said with a glint in its eye “that I’ll just have to follow you out of my territory, or at least enough to see you leave. You’ll just muck it all up if I don’t.”

John set off into the dry scrub of the Mohave warily. The insects, the scorpions and tarantulas came out at night, and he probably wouldn’t see one until he’d already stepped on it if he wasn’t careful. From time to time, he caught the glint of the lynx’s eyes in the moonlight, flashing among the low plants. The moon rose high above the entire scene, casting a long silvery light on every branch, and deepening every shadow. The world seen through this nocturnal reverie seemed to be unearthly, somehow unreal. John could feel the spirits here, strong and urging to let free from their long slumber, but the spirits were full of anger and blood, and he ignored them.

The lynx led John to another outcropping. At first, he thought it was another natural formation, but he quickly realized that this place had once been made, and constructed mostly of mud, in the old style. The lynx looked at him for a minute and then disappeared, and John realized that he had traveled much farther than he had thought this day. Even only guided by the moon, he’d covered a great deal of distance, more than he should have been able to normally. Briefly, he wondered if the lynx could be his spirit guide, but it had gone, so he supposed that must not be right. A quick look around showed a series of abandoned mud huts, not particularly well-kept by the deserts harsh wind, but more than enough to shade him from the harsh rays of the sun. He crawled inside one of the low pueblos and slept.

[Igraine]

“Doctor Evans?”

Piercing green eyes stared thoughtfully out the bus’ lightly-tinted window, the man’s mind behind them apparently a million or more miles away, his gaze fixed on a point only he seemed to see somewhere over the baked Nevadan desert.

”Doctor Evans?” came the woman’s voice again, a bit more insistently, a little louder.

He blinked just once, before looking up to the young woman with a wan smile. A small sigh escaped the man, as he pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, gently massaging away the beginnings of a headache he refused to allow. Dr. Jason Evans, Ph.D., associate professor of Anthropology with the University of California, his field of expertise Folklore, and Linguistic studies, apparently didn’t have the common sense to pack a few aspirin, it seemed…

Jason grinned, a bit abashed, as he shook his head, dark blonde hair falling past his shoulders swaying with the motion. “Yeah, sorry Stacy. What’d you need?”

“Things have cleared up,” said the young woman, unable to keep just a twinge of resentment in her voice as she nodded toward the outside of the bus. “Everyone’s been taken in, the military and cops are just back being almost normal.”

Jason’s grin turned into a small smirk. Oh, he knew all right, exactly why this young, erstwhile student of his stood before him, arms crossed defensively over her chest as she looked at him with just a bit of accusation in her eyes. As if he couldn’t sense about her, and every single one of the two dozen or so students he’d bussed out here with him from California, the exact same disappointment.

Well, they might think they were out here to relive their aging hippy grandparents’ glory days of “fighting the man” and “speaking truth to power” or some such utter nonsense. But Jason knew he’d brought them for another reason altogether - and nothing said “smoke screen” like mindlessly obedient, radicalized students who thought they were “fighting the good fight.” Still, that did not mean he wanted to see a single one of them seriously placed in harm’s way or – heaven forbid – incarcerated in this God forsaken place. That crowd had grown too big, too rowdy. He could smell the trouble about to descend on those assembled – and there was no way he was going to allow his students out into that.

After all, Jason Evans might be many things, but he was not a monster. Well… at least not completely.

“Stacy, take a look outside,” he said easily, pointing with a thumb over his shoulder to the near empty grounds outside the Emergent camp, “Tell me what you see.”

The petulant young woman looked out the window, her pout almost growing, were such a thing possible. “Sand,” she finally declared.

Jason’s smile simply grew. “See any protestors? Demonstrators?”

“No. Wait… a few. Just a couple.”

“Hmm… “ The man’s grin widened, growing almost feral, as he tapped his temple with a finger, “Where, oh WHERE will we ever find the people to take the place of those already arrested?”

Stacy pouted for another moment still, before a look of thrilled realization came across her face. “Oh!” she finally said, almost breathlessly, before turning to Dr. Evans with a whole new appreciation on her face for her teacher.

“Good girl,” grinned Jason as he stood up from his seat, brushing past the young woman as he began to walk down the aisle, letting himself out of the air-conditioned bus and into the stifling dry heat of the Nevada desert. Jason took a deep breath as he walked around toward the back of the bus, leaning against its light exterior as he lightly exhaled, and then took a deep, deep breath, all the scents of the air like a delicate potpourri he sifted through one-by-one, searching for… aha.

There she was… his Ray Ray.

Preternaturally keen ears picked up the sounds of voice… her voice. Thank God they’d let her out of solitary, but he’d really only feel better when he saw his sister for himself, just to talk to her, reassure her. Damn it all to hell – he knew, he just knew, she had no idea what was going on, what was happening to her. What she’d… done… to Greg. Jason knew his sister would never have done such a thing, if she’d known. Understood what was happening, been able to control her-

Jason’s head tilted just a little, as the unmistakable sound of a belligerent voice – no, several angry voices - traveled across the distance between them, as easily to his ears as if he were standing right there by Rachel’s side. And then, a growl, snarling and –

Damn it! Not now Ray, not… not yet. Jason closed his deep green eyes, and let out a low whimper, followed by a low moan of a howl, calling to her. Calming her, reassuring her even at this distance as only he could – as one of their kind ever could. Not now, Ray Ray… hush… hush … all will be well. Just relax, let it go. No one will harm you, nor your companion… just… hush…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She tilted her head to the side, still panting in the sweltering heat of the supply hut, long pink tongue lolling over razor sharp teeth. She was quite ready, at just that moment, to leap at the men, to sink teeth deep into vulnerable flesh and drive them from what she needed… if only she could remember what that might be… or why she was here. What was it that- ?

The low, soothing call, almost a song in her head, whispered to her gently, comforting her with its odd familiarity. She closed her gray eyes, lowering her head now as the big man next to her… name, he had a name… Tony! Tony moved now to the back where the… the… the supplies… Yes! The supplies they had come for. That’s why they were here now. Rachel still glared at the three men before her, the vicious little green-skinned man the nastiest of them all. They all three held stock still, looking at her with something akin to … worry? Nervousness? Good Lord, was that fear?

Almost she would have laughed, if this didn’t seem so serious all of the sudden. And so the woman simply stared them down, her blue-eyed gaze never shifting, as she waited for Tony to re-emerge from the supply room proper, sweat rolling down her face and, uncomfortably, down her neck and back now in rivulets in this unnatural heat.

She smiled gratefully at Tony when he re-emerged with all those new things, some of them so very obviously meant for her, right on down to her underwear and… She laughed softly. Even Greg didn’t like to go to the store for those things, but he had… “Thank you so much, Tony,” Rachel said, walking beside the big man as, quite chivalrously, as far as she was concerned, he carried her things for her. Clean clothes seemed such a blessing, even if they were simply prison orange – and soap and shampoo and… Good grief, it almost felt like Christmas in July…

Rachel definitely didn’t like the look on the faces of the people who asked about the jerks inside the supply room. And though she wholeheartedly agreed with him that he probably shouldn’t have said a word, Rachel kept her opinion to herself at his comment, just shrugging her shoulders noncommittally as they continued on.

When they finally arrived outside the Quonset hut Tony said was his own, he handed Rachel all her supplies. She smiled as widely as a happy child as she hugged her things tightly to her chest, along with her still unread mail. She even laughed at his joke, however small and silly, shaking her blonde head, laughing blue eyes catching his own. “Well you go right ahead and see if you ‘blend’ with the skinheads,” she added with a wink, “I’ll see about getting jumped in by the Crips, and between the two of us we’ll have the whole damn rainbow spectrum covered, hmm?”

And before she turned toward the Quonset hut where women walked in and out, the one that was, quite improbably, right next to the men’s hut, Rachel stopped in her tracks. Quickly she reached out and wrapped one hand up and around Tony’s shoulders, giving him a warm hug before he disappeared inside his own quarters.

“Thank you for being so decent today,” she said with a genuine smile, head tilted to the side as she looked up into his face. Something a bit mischievous lit in her eyes, “And by all means, if you need a reference in the white supremacy circles among these ‘hard core criminals?’” She indicated the hut behind her with a jerk of her head, the grin only widening, “You know where to find me.”

[vitamin_kitten]

It seemed that years had gone by before someone came back onto the cell block to retrieve them, or at least give them news of what was happening, the results of their tests. When the toad-woman appeared, accompanying an older, dark-skinned man in a white coat, Audra had found a decently comfortable spot on the floor, tucked away in the corner of the cell. The other two women sat along the opposite wall, apparently wanting nothing to do with Audra.

"You," the toad-woman croaked, jabbing a finger in Audra's direction. Audra looked up, puzzled. "Come on."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Let's go."

Hesitantly, and still looking bemused, Audra rose to her feet and approached the barred door. She could feel the eyes of the two other women, and the other detainees along the corridor, boring into her. The sensation was not unlike what one feels when being called down to the principal's office in the middle of class- all that was missing were the long, drawn-out "oooooh"s of her classmates- or in this case, the other detainees.

"Am I being let go?" she asked. She received no answer as the door was unlocked and she stepped out. "Was everything okay with my blood work?"

"This way," the man- presumably a doctor of some sort- said, leading her further down the corridor, down to the opposite end, while the toad-women retreated back into the room with the gurneys and examination tables.

"Is everything okay?" Audra repeated. A feeling of panic was beginning to rise up from her stomach, causing her hands to tremble. She began to fidget with them in front of her, picking at her nails for lack of anything else to hold. "I ... there's nothing wrong, right?" Her voice cracked, and the doctor pushed open the door at the other end, which led onto what could have passed for a hallway in a cheap apartment. As they passed closed doors on either side, Audra thought she could hear muffled voices, cries of protest and pain, fear. "P- please say something," Audra said, begging.

Instead of giving her an answer, the doctor opened one of the doors and gestured for her to enter. Out of habit, she obeyed, though instinct quickly came up behind her and kicked her in the head. She shouldn't have so readily come into the room. This she knew, even before the doctor closed the door behind them and looked expectantly at her.

"What?" Her voice came out small, scared.

"Anything strange occur to you lately?" the doctor finally said. For a moment, Audra contemplated answering honestly.

"Well ... strange things have been occurring to everyone lately," she said instead.

"To you personally?"

"Um ..." Audra stared at him, unsure what to say.

"Your blood results showed some abnormalities. High oxygen content." He still looked as if he was waiting for her to confirm his suspicions.

"I ... breathe alot?"

"Have you noticed any physical changes?"

"No."

"Any mental changes?"

Audra hesitated a little before answering.

"No."

"Any strange new abilities."

"No."

"Mm."

An awkward silence ensued, with Audra and the doctor engaged in a staring contest.

"We'll need to do more tests. Procedure. Have a seat on the table." He pointed toward the examination table behind her.

"What kinds of tests?" Audra inquired; she didn't immediately obey him this time.

"We'll have to draw more blood, take your blood pressure, listen to your heart, do some x-rays, and a complete physical examination."

"You ... won't be doing all that ... will you?"

"Sit."

"I'd feel more comfortable with a-"

"Sit down," the doctor repeated, a little more forcefully this time. Audra clenched her jaw, swallowed, and finally, slowly, obeyed. "You have to understand that this is for your own safety, and for the safety of others."

"Subjecting me to invasive tests?"

"Surely your pride isn't worth the potential lives of others?"

"It's not a matter of my pride, Doctor. It's my dignity I'm worried about." Even as she said the words though, her brother's face came to mind, and her body tensed. She realized then, that she would likely have to sacrifice much more in order to find the answers she was seeking.

"Mm. These are hard times. Alot of people are making sacrifices."

Audra's mouth fell open a little at that, and she stared as he flipped open a manila folder he'd been carrying. He clicked open a pen, and without looking at her, asked her her name.

"Uh ... Audra. Carlisle."

"Date of birth?"

"Nine, twelve, eighty-six."

The general questions continued, until he had a basic idea of her overall health and history. Next came the simple tests- the blood pressure, the heart rate, and a few others he hadn't mentioned, one which required him to shine a harsh light into her eyes for about an eternity. When he was satisfied that her results of these tests were nothing to be alarmed about, he went on to draw another two vials of blood, at least using her other arm. Finally, they reached the part of the testing that required Audra to swallow her dignity and just go with it. She really would have preferred a woman doctor, but after she mulled it over- something she did to distract her from the poking, prodding, and feeling of the doctor- she figured it would make sense that basic human rights would be overlooked. She wanted to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume that they weren't being jerks just because they could. Everyone was scared, and if privacy had to be invaded and rights violated in order to removed the cause of that fear, then so be it. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought, but it was enough to distract Audra until she was allowed to put her clothes back on.

"Okay," the doctor said as he scribbled down his findings and snapped the folder shut. "Follow me, and we'll get you x-rayed and MRIed."

"An MRI? You- you think something's wrong with my brain?"

"Don't know." Without saying anything more, he pulled the door open and looked at her to signal she should follow. In a few moments, she was being x-rayed- a procedure that took at least forty-five minutes. From there, it was on to the fMRI, a large machine on the outside, but that left Audra feeling uncomfortably anxious and claustrophobic once she was in it. She was thankful when it was all over and she was in the cramped room with the brash doctor once more. "Well, looks like you meet the requirements to stay."

"Wait. I- I have to stay?" You wanted to get in here, Audra reminded herself. Suddenly it wasn't seeming like such a good idea. "W- why? What happened? What's wrong?"

"You have quite alot of activity going on in your entire brain. Nothing strange or unusual, just ... more. We aren't sure how that might manifest, so we'll keep you here until we figure something out." He noted something in her folder, then led her back through the corridor, back down the cell block, and out into the main testing room. There were still quite a few people getting "processed." He walked with her back outside, and led the way to a building that consisted of a single office. Handing the folder over to the pimply, sweaty looking man there, he gave Audra another glance before leaving her there.

"Okay ...." the desk man began. "Carlisle. Omega. Oh ... two ... one one ... seven." He typed this up on a computer and printed out a small card, before rising and picking up a camera. "I need your picture for identification purposes." Audra barely had time to object, before the flash dazzled her eyes. Another moment later she was being handed her ID card.

She studied it; the picture was hardly flattering. Beside it was her designation: Carlisle, Omega 02117.

"Here you go," he added, handing her a slip of paper with what she guessed was some sort of room assignment. "You're free to go."

Frowning down at her identification card, Audra slowly left the office, and made her way into the main Emergent compound.

[Kaitlyn Wild]

Flashback: July 6

Shit...Dave sighed as Eva banked the two into the six, sending both balls into pockets. "Since you make more money than me, you should cut me a break." Eva snorted in laughter and lined up the eight ball, sinking it easily in the corner pocket. She turned back to Dave with a wicked smile as she strutted over to him, palm out.
"That's another twenty you owe me. I can't help it that you suck." Eva slipped the folded bill into the back pocket of her tight, ripped jeans. Most nights she would have been in some designer slip dress at a trendy club, but Tuesdays she paired her stilettos with jeans and hit a local bar with her cameraman. Eva would hustle him at pool, they would have a few beers and ogle over the buff steelworker types that frequented this locality. Judging by Dave's exaggerated intake of air and dreamy sigh, she guessed that another had just entered. She turned to appraise the fresh meat and had to say that she agreed. He was about 6'2, 220lbs, solid muscle with messy brown hair and green eyes. She and Dave began bickering over whether it would be better to try to entice him over to them or to buy him a drink. However their debate was interrupted by Eva's cell.

"Hello?....What is it, Holly?" Dave continued to leer at their eye candy as Eva talked on the phone. Eva had her connections at the news station, and not just above her. Holly was a grip who the married studio manager was having an affair with. Eva had gotten Holly out of hot water more than a few times and since the woman rewarded her with information. Steve Isaacs, the broadcasting director, was constantly irritated that Eva knew so much and had even suggested that she must be sleeping with someone. Eva and Steve had been going head to head lately. He had her covering EPA cases regarding new legislation on particulate output and the fourth of July celebrations at the White House. He was sending her around the country, giving her easy jobs, even enlarging her expense account. All not so subtle bribes to shut her up about the Emergent situation.

None of the broadcasting networks wanted to touch the Manifest issue. The unspoken rule seemed to be just to vomit back the reports passed down from the government with no opinions or commentary. Of course the tone leaned towards dehumanizing the Emergents, but that was the governments tone as well of late. New laws seemed to be passed every day. Equal Opportunity Employment act was ratified to specify that employment could be denied or terminated on the basis of the employees status as a non-Human or Emergent threat. Not that it mattered, by the time that someone was discovered as an Emergent they were already shipped away to God knows where and working was not an option. But it was something to save their asses if the family would try to sue. Companies were also not penalized for denying retirement, 401K or medical benefits to families of Emergents formerly employed there.

School systems and PTAs were pushing for routine testing of the children so that Emergent youth could be removed before they became a threat to the humans around them. Doctors faced losing their license if they treated an Emergent without reporting them to DHS or proper authorities. Lawyers could be disbarred for attempting to represent a non-Human. The list went on and on, as every right that citizens take for granted every day was stripped away from these Emergents. Eva had pressed Steve that this was a constitutional issue. That from birth American citizens have 'inalienable rights' and regardless of how dangerous they became that was not cause to suppress these rights. In her example, serial killers or child rapists still have rights, due process under the law, and even protection from cruel and unusual punishment. Steve had begged her repeatedly to drop the issue and a week ago he warned her that she could lose her job if she kept pushing it. That had kept her quiet for a while, but she was not about to give up on this. She knew that the government was too close-mouthed, there were things that they did not want the public to know. Finding those things was Eva's forte.

"You're a jewel, Holly. Now go give Charlie a good romp for me." She flipped her cell with an irrepressible smile. She ran up to Dave and jumped on him, wrapping her legs around his waist kissing him on the mouth. She jumped down and spun around her spirits too high to attempt to restrain.

Dave laughed as he stared at her quizzically. "Okay, I didn't think we were that many beers into the night yet. But I'm Dave...your GAY friend." He paid for their next to beers, walking back to the pool table. "What did Holly have to say, that got you so excited? Did she invite you to have a threesome with her and Charlie?" he teased.

Eva grabbed her purse as she waved off the beer he was handing her, "I have to run. You..." she gave him a glare of mock sternness. "..do not drink too much and answer your damn phone when I call. I don't care if you're in the middle off canoodling Brad Pitt, answer your damn phone and be ready to leave. I have to go see Steve."

Dave glanced down at his Movado, "It's eleven thirty at night. You're going to go to his house and wake him up?"

"No." Eva replied as she handed him the last twenty that she had taken from him back. "Here, for the drinks. Steve is at the office tonight." With that she gave him a quick peck on the cheek and was weaving through the crowd and out the door. Dave watched her abrupt departure and then shrugged taking her untouched beer over to the guy they were ogling with a wink...with was returned.

-------------------------------------------------------

The halls on the thirty second floor were darkened, but there was a faint fluorescent glow at the end of the longest stretch. The pale, harsh lighting was leaking out of Steve Isaacs office as he went over expense sheets, equipment check out, airline arrangements and a million other miniscule tasks that his secretary would normally handle. But when it was a last minute thing, it was up to him to see that it was done. He had received word late in the day that the government was having a tour of the Nellis Facility for Emergents. Steve wished that he didn't have to send anyone and cover something else, anything else. Every time they showed something about Emergents they were either cautioned by the government to not be so sympathetic to the Emergents side or they received hate mail, threats or were picketed by Emergent supporters, usually the latter.

It was so like the government to schedule a tour of this top secret facility and give so little notice. That why every cable, local, radio, and paper news person is scrambling to get on the tour list. Steve took two more aspirin and chased them with his now cold coffee. He was picking up the receiver to call his most seasoned field correspondent as trouble showed itself.

"Working late Steve?" Eva was leaning against his doorframe with a wide smile. This was the opportunity that she had been waiting for, she was not going to leave disappointed. Steve knew as soon as he looked at her that she knew what was going on. He didn't know how the hell she knew, but she certainly kept her ear to the ground. He dropped the reciever and leaned back in his chair shaking his palms at her.

"No, don't start with me Gonzales. I'm putting Sheri on this. She knows how to handle things carefully and just bring home the important information. I don't need you charging through, riling up officers and trying to get pity for those freaks. I have told you before Gonzales, this is a serious new station, we don't peddle sensationalism." Steve's face was resolute. He had been keeping his wild card away from this story for months, he didn't need this to blow up in his face. He did like Eva and she was good at her job and would one day be a great investigative journalist. But she upset people, not the audience, but the people in charge. She wasn't afraid to go after the hand that fed her if she thought it needed a biting. Steve knew that Eva would get to the bottom of the situation if he sent her, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to know what it was.

