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

[vitamin_kitten]

A voice, calling her name. Somehow, even over the din of painful shrieks and wailing around her, Audra was able to pick out that single voice that called to her. How? Vaguely she recalled a class from college where the phenomenon was mentioned, but she couldn't remember the details of the professor's mini-lecture. Something about the brain being on autopilot.

Her head throbbed and tears, both from the gas and from despair, clouded her vision. Her throat was raw and burning, her chest ached from trying to heave in a breath of air that wasn't contaminated. But the voice, the one that had cried out her name, had issued a command, a warning. She had to get out of there.

Slowly, Audra lifted her face from the dirt. The burning air seemed to have cooled to its normal temperature, relinquishing her from the nightmare she'd been trapped in just moments earlier. It was a great relief. Carefully, she pushed herself to her knees, and saw Euryl on hands in knees a few feet from her. From the way his eyes were nearly swollen shut, she figured him to be about as blind as she felt- somehow she had lost her glasses in the fray. Even with her blurred vision, the look of fear on Euryl's face was clear as day, and his attention was focused on something behind her. Audra chanced a look, and immediately lurched away. What was this? What kind of a monster had they locked her in here with? She had seen some of the changes that the other Emergents had gone through, she had seen the orc-man at the Alphas' table barely more than thirty minutes ago, but this- this was something else, this was something out of a Marvel comic, something terrifying because it was blatantly dangerous. It had to be.

Involuntarily, Audra jumped away again, nearly bowling into Euryl. She turned her eyes to him, wondering if he could see the question in them, the one that clearly asked what the hell this monster was. She watched the sparks fly over his skin, watched as he stretched his arms out. Euryl was right- they needed to get out of there.

Without thinking, she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. She half-stumbled, half-crawled away from the Emergent, and did her best to hang on to the young man's arm at the same time. In a few uncoordinated steps, they had moved far enough away from the spark-skinned Emergent, and most of the chaos, that Audra felt comfortable stopping and attempting to catch her breath, which was near impossible with the gas still hanging in the air. She still held a hand against Euryl's arm, as if the contact with another human being made everything alright.

[Guest]

The sky was photo-negative dark, with a black sun throwing shadows where there should have been light, and the things that were unseen in normal spectrums were revealed in those shadows; the impressions of beings of various sorts as cast in this autre monde had little to do with their physical forms in some cases, or plenty. He could tell, because it was all overlaid with physical vision. In this shadow-world, he could see the beams that scorched what they touched, and the shapes in the wind that whispered and capered about everyone, steadily gaining in a frenzied momentum of surreal limbs that looked almost two-dimensional but that was just a trick of the light.

Blink.

Now it was a world of torrential flame, and shapes dancing within it with wild abandon to a music that he couldn’t hear but a rhythm that he understood intrinsically. And it whispered to him, many things that his brain wasn’t prepared to process or make any sense of. But there was a reassurance there as well, that it would unfold eventually and this, like many other things, was a beginning of a new. A birth of fire.

There was a rush of sound around him that seemed, at either, either unbearably slow or too fast for him to hear, the two sensations mingled for added confusion, but then his world snapped back into clarity and pain.

Sensory overload, I’ve had it.

The man, or woman – they were often the better shots, that shot him with the rubber round aimed for the same general area of the back for each of the three, and he couldn’t get up, the way his back locked up and bruised up from the mauling it took—one, ONE, of those things was enough to take a person down. Half of his brain cussed the fucker that shot him three times with that shit, the other half didn’t blame the guy for being scared.

There was a sandstorm brewing in the area; the wind that merely made things spooky before suddenly was picking up and bringing sand in a tidal wave toward the compound. That wasn’t all he saw; all the people writhing on the ground in pain sent up a supernaturally-fuelled shockwave; the mind, wired for fight-or-flight in any human, reached for all avenues during a time of great stress, fear and trauma. In most humans, this meant a spike of adrenaline that turned the unlikeliest person dangerous with superhuman-seeming strength.