"Look Steve, we have sweeps coming up. This could turn things around for us. People want to know what is happening to these people. We all know that it is bad. Whether they are killing them or cutting them up or have them holed up in a five star spa, people want to know. Send me and you will get a story. Come on. This is going to blow up sooner or later. How long until someone gets out of Nellis and tells some other reporter about that place." Eva let that thought hang. Steve looked like he was still set that she wasn't going. Taking a deep breath she crossed his office and sat on the corner of his desk. Her voice was softer, "I know that the board is thinking about removing you. A big surge could put us back on top. Sheri will just give you more of the same. Let's shake things up."

Steve glared at her, "Shut your mouth. I'm so sick of your running around here like you own the place and can get whatever you want. I don't know who you are fucking to get your information but you aren't fucking me over and getting us both fired. Get out of here." Steve stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched. But Eva did not move, she stayed sitting on his desk with her cool gaze fixed on him. The buzz and flicker of the fluorescent light and the whirl of the air conditioner were the only noises in the room. When it seemed like an eternity passed between them Steve sighed and threw a paper at Eva. "That's your flight information. You and Dave are leaving on the 6am to Reno. When you land at the Reno-Tahoe International Airport you will be taken by government bus to the facility. Directly after the tour that bus will be leaving again. You need to be on it or you will be stuck between the desert and a compound of freaks and hyper aggressive military. Get me a story and get back home. Prove why it is in my best interest to put you behind a desk."

Eva hurried from the office with no more than a nod, grabbing the flight information and getting the authorization form to take the equipment they needed from the storage unit. As she walked to the equipment bay she flipped open her cell.

"Dave....Oh my God you are a slut. Will he fit in one of your dress shirts? Good, get packed and bring him. We have work to do. "

[Guest]

Evening, July 7th-July 8th

As soon as the curfew fell over the camp, the inmates could hear the noise of heavy lifter machinery, the growl of diesels, the loud beeping of a vehicle going in reverse, the jackhammers and other industrial machinery rattling away. For the newcomers, this was an unexpected degree of industrial noise in a setting where taut silence seemed more appropriate and expected.

Stuck in his bunk, surrounded by people that were wary of them, Shaw tried to sleep, but it was a restless, tormented sort of sleep that comes with emotional upheaval. The half-in-half-out dreaming of surreal things where you watched realizing it was all wrong, but were powerless to either end the dream or change it to something else. It was the shifting twilight desert landscape, though not the sort of desert he saw beyond the camp, with some degree of scrub and hardy grass to show signs of life. Instead, it was an endless dune sea with a sky-scape that seemed lit eternally by a far-away fire’s glow, and the hints of sound, the strains of music, perhaps from one direction. In the other direction; Jill and the girls, their backs on him and dressed in all black, as if in mourning. As much as he screamed for them, they didn’t hear. When he moved, in a seemingly, disjointed sort of transition that blinked him from one place to the next, they also did the same sort of movement, always staying a distance from him with their backs turned. The frustration mounted as the exercise repeated itself and the glow in the distance was utterly ignored.

It was just as a sibilant voice started to whisper along the hot winds and sand that he shook awake again, rattled by a particularly loud and resounding booming of a metal container dropped down from a height onto a hard surface by one of the cranes or transports. The rest of the bunkhouse, most of these guys fairly new arrivals, were in varying states of groaning and thrashing about themselves; in the darkness, which he found he could see in fairly well, like the nightscape in the dream but with a nimbus-like sort of illumination, he thought he could almost see superimposed imagery of people struggling.

He shut his eyes tight, rubbed them, and reopened them in disbelief as he was confronted with a more normal scene. He was convinced that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. That’s what they’re all saying these days, the sly, relentless, knowing ‘other’ voice in his head whispered, snaking through his subconscious and causing a ripple of doubt at that conclusion.

After parting ways with Rachel, he was left alone in here, to sort through his things, to set up shop. Getting to the shower, which meant waiting in a line for an hour and a half before he could get blessedly clean, was a good way to pass the time outside of the tentative, timidly curious gaze of his peers. They surely didn’t feel like his peers, but it was perhaps because everyone was still adjusting to the situation. Or, the voice added, there are freaks and then there are fuckin’ freaks. And you’re a fuckin’ freak among freaks. Or Yankees and damn Yankees. Lies, damn lies and statistics.

The shower was the first step in feeling re-humanized, but returning from after it was the letdown; clean and freshly shaved, he apparently was still the goat. Not that he expected otherwise, not right now.

The eyes were on him, but he tried to keep up the facade of smiling geniality, even though it pained him to be here, much as it seemed to pain everyone else to be a freak and hated by all on the outside, or at least that’s how they imagined it. It was hard for everyone, suddenly thrust into the role of society’s villains after a lifetime, for most of the people in here, of chasing respectability and the American dream, to suddenly be cast as the ‘other’ along with all the other things that the collective culture didn’t like. It was much harder to be hated for what one couldn’t help than for a dissenting political ideology.

Yeah, we haven’t been here before, most of us, have we? Some of these guys were getting used to the odd treatment, while ironically practicing it on Shaw; the odd looks, the hesitancy, the ingrained fear that governed their movements subconsciously. It was the way they deferred, got out of his way and flinched a bit when he glanced over that hurt, and it was the same old hurt in many ways. He’d taken French what, and they had a phrase for it. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même-chose.That was it. He was savoring the irony a bit earlier when that all went on.

It was an illusion, and it was somewhat creepily reinforced by him staying awake long enough and alertly enough to witness these guys thrashing about and moaning in their sleep, apparently subjected to the same sort of bad dreams that he was. Or maybe not even remotely the same sort, but bad dreams nonetheless. He had a hard time believing that so many guys enduring this wasn’t some sort of hocus-pocus at work, but he’d be damned if he knew how it worked.

At the same time, he gritted his teeth and tried to get more sleep, subconsciously preparing himself for more of the same and maybe worse.

***

The groaning and swearing of the bunkhouse at something like 6am, when the military guys liked to signal the call for food and so forth, was expected. Bugle call over the loudspeaker, cute. The military was running the camp according to their rules, but the inmates were civilians and getting used to the whole concept of bright and early in the morning. The people were not amused.

As one guy put it, a fellow in his late 50’s, early 60’s put it, “Man, don’t the lifers know that we aren’t GI’s in here?”

And another fellow, from the same age group pointed out, “They know it. They just don’t give a damn. Or they probably enjoy acting like we’re recruits or POW’s. Gives ‘em a reference to work with.”

Shaw just quietly got himself dressed in his jumpsuit, looking forward to the ultimate luxury, another shower. But at the same time, a grumble from his stomach reminded him that even the camp food was something worth looking forward to, even if he had extreme doubts about the quality. He followed the others at a distance. It was a ragbag bunch, varying ages, ethnicities, body types and now, bodily features. A couple guys in the bunch just wouldn’t pass for human anymore. And Shaw, in the orange-blaze jumpsuit of an alpha, didn’t get to hide among the rest of the outwardly-normal seeming people either; he was marked, probably so a sniper could more easily take him down.

He noticed the chill of the morning, which is something he never really expected out here, with the desert being so hot in the day. But the sky was clear and there wasn’t much humidity to show for it.

Now ain’t that a cheery way to start the morning?

Since he was relegated to the unpopular kids’ table, he tried to make nice with the guy whose facial features resembled something like a fairy-tale ogre, overlarge snout, hair sprouting out of warts. And the thing was, you could tell by the guy’s fingernails and the way his shoulders sloped and the haircut that this guy used to be someone that took really good care of himself, a fitness buff and someone that got a manicure. Which made it all the more ironic. It seemed as good a place to start as any, casual conversation under the huge mess-tent pavilion set up, with its picnic tables.

“Good morning.”

The guy seemed shocked anyone would address him, but seemed grateful for the normality of the ritual, practiced across America. Even if in many places, Baltimore particularly, the ritual had lapsed and lack of manners and neighborly brotherhood prevailed. But it was a branch to grasp in the stream.

“Good morning. How are you?”

“I ain’t even awake until I get some coffee man. I'll know when this stuff cools down and I can drink it. They always blow the horn on the loudspeaker this early?”

It was just the sort of palaver to pass the time while forced to wait around, the sort of conversation that’d happen at any buffet line or at the MVA, while waiting to renew a license, if the parties in question were particularly bored. But no one had iPods here, and they were all penned in for the forseeable future. There was a bit of theater about how casually people tried to make it look and sound, by assuming the role of temporary companions just passing through a waystation, rather than long-term companions. But it was a reference to work with, a framework to structure further interactions that everyone was familiar with, and so it prevailed.

And anything was better than contemplating the slop they served up here; he’d had dinner, it wasn’t very good. He didn’t expect breakfast to be much better. If nothing else, he could look forward to the coffee, at least until he’d tried it and had all his illusions shattered. To that end, he didn't even pick at the food yet, or attempt the coffee; in fact, the coffee looked like it was scalding hot. The food, which was the sort of cafeteria standard breakfast, were the sort of institutionalized dehydrated scrambled eggs done en masse on a skillet, not like the real thing, where you whisked the stuff to a creamy consistency.

Fuck, I'm spoiled. I used to be married to a chef. He had to push that sort of thinking way back, or it'd take over.

“It’s just my second day here. They did it then too.” The man had a cultivated sort of accent, vaguely Northern California. But he seemed grateful for the ritual of bullshitting about things.

“Yeah, ain’t that some shit. If I wanted the army, I would have joined it. Still, looks like it’s gonna be a hot one. Nice right now, though.”

“Yeah, it’s nice in the mornings and evenings here, when It gets cool fast.” The man thrust a jutting, impossibly so, jaw with a big hairy wart on it, in the direction of the construction noises, “Wonder what they’ve been at all night.” The barely-dawn peace and quiet was nowhere to be found; the same sounds that intruded on everyone’s nocturnal peace shattered the morning in brazen fashion, the same rattle, clank and roll.

The ogre-man was right; there was a large chainlink fence and some freshly-laid steel plating with the little dimples on it to allow for improved traction, and then the wall itself. Shaw had a little experience with roadblocks and that sort of thing. “Looks like they’re expecting a tour and they don’t want the tourists to get off the bus. Public relations.”

That was a sour thought; freaks on display, lookie here how great Uncle Sam is doing at protecting YOU!

“How do you figure that?”

Suddenly, he was aware of others listening, but went on, albeit cautiously. He didn’t want to sound all scary and freakish to them, and so naturally was very calm and avoided the usual sort of diction he’d use in a casual conversation. It felt a little guilty, muting himself somewhat to conform to the standards of others, but it was the sort of guilt he could live with if he wasn’t going to be looked at as a freak for at least a couple minutes.

“Why build a path like that if not bringing busses through with reporters to take pictures? It’s like putting up police tape or establishing a helicopter cordon at a crime scene. They’re bringing in a tourbus. Guess they gotta reassure the public that the situation is under control. You know, politics. Maybe they’ll be feeding us something better than what they gave us yesterday for dinner. Hell, maybe the coffee won’t taste like it’s been chlorinated.”

Police officers could usually shorthand that sort of explanation and use euphemistic language to cover the natural cynicism of the culture when it came to politicians.

“Putting on a dog and pony show, you mean.” That was Ogre, putting it into perspective for the ones who missed the obvious, but Shaw nodded along.

“Yeah, gotta reassure the security moms and dads that we’re locked down nice and tight and little Butchie and Chucky ain’t gonna catch the freak cooties from us. The community is safe. The poolboy will continue to service the missus on schedule. Suburban life will go on.”

Now he slipped and let some of the bitterness creep out, though it seemed that rather than alienate him as odd, others were agreeing with the analysis. Shaw drew a little hope that he wasn’t going to be as ostracized as he feared when he first got in; perhaps being hungry and irritable and talking about it was working the old shared-misery bonding magic.

It wasn’t as if Shaw were the only one drawing the conclusion, others up and down the lines were thinking along the same sort of things and coming up with the same answers. But the whole idea of visitors running through set the camp abuzz, the idea that something was afoot.

But there was a lot of conversation going on about the sudden disruption of the daily ritual of the place, a ritual that Shaw was only partially aware of because he’d so recently been disrupted. Others, that had had the time to sort of organize themselves into clique and talk things over in the time they’d spent here, mutually angry and disaffected, fed up with the system, had ideas. And among those small groups, the thinking was, ”If they want a freakshow, let’s give ‘em a freakshow."

[Buzzwulf]

“John”

He could hear his brother’s voice, but he couldn’t see him. All there was for miles was a featureless desert, not a rock or a bush in sight. Just sand, as far as the eye could see. Wind whipped up some of the sand from the sand from the endless dunes, creating brief clouds of orange before laying the dust back upon the endless earthen waves. He could almost hear something whispering at the edge of his perception. But that couldn’t be right.

“Listen to me, John.”

He whipped his head from side to side, searching in vain for a single sign of Graham. His brother was nowhere to be found. He was alone in the blinding sun and the sea of sand. He called out for his brother, but he couldn’t make a sound no matter how loudly he shouted. His tongue wouldn’t move, his lungs wouldn’t work. Dry air stopped his mouth.

“John! You’re not listening!”

Breathless, he fell to his knees, gasping for air. He couldn’t breathe! There was no air here, no oxygen for his lungs to cling to, and he could see himself shaking. He thought he could feel his lungs collapsing, leaving him in the nothingness of the empty desert-place. It was too harsh here, it wasn’t for him. Collapsing, he fell to the ground, the sand dunes rapidly fading from his view. And then, with his ear pressed against the ground, he heard a sound. In the ground, a slow, rhythmic thud.

A heartbeat.

“I hurt. Heal me, please. I’m bleeding inside.”

This wasn’t his brother. This was something else, thin and wispy. Barely alive.

“You see,” said the invisible Graham “All you need to do is listen. Honestly, John. You get dumber and dumber every time I see you.”

He’d forgotten he couldn’t breathe, forgotten everything but the sound of that quiet, near-dead voice. He let himself settle to the burning hot sand beneath him, feeling it give t his weight. It seemed to cradle him softly, promising to pull him deeper until he had forgotten his brother, a warm and comforting embrace.

“Please. I have a scar. There’s a hole in me, and it’s bleeding. It’s bleeding black.”

There was thinly disguised anger in that voice, but it wasn’t for him. It was a rage that he knew would tear him apart, but it wasn’t angry at anyone specific. It was angry at injustice, angry at what it had been dealt without its consent. Even as wounded as the owner was, it was still incalculably strong. It was so much larger than him, it had so much force, that he almost lost himself in the difference.

“I’m dying. I’m going to die. Please, cut the thing out. Make it go away.”

He stood up, and all of the dunes had flattened out. He stood on a featureless plain of sand, with not features. No, not featureless… a stream of black ran beside him, dark as motor oil. He didn’t have to smell it to see that it was blood. It congealed and fell apart again, its surface shifting unnaturally as it bled away from him.

“Find them. Kill them. Just let me live. Please. I don’t deserve this.”

Standing taller, he could see into the distance, further than he had any right to be seeing. He could see past the curve of the earth, past the horizon, almost like flying. And on that horizon, from the stream of blood, from where thousands of streams converged from all across the desert, was a pit. The black blood poured into it, and as he looked, something in the pit moved. A face. It opened its mouth, and his mind screamed. Without sound, it screamed.

“Help me! Help me, John!”

Something was stuffed in his mouth, he couldn’t breathe again, there was fuzz in his eyes…

John woke with the lynx from the previous day sitting on his face. The cat jumped off as John woke with a start, and slunk away, licking its paw. John stared at the cat a moment before speaking.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand to the animal “It seems you’re my spirit guide after all. Funny how that works out.”

The lynx didn’t look up at him until it had finished grooming itself. “Well, you certainly wouldn’t have been my first choice. I’m sure you would have much rather had Coyote. Or maybe Tortoise?”

“Don’t even joke. That’s really not funny.”

John could have sworn the cat smiled as it replied “Funny, to you and me, human, are very different things.”

John decided to ignore the cat for a while, and turned to his makeshift shelter. It was still far too hot to go outside, but he took a quick sip of water and glanced around the small pueblo. Just as he had thought, it was dried mud, and there were figures on the walls… he turned to try and scrape off some of the dust, see if he could make some sense of the drawings.

“You,” said the lynx, attempting to draw his attention back “just spoke to the desert herself.”

John continued scratching at the drawings, undeterred. ‘How would you know what was in my dreams?”

“I just know. And you should be very honored. She hasn’t spoken with anyone in a long while. She simply doesn’t do that anymore. I don’t see what’s so special about you, but everyone else seems to think that you’re important.”

“Who’s everyone else?”

“Oh, you know. Vole, Eagle, Owl. Even Coyote said something once, although you can’t trust him.”

John had managed to scraped off enough hardened grime that he could make out some sort of picture on the wall of the pueblo. A huge man in a buffalo skin was throwing lightning bolts into a crowd of lesser men. There were indigos, reds, and yellows in the painting, and the men’s skin was painted in dots, though they little more than stick figures. It made no sense for the area, though. There had never been buffalos in the Mohave, let alone anyone who wore their skin. The drawing fit much better for the plains tribes, but
John didn’t have time, energy, or inclination to look into it.

“You know, just because I’m talking to you now doesn’t mean it’s your right to ignore me. Be polite, at least.”

“I’m sorry,” John said as he bent down to ruffle the fur on the lynx’s shoulders “But I think we got off to a bad start. I don’t believe you even ever told me your name.”

“You’re right. I didn’t. And that’s because I thought you were just one more of those annoying types who would do nothing but chatter. If you must know, my name is Nuumet, but you’re not allowed to call me that unless you’re feeding me.”

“You named yourself after a mountain lion?”

“Fool, I am a lion.”

“Then,” said John, picking the cat up, “I will call you Lion. Now come, Lion. I want to see if the other pueblos have similar drawings.”

John had chosen wisely for shelter, as it turned out. The floors of the other two pueblos were littered with broken pottery and shards of dried mud. As for additional drawings, John was certainly not disappointed. The walls of the larger two pueblos were covered with painting, most of hunts with animals john had never seen in his life. Some, though, chilled him to the bone. One of the paintings depicted human sacrifice of a most horrific kind, in the style of the ancient Aztecs. Another showed people with fangs and claws tearing into a group of men armed with clubs, leaving none alive. The most frightening for John, though, was a depiction of a man standing on a barren black waste, with a harsh yellow sun far above. He was staring into a deep black pit.

John picked up pieces of broken pots and clay, and threw them at the pictograph until it had been obscured beneath a barrage of dust and stone. He had known that something felt vaguely wrong here, but he still couldn’t tell exactly what it was. It was as if somebody had made the place specifically to unnerve him. He sat down upon the pile of hardened clay, and his hand brushed against something warm.

He picked up a small, warn stone from the pile. No… it was clay. Fashioned into the likeness of an eyeball, he could feel an extremely strong spirit within, begging to let free. The perfectly spherical piece showed no indication of worth, but he could feel it stir slightly underneath his fingers, twisting to be let go. Smiling a little, John slipped the clay eyeball into his back pocket, promising to deal with it later. Glancing outside, he realized that it was almost dark enough to travel. Lion’ eyes glittered for a moment as he stared at John, but then he ran out of the low pueblo and disappeared into the other structures.

John went back to his temporary settlement, and began readying his things for travel. He had no idea how long he was going to be walking for tonight, but he had to get started before he lost the light and warmth of the sun entirely, or he knew he would end up huddled in the safety of the pueblos all night. Just as he began to start off, his now mostly-empty waterskin banging at his hip, Lion appeared again. The cat looked even more haughty than normal.

“You’re leaving now? I knew you weren’t that bright, but that’s just a horrible idea.”

John was confused. What did Lion want with him? He needed to travel now, he would lose too much water if he walked during the day. He looked around for a moment, and then he realized his mistake.

The buildings were all dried mud.

Mud meant water.

A quick search around the area of the pueblos revealed a crusted spring, top obscured by a layer of dry earth. John knocked the crust away, revealing fresh, clean water beneath, and drank his fill. More than his fill, he drank until he could drink no more. Then he refilled his waterskin and went on his way, marking the abandoned pueblos in his mind. Lion followed closely at his heels.

[Igraine]

The water poured over her head like a gentle, hot rain. Rachel simply stood beneath the shower, head bowed and hands splayed flat against the wall before her as she savored what had to have been the best shower of her life. At that point, she did not care so much if she used every gallon of hot water available in the camp – and it would appear not a single person in the Quonset hut she had entered would say anything against it one way or another, even if she had.

She could feel the eyes that had followed her from the moment she entered the hut. Some suspicious, a couple indignant, a few curious – but most simply fearful and watchful. None, though, were friendly. Rachel had simply held her head up, eyes straight ahead as she made her way toward the back of the large bay, and set her things on an empty bottom bunk that did not seem to have many neighbors. No matter though – even those who were nearby moved their things elsewhere quickly, giving her a wide berth in every direction around her bunk.

Rachel pretended she did not notice.

Her skin a now rosy pink from the heat of the water, Rachel turned off the shower and dried off as best she could with the second-rate towels, pulling on a clean new orange jump suit that clung a bit uncomfortably where the skin was still too damp. She walked to her bunk and sat down, first brushing her hair, tying it back in a pony tail and then, finally, going through her mail.

She did her very best to keep everything to herself, trying like hell to bury her emotions inside. Still, just the sight of her mother’s slightly-slanted, elegant cursive was enough to tear down the dam of tears as they slid quietly down her cheeks, occasionally leaving a round damp stain on the pale blue stationary. Rachel gave up trying to wipe them away – they’d dry on their own.

Sure, there were large sections blocked out unceremoniously in deep black marker, marring the beauty of the missives before her – but that mattered almost not at all. She read every word she could, from her mother, from her father, and especially from her brother Jason. At least twice. Because as long as she kept reading, she could imagine them here, think on their voices. They didn’t hate her. They weren’t going to forsake her and, if she understood the unblocked words of Jason’s letter right? They were going to fight like hell to get her out – or at least get her something approaching justice…

Rachel carefully folded each precious letter and put it back in its envelope, stacking them neatly and putting them carefully under her pillow, like the small treasures they were. It was then that the loneliness hit her worst, like a sledge hammer to her stomach, so painful it almost stole her breath. She lay back on her bed then, hands behind her head as she rested above those letters and closed her eyes. Dinner time came, and went – Rachel had no appetite, and she never stirred from her spot on her bunk. Even when the sun set, she remained as she was, a solitary figure now virtually unnoticed in the growing dark. Curfew time, and lights out – she rolled on her side and, in silence, simply continued to wait in the gloom for elusive sleep to finally take her from this misery.

And, it seemed, the wait would be blessedly short. Rachel could feel her thoughts now beginning to slip away in the inky blackness of the desert night, the light sounds of many gentle snores and the scent of sleeping breaths heavy in the air around her, and getting heavier – her senses finding the scents and sounds and tastes all around her sharper and sharper, even while her thinking mind drifted farther and farther away. She knew she was dreaming – had to be dreaming – as she watched a silvery-white light, almost a shimmering fog, creep toward her from one of the windows. Rachel was not afraid – there was nothing of this light that would hurt her, she was somehow sure, with that certainty one always has in dreams of what one cannot possibly be know.

Gray eyes looked toward the window now, utterly entranced by the huge, pregnant full moon that seemed to hang impossibly in the sky – almost so close now, she would have sworn she could simply reach out and touch it. And it called to her, the moon did. It was song – the most ethereally beautiful song she had ever known in her life, calling her name – her true name – in a language she had never heard before, but understood nonetheless.

She rolled out of bed, leaving the human’s clothing behind her, landing silently on silent, thickly padded paws now as she went to answer the moon’s siren call. Making no noise other than the almost non-existent *click click* of her claws on the vinyl tile floor, she trotted past the rows upon rows of sleeping women. She disturbed none of them, though quite obviously some of them were quite disturbed, tossing and turning and moaning in their sleep as if to escape… something.

No matter, there was nothing she could – or would – do for any of them. The great golden wolf squeezed out the partially opened door, keeping to the shadows even as her attention was riveted overhead to the great, bulbous moon above. She could sense “others” all around her, out here in the moonlit night; all of them – like her – sticking to the shadows. But she could smell on the still-warm currents that none of them were, actually, like her. They had their own purposes, their own directions and reasons for being here – and as long as they did not get in her way, she would give them the same consideration.

The golden wolf loped toward the fences, instinctively trying to find the thinnest point to freedom, avoiding the splashes of light from the search lights and the few outdoor security lamps. All she wanted was to run. To be free, to run far away from this place of cages and fences, pain and bad noises and smells, and with… with… her others.

She only brushed along the concertina wire as she sniffed the ground, yelping involuntarily as she fell back on her haunches. A long gash bled freely along her shoulder where the razor sharp blades had cut through her flesh. She growled with frustration, learning quickly that the metal wires hurt, she should not touch… but out there? Rows upon rows of the nasty stuff stood between her and-

She sat back, throwing her great head into the air, her muzzle forming a perfectly rounded trumpet as she howled her frustration into the night air, her dirge loud and mournful as she cried aloud. So alone… she was not made to be alone. She knew this was wrong – everything was wrong. She was not meant to be caged and shackled like a… a… dog.

And then, she heard the most precious sound. Almost as beautiful as the moon’s call itself – it was a howl. An answer in return to her own, followed by the distinct yips and howls of still others. On the far side of the fence, came the others. Unnaturally powerful night vision picked out their forms: a cunning, dark golden blonde; a sleek, streamlined black; a powerful red as bright as the setting sun; and a graceful silver gray…

She paced back and forth along the concertina border now as she watched them come, desperately wishing to join them this night, but knowing she could not get past the cutting metal. Still, they approached as close as they could, running along the far borders of the fences anxiously. And they called to her as well, soothing and comforting her as best they could with their beautiful voices, the howls and the barks and the yaps a tender symphony to her ears.

’You are not alone,’ they told her reassuringly, lovingly even, ’You are not alone. We are here. We will not leave you. You are ours, and we are yours – we will run as a pack… ’

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rachel woke up at the break of day in her bunk, sucking her breath in with a hiss as the pain in her shoulder hit her like a brick. Her eyes widened as she started to sit up, before quickly realizing she was wearing nothing at all, but still somehow tangled in her blankets and sheets, preserving her modesty at least that much. Holding her sheet up to her, she tried to look as best she could at her shoulder, seeing the ugly end of a very long gash there she had no memory of-

Her eyes widened then, and closed in resignation as she hung her head. Rachel stayed there for, perhaps, a few minutes at most, reaching several decisions at once behind her tightly closed eyelids. She opened her eyes again finally, a calm coming over her now – the kind of peace one knows only after accepting a hard thing, and choosing not to be defeated by it.

Rachel reached down to grab her clothing from the floor, dressing quickly even as she realized that, besides the fact she was completely famished, she actually felt… good. Energized and contented. But damn was she hungry…

She brushed her hair out, letting it fall down around her shoulders, and brushed her teeth. It seemed that without the need for make up here, or all the other little endless rituals that women did to “become beautiful,” it only took her minutes to get ready. Still, she was not entirely unsatisfied with the woman who smiled back at her in the mirror before she set off toward what might be euphemistically called a “cafeteria.”

Quite content to take a little of everything, and a whole lot of the runny scrambled eggs, Rachel loaded up her tray in the line, utterly ignoring the stares and raised eyebrows – for once more for the amount of food on her tray, than for the “alpha” badge or orange jumpsuit. Her confident blue gaze scanned the dining hall as she looked about for a place to sit, finally catching sight of the unmistakable form of Tony. Utterly nonplussed, she walked toward his table with a great, wide smile. She slid gracefully into a seat near him and the Emergent he was talking to, not really bothering to ask permission to sit.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said sweetly, before shoveling the first of many bites of egg into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed contentedly – damn, who would’ve thought something reconstituted from protein powder could still somehow taste so good? Still, despite her own impossibly good mood, she could not help but miss the air of “serious business” between the two men. “Mmmm… ,” she mumbled around another bite of egg, with a half chomp of toast, and a bit of milk, “What’d I miss?”

[Ars Longa Vita Brevis]

A spray of salty seawater cascades down across the bare back of a single figure trodding towards the landscape. There is howling like a bear fending off a kill, or maybe it's shouting? Could a man really make such a noise? It resonated across the misty shores with a thunderous clap of waves driving it on. The figure's soaking hair is every which way, half covering his face and the rest leaving soft trails of watered down blood trailing across his hulking frame. One of his massive hands is beneath the water, veins practically popping from his arms, the other hand raised high into the air, defiant to the crashing waves at his back.

His tongue unstuck his dry lips with a noise that could best be described as 'sloppy', the telltale signs of cotton mouth clinging to the corners of his lips. Paul's eyes slowly opened, or at least he thought they did; there wasn't any difference from the blackness of hids lids to the surrounding room. He was laying down, that much he could discern in the few moments his consciousness had crawled back into a scrambled, tired mind. The air was thick, thick to the point he felt as though it might be forcing its way down his windpipe, even as his great chest heaved a sigh against the cold metal pinning him whatever flat surface he was laying against.

"This seems a bit much, doesn't it?"

"Does it, Mr. Bee...orn...sin?" The response wasn't one the large man had expected, after all one didn't know what to expect from a pitch black room. Along with the response came the buzz of electrical lighting and Paul closed his eyes quickly as dimly lit bulbs burned bright behind thin filters. He scrunched up his face and tried to look away, only to find his head was quite locked in one place, just like the rest of him. "I don't expect you know where you are, do you?" Paul's mouth began to open, snapping shut as the voice seemed to float around the room, "That was a rhetorical question, of course you don't. You killed a man with such brutal strength that the police officers believed someone dropped a 20lb bowling ball on his head from the second story of the bar. You are a danger to society Byor....Paul."

"I would like to plead insanity, I don't even remember doing it...I just remember sitting at the bar, hearing my buddies shout and seeing Antonio get knocked out by some goon, it goes black after that!"

"Oh really? Well, just like an ostrich sticking his head into the ground, once the world is black to him, doesn't mean it's black to the rest of the world. Reports said you screamed at the very top of your lungs in some sort of battle-wail, and drove your right fist so deep into his skull, you could have, and I quote 'High-fived out the back that...sumbitch'."

"Damn," he said with little disbelief, based on the chosen quote..."Was the fellow that said that kind of chubby with stubble around his chin, sideburns and completely bald on top with sunglasses and plenty of tattoos?" The clicking footsteps appeared next to his table, a square head eclipsing the light as it looked down on him, a simple nod the only response. "Damn," he said again, once again the doctor nodded, but this time with a click of his tongue and the flick of a latex-gloved finger against a hypodermic needle.

"Easy now, Paul you'll be out of here in the morning."

"Free?..."

"Oh heavens no, did I let that little bit of hopeful tone distract you? That was for me, I don't have to reassure my wife that you're just a harmless gorilla instead of a twisted freak. Nope, you're going straight to another facility and good ridance." The scientist's eyes widened, quickly pushing the needle into one of the bulging veins that had appeared not-so-subtley on the figure's flush skin. "EASY NOW! EE-ZEE!"

A howl ripped through the metallic silence of the room, echoing around the two, more beast than man as the same vein-pulsing arm broke through one shackle and attempted to grab the white coated rat. His neck seemed to grow in size, tense muscles pushing up from his shoulders like a cobra's hood, anger pulsing in ever fashion as spittle found its way into his beard, just before another coat of blackness enveloped his world...This time it was drug induced, the lucky scientist escaping with only his elbow crushed into dust.

With no recollection of time, he woke up once more in complete darkness with an comfortably dry mouth and a vague memory of a bright room and a mosquito of a man pestering him. Some things came back gradually, like what he had done, but where he was - like at the other facility - was a mystery. He knew, though, that he wasn't strapped in laying down this time. He was upright with several more shackles, it felt like, pinning him against the far wall. The air wasn't quite as thick in this room, though, would have almost felt like an upgrade if his head wasn't thudding against the thicker headbrace.

"Feels like a train...."

"Wreck?" A softer voice came from across the room, presumably from the opposite corner or somewhere near there.

"Yeah...mind telling me where I am?"

"Not at all, seeing as you'll be here for quite some time it seems. Before I get to that, I'll answer your first question. You are in a desert-locked facility in Nevada, nothing you can do or say with get you out of here. You are trapped here, that is non-negotiable. 'Why', might be your next question, hm? It's because you seem to fall into the category of 'Emergent', ringing any bells?"

"I can't say it does, ma'am," he said dryly, but not all together scared. He was still attempting to understand exactly why he was there. "This some sort of...prison?"

"Some sort, but not the way you think. Seems as though they don't want to put any more scientists near you, we can readily confirm that you are of this strange phenomena...Since they don't seem to care about others of your types, you're being released from solitary confinement. Your new name is Bjornsen A1011, the 'A' stands for Alpha. You will be released and granted a shower, you will change into an orange jumpsuit and be 'released into the wild' so to speak. Something tells me you're in for a big surprise..."

'Big surprise' wouldn't cover it.

His limbs felt stiff when the released him, safely away in some remote office viewed through a night-vision camera, of course. He rubbed his wrists and arms, stretching some before heading out of the door. It was quite surprising to him, really, the way they were treating him. Especially how the middle-aged woman from earlier stood across the hall without a hint of fear in her eyes as he stepped out. "Which direction might the shower be?" He asked carefully, stretching his massive limbs with all the creaks and cracks one might imagine from being held in one place for far too long.

"I'll walk you there, the guard at the end of this hall will issue you your jumpsuit, new dwellings and other such things...you know, formalities. You seem like the type of guy to have been through this before?"

He arched a brow at this, lost in his tangled mane of blond as he followed her down the hallway, "You didn't read my file? Or do they not have my record on there? I've never had so much as a speeding ticket before. Though, I'm not new to the strange looks, the whole...institutionalized thing is a little new."

"Really? Hm...Well, here it is, I won't impose. Enjoy your stay."

He thought the whole thing quite curious, even as the guard slid him his new suit and a thin bar of soap, pointing down the hall towards a dimly lit tiled room. It was strange, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of a guard or...anything besides the almost calming woman. Somehow still...He felt as though eyes were on him, more so than the pudgy guard pushing him clothes...He couldn't shake the feeling that the walls somehow gained eyes - and he wasn't all that wrong. Beyond the threshold of his hearing, camera's twisted and small gears pushed the optical devices almost to the breaking point following his every step.

The tile was cool to his bare feet and for the first time he realized he was wearing nothing but a hospital gown, or what could have been easily mistaken for one. He took a deep breath and sighed, removing the gown and letting it fall behind the bench where he set his clothes. He moved into a shower stall, bowing to let his thick mesh of matted hair get pulled into dark locks by the water. He cleaned himself as best he could, figuring that he wasn't going to get a better chance with as much apparent privacy as he was getting now. He did his best to comb through the matted hair with his thick fingers, but it wasn't as easy as all that.

"Hopefully these bastards'll grant me a brush..." Was his last open thought before stepping out of the building, with the guard's 'helpful' instructions, and into the place he'd have to call home for the next...however long it was going to be. It all ready felt like months since he had been able to walk, the stiffness in his morning steps apparent as his thick frame carried him into the cafeteria. More important than the room assignments, or usually anything else in his daily schedule, was food. He never needed any kind of instructions to find it, one might call it a "superhuman" gift, but he possessed this one since birth. If there was food to be eaten, Paul would be damn sure to find it.

His nostrils led him to the makeshift galley, a whole new world opened up before him as he stepped into the doors. He stood there for a moment, thinking he might have been at some...comic book convention or something. "Maybe there is a reason I've been treated like a medical patient..." He said, moving slowly towards the line, unaware of any social hierarchy. He was just a big dog in a pit with snakes, for all intents and purposes his might have been correct. Paul wasn't unfamiliar with how colors worked, obviously, he had been a member of Dying Breed for long enough that gang fights had occured...but this was a little different. At least during the gang fight he knew people, this wasn't even the same chaotic, FUN feeling...This was like a somber tornado ripped through his chest and stuck his heart, mind and body in three seperate locations.

Easily distracting himself with food, he moved down the line, one thick hand supporting a balanced tray filled with about half of what he would normally eat, but that was okay he felt he might have needed to start cutting back soon anyway. Maybe this whole thing wouldn't be so bad. Yeah, a chance to meet new people, he did enjoy a good conversation. This could be a great opportunity! And for all he knew, the rest of the Dying Breed would have him out of here in no time...And he could ride through the winding roads again, wind pulling his hair back. Yeah...that's how it would go. He'd be out of here soon, but for now he might as well stick to his colors. It wasn't that difficult to pick out two others not so far away wearing bright orange.

He let out a heaving sigh, moving towards the table filled with two normal looking people wearing the bright orange suits and one large guy straight out of the X-Files. "Hello, I don't suppose you have room for one more at the table? They just tossed me outside, my name is Paul Bjornsen or...uh...A1011, or...yeah." He looked down to confirm it, ready to pull out his chair, "And ah, please don't mind the intrusion, I just moved to where there were similar colors being flown." He nodded slowly, setting his tray down and sitting at the table without getting a response. He hoped they wouldn't mind, being made a fool of was never his strong suit...as the doctor he just-now remembered squishing.

He blinked, reliving the gruesome memory as if someone had simply told him his shoe was untied. Without warning and before even taking a bite, he ripped one sleeve off, then the other. Pocketing one of the sleeves, he tore it down the seam and began to fold it. He brushed his hair back into one thick mass and brushed it into the middle of his back. Two great hands tied the folded and torn sleeve around the top of his head for a bandana, at least for a bit more familiarity and to keep the hair out of his eyes if nothing else. Paul opened his mouth as if to say something, then just...shoveled food in instead.

[Kesteven]

There in the blackness above the camp, he could hear everything - the clunks and rattles of machinery, snores, the rustle of sheets, the occasional cough or sneeze, the crunch of the guards' boots on the sand and the louder scuffle of tires, and even the trickle of late-night bladder relief. But it wasn't these that drew his attention, odd though the buzz of activity was. It was the murmurs, the groans, the cries, and beneath them, the screams. Somewhere out there the shadow demon was still plotting his downfall, but it made no appearance, other than by adding slightly to the cloud of ominous tension which smothered the place like fog. The darkness that he'd felt earlier had abated, but not departed, and now the camp squatted in the sand like a giant insect, the searing spotlights a thousand eyes, the walls and fences its terrible jaws, every day devouring more and more desperate people, people with nowhere to turn, nowhere to run. Waiting. Growing. It was becoming something more than the concrete and corrugated steel of its walls, more than the frightened people inside, the indifferent guards and 'doctors' that stalked the halls. He could see it reaching out with greedy arms of tarmac, metal, words and flesh, reaching into homes and dragging people out, reaching into the halls of business and government, into people's hearts, whispering promises. Weapons, wealth, power, security. You will have it all. All you have to do is say nothing. Do nothing. Let the screams of freaks and sinners fall on deaf ears, and I will make all your dreams come true...

Terrified, he twisted in the air, trying to run. But there was nowhere to go. He struggled like a pinned butterfly as the camp rushed up towards him, laughing without a trace of pity as he slid helplessly between its barbed teeth. Help me, he thought. Take me away from here. Anywhere but here.

The grass was wet and cold under his bare feet. The night was always a special time, a time where the barriers between waking and dreaming wore thin, a time where reason slept and emotions ran wild, but this night was far more than that, as he already knew. The air sang with the hiss of wind and water, and amidst the noise, the heartbeat of the earth itself pulsed in silent waves. Without knowing why, feeling like a leaf drifting atop a slow but fathomless river, he let his feet carry him away from his door, out through his garden and away down the road, towards the sea.

It was only when he was in sight of it that he heard the music - rising above the sound of the crashing waves and spray, a chorus of voices and instruments singing out in a harmony older than man... or was it the music he'd been hearing all along, only thinking it was the wind and the waves? Then they came, following the music, leading it, driven by it, living it. More than three dozen shining figures, an entire platoon of spectres, cut with silver moonlight, marching in perfect time to the fantastic melody. They wore bright green uniforms and carried swords and bows, like tin soldiers from a child's toy legion, but far from the wind-up routine of a toy, their movement was swift and impossibly graceful. As they came closer, he could see their faces - and they were beautiful, the most beautiful beings he had ever seen. Even the most perfect model on a magazine cover, body shaped and honed to perfection, eyes painted dark and sultry, hair thick with care and conditioner, and even touched up and adjusted to the limits of imagination and computer imagery, was still nothing more than a petty fraud, a pale imitation of the true beauty that these beings possessed. It was a beauty cast from the same mold as sunsets and rivers, grand and pure, and yet as intimate and playful as a kiss. As they passed him, the music took him and he was swept into their ranks. Without saying a word, they welcomed him kindly and easily, as if they were old friends, and with them, amongst them, he felt, at long last, as if he was home.

A steady hand gripped his shoulder, and the spell was broken. The beings around him broke off and away, half dancing, half marching, off towards the sea. He turned to see a face he'd never thought he'd see again, looking younger and healthier in the moonlight than he remembered it, but still unmistakable, a face that had never been far from his dreams.

"Euryl, lad, what do you think you're doing? Don't you remember the stories I told you when you were a boy? Those that march with the fair ones can never go home."