In the superhuman, the Emergents, it led to the sudden breaching of mental barriers as the subconscious shoved the conscious aside and reached for the loaded gun in the closet, the one that the conscious psyche, conditioned with modernity and rationality, was loathe to reach for. The pain, the immediate and desperate need, the legitimate fear that they might be gunned down by the military at the orders of some psychotic, or not even a psychotic but a rational man reaching a conclusion about safety, spurred all these things on. The subconscious didn’t deal in optimism, and it certainly held no illusions about the subconscious of other people – there was no belief in the better side of human nature there, it reckoned the situation as desperate and reacted with what it deemed the necessary force for the situation—typically all the force it could muster.

For the soldiers firing away at the Emergents in the camp, it was a system shock. They had briefings on Emergents, as much as could be conveyed to them, but security rules imposed by DHS meant that many of them, such as the Alphas, were classified top secret and the SP’s were left with no real idea of what these guys could do.

The psychic shrieks, the cacophony that reverberated through their minds, where there was a dull humming before, caused some to fall to their knees in utter pain, writhing as if hit by the ADS themselves; those that managed to shake it off were in a variety of states of alertness; some were babbling the song or singing it aloud tunelessly, others were gritting their teeth.

“Num-num-num!” “Yooba-yooba-yooba!” “Changalangalangalang!”

The cameras rolled from the bus, recording those writhing on the ground in agony, and the others who were dancing a variety of dances like it was “Hear the Colors” day at Haight-Ashbury; those in the bus that’d survived the 60’s were hit much harder with the impression , and the irony of a bunch of straight-laced Air Force enlisted dancing, singing and seeing things as if they were on LSD.

But it wasn’t funny. It was scary evidence of the ability to control minds, even if in a raw and unrefined form.

But what was more appalling than the dancing was the occasional heat-shimmer form or hazy shadowy thing or splash of color that the men and women were doing the dancing with, or were dancing around the men; they were forced to fend off the attentions, but with varying degrees of effectiveness; some of the apparitions disappeared, others mocked the efforts.

Panic fire was inevitable, slapping against the glass of the bus and threatening to shatter it at the velocities which it was fired. There was a scream up and down the aisle, and even more screams outside as the SP’s inadvertently, in an alter-minded panic, started to indiscriminately fire among themselves.

A cameraman screamed out even more at the sight of what was happening to the humvees that carried ‘the raygun’ in the form of the radar dish-like mounts, as they were being pulled around and covered by vinelike things sprouting from the sand, where no real vine would ever exist, though these vines were viscious and inky looking, like shadows made form, and they pulled at the dishes so as to pull them away from the people they were intended to stop.

Some Emergents took the chance, with the letup, to start running, to make a leap for freedom, however improbable success would be. They raced past their assailants towards the concrete barriers, trying to find a way through, some using claws and other things to climb, even though there was a pavilion roof of sorts made of chicken wire.

That is, until a frail looking woman opened a hole through the concrete, with a flash of supernatural light and a bolt that bore right through the barrier; others started to move right through it, the cameras tracking them, and a couple daring cameramen following right up to the barrier.

These few, five, souls managed to get out into the desert, running individually and panicked as if their lives depended on it, only to be greeted with a withering firestorm of gunfire from above. A helicopter roared overhead of the camp in pursuit of the escapees, a UH-60 with the multibarreled miniguns screaming shrilly as they cut the escaping Emergents with a wall of lead that caused miniature geysers of sand to kick up from their impact; when the rounds hit flesh, there was very little left of the flesh.

Shaw didn’t see much of this, but he did hear the screams of the military men, over the screams of the Emergents, some of whom were starting to fight back with newfound spellcraft, or something. It was a bewildering array of things that flashed, sizzled and went off, even as, in the distance, the booming wind and thunder overhead seemed a prelude to something, as did the gathering cloud-wall of sand not too far away.

“PULL BACK! PULL BACK!” The troops seemed unwilling to fight any further as eldritch energies swirled around them in response to the raygun and the shotgun fire. And as the SP’s tried to regroup, abandoning the humvees and the busses, abandoning many of the reporters, in fact, to the mercies of the group of vengeful men and women.