"Dad? Y-you can't be here, at the funeral, I... I threw the earth on..." he spoke softly, head shaking side to side. Tears broke free of his eyes and streamed down his face in rivers, not quite of joy or sadness, but something more fundamental and gut-wrenchingly powerful than either.

"Don't worry about me, son. I've found my place, and there's work to be done. There's a war brewing on the Other Side, and we need to fight it. It's our responsibility, as it's always been."

"I'll come with you! I can help!"

His father smiled, the way only a father can. "You never let me down, Euryl, even after I left, so selfishly. No Keegan of my line's turned his back on a fight in over three hundred years, I guess you could say it's a curse, of sorts. But you can't come with us. Your mother needs you, it wouldn't be right."

"There must be something I can do," insisted Euryl.

His father nodded slowly. "There is. But it won't be easy, and it could be dangerous, more than you know. You'll need to walk the line between the living and the dead, and face darkness older than any mortal. You'll need to brave the cunning of the devil himself, and endure horrors that stretch the imagination." His father had always had a flare for the dramatic, it was what had made his stories so compelling, and yet the dire seriousness in his voice told Euryl that this was no bedtime story. It was the real thing, the untold drama from which all tales draw their potency. "And when you've defeated the demons, when you've dwelt in the marble halls, and seen man's sins through the eyes of God, you must let it all go, and go home to your mother. Never underestimate the importance of the last part. If your heart stays strong and you remember the stories, I know you can do it. But if you do this, and your mother and sister come to harm because you're not there to protect them... I don't know if either of us'll be able to forgive the other, or ourselves. But the choice is yours alone to make."

The first wave of dancing figures reached the shoreline and kept on going, slipping slowly under the swell and being swallowed by the foam. There was a glow in the sky over the sea, as if dawn was about to break, but it was still barely past midnight and besides, whoever head of dawn breaking in the west? Euryl looked out over the waves, and saw destiny.

"Just tell me what I need to do!"

The air rang with the clang of swords and the smash of waves breaking as the mysterious army continued to march undaunted into the surf, and Euryl's father had to shout to be heard. "Find me across the western sea, where the sun meets the earth! Let the music guide you!"

And with that, Euryl's father leaned forwards and blew into his face, before turning and following the rest of the company. Euryl could only stand and watch through bleary eyes as he sank beneath the waves, leaving only a swirl of foam to mark his passing. The world began to twist and dim, the silver shapes running together and rushing to meet him, as the music roared in his ears.

He awoke with a start to the sound of a bugle, harsh and oppressive compared to the sweet music of his dreams. That night, they'd found him out there on the beach, huddled in some long grass by the dunes. The bunk was certainly warmer than the dunes had been, but he shivered anyway. Suddenly, the previous month came rushing back to meet him - the plane journey, the motels, the lights and sounds, the shouting and that thing... and then the cops, and now here. And what had he got to show for it? Things had just gone from bad to worse, and he was no closer to finding his father, or discovering the nature of this war, or the part he was expected to play. And something told him there was much worse to come, not that he needed the second sight to know it.

He'd been so exhausted last night that he'd fallen asleep before dinner, and now almost 48 foodless hours rushed his stomach at once. He found his way to the cafeteria, mostly by following the zombie-like parade of hungry inmates and the sound of plastic cutlery and slurping. The wait was long, the food wasn't much and it wasn't good, but it was food, and as hungry as he was, it could have been dried grass and horse meat for all he cared. As soon as the presence of food in his stomach began to salve his primal gluttony, he began to take his time and scan the crowd. The place was packed, probably still adjusting to the new surge in customers. He could see the two alphas he'd seen the day before, sitting at a table with a decidedly orange theme. Looked like the newcomers were banding together. The thought frightened him, but it wasn't like he could blame them - all it took was a glance at the surrounding tables, keeping a careful berth despite the busy conditions, to see that mixing with the 'locals' wouldn't come easily.

At first he was quite content to leave them to enjoy their breakfast, but then he heard something come up in their conversation. Tourbus. Normally he didn't put much stock in rumours, but in a place like this rumours were as solid a source as any news station - in the light of the current political situation, probably moreso. So, there might be some visitors to their humble neighbourhood? No wonder they'd been so eager to turn out whatever bloodstained cloisters they'd been keeping the higher classifications in. Smile for the cameras. Nothing ever changed. It could mean that they'd finally be getting some coverage, though - with any luck the double edged sword of public outrage would swing in their favour this time, when people started asking questions about how they were being treated, and it might be enough to turn the tide on all this bullshit legislation, both here and back home. So why was he still feeling uneasy about the whole thing?

[Kaitlyn Wild]

Flashback July 7

It had been a long plane ride. Eva was trying to figure out how to put her shred of a plan together. She knew basically what she wanted to do, but had to work the details out. She used her laptop to look up as much information as she could. The location of the facility wasn't a secret, in fact it was attracting a large number of protestors everyday at its gates. However there wasn't a clear description of exactly how the facility was designed. She would have to just wing it for the most part. Though she doubted that the hard part would be getting into the facility, but getting back out might be somewhat more difficult.

Dave had freaked out when Eva had met up with him and told them about their assignment, and her plan to break several laws, innumerable military orders and put her life in significant risk. As usual all words of opposition had fallen on deaf ears. Johnny had been somewhat hesitant about getting on a plane to Nevada with his one night stand, but between Dave and Eva they convinced him that he was safe and this would be fun. But she had managed to tempt Dave with the prestige of getting the story that everyone wants and that he would have the safer and easier job. Johnny had been much easier to convince to come along, she had just thrown some money at him. In the end, after they were packed and ready to go, they only got a few hours sleep before they headed to the airport. During the plane ride Eva had been coaching Johnny on how to look at the camera, what to say, what questions to ask. Dave had attempted to sleep in between grumbling at Eva that this would never work, they would be fired at best and imprisoned with the freaks at the worst, if not shot on the spot.

But Eva had ignored him. She knew that this tour was going to be a perfunctory and Dave would probably end up with some shots of buildings and military and nothing else. The answers to whatever questions that she might have would be answered no better than they were before. She needed to get into the facility. Dave could video just the same without her, if they let him video or photograph anything at all. Johnny was good looking enough to be believable as a young field correspondent and any idiot could ask questions out of the pad that Eva had jotted down. They would take the tour that was offered and see just what the government wanted to see. But then Johnny was going to have to make a scene, nothing that would get him shot but something where he would need to be rushed to the medical bay, which would mean leaving the group, which would mean an armed transport. Hopefully drawing enough guards away from their posts so that she could get in.

After the plane ride, which they transferred to a smaller plane in Reno to take them out to the local airport and then their rental car agent met them and they piled in the Ford Focus with the map to make it to the small town and find a hotel. Rooms were hard to come by as every news personality that could make it was here as soon as possible. She pitied those that tried to come at the last minute tomorrow morning, they would be sleeping in their cars. This town was small and obviously not used to large crowds, which made it all the more appropriate for a governments top secret containment facility to be located in this area. Deserted, harsh environment, nowhere to ride, nowhere to hide. She thought that instead of the traditional cheery welcome signs to the town it should have more appropriately read, "Welcome to The Roach Motel of the Earth. Where no one would ever find you even if they wanted to."

Indeed the town its self had a dismal look, a collection of cracked roads, abandoned shops and a handful of lifers that were just waiting on death to take them from this hell hole. Eva had pulled her hair back in a pony tail and switched out her usually flashy and somewhat revealing clothes for jeans, sneakers, and a tee. She didn't want anyone here to recognize her. She even had Dave take Johnny to the small bar in town that a lot of the visitors were taking refuge in to introduce him to some of the other news types as an up and comer at CNN. While she stayed in to prepare for the next day. However she did need a way to blend at the facility. Luckily, journalists and reporters were not the only visitors to the facility. Several interest groups were stationed here and regularly protested. Excitement buzzed through the corpse of the town as these groups quickly spread word of the shooting at the facility that day and were preparing to have a huge protest the next day in front of all of the reporters for extra exposure.

Eva befriended one such protestor, a heavy, Southern woman in her fifties who tearfully told Eva about her son that had been seized after his body went through horrific changes. Eva posed as a graduate student doing research as she interviewed some of the people there, taking their pictures with her Nikon and recording their testimonies. There were truely some heart wrenching tales of people, young and old, ripped from their homes, families and lives as this virus/sickness/curse/affliction took hold of them. Everyone had a different opinion on what it was, where it was from and why the government was REALLY interested in it. But no one could understand why these people. From what Eva could see there was no common thread, nothing to tie these individuals together.
Another useful piece of information that she gained was a clearer description of the facility from those that had been there protesting for a while, along with a vague idea of where the guards were stationed. Eva arranged a ride out the next morning with the Southern woman, Rita.

Feeling as prepared as she was ever going to be she went upstairs to shower and get to bed. Dave and Johnny were still out so the room was all hers. She stood under the shower head, willing the water pressure to increase and pound the grit of the desert sand from her skin. But it remained a soft spray and she emerged from the shower feeling unsatisfactorily clean. She dressed in comfortable pajamas and slipped between the trademark scratchy sheets of all dive hotels and tried not to think about what might be on the bedspread.

Tired from the traveling she managed to doze off fairly quickly but her sleep was not restful. Images of deformed humans who roared like beasts and violence more carnal than anything she had seen. Fire, smoke, confusion, anger, despair and suicide. She jerked awake when Dave and Johnny stumbled in obviously drunk. She angrily directed them to the shower and to get some sleep, they had a big day tomorrow. She fell asleep quickly again but the bad dreams persisted. It was like this place haunted her dreams, like the sickness/poison/curse that had affected those in the facility was leaking through the town.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

July 8- Early morning

She woke in the morning and showered again, to wake herself and try to push the images from her dreams away. She told herself it was just the stories from the families and friends that she had talked to the night before, scaring herself before bed. But a part of her knew that it was more than that. For the first time she felt scared to go to the facility, wondering if she could catch whatever these people had. Could it be contracted? What if they didn't want help and they attacked her? What if the government was right to pen these things up?

Spitting out the mouthful of toothpaste foam and rinsing her mouth she looked up in the mirror. Get it together. This is the story you have been waiting for. You are going to go in and get this story BECAUSE it is dangerous. BECAUSE it is difficult. BECAUSE no one else will and you are the only reporter who wants it bad enough. She nodded, agreeing with herself. But the dark circles under her eyes told of her mistrust in her ability to handle this. She got into her jeans, tank top, sneakers and pulled her black hair into a high pony tail. She picked up the small duffel bag that she had put together last night. She had wire cutters, tape recorder, camera, gloves, and a few other items that she hoped might be of use. Her hands were shaking, she still wasn't sure how to get in the facility. Maybe she would be better going in with the reporters, but she knew that the guards would be making sure that no one wandered off.

Hopefully between the scene that Johnny was going to make and the protestors at the gates, the guards would have their hands full and Eva could find an open window or an unattended stretch of fence. She needed to get in, snap a few pictures, maybe even talk to one of the prisoners if she was lucky who would hopefully not rip her apart. She really didn't know what to expect. When the general public thought of Emergents they pictured dangerous freaks of nature who slaughtered anyone in their path. But the people that she talked to last night all told different stories. Loving children, devoted wives, talented students who had experienced terrifying mutations and were carted away for their deformity. None of them had spoke of murder, though not every prisoner was spoken for, at most terrifying dreams and small, harmless powers that they could not control. Eva hoped that it was one of these that she ran into to interview.

She made sure Johnny and Dave were ready to go as she snuck separately downstairs. To meet up with the protestors. Word had came through that morning that a bus would be in town to collect the reporters. It didn't sound as though they were even getting off of the bus, so Eva knew that she had no other choice than her current plan if she wanted to get into the facility. Eva told Dave to take his video equipment and try to be as insistent as possible without getting kicked out that he be able to get a few shots of the facility, otherwise what was the point of journalists going in there? The public wanted to see the facility, another report about what it looked like from someone else's point of view was not going to entice their audience. Rita and the rest of her group were ready to go and Eva popped into the vending machine room and bought a huge stash of candy. If it was anything like normal prison, the inmates would be glad to exchange information for something other than prison slop.

She met the others outside and climbed into the packed van. The sky was just beginning to lighten on the eastern horizon and the air was still cold as she pulled the wool cardigan tight around her shoulders. The van sputtered off in a westerly direction, towards the still dark lands. She felt her heart pound in her chest so hard that she wondered if the others in the van could hear it. Her tan skin hid from obvious notice how the blood seemed to have drained from her face and rest in her feet, as she felt slow and awkward. She was not religious, never had been though her parents had pushed it on her. But she bowed her head as her hands gripped her duffel bag in white knuckled tension.

Dear God, I know I am not a penitent believer, though I have much to confess to. But I pray that your infinite love that my mother has told me of will forgive my trespasses. Please allow me to live through this day. Let me succeed in my task for I feel that I have earned this right. I may live recklessly, but my devotion has always been to my work. Like a benevolent follower has earned passage to heaven, may my fidelity to my job ensure my triumph. Please Lord, though I have done little to deserve your ear, I ask for little. Allow me to do what I know that I can, to find what I need. Grant me luck in my travels, skill in my conversation and success in the end. I ask this in Your name, Lord Jesus Christ.

She raised her dark brown eyes as the faint outline of the facility could be seen, still far off. She did not know if there was even a god to hear her pray, or if He would care about a sinners prayer. But a part of her did feel that it was heard, though a nagging feeling told her that it wasn't God.

[Guest]

As soon as Eddie, Alex and Ronnie went off to get food and were spotted in line, the plan hatched at the breakfast table was put into action-- several people finished up their food early and got up to saunter all-too-casually away from where they could be overheard, with the distinct air of someone who had something going on.

Shaw was a cop, he could just tell when that stuff was up. But these guys didn't look like they were planning to shank someone in the shower, and that wasn't his watch anymore anyway. As the Gremlin said yesterday: "Ex-officer."

Meanwhile, the Gremlin might have found it ironic that he encouraged people not to notice what went on down-low in this place.

Gremlin Imhoff ran the supply room and was a tightfisted little bastard about the whole thing. And while he expected the occasional pushback from a person here or there that needed something, he wasn't prepared for the crowd that greeted him at the door this morning; it was at least twenty people, and none of them looked like they were in the compromising mood. It was hard to hear what was up from the table, though Shaw gave Rachel a nudge and nodded over, without actually saying anything. Something was up; Imhoff's boys were slow to come back and the crowd trampled right into the quonset hut, no violence, but certainly not politely either. It wasn’t because he’d expect Rachel to hear the conversation, the threat and the ‘go fuck yourself’ as Imhoff stomped off with his hands thrown in the air, but to see it, like he was.

Then again, everyone was playing it close to the chest this morning. Like beefslab that came sitting down. Shaw had the guy figured out fairly quickly, by size, hairstyle and then, somewhat amused, the bandanna. He slid over to make room, not particularly minding the whole concept of the alphas hanging together, though it probably made everyone else nervous that the super freaks were eating breakfast together. That’d start rumors. Even now, they were getting some attention, though Imhoff’s hut was the focus just about now.

He almost said, to Rachel, “Told you I was joining the Brotherhood, you just didn’t believe me.” But he refrained because it was a bit of a joke that the Big Man probably wouldn’t find too funny and Tony, even though he was a cop and all, knew his limits. They stopped well before this guy, unless he had a shotgun. Luckily, he got the feeling the dude was lost or something, instead of looking for trouble.

“Hey man, I’m Tony Shaw, and yeah, this place ain’t too friendly to those of us in orange jumpsuits or whose looks changed,” that made Ogre a little bit uncomfortable, but it probably was the truth, “you know, anyone that is visibly different in here.” He stuck his hand out for a shake with the much bigger man before he went for his coffee, finally deeming it sufficiently cooled in the styrafoam to give a go. Despite the fact that it was bitter, chlorinated tasting and overall subpar and completely unacceptable in civilization, he realized he hadn’t had it in a while and somewhat missed it. “Damn, I must still be drugged up to think this is even okay coffee. Say man, aren’t you in the same hut as me?”

It was conversation to fill the time and the discomfort of the situation; they were all stuck here together, from every walk. And most of these people would not be seen with one another, usually. Shaw considered himself something of an observer of human nature and how people organized themselves, and so it was an interesting way to pass the time.

Not as interesting as what was going on over yonder, though; the crowd at the supply hut were getting into something but he decided against snooping. There was the distinct impression that interference was not welcome, nor did anyone want attention drawn to what was up. Meanwhile, over on the perimeter of camp, they were still moving concrete barriers into place. Snooping there was just as greatly encouraged, but this by Air Force SP’s in their snazzy new green-gray uniforms and berets, keeping an eye to make sure the guys doing the construction work weren’t interfered with. No one even went near the chicken-wire fence that was set up as a barrier.

That didn’t stop speculation though, and Tony was certainly one to speculate a little. Perhaps it was his fertile policeman’s mind, he loved a puzzle.

“Think maybe that’s why they let us out of the mad scientist’s lab? A whitewash?” Tony didn’t like sounding like some kind of kooky white conspiracy theorist in a cabin in Montana with a tinfoil hat on his head that jumped at every engine sound that he heard, but he wasn’t exactly complacent about things anymore. Speculation was a camp pastime, with little else to do besides.

“What, you mean the infirmary?” asked Ogre, who apparently had not actually been there past an initial sort of processing.

“You mean Dr. Mengele’s office. It’s not a good place in there.” He didn’t elaborate, because everyone was eating breakfast here and at least two other people were Alphas with bad memories of the place. And sometimes Tony had a tendency to get offhandedly graphic about things when he was in a conversation, forgetting that polite society generally did not see what cops put up with and took for granted. He’d learned a degree of discretion about the whole thing.

Either way, he picked at the gooey lumps on the plastic tray in desultory fashion, though he was hungry enough that he did shovel it in, without looking at what he was actually eating; he salted it all and just tried to imagine his wife’s cooking instead. Unlike most cops, he wasn’t a consumer of jelly doughnuts and hero subs or Chinese takeout, and these guys weren’t exactly putting up any kind of fruit or salad bar for someone that didn’t want fucked up dehydrated eggs. For those around him, it was amusing to watch him gulp each gulp like a desperate man, but then try to keep it all down, all with a pinched, pissed off expression to go with the food; others were shoveling in, no problem, but Tony was, despite the macho, apparently too picky for his own good.

On the other hand, Tony wasn’t alone in being out of sorts in this morning. Everyone looked haggard, angry and were snapping at each other. It wasn’t fistfighting and the such yet, but it was on the road there. Some of it looked like lover’s spats, and no one seemed to feel like they were in public when everyone was talking loudly enough to provide privacy, and most everyone here, new arrivals excepted, were used to not having the real privacy anymore.

But any urge to comment on that died and was promptly subordinated to the need to eat; he didn’t want to even bring up the weird dreams thing and wind up getting a ‘he’s going over the bend’ look. While he saw everyone else thrashing in their bunks, stripping off the blankets and calling out, or even shooting awake and hitting their heads on the rack above them, he didn’t think anyone would want to talk about it. Or, at least, he wasn’t going to be the first to broach the subject.

He couldn’t remember the dreams anyways, except that they disturbed the shit out of him.

[Igraine]

His green-eyed gaze followed the van as it arrived outside the camps. Several vans, as a matter of fact, had arrived, shuttling various reporters, cameramen and news crews to the site where they would board the larger waiting buses for their “guided tour” of the Emergent camps. But Jason only sought out one person, and one person alone in this growing crowd – his ears perked for the sound of her distinctive voice, the scent of her unique perfume.

Oh, he had no doubt the woman who called herself “Eva” would be here, amongst the newspersons. A feral grin crossed his face, eyes narrowing just a bit as he thought of the woman who had tried to pass herself off as a graduate student. His notice was first drawn to her, as he overheard her talk to dear, sweet, distraught Rita. The mother of one of his students, Rita had accompanied them here to Nevada at her own expense, finding the comfort of being surrounded by likeminded others who at least knew her son, and gave a good damn – even if she couldn’t have him here with her now. And for his purposes? The more the merrier on this little trip, as far as Jason was concerned.

This Eva – she would be just… perfect. He had listened to her interview the overwrought and tearful Rita, asking questions he knew immediately no graduate student – at least, not one that had a prayer of actually getting his degree – would ever ask. And this young woman in no way seemed in the least bit slow or unintelligent – quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Precise and passionate: those were his first impressions. She was absolutely driven by her own purposes, he knew, and the tenor of her questions let him know it was quite likely those purposes would align very nicely with his own. And as for Eva’s interview? It took Jason all of five minutes to have her pegged: reporter. Had to be. And a sympathetic one at that – Someone-Up-Above was looking out for them now…

And so he watched the arriving journalists patiently, the certainty in his heart never wavering, even as van after van unloaded with still no Eva.

She’d be here.

“I don’t like that look on your face, Jason. And I definitely don’t like what you seem to be thinking.”

Jason turned to look at the tall, slim ebony-haired man next to him with the deep tenor voice, that grin on his face only widening. His green-eyed gaze met the man’s own eyes – a hazel so pale they seemed almost yellow. His long black hair tied back, the man’s chiseled face seemed sculpted into a frown as he looked down at Jason.

“You don’t have to like it Nick,” answered Jason easily, with a small shrug, “You don’t have to like a damn thing I do. But I’m going in there – and if everything gets shot to shit, you’re going to take care of Amy and Sylvia, and get them the hell out of here, somewhere safe. And keep looking for the rest.”

Nick simply sighed, his expression softening as his gaze broke off from Jason’s, and down to the ground. “I don’t ever want to do that,” he said finally, “Just… don’t leave things like that. All right?”

Jason’s smile never wavered, as he clapped his hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “You worry too much, Nick,” he grinned up at the man, “And you know why we’re here. There’s no getting her out, without some – oh hell, a lot – of risk. No getting around it.” Jason shrugged again with a raise of his eyebrows as he smelled… aha… that perfume wafting on the desert breezes…

“My ticket ‘in’ just arrived,” he laughed, turning on his heel and walking now toward the newly arrived van, sensing Eva before his eyes ever fell on her. He watched her get out of the van with her small crew, a knowing smile playing on his face now as he walked up to the woman boldly, for all the world as if he belonged here amongst them.

“Eva, I presume?” Jason asked, his head tilted slightly to the side as he put on his most friendly, “I-am-completely-harmless” smile, “My name is Jason Evans, and I’m a college professor at UC Berkeley. Couldn’t help but overhear you speaking with my traveling companion Rita yesterday and… well… let’s just say I think you and I can be… ah… mutually beneficial to each other?”

“My sister is in there. Rachel was a lawyer in San Francisco – but she’s been designated an alpha. In a complete travesty of justice, something happened to her fiancé when she became an...ah… Emergent, and she was imprisoned and likely experimented on without benefit of anything resembling the legal rights or representation you’d expect in a free, truly civilized society.”

“Now, as for what I want? I would, quite simply, very much like to see her. But for you? Oh, if you have just a little bit of that courage and chutzpah I’m going to credit you with? I’ll get you an interview with her. Rachel is brilliant and articulate, and oh-so-sympathetic – the very photogenic face of the tragedies that the Emergence has caused.” He sniffed the air melodramatically a bit, with a wink of his eye for Eva. “Why, is that a Pulitzer I smell?”

“All you have to do, is get me in… “

[Kaitlyn Wild]

A light layer of sweat was already breaking out over Eva's skin as she emerged from the van. The heat of the Nevada sun was bearing down already as she slipped out of her cardigan. Rita seemed to acknowledge someone who was walking over to the van. She had been nervous that someone would recognize her, though she had learned that news personalities didn't tend to stick out in people's minds. Plus her Latino look made her blend in with the local Mexican influx. But this approaching man had his eye on her. He was handsome, quite a bit taller than her and she always loved a guy with longer hair. Hopefully he was coming over to flirt, because she certainly didn't want to be discovered and her plan ruined so quickly. However, he had a proposition.

Eva kept her face emotionless but her dark eyes sparkled with interest. Not only would she have someone else with her while she broke countless laws, she had an in with an alpha for interview. This would definitely get her the job behind the desk. Sometimes she wondered why she wanted that so badly. She loved being in the field, close to the action. But an anchor was a more secure and definite position, more prestige. She wanted to reach the top of the ladder. But would she be happy there? This brief moment of introspection passed in an instant. She was going into the facility. But that would mean that she had to make a couple changes. She looked Jason up and down, he seemed to be honest. She wondered if she was going to be able to document a desperate family member's attempt to break his loving sister out of a high security government facility. He wasn't kidding about the Pulitzer.

She flipped open her cell and got Dave. He was going to be pissed at her, he hated when she changed things and took chances. But he should have been used to it by now. She kept her tone even and matter of fact.

"Dave, here there sexy..."

"What? That doesn't mean I'm up to anything."

"Okay, whatever. Listen here. It seems that the buses are going around town picking crews up but we are boarding the tour bus here. There are already a few crews out here shooting exterior views, not that there is much to look at. "

"Yes, I'm riding in with you now. Just listen, you are going to bring your spare camera, Johnny has now been switched camera man duties. We need enough press passes for four of us. Call Steve and have him make a few calls. If anyone asks our guest correspondent is from our LA studio."

"Oh quit bitching. And have what I need by the time you get out here. I'll explain later."

She snapped her phone shut as Dave was chattering angrily swearing at her up and down. She knew that Dave was not only a capable cameraman, but he had plenty of connections to get things done. She turned back to her partner in crime, her eyes steady with a leveling gaze.

"Alright, Mr. Evans, you are in. But I must warn you that I can be a vindictive bitch if you cross me. I expect an interview with your sister, photos and exclusive rights to this story. You will be coming in on the bus with us as a correspondent from our LA office, your director's name is Carla McKenzie. At some point the man posing as your cameraman will have a fit and we will insist that he be treated in the medical center here, which they will have to agree to since the nearest hospital is over fifty miles from here. We will insist that we go with him, which will be our opportunity to break off. But you need to be ready to roll with the punches and think on your feet."

She didn't know how capable the college professor was going to be at sneaking around a military compound. However he did not seem to be the average professor type. He was young, adventurous, and had a certain intensity about his demeanor that made her wonder about him. Too refined for a gang past and too liberal looking for military service. But there was definite edge to him. It made her more confident that he would be of help to her. She looked around the crowd and surveyed the range of emotions. Reaching in her duffel bag she took out her old Cannon, aiming around she snapped different shots of the protestors. People comforting the sad who thought of their friends and family inside. Angry, determined faces thrusting signs forward. Arms draped around each other in support. Concerned motherly types like Rita setting up coolers full of bottled water and sandwiches under pop up tents.

She looked back to Jason, she had been told that she needed to work on her people skills and learn to be more sensitive. But her way of doing things had served her rather well so far, no reason to stop now.

"So Jason, what happened with his fiancé of Rachel's that drew the government's attention?"

She took her hair down from the pony tail and hoped that Dave would realize that she would need a blazer. Her fingers ran down through her hair as she peered in one of the van's mirrors to see if she looked camera worthy. She hadn't put any make-up on this morning, realizing that with all of the sweating from the heat it would be pointless. Plus, it was normal for field correspondents to look somewhat plain compared to anchors. She turned her warm brown eyes back to Jason as she extracted her recorder from her pocket to get his statement clearly.

[vitamin_kitten]

It was slow going, but Audra eventually found where she was meant to be, and had been able to gather the few luxuries allowed to the Emergents in the camp: a comb of questionable quality, a toothbrush that was a far cry from the electric one she'd brought with her and that had no doubt been thrown away with the rest of the things in her suitcase, a small bar of soap that smelled too much like strong baby powder, a trial size of shampoo she was sure to go through in one shower, a towel, and a wash cloth. With a sigh, she surveyed the pile of hygiene items. This was a much sadder state of affairs than she'd originally thought.

You wanted to come here, she reminded herself for what was probably the hundredth time.

I just had no idea this was where I'd end up, the other half of her mind replied back.

It only took a few moments of wandering around the edge of the camp before she found the Quonset hut she was to call home until further notice. It wasn't much- it barely had air conditioning and smelled worse than some of her friends' college dorms, but there were beds, and the roof didn't look like it would leak.

Right. Optimism. It'll get you through this.

Audra found a bunk that didn't seem to be in use by anyone, and gently set her things on the bed. After a slow glance around the communal living space, she lowered herself to the edge and stared at her lap. She hadn't realized how tired she was, and Audra suspected it wasn't just from jetlag. Her mind was tired, like it hurt too much just to think.

She blinked down at the backs of her hands, and something tickled its way down her cheek. She quickly moved to wipe it away, and felt the wetness of a tear. When had she started crying? The mere realization that she was only seemed to make the exhaustion, and the fear, worse. The single tear she'd wiped away was quickly followed by more, and before she had any chance to protest her own emotional reaction, Audra was curled on her side on the bed, silently weeping, clutching the towel to her chest as if it would bring her any comfort. She wasn't even aware of her consciousness floating gradually away into sleep. The first hint she had of it was when the fires broke out around her bed, like they had the night before they discovered her incinerated brother.

Feeling the heat licking at her skin, Audra's eyes snapped open, and were immediately met with the hazy black and orange glow of fire and smoke. She sat up, staring fearfully at the fire surrounding her. This had to be a dream. Sure, the desert was dry, but fires didn't suddenly start up in the desert, did they? Even as she mentally pounded the notion of this being a dream into her own head she questioned it. The heat, the smoke, the smell, the sound- they were all so vivid, so much more vivid than the first time she'd dreamed of fire.

"No one will die," she told herself as she continued to gawk at the flames. "No one-" Audra's words were suddenly lost. Standing just on the other side of the flames were her brother and the woman from earlier, the one that had been shot and carried off. "You're dead." The words brought a grip of sadness and a stab of fear simultaneously to her chest, and she swallowed them both. "Aren't you?"

Slowly, as she continued to stare, the flames began to shrink and fade away, the air became clear again, and Audra found that hers was the only bunk in the entire Quonset hut. Her brother, holding the hand of the woman, approached her bed, and stopped there beside it with a smile.

"Are you real?" Audra breathed. Her brother only shrugged as if the answer didn't really matter. "Why are you here? I don't ... want anyone to be dead when I wake up."

"Maybe you're not sleeping," her brother said. Audra stared at him, unbelieving.

"This has to be a dream."

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't make sense!"

It was the woman's turn to speak.

"Yeah, that's what those MPs would like to think too. None of this makes sense to any of us either, but it doesn't mean it's right to pretend it's not happening. We just don't understand it."

The woman's words seemed to be the only thing about this dream that made sense. Audra nodded her agreement and returned her gaze to her brother.

"It wasn't me, was it?"

"If it was, then it wasn't you."

Audra furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Wait, wh-"

"Maybe you can use it."

"What? Use what?"

"We gotta go."

And just like that, it was over. Audra's eyes snapped open once more, but this time in reality. She was staring at the bunk a few feet away, which seemed to be occupied now. It was considerably darker and cooler, and Audra guessed that it was evening. Her stomach growled.

Slowly, carefully, she raised herself in the bed, and rubbed the dried tears from her eyes. Perhaps now would be a good time to make use of that tiny bar of soap.

Grabbing the wash cloth and the soap, Audra made her way back out into the main camp, glancing this way and that for some direction toward the bathroom. There seemed to be some communal building a little ways from the women's sleeping quarters, and she headed towards it. From the sounds of running water coming from inside, she guessed before she'd entered that this was the place. Once she stepped inside, her suspicions were confirmed, and she made her way to a sink to wash the tear streaks off her face. Even after she had washed the day's worries from her face she still looked haggard. Her brown hair looked about as sad as she did, and her hazel eyes seemed to scream that she was lonely. Or alone. In a camp full of hundreds of people, all lost and most visibly changed, whether through some physical manifestation of whatever was happening or just the stress that showed in their features. Even her glasses were dotted with dried tears.

With a sigh, she quickly cleaned those too, thankful that she'd been wearing them instead of carrying them in her suitcase- she didn't want to risk the pain and damage to her eyes from wearing her contacts days in a row here, and even sleeping with them in on the plane would have been annoying.

"Heh," she chuckled to herself as she made her way back to the hut. It was both strange and amusing what small things you still worried and thought about in spite of such unusual circumstances.

Feeling a little better, though still confused and saddened by her strange dream (though she had to admit she was more relieved than anything to see that no one in the immediate vicinity had died), she attempted to find where dinner might be. The moon wasn't up yet, and people were still milling about the camp. Though she had no way of gauging what time it was, Audra guessed that it couldn't be too late yet- maybe she would be able to find some food.

No such luck. The makeshift cafeteria was most definitely closed for business for the evening. There went her relief.

You're not dead yet. They have to give you breakfast.

Disappointed and hungry, she returned to the hut and climbed beneath the covers of her bed. She wondered if there was any way she could get a change of clothes at some point. For now, what she'd come in- sweatpants and a t-shirt- would have to do.

The return to sleep meant the return to strange dreams, though this time, there was no fire. It was simply her brother, absent the woman from before, walking beside her along one of the barriers that marked the boundary of the camp. They held hands, but said nothing to each other. The air was strangely cool and pleasant, and the moon hung in the sky impossibly close to the sun, which indicated that it was noon. Both seemed to be as clear as if they were in the sky alone. The visit seemed impossibly short, though they must have circled the camp hundreds of times. It felt good to be walking hand in hand with her little brother again; it made it feel as if he had never left. But just as his departure had been abrupt in life, so it was in this strange dreamland. One moment he was walking beside Audra, holding her hand, smiling up at her, and the next, he was gone, and Audra was alone. The sun and the moon both began to set, leaving the sky pitch black, and the air unbearably cold. Audra began to shiver. She sank down to her feet, and began to cry as the darkness and the cold began to reach through her skin. Her sobs echoed around her, as if not in the middle of the desert, but surrounded on all sides by encroaching walls. This part of the dream seemed to last for far too long.

The brassy sound of a bugle cut into the darkness and brought Audra back into consciousness. She groaned and closed her eyes tight, too exhausted from last night's dreaming and yesterday's travels to want to get up. But her stomach growled once more, reminding her of the previous evening's disappointment. With another defiant groan, she threw back the covers and made her way back toward the mess-hall, not even bothering to stop at the bathroom first. One glance at the growing line made her wonder though if that wouldn't be the better idea.

There were eggs and coffee and toast, and floppy bacon waiting for her in the cafeteria. Glancing nervously around at the variety of Emergents already seated and eating their breakfasts, Audra made her way over to the line and piled her plate with as much food as she figured she could handle. She filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee that smelled as if it might have been burned but would slake her thirst nonetheless, and turned to find a table. Most of them were already occupied. There was one table full of men and women in orange jumpsuits. She wondered why she didn't have one. Sure, they were far from flattering, and probably weren't too comfortable, but what was she supposed to change into after a shower, or how was she supposed to wash her clothes? On that note, where was she supposed to wash her clothes.

She approached their table and forced a smile.

"Um ... I don't mean to interrupt ..." She glanced nervously at one of the men who looked like something out of a b-rated X-Men movie, then turned her gaze on the rest of them in turn. "I ... was wondering if ... you could tell me anything about ... like ... the clothes situation? Um ... I just got in yesterday, and I'm sure they took all my stuff. I had a suitcase, but it got left on the sidewalk during the riot and ... um ... well you guys have these ... uh ... nice .... orange .... things .... and ... you know, I'd like to ... maybe wash my clothes or something? I don't really know how it works around here." She blushed, feeling out of place and stupid.

[Kesteven]

Euryl glanced up and then, trying not to be obvious about it, kept a curious eye on what he saw. There was a girl talking to the alphas- freckles, glasses, and a fashion sense that was plain even for the residents here. She didn't look much older than him, and she certainly didn't look any tougher - the three men at the table, if they could be called men, looked as though they could swallow her in one gulp, and the woman, though lacking their size and bulk, made up for it with an implacable feral intensity.
Is she blind, or just stupid? His inner voice asked, unkindly. He scolded himself for thinking like that, especially after judging the rest for not making contact. Perhaps she was just being friendly. Like you should have been, he reminded himself with a twinge of guilt. Instead of sitting over here watching like a stalker, pretending you're not like the others, pretending not to feel the fear.

Nonetheless, he kept watching. He had to keep reminding himself that they were all just ordinary people, thrust into this situation against their will and more in need of a hug and a good meal than the blood of virgins. Despite this, he couldn't shake the feeling of morbid fascination, as though he were watching a helpless lamb wander into a den of wolves.
Don't be deceived, warned a voice much older then his petulant internal reflections. Things are never all they seem.
With the voice came another rush of sensation, like he'd felt the previous day, but slower, more structured. The chattering that filled the canteen, each strand of conversation standing alone in the noise. The hearts beating and the no-nonsense threats in the crowd around the supply building, a crowd he hadn't noticed before. The rumble of machinery moving the last pieces of fencing into place. And briefly, a clack-clack that sounded like shutters opening. Trying to focus again in the storm of impressions, he thought he saw for a moment a halo of flames surrounding the girl, while a burned and blackened body clung to her, shrivelled arms and legs wrapped around her waist and neck, a grimace of pearl-white teeth shining out of a head no more than a skull caked with blackened skin. The grotesque image shocked him back to his body, and it was gone, along with the rushing noise and whispering voices. Heart pounding in his throat, he realised he was staring.

[Guest]

In the orange jumpsuit, with his head bald and obvious physical fitness, Shaw thought to himself, he certainly looked convictlike. Well, it was an easy recipe. Dress anyone in prison orange and voila, from respectable to underclass scum in the time it takes to change.

Actually between him, black and therefore immediately suspicious, particularly if he frowned a certain way at everyone else, the big man, who looked like he was cast for the role, and the Ogre, with manicured nails but a face out of a comic book, they probably looked like some of the worst in the camp. But the orange was eye-catching, and the poor girl didn't know better. That made it all the more imperative that he handle it politely, even if he was cranky from the bad food and the chlorinated coffee.

Ironically, Rachel seemed normal but was manifestly not, and that just taught you how useless the first impression was. Granted, she wasn't being threatened, so she wasn't oozing the feral.

He was so used to looking in the mirror that he missed the almost saturnine cast to his features, a somewhat sardonic and angular aspect. The eyebrows, for example, were almost angular, and the cheekbones slightly more pronounced. He'd shaved clean, but a van dyke beard would not have looked out of place there. But there was no one that knew him from before Emergence that had seen him since that could compare the man they'd known before and the man now. It was a classic case of watching the change gradually happen rather than see a dramatic ‘before and after.’ It wasn't an apparent alien look, like the Ogre, but rather a more subtle change . Even though the sun was coming up and the temperature was rising, he was utterly without sweat.

Beyond that, Shaw was, once upon a time, a respectable citizen and a decent guy. So maybe he either remembered the conventions of being a nice person or he actually was, despite the hammering his outlook on the dignity of mankind took as a beat cop, undercover and then narcotics detective took in the Baltimore City Police.

"Uh, they don't issue these jumpsuits to the general population. Orange is for Alpha-class people. But you can probably get a regulation jumpsuit," he thrust his jaw at the Ogre, "from the supply room. It's not a good time to go to the supply hut right now, though, something's going on there, and I think you'd be better off getting yourself some breakfast instead of going there just this minute."

It seemed like good advice, though he had a hard time advertising for the breakfast here, given that he'd rolled it around his plate, trying to make it look better than it was. Like some sort of kid, he thought in amusement.

Despite the quality of the breakfast, other seemed to be shoveling in, even if he was disinclined. Even the coffee was taken in with a barely concealed grimace and put down quickly again. The best that could be said for it was that the line was shortening now that the morning rush was done, and they were between the rush at the beginning of opening and the one at the end, when the people who decided to get an early shower rushed for their food.

"Just be careful around here, not everyone's friendly. If you want, I can take you up to Gremlin Imhoff's supply room after breakfast to get you the supplies you'll need. You won't want to go there alone, he won't give anything away without being made to."

Without getting into gory details like, 'we're wearing orange because we all killed or harmed someone and this gives the snipers an aim point,' he hoped he'd conveyed the sense of the place.

[vitamin_kitten]

Given the situation and the uncomfortable circumstances everyone was in, Audra at first feared that everyone here would be in a bad mood, one so bad they'd be disinclined to help her out. It was a fear she harbored from high school, where kids were cruel to you just because they could be, and would often direct you to the pool on the fourth floor, which consequently didn't exist. It was a nice surprise, then, when the big black guy turned his attention on Audra and kindly explained that the orange jumpsuits were for a specific class of Emergents. Alpha rang a bell in her memory as a Greek letter, much like to Omega in her own designation. Looking between the Alphas sitting before her, it wasn't immediately clear what warranted the distinction. At first she thought it might have had something to do with age, but she had seen others of these Alphas' apparent age and they hadn't been donning the glorious orange jumpsuits. Perhaps it had something to do with their abilities? She made a mental note to find out later.

"Thanks," Audra finally said, giving a grateful smile in his direction. She hoped he would understand that her gratitude was not only for the information, but for the warnings and advice as well. "Um ... I'm gonna go find somewhere to sit," she added, lifting the tray in her hands slightly to indicate her intention to attempt to eat the breakfast. "Thanks again. I'll find you later then? Or ... you can find me. Whichever." Her smile widened, and she turned away, glancing over the dining area to find a table that wasn't mostly full. It wasn't that she had any specific problem with sitting with the Alphas, but she didn't want to disrupt their breakfasts- or their conversation- any further. Besides, it would be easier to think if she was alone. Supposedly, she had a tendency to look depressed while deep in thought, and she was always uncomfortable trying to explain that no, she wasn't depressed, she was just deep in thought.