Another Blackhawk helicopter screamed overhead, laying down a curtain of fire at the crowd itself, as lethal as that used on the escapees; even those who weren’t under the fire could be scalded by the hot brass coming down from overhead as the helicopter made merciless pass after merciless pass. Under such suppressive fire, the Security Police were able, theoretically, to pull back, or to be pulled back by their comrades where they’d otherwise still be compulsively singing or dancing. Others, covering their comrades in this retrieval process, ceased to fire rubber pellet rounds; they’d switched to live ammunition and were laying down their own suppressing fire.

The cameras caught all of this, though the cameramen and women themselves were too stunned to make out what was going on, and relied upon the same sort of instinct that made a reporter stand up and give news in a warzone, that made a photographer take combat snapshots at risk of life and limb. This wasn’t merely a story anymore, no mere scoop.

Shaw, and many others, screamed their rage and hatred at the thing as it turned people, not even rioters in many cases, into pieces of people, grotesquely amputated corpses left with their innards exposed by the violence of the fire. Miniguns didn’t just hit with one round, but with many, and the impact of so many rounds in one place left ruined, lifeless husks of gore in their wake. The buckshot, like swarming bees in tight formation, pounded into people as well, just as it also hit windows and splintered wood.

Mercifully, the sky went dark, and the sand came screaming in, even faster than it seemed before; it blotted out the sun, but seemed to particularly find the helicopter that was doing so much killing within the camp from overhead, indiscriminate and uncaring. It was not easy to see it as it lurched away, smoking and screeching metallically, though the sound of it crashing, as the sand got into everything and the wind buffeted it. The sand was so thick, so dark that it seemed as night. With everyone blinded by it, there was no fire or attacks of energy except for what people fired without aiming at all, as people tried to blindly grope their way through.

Others, and Shaw was among these, lay there in pain and weeping at what they’d seen; the slaughter of people, the pain, the strain and the rest of it. And even the cameramen watched this numbly, the ones that were still in the camp, the ones that hadn’t left.

---

The footage made it to the networks in various forms, despite the military’s attempt to stop it from getting released, and despite threats of censure from the Department of Homeland Security.

BNN Headline Report, July 8th

”And now to Nellis Air Force Base, to our correspondent on the scene, Ed Colton.”

”Thank you, Greg. gunfire and violence erupted today as Emergents in the Department of Homeland Security-managed detainment camp at Nellis Air Force base started a riot against touring reporters and dignitaries this morning. Despite anti-riot countermeasures taken by the military, the Emergent inmates, originally just throwing food and displaying banners, fought back with a stunning array of abilities to stop the attack of the developmental “Active Denial System” a science fiction raygun used to stop rioters nonlethally, CS tear gas and rubber shotgun rounds. However, when Emergents managed to escape, using abilities we can only call ‘magical’, the Air Force started to use lethal force.

Other Emergents used these abilities to take the upper hand in the standoff and used their abilities to disable the Air Force’s weapon systems and force the Air Force personnel into retreat. A Blackhawk helicopter overhead strafed the camp and the inmates to suppress them as the Air Force pulled their people back, but to little avail as the Black Hawk itself was brought down by a sandstorm that I, Greg, think must have been conjured…”

NBS News

”Rioting in Washington DC tonight as vigils for the dead at the Nellis Uprising were disrupted by counterprotests; tempers boiled over and violence engulfed the vigil as both sides went at it with words, then with fists, clubs, rocks and other weaponry.

Other cities are reporting similar outbreaks of violence as the antipathies go from a simmer to a boil and one of the most controversial issues of our time, the so-called "Emergent Question" becomes a much more urgent issue for everyone. We now take you live to the Washington Mall, where a mass brawl is ongoing...”

FOC News, Late Edition

"Under fire for his department's mishandling of the Nellis Uprising, which has now turned into a siege between an entrenched perimeter of a mixed military task force and the Emergents, trapped in their encampment, but in control of it, Secretary Donald Norman of Homeland Security tendered his resignation to President Amesbury as of eight o'clock this evening, Eastern Standard Time.

The Department of Homeland Security and the president have come under a bipartisan torrent of fire over the footage of the Uprising, showing military personnel, under the command of Department of Homeland Security, using lethal force on Emergents, and the Emergents fighting back with a truly terrifying spectacle of supernatural fury..."