Though it was likely her thoughts would turn toward depressing subjects regardless. The way her brother had shown up in her dreams just made that ache in her chest throb all the more strongly and painfully. His words had been reassuring, but she still harbored a feeling of guilt that his death had somehow been caused by her. Either way, his death was still tragic. A young boy should never have to die, whether in flames or by another method. Audra feared his death had been painful and frightening.

She hurried away from the Alphas' table and found one that was only half-occupied. She sat down with her tray and stared bleakly into the eggs. The thoughts of her brother had completely stolen her appetite.

[Igraine]

The self-satisfaction of Jason’s smile almost had a life of its own. Carefully he fixed the collar of his cotton, short-sleeved button up shirt, running his fingers through his hair as he looked in the van’s reflection, ensuring his appearance was entirely presentable as a “news correspondent.” Obviously, it wouldn’t take him very long at all.

"So Jason, what happened with his fiancé of Rachel's that drew the government's attention?"

His fingers halted midway along his scalp, pushing the longish dark blonde hair back. The grin faltered, but just a little, as his green eyes narrowed. Well, it wasn’t as if a simple background check done over the phone in five minutes wouldn’t tell her what happened to Greg. If she didn’t know what an Alpha-designated Emergent was, this lady was way behind the power curve – and Jason somehow doubted very much that Eva was one to lag in the least.

“He died,” Jason said with a small shrug, pulling a piece of imaginary lint off his pants before looking back at her with his own steady gaze, the friendliness of the smile still planted on his face in no way reaching his eyes. “So, how long before we’re ready to go?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She felt Tony’s nudge, and followed his gaze toward the group of men about whom nothing boded well - certainly not for the little goblin who’d given them such a difficult time the day before over a few meager supplies. Rachel considered for a moment and then, surprising even herself at her lack of empathy, found she really could have cared less at that moment whatever might have happened to him.

’What the hell is wrong with me… ?’

This wasn’t exactly the best time for introspection though, her thoughts suddenly pulled away from her own musings as they were joined by an absolute behemoth of a blonde-haired demigod, ripped from the pages of Norse mythology it seemed – were it not for the familiar orange jumpsuit that marked him here, for what he truly was. Still, Rachel simply could not help herself, grinning widely as she watched the giant of a man, this Paul Bjornsen, rip the sleeves off his jumpsuit and tie his great mane of hair back in an improvised do-rag of sorts. And from the way he talked, about “colors” being flown? ALMOST she could not resist the urge to shoot a sidelong glance at Tony, to see if he thought maybe now his chance to join with his more melanin-challenged brothers might have come along, but she simply laughed instead.

Swallowing yet another bite of toast and egg, Rachel looked over the newcomer appraisingly. Something about him seemed… no, she didn’t know him, of course, but there was still something about him that seemed familiar. Not one of her kindred, but perhaps… like?

“Rachel,” she said easily, “My name is Rachel Evans, and you’re welcome to sit with us.” She said little else as Tony made his own introductions, speaking the small talk it seemed they would all have to become comfortable with while she continued to wolf down the quickly dwindling pile of food on her plate. She was actually quite close to finished, when the voice a young woman with a sweet, freckled-face caught her attention, asking where she might get clothing, or a laundry. From her dress and look – and the fact that she had approached this decidedly bright orange section of the cafeteria without a second thought – it was easy to figure out she was new to the camp.

The ever-gallant Tony offered to take her with him at another time, a visit to the supply room not exactly suitable for someone so seemingly innocent and sweet, even on a good day. And today was assuredly not going to be a good day, to be in the supply room. Rachel intended to invite her to join them. After all, if they were welcoming a giant blonde man, what would be the harm of the far smaller, bespectacled girl sitting with them as well? But before she could offer the woman a seat, she had disappeared and away to a separate table, all to herself.

Though she did not like to see someone so vulnerable be off to themselves in such a place, Rachel knew there was little she could do for her. And so she simply shrugged, and wiped at her face with a rather stiff and scratchy paper napkin, every bit of food on her tray gone. She had finally begun to feel a remote satisfaction to the ravenous hunger that had consumed her, and now she felt prepared to apply her thoughts to the advantages that could be had, from the turmoil that roiled like a storm cloud on the horizon, the harbinger of something, she somehow felt sure, rather momentous for all the unwilling inhabitants of this camp.

[Lara]

Rebekah guided her daughter back towards their bunkhouse, wondering a bit at how oddly quiet Abby was being. But maybe she could try to talk to her - really sit down and talk, not all these little cut-and-run arguments they seemed to be having lately - when they reached their beds. Despite the fact that the entire camp left her feeling edgy and paranoid, and despite her knowledge that yes, there was no escaping the fact that there would be other Emergents hanging out inside the small building, she felt oddly safe on her hard square of a sleeping arrangement. Or at least more so than she was anywhere else.

Once they were both sitting on their separate beds, Abby having retreated silently to hers almost immediately, Rebekah looked over to her daughter and asked the question. "Abby, are you okay? What's wrong, honey?"

Abby looked over at her for a moment before her bottom lip began to tremble. "Cero's not here, Mom," she said sadly as she made an effort not to start crying. "He disappeared and he hasn't come back."

Rebekah blinked, unable to come up with the comforting words that probably should have slipped out and reassured her daughter that it was alright, that he would come back soon. But she couldn't say that; she wanted, just as she had prayed for before they were taken to this god-forsaken camp, Abby to forget about the being her imagination had let loose.

Her daughter stared at her, reading her mother's face for exactly what she was thinking. "You don't get it!" Her young voice was suddenly filled with anger. "He's my friend, and, and, he understands!"

She found her voice. "...Understands what, Abby?" she asked slowly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"Everything," Abby whispered, hand clenching around the thin blanket that they had each been granted at the start. "Why the soldiers made us come to camp, why all these people are here. He doesn't always tell me, but I know he knows."

Rebekah couldn't help but think that her six-year-old was suddenly sounding very grown up. "Things are just... different here, that's all," she said, thinking that maybe Abby was just looking for the reason again, that this was another method of finding it. "These people are different, too, so that's why-"

"No!" Abby cut her off, furiously shaking her head before falling silent, Cero's words from earlier echoing in her head. "You're the one who's different, Mom. Not them." her daughter finally said, glaring at her in hot anger mixed with tears. Leaving Rebekah gaping at her, she rolled over on the bed in a huff and pretended to fall asleep.

'There's no reasoning with her when she gets like this,' Rebekah thought sadly. With an upset sigh, she willed herself to roll over as well and attempt to sleep, Abby's words echoing in her head.. It was going to be a long night.


Dark, it was so dark. Rebekah blinked once, then twice, turning her head from side to side in an attempt to see anything, but it was completely black in every direction she turned. Yet, it didn't seem like complete darkness; it felt more as if something was coating her eyes... She reached up and tried to rub whatever it was away, but her attempts failed. Her jaw clenched as she rubbed more vigorously; it was no longer that she wanted to remove the covering from her eyes - no, she needed to. The feeling was overwhelming.

She felt the darkness solidifying on her face, growing more substantial as an echo of laughter sounded from far away. Breathing more heavily, she teared at the covering, finally managing to pull bits away, bits that felt as though they were evaporating the moment they cleared the side of her face. She pulled her hands away when she could finally see enough to look around - were those shadows in her hands?

Movement in front of her caught her attention, and she let the captured shadows disappear with the rest. "Abby?" she asked hesitantly as a figure began to take shape. There was her head, her shoulders, her arms... Yet she seemed oddly transparent, as if not truly there.

Abby turned to face her, and Rebekah gasped as she saw the blackened eyes in place of her daughter's usual bright blue. Her mouth was moving, but Rebekah was unable to make out the words, too focused on the terrifyingly unfamiliar eyes. When she could, her hands began to tremble. "You're different, Mom," Abby was repeating, over and over. "Different."

She woke with a start, hand still outstretched in a feeble attempt to grab a hold of the apparition before it fully disappeared. Trembling, she drew her arm back towards her body and sat up, eyes jumping instantly towards the bed next to hers, straining through the faint light shining in from the cracks in the window. Her shoulders slumped in relief as she took in her daughter's form lying peacefully-

Frowning, she took in her daughter's agitated shifting. She heaved herself up from the bed, every movement still feeling as though she was floundering through sludge, and made her way closer to Abby. As she drew up to the side of the bed, she could hear soft whimpers. "Shh," she whispered, settling down on the edge of what the camp considered a mattress, but didn't dare make any sound louder than that. A glance around showed that many of the other occupants of the building were doing their own share of tossing and turning, and truthfully, she was a bit afraid of how they would act when they finally woke up.

Another scared mumble from Abby had Rebekah reaching over and rubbing small circles on her back, since her daughter had rolled over at some point in her sleep. Quietly, she began to hum the beginning stages of a lullaby, one that had always calmed Abby down in the past. Back... when they were home, and things were better.


Unfamiliar voices had been saying things to her for a long time by now. Abby was a bit unsettled by the fact that she couldn't understand them, and had tried to tell them that, but they just kept speaking. Yet she couldn't actually see them. "Just a trick..." This time it was Cero's voice that echoed from behind her. She spun around, hoping to see her friend standing there, but her face fell. It was only his voice, repeating itself as if bouncing off walls until the sentence blended into the wave of voices as a crowd of people suddenly swarmed around her, speaking to her with the voices from before, their features blending just as the sound had earlier. Abby looked around frantically, trying to find a familiar face; where was her mother? Why wasn't she here?

She had just started to cry out for her when a strand of wordless music seemed to fall from the sky and wrap around her, pushing the voices away. It was familiar, one her mother had sung in the past... And it was comforting. Abby found her eyes slowly shutting, as if she was falling asleep.

She woke, feeling the hand rubbing her back, hearing the soft melody that had lured her from her dream, and realized that it had been her mother all along. She rolled over to see Rebekah looking down at her with a worried smile, and immediately sat up and flung herself into her mother's arms, whispering, "I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean it."

Rebekah knew that some part of her had, and even that she was right, considering where exactly they were. But she just smiled and nodded, running her hand through her daughter's hair in a comforting motion. "It's alright, Abby," she said quietly, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the feeling of normalcy that she hadn't been able to achieve in so long.

The loud clanging of a bell brought reality crashing back in. Mother and daughter both started and looked around until recalling that the noise signalled the start of the day. Rebekah sighed and slipped from Abby's grasp, knowing that they wouldn't have been able to sit there much longer anyway. "Well, Abby, time to get ready for the day."

Abby nodded and climbed off her bed, gathering what few things they had been given upon entering the camp. She knew as much as Rebekah did that 'get ready' meant shower, teeth, and then breakfast. Unlike previous days, though, this time she stuck close to her mother, going so far as to slip her hand into hers as they walked towards the communal showers.

Rebekah didn't let it show, but she was secretly delighted at the amount of contact Abby was allowing right now. Whether it was because of the nightmare or that her invisible friend was apparently not around, the woman would take what she could get. The two showered in the morning despite the general swarm towards the breakfast area, mostly because Rebekah preferred the slightly more empty shower room that they were given in exchange. This morning, they ran quickly through the routine actions and, returning their things to the nearly-empty bunkhouse, headed down towards the swarm.

As always, Rebekah ushered Abby towards as an empty a table as she could find. Unlike always, however, where Abby would immediately strike up conversation with whomever was at the table, the child chose to again stick close to her mother. Given the unrest Rebekah was sensing at the tables, the woman was perfectly willing to go along with the unexpected action. Her eyes swept over the other tables, not really resting on anyone in particular until she lighted on a table with multiple people in the orange jumpsuits of the alphas. These new arrivals still worried her; it was really by sheer luck that Abby hadn't tried to go over and talk to them the day before, and Rebekah was nervous that her daughter would decide to try it today instead.

As she looked towards the small group, the hushed conversations of Emergents around her finally began to take shape into real words. Her eye contact broke as she heard a whispered voice speaking of some sort of 'guided tour' that the camp was preparing for. So the people in the camp were to be shown off? She wasn't sure how she felt about that... but a small voice in the back wondered if this would give them their chance to finally leave.

[Guest]

One look at the bus full of reporters, and Colonel Hugh Martin, an Air Force officer that was put into the public affairs office at Nellis AFB as a ‘cakewalk’ tour prior to retirement, and the words “tremendously fucked” materialized in boldface to the mind of Command Master Chief Sharon Hargreaves. She was a lifelong fleet sailor with a lot of sea duty under her belt but also a lot of Pentagon time, on her own ‘pre-retirement’ tour when she was yanked out of Pensacola for a joint billet. The Navy wanted their word in along with the Air Force and Army on dealing with the Emergents.

And some asshole decided to pull my name out of the hat when Colonel Klink couldn’t cut it with these reporters. Well, if they think they’re on easy street, they’re about to find out that I’m no Sergeant Schultz.

As a senior enlisted sailor, she’d spent time on aircraft carriers and other loud environments, including a tour on the New Jersey in Lebanon when the big 16-inch guns pounded into Beirut for an entire day. She’d learned from some of the best old hands in the business. And one of the things she learned was to take control from officers out of their depth without making it look insubordinate. So while Colonel Martin was looking around with a bemused but clueless look on his tanned, too-handsome, fighter jock in decline features, it came down to the neat, tautly fit woman, slightly shorter than average, with Mediterranean features and her hair kept back in a clip to handle this situation before the situation handled them.

“Excuse me Colonel, but I think you should probably liase with the the Base CO and SP’s CO, since you’re both Air Force and this is your base, while I brief the reporters.”

It was a plausible excuse as to why the Colonel shouldn’t shove himself in front of the cameras; not his job, and hopefully he grasped that when they assigned Hargreaves to his command specifically because she was one of the best journalism ratings, which translated to a public affairs specialist, in the entire US Navy.

“Uh, yes, carry on Chief.” She beamed him an almost matronly, indulgent smile of approval as he went to handle the phone work and coordinate with the Nellis SP’s and all the others while she went about the delicate work of herding cats…err, reporters.

It was a stinky little bus, a charter for Vegas tours. Busses here tended to see a lot of use and service, with the huge volume of visitors that came in through Sin City. There was something of a chemical disinfectant smell that permeated the place, which was no surprise given that people in Vegas were usually plied with liquor and all sorts of other things to help make them spend their money faster in the casinos. Taxis and charters here, consequently, needed an industrial strength cleaning just to stay ahead of the health code curve. It had fairly wide, comfortable cloth seats, though these were in a gray-red pattern that one saw on airliners and the like. They’d had to find one with untinted windows that could be opened up for the cameras, and she’d had to fight with the charter bus company on that one—she also had to go nose to nose with the hard sort of greaseballs that ran these companies to make it clear that the driver would be military.

But then, Chief Hargreaves was used to having to occasionally fight her way through the bullshit, when she wasn’t able to use gracefully aging good looks to charm, and did so with the ruthlessness of a SEAL in a firefight when she had to. People didn’t believe her when she said she was Navy, she had to show them the tattoo. Everyone expected a crusty older man with a graying moustache, not her.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, can I please have your intention. I’m Command Master Chief Sharon Hargreaves, but you can just call me Chief. I am here on behalf of the Nellis AFB joint detention facility as your relations officer. I have taken the liberty of printing out a bullet point hard copy of the regulations you were made aware of, just to make sure that we all understand each other. The most important rule is this: you are not to leave this bus unless given specific permission. You will stay in the area we designate when you leave the bus. You will board the bus when asked. These stipulations are for your safety, as you tour a highly secured installation. I’m sure your editors and publishers are aware of the cost of violating these restrictions, so I hope that I have made myself abundantly clear.”

The woman had an announcer’s voice that cut right through, the sort of calm voice that any of the reporters might envy. She was, of course, one of them, though Navy and therefore different. But at the same time, she had the element that even a successful anchor lacked; she was a senior NCO on board a ship of thousands of enlisted, and knew how to make her voice heard in a huge vehicle hangar or on a parade ground. She had the attention of the bus immediately upon speaking, and her tone said ‘all business.’ It was an entirely different sort of impression than the impression Colonel Martin gave, with his easy-breezy attitude and seeming unfamiliarity with reporters. This woman’s dark gimlet eyes seemed to pick up every nuance, as if she were checking for dirty fingernails at effective rifle range.

“Unfortunately, part of this arrangement means that the seating will have to be adjusted in here, because the view you people will want on the bus is out the left side, so I want the cameras to have priority on that side so you can get the shots you want without having to jostle and brawl in here. You will be allowed to take any and all shots and footage that you want, without restriction, as agreed by the Department of Defense. Along this tour, I will be happy to take any and all questions, and we will have a formal session at the briefing room at Colonel Martin’s office after the bus ride, there are some things I cannot talk about, for security classification reasons, but anything else I will try to answer to the best of my ability.”

She didn’t want to hit the next part too hard, because this was where a little finesse was called for; reporters didn’t like to think they were being handled, and in any case couldn’t be handled hard without taking it out in return. This was why Sharon Hargreaves was the one called in to handle things. She also didn’t want them firing the questions at Colonel Martin, who she hoped was getting the hint – divert all questions to the Chief. Do not field the questions personally. It was hard to tell, she knew fighter jocks; they tended to think they could do anything they put their mind to. They had no appreciation for nuance.

“Now, as to the itinerary. We’re going to make passes of the containment facility, where the detainees are currently enjoying the same quality of food that we feed in our mess facilities. I realize that some of you may think that the chow alone constitutes cruel and unusual, so I’ll make sure to state this clearly for the record; this is an Air Force chow facility. I hope that lays your worries to rest.” she paused theatrically for the laughs and got it, “After that, we will be touring the medical facilities and other parts of the base to give you and the general public a good idea of what is and isn’t going on here.”

She glanced over to Colonel Martin, with the question in her eyes as to whether or not they had the ‘go.’ Martin, by contrast, looked a little bemused. That was the thing, Martin was a grounded fighter jock who’d was deemed medically unfit for further flight duty due to a bad leg break. Hargreaves was, by contrast, at the top of her profession. Supposedly he was her superior, but that was all in name. In the ritual culture of the military, class divides counted for something. But just as a feudal knight outranked his castellan but that the castellan was vital to the running of everything in the day-to-day sense, so did Hargreaves represent a vital necessity to the continued operation of Martin’s suddenly chaotic command. Ideally, the officer, who was out of his water, would defer to the senior NCO, who’d been in their field all their careers.

It didn’t always work that way, and those were the worst times. Of course, at this stage in her career, Hargreaves had the ear of admirals, people whom her expertise had benefitted. Martin did outrank her, but she had markers to call in if things got really bad, and, after all, the man was Air Force and she was Navy. The Navy could always pick up its ball and go home.

“Thank you, Chief. Nellis Security informs me that they are ready for us to start.”

“Aye-aye, sir. I’ll make sure to let the driver know and get us started.”

However, it didn’t seem to be necessary. They both understood their positions and acknowledged it with a smile. Good, nothing quite so bad as an officer that thinks he knows more than he does.

***

“Here it comes!” Word spread fast through the camp. In a place of utter routine and the mundane, even a slight variation in the pattern hinted at something to come. It was going to be a hot one, but that didn’t stop people from sort of rushing about to see if they could get a good look at things. The guards, by contrast, were a little more alert, and present in greater numbers. Shaw could see it from their table, the men with the shotguns and the helicopters moving overhead. He didn’t bet on whether or not those SP’s were packing nonlethal ammunition in those shotguns. He didn’t want to bet on how nonlethal those rounds were even if that was the intent. You got hit, you’d know it.

It wasn’t just the Security Police, though. It was small knots of fellow inmates who had the distinct impression that they were up to something; they’d emerged from Imhoff’s hut with bundles and so forth, but there was no way to tell what the hell was going on. Then he heard the growl of a diesel engine in the distance, even over the noise of conversation, though he couldn’t see it yet. Others heard and got agitated among themselves, as was natural for a bunch of people who were institutionalized after three weeks of rinse, cycle and repeat, prison/military style.

And yet, some others were holding very still and trying to be inconspicuous, which was a herald of their having something to hide, in and of themselves. It wasn’t something everyone might pick up on, but work as a cop made him perceptive. So he told his own table, potentially of agitated people, “Look lively, the tourbus is coming. Someone’s got something planning.”

He made to get up and grabbed his tray of only half-eaten food to go with it, trying to keep the movements innocuous. A rather, well somewhat scared-seeming woman was looking at them funny as she pulled her kid along with her, and Shaw decided to take pity and be a decent guy, “Excuse me, ma’am,” he offered in his best ‘not trying to scare them, friendly-helpful officer’ voice he used with some sorts.

“I think this seat is a good place for you and your daughter right about now,” emphasis, hoping she got the message without scaring the kid. However much society kicked him out, he still acted like a part of it, which was perhaps something to cling to, in any case, “and these people are actually friendlier than they look.” Granted, the only normal one there was Rachel, but Shaw wasn’t about to let some kid walk into the middle of a riot scene unawares, and the table they occupied was on the edges of the area.

“Please excuse me, any of y’all need your trays taken?” And if anyone bothered to say, ‘yes,’ he grabbed those too.

He was moving at a brisk sort of pace with his expression intentionally granite as he moved through with the collected trays, getting them to the disposal. But then he swung around, toward the table where Audra, the girl from earlier, sat. She was brand new, she probably didn’t know much about what was about to go either. Shaw couldn’t say for certain things were going to go really bad, but he had the instinct that things were going to be tense, and tense was enough, by his lights, to treat as dangerous.

“Excuse me, miss, but did you want to go ahead and get some supplies at the shed? Now would be a really,” emphasis, “good time to do so.” He was trying to keep his voice very calm and radiate reassurance, but that was just an automatic thing, he was as scared and uncertain as anyone. He’d been in crowd control situations on the other end, he knew what a dangerous beast it could be and how others were swept up in it.

And when the bus came into view, the surprise came out, in the form of banners unfurled reading all sorts of things. “Where’s the Bill of Rights?” “5th Amendment!” or “FASCIST SCUM!” “SIC SEMPER TYRANNUS” and other more inflammatory messages. It came with a cacophony of shouts and waved fists and chants that started out as a few people making the shouts, then joined by others as they stuck their fists in the air and shouted along, stamping and waving the fists, or even throwing their food at the bus or guards in the infectious way of large groups whose anger was just tapped. Soon, the “WEYRICH LINES” logo on the bus was obscured by food and other thrown liquids and consumables.

“Shit,” Shaw observed to Audra as he tried to hustle her towards the Alpha table, probably the safest, relatively, place in the chaos, “the lollipop guild is clearly representing South Central today.”

[vitamin_kitten]

In spite of the deep sadness that had taken up residence in the very center of her chest, Audra had managed to convince herself that she needed to eat something. After all, she really was hungry, and though the eggs and bacon and toast in front of her could hardly be considered a gourmet meal, it was food nonetheless. So, in between despondent thoughts of her brother and his incinerated body, and her own potential fate, Audra took tentative bites of her breakfast, often chasing them down with gulps of bitter coffee.

As she carried on through her meal, she could feel a distinct layer of tension building up in the room among the other Emergents. She couldn't be sure, but Audra began to feel as if something were coming. The camp had looked slightly different this morning when she'd woken up, she noted to herself. Were they being moved? Were others being brought in? Were they going to be able to visit with family?

I miss my family.

It wasn't a thought she had entertained until that very moment. Before now, her focus had mainly been on her brother. But yes, there were her mother and stepfather as well, and they were both good people- people she missed terribly.

I wanna go home.

Home. It seemed a faraway concept. She couldn't imagine what it was like for the others who had been here for God knows how long.

"Excuse me, miss-"

Audra looked up toward the source of the voice and was met with the face of the big black guy from earlier- the one who looked like a convict in his orange jumpsuit.

"-but did you want to go ahead and get some supplies at the shed? Now would be a really good time to do so."

She opened her mouth to reply, when she was cut off by the sudden buzz of excitement that reverberated through the entire camp, including the mess hall. Whispers quickly escalated into a soft roar of conversation, while shouts reached her ears from the outside. Something was about to happen alright- it had just begun.

"Shit ..."

Audra removed her stare from the entrance of the dining area and focused again on Shaw. She could tell that he didn't want her to see that he was just as unnerved as the rest of them, but his mask of confidence was about as thin as her own, and that unnerved her even more.

"What's going on out there?" she asked.

[Igraine]

Jason grinned as he reclined as fully as the bus seat would allow him. With the little piece of plastic Eva had given him clipped officiously to the collar of the khaki pocketed vest he’d brought with him, the dashing and eager young correspondent “James MacGregor” seemed confident and very much in his element. The vest was, quite simply, a must-have item for camping and hiking, which he did no little amount of, but he rather liked the “rough-and-ready-war-correspondent” look it gave him as well. And that was exactly the assumption he allowed every last one of them to walk away with, soldier or “fellow” journalist. Keeping his pens and pad pocketed, though occasionally mumbling something or other into the recorder as the bus drove slowly past the gates and into the compound, Jason decided he was probably having way too much fun with the little charade.

But when the first signs of “trouble” appeared, Jason ignored the rush of cameramen at the windows on that side of the bus, and the crush of journalists as well who – despite the senior enlisted woman’s instructions – decided they simply had to see this themselves. Jason – conspicuous only for his complete lack of apparent excitement - simply kept his seat, pocketing the recorder as well – on which he kept most of his lecture notes, had anyone ever actually bothered to check – and waited. The distraction was good, but not… quite… yet… He was, if nothing else, a very patient hunter. And when one had to, by necessity, move without the pack, patience was a trait well worth the cultivation.

It was not until he heard the sides of the bus pelted with… something… that he knew the time had come. Food? Jason sniffed the recycled air a bit and… yes, they were throwing food at the bus. He did not fear the Emergent’s anger, but he did know that between the screaming and yelling, and the culinary assault on their transportation, the soldiers escorting them would be utterly distracted. Before “non-lethal” force came down on the frustrated camp’s population, this was likely as good as it was going to get.

Jason rose to his feet from the seat and, in one fluid motion, tapped Eva on the shoulder before he turned down the bus aisle and sprinted to the door, slipping past the journalists clogging up the space between him and camp proper – and his Rachel – with a speed and grace that seemed to say these human obstacles weren’t there at all.

And the only word he had for his benefactress Eva? ”Now.” If she could keep up? So be it. He would be as good as his word, watch over her and keep her safe, even let her meet Rachel. But only if she could keep up. Jason was a man with a purpose, and nothing and no one was going to keep him from it or slow him down.

He slammed his body unceremoniously into the bus’s driver, shoving the man against the far window as he simultaneously kicked the lever that opened the doors to the outside. The moment the glass and metal doors opened, the muffled sounds they had heard: furious shouts and desperate pleas, barked orders and running feet, greeted him with a sharpness that was almost physical.

Jason never wasted a second. With the distraction of the Emergents beginning to riot against their captors, most of the bus’s soldier escorts had their attention focused anywhere but on the bus itself. Only one painfully young man in BDU’s, flak vest and over-sized Kevlar helmet seemed to notice him, taking just a moment to blink his confusion at what in the hell this dumb ass thought he was doing? That was a moment just long enough for Jason to shove the surprised young soldier aside and leap for the barriers that separated him from the camp.

He had absolutely no fear of the riot that threatened on the horizon. These weren’t hardened criminals, and this was no super max prison. They were, quite simply, just people – scared and angry to be sure, but in the end, just everyday people. And Jason was quite obviously neither soldier nor guard – none of their ire should be turned on him, anyway.

Besides, there was always the benefit of knowing that you were the wolf that had been set among the lambs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rachel glanced at Tony, and then quickly at the young woman who had thankfully decided to throw her lot in with him at just the right moment. Her keen hearing could make out even the individual words of the slogans and epithets being shouted, the smells of the food being thrown at the bus - even the heavy *thunk thud* sounds of things splattering against its glass and metal sides.

And then… something else. A scent, a sense that snaked it’s way to her over the miasma of so many others, a familiar knowing so subtle and longed for it was almost a primal need. Rachel clapped her hand to her mouth to keep herself from crying or shouting with the sudden joy that overcame her, instead just grabbing Tony’s wrist and giving it a squeeze before she began to move quickly for the cafeteria exit.

“He’s here,” was all she said, “Oh thank God, he’s here… “

[Kesteven]

The entire hut reverberated with chanting and the thunder of feet and plates as people either rushed to join the protest or milled around in confusion. Euryl leaped to his feet and strained his eyes through the anarchy to try and find the source of the disturbance - it didn't take long to spot the banners and the bus and put two and two together. He couldn't blame them - they'd been practically kidnapped, imprisoned here with no trial, and some of them had been pushed around and humiliated for the best part of a month. Now they were given their first chance, perhaps their only chance, to express their anger and hurt to the nation - just thinking about it was enough to raise bile in Euryl's throat and light fires in his eyes, and he almost ran out into the fray right there, to share in the passion and pain of the brothers and sisters he hadn't even known he had the day before yesterday.

Whether it was his natural caution or the warding of some guardian angel, however, something held him back. Letting his passions subside and his attention wander for a moment, he realised that there were two currents in the room - in contrast to the angry rush, the older ones, the sharper looking ones, those whose eyes and skins told stories of lives spent surviving, none of them shouted or ran. Instead, they moved with a sense of hurried purpose, gathering in twos and threes, softly slipping out of the cafeteria, and disappearing off into quieter parts of the camp. For a moment he was baffled by this behaviour - didn't they want people to know what they'd suffered? Were they so afraid of a few guards? As far as Euryl could see, there was no cause to be; the guards were heavily armed, but with all these reporters around, their captors wouldn't dare risk a massacre. Then, framed for a moment between bodies and banners, he caught sight of a guard, face expressionless, hands shifting slightly on his rifle, and in that moment, Euryl knew he'd been thinking about this all completely the wrong way.

In his brief stay here he'd seen somebody crush a chair by accident, somebody sprout wings and razor-sharp talons, and somebody else disintegrate a bar of soap from 20 feet away when he thought nobody was watching. These weren't middle-class twenty-somethings at an ineffectual London protest, expressing their general contempt for authority with less-than-witty slogans and projectile eggs. These were monsters. Angry, confused, dangerous monsters who were only just coming to terms with their new lives and abilities, and had little if any control over what they were becoming. He thought about how it was for him - the visions that came in wild surges, blasting his senses and overwhelming his reason. When they took him, it was like being dragged by an undertow, deeper and deeper into a strange and ancient flow, bottomless as the deepest ocean, filled with secrets and power beyond imagining, a place where the thrill of magic crackled from every hair and fingertip. What if that feeling could find expression, in fire, ice, lightning, earthquake, pain, destruction, insanity? What if these mortals tried something as paltry as plastic bullets, tear gas, or a water-cannon? What if an enraged and disorientated Alpha couldn't tell guards from rioters from reporters? And god help them all if a shot was fired - in the hysteria the world just might get its first true taste of Emergent power, a taste which nobody was ready for.

In Euryl's imagination, that first shot fired over and over, his mind unable or unwilling to envision what would come after, the crack of the gunpowder ringing over the shouting, the bullet streaming over the mess of bodies, past the turning heads and frenzied activity, until as if by inexorable fate it met with that unlucky target, slamming into flesh and bone, spraying warm blood and fear and horror. And then... back, and again, the crack, the bullet, the blood, and again... all the while, silent voices roared in his head, mingling with the sound of the riot. They spoke of duty and destiny and regret, urging him, warning him, commanding him, but he was in no state to make sense of any of it.

Under different circumstances he might have noticed the new scent on the air or the woman's strange sense of excitement, but in his panicked trance he was barely aware of his own stumbling feet as he edged backwards, face pale, eyes wide but unseeing.

[vitamin_kitten]

Tony barely had a chance to answer Audra's inquiry. In a matter of seconds, what had started off as angry protests with fists pumped high into the air turned suddenly into a straight-out riot. The cries of anger and pleas for justice had found solidness in the form of that morning's breakfast, in rocks, in whatever the Emergents could get their hands on and fling at the buses. Even from where she stood in the middle of the mess hall, Audra was able to make out the chaos between the constantly in-motion bodies and vulgar exclamations.

She slid her gaze towards Rachel as she approached the two of them and grabbed Tony's wrist. Her eyes were wide, her expression written with excitement, anticipation, possibly even joy. Audra wondered how she could look so happy at a time like this. The other interns at the camp were rioting. That was dangerous, and Audra was reminded again in a reminiscent flash just how dangerous riots could be. She was at least thankful for the fact that everything around her seemed to be staying in real time, rather than slowing down or stopping. Still, even if Rachel wasn't privy to any differences between any regular a moment and a moment before someone was about to be killed, she shouldn't have looked as happy as she did. It was just ... wrong.

"He's here!" Audra heard the woman say in a near-hiss of pure ecstasy. "Oh, thank God he's here!" With those words and a gentle squeeze of Tony's wrist, Rachel ran off towards the fray, leaving the two of them behind.

"He's here"? Audra mused silently. It begged the question regarding just how all of this mess was effecting Rachel. Did she have some sort of a sixth sense?

"There are reporters out there, aren't there?" Audra finally added to her first question, turning her eyes on Tony once more. "Maybe if they can film what's going on here, the conditions they've got us all living in, someone will do something. Maybe some activists could come storm the camp or something." Her gaze returned to the rioting going on outside, and she began to follow after Rachel, without waiting to see if Tony was following.

Out from beneath the protective covering of the dining area, Audra squinted in the sun. She lifted a hand to her eyes and shielded them against its light, and watched as the buses rolled on by, reporter faces, cameras, and notebooks squished up against the windows like there were too many overly fat people on the buses. She watched as the other Emergents pelted the sides of the buses with food and rocks and shouted angry words over the heads of the guards. Would the reporters be able to capture all this? Would they be able to record the truth and share it with the rest of the country, with those that had the power to do something, and the compassion to utilize it? Or would it even make a difference, showing this footage to the American populace? Had the government so deluded the people with their usual lies and half-truths that they couldn't even be called to act? It was a scary and disturbing thought, and Audra quickly banished it.

There are people out there who can and will do something. Someone is going to save us.

[Guest]

"Well, everyone thinks they're reporters in there. I guess maybe they are, and they’ll get plenty of footage. But there are also Air Force police up there, and I think we're about to get caught up in this. Best we move." Audra probably thought she was in the most messed up place on earth, but this was only the beginning. It was about to get even worse and it didn’t matter if the press was there or not. Hell, for all he knew, Department of Homeland Security would make sure the press didn’t publish their pictures.

Fat chance, not these days, not with internet streaming video as all the rage; a kid got harassed by a cop in downtown Baltimore for skateboarding and the cop was held up to international ridicule for it. The whole reason the guy was on a moped in the Harbor was because he couldn’t function in the real shit, like in Southwest. He got the feeling that even if the military managed to get the reporters to give up all film, it was too late; the phonecam footage was already out.

Meanwhile, Rachel seemed to be running toward the riot, which was crazy, “No, goddamnit, they’re about to fire everything they got at the crowd! Shit!” he fumed, but he had other people that were less able to take care of themselves, or just plain confused about which way to go.

Tony didn't say that he was a cop, but he knew the procedure fairly well. There would be a response soon enough, and it wouldn’t be pretty. He was already glancing up and over in the direction of the SP’s, looking for the signs; such as SP’s aiming down the sights or any sudden movement to indicate they were getting their orders. He moved calmly and purposefully, trying to sweep up the table they’d been sitting at; Abby, Rebekah, the two of them seeming the most vulnerable in all this. He tried to keep his voice southing, but authoritative, “Listen y’all, we gotta get outta here. The screws aren’t gonna wait long before they put this thing down hard and we’ll be better off inside somewhere.

He wasn’t sure if the big guy, Paul, was going to play along, but he wasn’t worried about his ability to take care of himself; the guy had probably been on the inside of a jail before. But even if he hadn’t, he’d been in a biker gang or something similar. Over the yells and cries of the throng of Emergents, the yells of the airmen and soldiers keeping the place secured, demanding calm in voices that Shaw could tell were strained with adrenaline and tension, came the alarm klaxons and the voice announcing, “All watches, stand to. All watches, stand to.”

He could see the screws pulling on their gas masks, which was really bad news, from his perspective. He knew what was coming next.

“RACHEL! GAS!”

He had no idea if the shout would carry, but he did see one of the screws turn his shotgun sights toward him, even as he got down on his knees to indicate submission. Fucking orange jumpsuit. He forgot he was too easily marked in this whole scene.

Even the girl, Audra, was running toward the riot, where the bullshit was about to hit. He couldn’t make sense of why people were going toward the riot like that, but they weren’t alone. He had a different appreciation of the situation, and his glance toward Rebekah and Abby said where his responsibility, in his mind, lay. This was no damn place for a kid.

“Y'all run to the supply shed, get the kid to safety, ma'am. They ain’t gonna let me move after that shout, they got a guy getting ready to shoot me down if I twitch. Just try to be cool when you get away.”

***

“Colonel says the call is yours, Major.”

Yeah, I could have told you that, airman. but he didn’t snap aloud at the young man. Instead, he nodded and accepted the burden and the blame. It was inevitable; Colonel Templeton, Simpleton to those who knew him, was just cunning enough to know when to pass off responsibility to someone else.

“Alright, listen up.” He called out to the men in the impromptu conference, “Command has passed the decision onto me, in all their wisdom. All responsibility for this will fall on my shoulders. Buck stops here, clear?”

Major Jackson looked around to see if there were any dissenters from the program, but there weren’t; they were facing an uprising in the compound by people whose powers were unknown and some of them extremely dangerous.

It wasn't quite perceivable, but there was a cacophony of whispers and cries, sibilant and malevolent, that tugged at the subconscious of all there, warning, perhaps, of a prelude to far worse to come. This, perhaps, colored Jackson's reaction; go for the biggest punch he had, short of killing them. Almost overkill.

“Typical Bravo-5 scenario; we use it all, including ADS. Don’t worry about what the press sees, that’s above our paygrade,” and if I’m going down, politicians can go with me, “I want you guys to keep using your radio, stay in contact and don’t lose it. Keep your men under control, we are using the MINIMUM force here, even though that force is considerable.”

He knew that deploying the “Ray Gun,” would cause a firestorm, but the firestorm would be worse if he allowed them to break out. The idea of sticking all these people together, with unknown powers, pooling their resources, suddenly seemed like a terribly bad idea. But then, that was the politics of the situation, sticking all the ‘dangerous freaks’ in a camp together where they’d eventually put two and two together and realize that the guards were as utterly afraid of them as they were of the guards. If not more; the guards had known quantities, no one knew what the fuck the Emergents could do.

He paused to glance over the regulation-cut young men, most of them were men, and a couple women, his officers and top NCO’s, the leaders of the operation, “We’re going to hold them down until we get ADS in place.”


“What about the bus, sir?”

“It has to stay where it is, we can’t afford to waste resources moving it and guarding it right now. It stays put with us, where they’ll be safest.”

Everyone knew that this was a career suicide. That’s why Simpleton handed down the order to Jackson.

***

Shaw knew what was up when he heard the first shots; a couple at first and then something like a volley; and once they shotguns started booming, there was no letup of the volume of fire as troops just started to blast away. These weren’t your grandpappy’s scattergun, these were the semi-automatic tactical shotguns the military switched over to during the Iraq years, able to lay down a curtain of fire, even if there was reload time involved. There were dull thumps as the strange revolver-like grenade launchers some of them carried fire their rounds, spraying a haze of CS gas over the rioting crowd—he could feel his own eyes tearing up because of what was blowing over the camp on the breeze, but tried not to breathe it in too deeply as he knelt there, helpless.

And it didn’t look like they were too scrupulous about who they wanted to take down; anyone that was moving and near the fenceline.

The response was imminent; people leaning out from the bunkhouses immediately leapt back and there was a lot of screaming. Shaw didn’t look to see what was being done by the Emergents against their captors, but heard things that he never heard before; he knew firsthand how hard it could be to catch them, and it suddenly occurred to him that containing all these Emergents in one place was dangerous stuff. The booming discharge of shotguns, more rapid than even a furiously pumped old-fashioned Remi 870, was one thing and the screaming and shouting, but other sounds that he’d never really heard before in a riot control situation; inhuman shrieks and a ghostly wail-wind, not only from throats, but as metal and plastic were bent by forces heretofore unseen.

Slowly escalating the response isn’t working here, guys, his inner cop said.

He was trying to keep an eye on the guy that had him pinned down with his aim, trying to play it cool because he did not want to be hit in the head with one of those baton rounds. He just hoped the woman and the kid would take his advice and get moving.

He’d seen humvees on TV, of course, but he’d never seen any like the pair that rolled up near the bus, behind the troops, with a huge square dish on top of each. He had no idea what the hell that was about, even as the dishes rotated around and toward the crowd.