New York Daily Mail Editorial, evening edition

The air is crackling, and it isn’t merely the antipathies of both sides of the Emergent issue. It feels almost as if the world is slipping into crisis, and what will emerge from its maw will not resemble the world as we knew it, the old world we furiously attempt to keep in place as reality itself seems to turn everything we know, or thought we knew, against us…

[Igraine]

Through the screams and the searing heat, the blood and the tear gas, the explosions and – dear God help them all – the bullets, Jason remained huddled over Rachel on the side of the barricade. He held her to him so painfully tight the skin on his knuckles blanched with the effort. Still, her breathing continued to slow, paradoxically finding solace in her brother’s presence even while all the world around them descended further and further into madness and chaos and death. He was sorely tempted to make a break for it, to gather her up in his arms and rush to the relative safety of the bus’s interior. But the hail of bullets fired at random from the strangely jerking and madly “dancing” soldiers all around it convinced him otherwise. She still wore the damned orange jumpsuit after all, that marked her as an Emergent – and if nothing else, it made a hell of a target.

Rachel lifted her head from his shoulder, doing her best to wipe away the tears and mess that covered her face with her hands, though she still couldn’t keep the coughing from tearing up her throat. She wrapped an arm around her brother’s neck and leaned into him, her voice raspy and roughened though still loud enough even over the cacophony all around them. “Can we make a run for it?,” she asked in a hoarse whisper, “To the other side of the barricades… out of here?” The longing in her voice, ruined and muffled as it was now, was unmistakable.

Jason looked over his shoulder, inching slowly upward to peer over the barricade, toward the bus and the soldiers there. No, there was still too much chaos, people running and sobbing madly, bullets flying and …

… Oh dear sweet God…

He gaped, eyes wide in horror, as the cloud of sand bore down on them all, a great wall of ever-shifting darkness that ate the horizon as it came like an unstoppable tide. Not the shadowy vines or the ever-shifting surreal images that danced across the desert, not the smell of the blood and torn, burnt flesh; not even the crackling feel of some rising power, like static electricity crawling across the skin, could have gotten his attention like that incoming wall did, looking every bit like the end of the world on the screaming winds. Rachel followed his gaze, her own mouth falling open a bit as she caught sight of the impossible bearing down on them.

Brother and sister looked to one another, gray eyes meeting brilliant green, no words necessary between them at all. There would be no escape in that direction. Jason knew Nick would see this, would protect Amy and Sylvia – there was simply no other choice at the moment. Rachel jerked her head back toward the camp proper, to the cafeteria and the supply hut, where she could only hope Tony would be, and relative safety.

Two giant golden wolves – one as light and brilliant as the sun, the other dark as burnished bronze – raced across the camp’s desert floor toward the buildings, leaping over and around the fallen and the dead, ignoring the screams and calls as they bounded toward-

The light wolf stopped almost dead in her tracks, claws scraping into the desert sand as she turned around to… the familiar scent. Friend. The woman. She knew the woman there, standing with her arm on the young man she did not know… But the woman shouldn’t be here. She should be… should be… with them. Running to the shelters, that were safe like caves…

She began to nudge at the woman with her head, her great fanged muzzle easily reaching her shoulder. The human did not have a scruff she could pull on or carry her by, like a pup – but no matter. She needed to move, to go, and the wolf was not taking “no” for an answer. Her brother snarled at her, yipping his urgency and need for his sister to move to safety, but knowing that for whatever reason, he was likely going to be ignored as the she-wolf tried to herd the human woman to safety.

With a growl of frustration, he loped to the man by the woman and tried – with a gentle delicacy that belied the inch-long fangs in his maw - to grab a piece of his shirt sleeve. Subtle the darker wolf would never be, but at least he reasoned that if the young man came, the woman would be far less likely to put up anymore fight – and that sand storm wasn’t slowing in the least…

[vitamin_kitten]

They were okay now. They were relatively safe now, far on the fringe of the chaos, back towards some area between the supply hut and the cafeteria. Audra felt the sweaty, clammy skin of Euryl's arm beneath her palm, felt the tremble in his entire body right there beneath her fingertips. Or was it she that was shaking? Probably some combination of the two, she decided. Everything was okay now though. Well, not everything, obviously. Guns were still being aimed, rubber bullets still being fired, Emergents still crying out angrily and pelting the buses with whatever they could get their hands or claws on, or with whatever they could conjure up. But she and Euryl were out of the thick of it, off to the side, able to catch a few gas-filled gasps of breath and regroup.