Kneeling there in the sand, feeling the itch between his shoulderblades, he got a good view of the riot. He could feel himself shaking and the bile rise in the back of his throat, as things seemed to whisper around him. Half-heard voices, screaming their fear and anger at the things, and a sense of gathering power. But his mind quailed before the full impression of it even as he strained to understand what he was hearing, or the things he started to see, startlingly overlaid with what he knew to be normal reality. He could feel his mouth going dry and his stomach heaving with breakfast, the bit he'd consumed anyway.

It was a moment of vertigo as things started to spin all around him and his mind mockingly sang, I can see for miles and miles and miles... as he felt his body swaying back and forth, as the vertigo took him.

Then everyone, despite the gassing, and the shooting, started to crumple down as these dishes on the desert-camo humvees oscillated back and forth as if shooting the people. But he couldn’t hear or see shit from it. People were going down in writhing agony, pretty well stop-punched by the unexpected. as if Charon took a scythe to them. They looked like they were dying, the way they shuddered and gasped, shrouded by gas and pinned by something out of a science fiction show.

His inner voice, sly as ever said, Here it comes.

Clearly, someone else agreed; incremental escalation wasn’t the ticket here.

There was the crackling report of a discharged weapon, in triplicate, from somewhere behind him.

He felt the rubber rounds, three in rapid succession, slam into his upper back in an explosion of pain and a swirl of colors, but almost expected it. The toppling felt almost slow motion, as if he were being eased to the ground from the force. The voice warned him, after all. There was an explosion of light and a rush of sound through his ears, as he collapsed onto the sand.

***

“Holy shit, tell me you’re getting this on camera.”

Chief Hargreaves was exuding calm as she tried to keep the Colonel out of it. There wasn’t anything the PAO could do anyway, not with this Major Jackson in command of the emergency situation. And Jackson was between a rock and a hard place, either letting them go on like this or putting them down on camera.

Not like the Birmingham police or the NYPD or LAPD, more professional, but they’re still going to take a shafting in public opinion.

She knew that her mission, to present a pretty picture to the police, was irrevocably fucked and that damage control was an exercise in futility too. This became the province of the politicians who created this mess, and it was their problem to solve it, not hers.

Some of these reporters were experienced war correspondents, with significant time in some bad places under their belt. Despite that, some of them were vomiting into bags and everyone looked pale, drawn and very shaky. Hargreaves didn't need to look into a mirror to see that her own skin, usually Sicilian swarthy, was ashen grey. She had Colonel Martin's bloodless, Anglo-Saxon visage to go by.

But it was hard to say what was causing such a terrified reaction from a busload of people used to covering all sorts of crazy things; some of these reporters handled a crime beat once in their lives, others had been to the hills of Afghanistan, reporting under mortar fire. Others had covered riots themselves. She'd been to Lebanon, Saudi Arabia and Iraq, the latter of which involved mortar attacks and ambushes.

Yet, this had everyone shaking in their boots.

The cameras rolled on despite the fear, and she couldn’t help but think of ways to make sure that blame for this got pinned on the politicians, rather than on the military chain of command. She had an inkling that the military never really wanted to be run by the Department of Homeland Security on this one to begin with; it was a touchy mess and bad for the image of all the branches involved.

“Holy shit, what is that?”

She craned her head around to take a look and saw a system she wasn’t briefed on, but that she was aware of, “It’s a nonlethal device intended to stop rioting.”

One of the members of the press used to handling military affairs filled in the questioner, “It’s the active denial system. It’s an energy weapon designed to stop riots; it makes you feel like you’re being burned.”

Indeed, the rioters were either being pushed back or were knocked down to the ground, holding themselves in pain; between the rubber bullets, gas and the science fiction weapon, the rioters were getting the worst of it. At the same time, everyone could hear sounds, experience smells and see things that had them all jittery; the wail of pipes, the sibilant whisper of sand on the wind, an inferno blazing away, the scent of burning Nag Champa, the acrid assault of sulfur, an animal's howl, drums thundering away, the ghostly nimbus over the rioters that revealed shapes and visual distortions, and, more disturbingly, over the air force grunts themselves. A cacophony, a plethora, a mural that these normal people, non-emergents, could experience, as if something were trying to break out.

This, and more added , to the edge of fear as they realized that they were in the middle of a riot that could erupt into far worse, momentarily.

“Goddamn, zap, look at them!” commented a news reporter. The cameramen were too busy just getting the footage, and the writers were scribbling away furiously on notepads. Hargreaves winced; she knew what it looked like.

This is a public relations clusterfuck. She had an inkling that military and department of homeland security censors might try to confiscate the footage on some premise or another, but she already saw the phonecams going as well as the real newscams; just like in Burma or Tehran, now here in the Nevada desert. The girl was already pregnant, the footage was already out.

She just sat back, a hand on the colonel’s shoulder, as she whispered, “Nothing we can do here, sir. Let’s just make sure we hang onto the original written copies of our orders, alright?”

She was a senior enlisted, but she was well aware of how politics were played, over the length of her career in dealing with public relations, journalism and the Pentagon. Colonel Martin, aware of the politics game, but one of its losers, nodded along to advice from one of its habitual winners.

He wasn’t about to take this one in the ass either.

[Lara]

At first, Rebekah felt nothing but dread as one of the orange jumpsuits, one of the Alphas, took notice of her and Abby. He didn’t seem to take her tensed body, filled with nerves she thought must be close to popping out of her skin, or the desire to flee that must have shown through her eyes. What did he want? His approach held no malice, but things were never what they seemed in this hell hole…

It was Abby who moved towards the man first, expression as calm as it could be with the shouting activities going on around them as she pulled away from her mother’s side. “Thanks, mister,” she said, voice not exactly bubbly like it would have been a few days ago, but at the very least it didn’t seem to have much fear in it. No, that was left to her mother, who was stuck looking between Shaw and the crowd of people making their way towards the fence.

“Yes, t-thank you,” Rebekah mumbled, managing to meet the man’s eyes for a moment, the lack of viciousness in his eyes catching her off guard. But she found herself returning with the slightest smile before moving after Abby, who had continued over to the table with more curiosity than anything else.

“Hi,” Abby said as she eased herself into the seat Shaw had just vacated – the man had just walked off with the trays he had collected. She looked around the table at each of the people in turn, but conversation was pretty much at a standstill by that point.

Rebekah dawdled for a moment, not yet gathering up the nerve to actually sit down at the table. She found herself looking over towards the group at the fence, feeling a wave of tension in the air, and then the tour bus came into view and the first round of chaos took off. Now she drew closer to Abby, her concern about keeping her daughter at her side stronger than her worry about the Alphas at the table. Who, by the way, seemed to be leaving the table one by one to head towards the crowd. Or maybe just one or two of them. She had stopped focusing on specifics after the first, instead only able to listen to the growing chants from the riot area.

The male Alpha had returned as the riot kicked into full gear. It took her a moment to realize he was saying something to her. She turned her head, listening to his words, oddly enough finding his tone soothing among all the ruckus going on. “Right,” she found herself saying, the numb feeling that something was going to happen spreading through her as she quietly ushered Abby out of her seat, taking a hold of her hand. Somehow, she managed to smile down at her daughter in what she hoped was a reassuring manner, motherly instincts kicking in. Get away from the shouting, follow after the orange-suited Alpha, but make sure Abby stayed safe, if nothing else. That was what she needed to do.

They hadn’t moved far when Shaw suddenly stopped and shouted to a woman, Rachel, about gas – which Rebekah finally noticed was likely coming, with how the military was slipping on masks. This was escalating too fast, they hadn’t had a chance to get far enough away. What was going to happen?

“Are you gonna be okay, mister?” Abby asked, worry in her eyes as she saw him get down on his knees, eyes locked with a guard who now had a gun trained on him.

“He’ll be fine, Abby,” Rebekah told her, trying to sound sure of herself despite her own worried feelings, which unsettled her a bit just because she wasn’t expecting them, not for one of the Emergents. “C-come on, now, everything’s going to be alright.” She tried to put on a brave front, but couldn’t entirely prevent the tremor in her voice. “Thank you again,” she found herself whispering to the man as she backed away, gently pulling Abby with her. If they were lucky, the guard wouldn’t bother with them; after all, they hadn’t done anything, they weren’t causing any trouble…

The first shots rang out. She found herself frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare as members in the crowd went down. Oh god, they were all going to die. Once the first guns were fired, they didn’t tend to stop until everyone was dealt with. Oh, god-

A whimper sounded from below her, so quiet against all the screaming and gun shots that she almost didn’t hear it. But she did, and when she looked down she saw and felt Abby clutching her leg with trembling hands, tears streaming down her face. There was no sign of any of the oddities that she had been displaying recently; no, this was only her daughter, her scared, six-year-old who had never even seen a gun, let alone had to watch a man shot down by it.

“Oh, Abby,” Rebekah said, tears leaking from her own eyes as she immediately scooped the girl up and hugged her close, trying to hide everything going on around them from her sight. “Abby, darling, don’t worry. Everything’s going to be alright.” But despite her attempt at calming words, it was impossible to hide her increased heart rate, or the shortness of her breath. “We’re almost to the supply hut. You heard him earlier, he said we’d be safe there, so-“

Burning. Her back suddenly exploded in pain, as if someone had taken a torch to her clothing and it had finally made contact with her skin. What was going on? It couldn't have been a stray shot – they were too far away from the firing squad to be hit, weren’t they? But, but she was so close to reaching, in her mind, the safety zone. It didn’t matter if there was a group of soldiers waiting for anyone to enter it; as long as she reached it, everything would be fine.

“Mommy?” Abby’s terrified voice came whispering into her ear. Rebekah bit back the pain, forcing it away in order to smile reassuringly once again. She had to make sure Abby was alright, no matter what. It killed her to see the fear in her daughter’s eyes. Damn this place, damn the government for forcing them to come here, damn it all. But she showed none of the anger burning away inside, just as she showed none of the pain.

“Don’t worry. We’re almost there.” Like a broken record, she repeated herself quietly, as if saying it enough times really would make everything turn out all right.

[Igraine]

’He’s here… Jason’s here… He finally came for me…’ Those were the only desperate thoughts that ran through Rachel’s head, her rational mind and anything approaching common sense having abandoned her the moment she sensed his presence, closer now than she had known him at any time since her imprisonment. She remained utterly oblivious to most everything about her but the single-minded drive to close the distance between herself and her brother. The angry shouts and the hurled rocks and food, the furious glares and the blazing banners – it was all just white noise to her now. Rachel paid scant attention to the other Emergents, the guards, or the soldiers, whether they were running toward the main crowd of people, or whether they were running away, other than to find the fastest path around them. She did not even realize that the young woman Audra was actually following behind her.

Only one other voice, one other person, could have reached Rachel at that moment. She skidded to a stop, dropping to one knee before her forward motion carried her any further at the sound of Tony’s desperate voice:

”Rachel! GAS!”

She turned to look for his face, gray eyes desperately trying to catch sight of him, her eyes widening in horror when she realized the woman Audra was there as well. What… why? Why would she not stay safe with Tony, and fol-

Everything went to hell as the 37mm shell exploded almost directly next to her, the cloud of tear gas immediately engulfing her in the still desert air. At the worst possible moment Rachel took a deep breath – a simple, instinctual reaction to surprise that sent her into convulsions of coughing, tears streaming down her face and all but blinding her as she tried to stumble away on her hands and knees. She could not see where she was going, the pain in her lungs and throat almost overwhelming, her nose running uncontrollably even as she felt what breakfast she had managed to down begin to rise up again in the back of her throat.

Rachel could hear the sounds of screaming and shouting, and many feet moving all around her. Tears still effectively blinded her as she tried to get back to her feet, but was knocked back to the ground by the panicked jostling of others she could not avoid now, rough feet stomping heedless on her outstretched fingers and hands. Quickly she pulled them to her chest and tried to stand again - only to find herself sprawled out again on the ground when a knee connected to the side of her head. Still choking, still in pain, Rachel could feel the changes in her body begin, the animal within her desperate to escape this trap by any means possible.

All she could do was half-scream, half-howl his name into the winds, “Jason! Jaaaaaa-son!”

’Dear sweet God, no… please… no…’ Jason’s brilliant green eyes scanned the panicked, gas-enshrouded crowd ahead of him as he plunged into it, Rachel’s desperate call ringing in his ears, the scent of his sister before him – and the scent of something else far fouler all but choking him. He took one deep, semi-clear breath and held it as long as he could, all but tossing aside anyone in his way – man or woman – to get to Rachel. With a supernatural speed and strength born of fear and desperation, he dropped next to his sister, gathering her gently into his arms before he began to move as quickly as he could from the main part of the crowd.

Her panicked transformation was making her difficult to carry, the joints of her body beginning to bend in inhuman ways that almost defied his efforts to hold onto her. And so as they moved, Jason whispered sweetly to her, reassuring the trembling, whimpering creature in his arms that all would be well: he was there, and he would care for her. He never saw the inch-long fangs that had erupted through her gums, nor the golden fur that had begun to run in long stripes along her face and arms, and certainly paid no attention to the sound of bone and cartilage popping and breaking as her face began to elongate into a muzzle.

All he saw was his sister, frightened and in pain. “It’s all right… I’m here Ray-Ray… Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispered over and over again, feeling even through his arms the slowing of her heartbeat as she calmed, the changes that had threatened to overwhelm her letting her go again as she returned once again to the recognizably human. Rachel’s head lay against his shoulder, tears and mucus still marring her face that she was helpless to stop. Finding a place not so very far away from where she fell, Jason fell to his knees with his sister still clutched to him in his arms beside one of the barricades, safe from the panicked flow of the human tide as it passed around them now.

[vitamin_kitten]

Audra watched in silence as the riot continued on around her. As she watched, things began to gradually escalate. The words became fiercer, their tosses more violent, and even the guards seemed to be catching the fever. Everywhere she looked, Audra saw guns beginning to aim. Why were they aiming their weapons? So far as she could tell, no one was hurt yet, and so far as she knew, it didn't have to reach that point.

The guards began pulling down masks, and Audra began to panic. They had guns and masks? Why? What did they need masks for? Protection? Were they worried some of the Emergents were going to attack them with poison of some kind? Venom? Gas?

The thought flashed through her brain about the same time Tony's voice cried it out. Not a second more passed by before Audra heard the soft thunk of the canisters falling around her, and the hiss as the vapors were released. Rachel, who had only advanced a little further in front of her, spun, a look of pure horror stretched across her features, before going down. Audra quickly followed, dizzy and blind. She coughed, trying to draw in one clean breath of air- it was nowhere to be found. Her eyes burned in a way she had never experienced before. The smell of the gas itself was choking. The only thing Audra could think to do was lay low to the ground, below the gas. She couldn't tell if it helped or made it worse. The rampaging Emergents around her seemed to kick it up, recycle it back down to the ground, swirl it around her head.

She wheezed, gasping in a breath- finally, one that wasn't entirely gas. But her lungs and throat burned, and she saw stars as someone's foot connected with her temple. Tears had already been coming freely to her eyes, now they were truly unstoppable.

I just want to pass out, she thought with a sob. Please, let it end.

And, just like that, it seemed her plea had been answered. Quiet seemed to befall the Emergents as one by one they dropped around her. They all doubled up in pain, writhing, moaning, shrieking. Audra's own body seemed to be engulfed in flames, and for a horrible moment she was trapped inside her nightmare.

"No!" she screamed out. "NO!" Was this never going to end? The flames- those condemning, punishing, hateful flames- seemed to follow her everywhere. What could she do? She sobbed, and lay flat in the dirt, letting the pain overtake her, letting it swallow her up. If she was dying, then it wouldn't last much longer anyway.

[Kesteven]

The sound of gunfire jerked Euryl from his reverie as the horror in his tormented mind appeared to find dreadful expression in the collapsing body of the big alpha, masked guard standing behind him, gun raised. No blood, Euryl struggled to think, above the noise. Rubber bullets?

The thought offered little consolation as he looked past to the scene outside - if the yard had been a vision of hell before, he had no words for what it was now. Choking gas filled the air, churning and billowing with the unknown movements inside, transforming the crowd into ghostly silhouettes and momentary glimpses of desperate, bloodshot eyes and convulsing limbs. It couldn't hide the sounds, though - wails, screams and fits of raspy coughing filled the air, merging into a chorus of anguish. In Euryl's fevered vision, real merged with imaginary and the smoke teemed with spectres and sights that couldn't possibly be real - bug-eyed goblins with wings and horns, snake-like shadows twisting around crooked mushroom towers, arcs of green flame, and a bloody shadow of eclipse, just beginning to eat its way across the face of a silver moon - these were only the things he could give names to. Things far more terrible could be glimpsed deep in the fray, half-hidden in the unholy fog.

He longed to help the people inside, to save them from this intolerable pain, but his legs refused to move, paralysed with fear and shock. It wasn't just the wisps of gas that stung tears from his eyes, but the feeling of utter helplessness, a feeling that wrapped itself around his heart and refused to let go. He was just a boy, friendless and countless leagues from home. There was nothing he could do. But standing here, helpless to ease the suffering all around him, seemed somehow a torture far worse than any gas.

Suddenly, a path through the smoke opened and through the haze and tears he spotted a mother crawling with her child in her arms - no other than the mother and child he'd spoken to just yesterday, now crawling desperately through the dirt, stained in soil and mucus and sweat. The sight was such a shock that for a moment the snake of despair lost its grip on him, and in that moment he moved without thinking, driven by a compulsion far deeper than fear or bravery and dormant at the core of even the most misanthropic egoist; nature's base commandment - for man to help man in times of greatest need. His shaking legs blurred beneath him and he dashed forwards, grabbing a napkin from a table as he leaped across it, sliding and stumbling towards the exit.

He took a deep breath as he dived outside and slapped the napkin over his mouth and nose. The flimsy protection it offered wasn't enough to stop his eyes burning and his lungs scrunching as the gas crept inside, but he pressed on blindly towards the place he'd seen the woman. As he got deeper however it got even hotter than the usual kiln-like temperature of the air - at first he thought it was just the sun beating down again through a breach in the twisting smog, but then his skin began to prickle and the sensation rose to a terrible pitch. He'd once got sunburn on a trip to Malta and had to stay indoors cursing his pale complexion for almost a week - at its worst, that had been about a tenth as bad as this. It felt like the burn the shadow-thing had given him, but it covered his entire body. He shuddered at the pain and he felt himself falling, but he struck out with his free hand and forced his numb legs to move, pushing against the ground. He knew that if he fell here, he wouldn't be able to get up again. He reached the woman and put his arm around her shoulders - her body felt cold, at least in contrast to the blistering heat that inexplicably enveloped him. One hand still covering his face, he pulled and limped and hauled woman and child to the supply building, its dull metal exterior seeming at that moment like the walls of some kind of fantastic palace, tranquil and beautiful, safe against the ravages outside.

He wasn't sure how long it had taken them or if he'd really been of any help, but eventually they reached the door and he half-led, half-dropped his charge inside. He could see huddled shadows beyond the portal- other refugees from the riot; they could take care of her. Without checking to see if she was alright, he took another breath and pulled the door shut, slumping back off into the burning hell. Had the heat and stress driven him insane? He wasn't sure. He just knew that he couldn't stop yet, and resting even for a moment in that sweet haven would mean the end of whatever spell had been keeping him going this far. He didn't know why he was here or what he was searching for, but he kept going, legs shuddering with every step, like a car on the verge of stalling. He'd become numb to the heat now, but also to everything else; the sounds, apparitions, the twisted faces, even his own body felt like shadows drifting on the edges of consciousness. I have to... have to... just a little further...

Then he saw it, hanging somewhere behind his eyes - a crying face, sand and tear-sodden dirt ground into the skin, a fresh red bruise covering the temple. It was just about recognisable as the girl he'd seen talking to the alphas in the canteen, but why? Why her? The only answer was her crying whispers as the pain consumed her. Euryl's eyes were now useless warts of puffy flesh, but somehow he knew which way to go, fighting on deeper still, now crawling on hands and knees through the tortured bodies. He forced an eye open, and there she was, just a few metres ahead. Something was wrong with the air beyond her, though, and peering through the thinning fog, Euryl could see a man starting to raise himself from the ground - his golden skin sparkled like a firework, and flashes of light skittered back and forth across it. Euryl felt a sudden wave of heat, then another - then suddenly, the temperature began to plunge down to merely baking, as it had been before the riot. It felt as though he were being submerged in cool water, but there was no time to enjoy it - sparks were starting to crackle from the hairs on Euryl's arms and his ravaged nostrils could detect the smell of burning ozone, even through the napkin. The man was now standing at full height, his back facing Euryl and the girl, his arms spread wide. The flashes of light coursed over his body like rolling waves, sweeping from fingertip to fingertip and blazing from his hair and hands in a pulsing corona.

"Audra!" Euryl forced the word through his raw throat, not caring how he knew her name. "Get out of there!"

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