And then the thick of if seemed to return to them. A dizzying wave of nausea rolled over Audra in a sensation she now recognized as a premonition of bad things to come.

No ... she thought as her world slowed down. She seemed to be standing high above the heads of everyone around her, looking down on the situation as Emergents, soldiers, and reporters dropped from view. Bullets became ripples in a stop-time animation of a war zone, and Audra clearly distinguished them as actual bullets. How she knew the difference was a question indeed. But she knew, and recognized them clearly and with a pang of fear and foreboding that gripped violently at her heart.

There were a group of Emergents on the edge of her attention, simply because they were far on the edge of the camp, right on the barrier that separated it from the rest of the Nevada desert. Audra focused on them, hardly out of choice. They gradually became the clearest parts of her vision, and as she involuntarily zeroed in on them, she watched splotches of red blossom from their skin as bullets found flesh and tore into their bodies. Her vision was ripped from them to Emergents closer to her, and they too fell to the ground as eruptions of blood exploded from wounds made by pellets of lead. The rest that remained standing in her vision were turned calmly towards an encroaching wall of sand. Audra's eyes widened, and, paralyzed, she watched the wall come barreling towards the camp in sickeningly slow motion. Those Emergents and soldiers and reporters that stood before it like willing sacrifices quickly vanished from sight, and as the last one disappeared, the real world sped up once more.

Sound returned to Audra's ears and actual sight returned to her eyes. She glanced out frantically, her gaze falling on the group of Emergents running towards the edge of the camp and blasting their way into the desert, then moved quickly towards the others scattered around before her, some still writhing in pain, others running for their lives, and still others attempting to fight back. And finally, she heard the whine of a helicopter engine just overhead and the thwapthwapthwap of its propellers. And Audra knew, knew with every fiber of her being, just who exactly was about to die. She closed her eyes, too afraid to watch, too numbed by her inability to do anything, sickened almost at heart that anyone would enact such violence upon their fellowman. Sure, the world was a harsh place to live in, and crimes were being carried out against humanity everyday, but something like this hadn't happened since World War II. This was straight-out slaughter for its own sake.

Even with her eyes closed, Audra sensed the wall of sand. She felt it along her skin, though it was still a ways off yet. She braced herself for the sandpaper tsunami that was about to hit, and instead felt a hard nudge from behind. Audra ignored it, assuming someone had just run into her. But it persisted, followed by an urgent growl. She finally opened her eyes and turned to see two large wolves nudging and nipping at her and Euryl.

"...what?" She felt confused, unsure, terrified. Who were these wolves? What were they doing? They were too large to be natural wolves, and besides, wolves didn't live in the desert, did they? Could they be Emergents?

Hesitantly, Audra budged from her spot, moving in the direction of the nudge. If these wolves were trying to help, she would let them.

[Kesteven]

Euryl stopped, panting. The air here was foul and stung his eyes like onions, but at least it was breathable, and after what seemed like an eternity inhaling only scraps of fumes through a cheap napkin, he would have easily traded gold and jewels for such air. Breathing was a luxury one never really appreciated until it was denied.

The pressure on his arm reminded him that there was someone leaning on him... Audra, was it? Or had he just imagined that? It was hard to tell with the bombardment of sensation from all directions, and his exhaustion and fear... his mind felt fuzzy and mixed up. Now his vision was recovering, he had his first real, clear view of her face, without the hindrances of distance or glasses. She was covered in sand and dirt, caked together where the tears had touched it, and she looked about as healthy as he felt - her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her skin blanched and sickly. Blood was trickling down from the welt on her head, and had smudged into a stain that covered much of her face and shoulder. She should have looked repulsive, but she didn't.

Quite the reverse, in fact.

He felt her grip tighten on his arm, and his heart, already pumping hard from strain and adrenaline, began to quicken slightly. He tried to ignore it. He was just light-headed and confused, and, he struggled to remind himself, in mortal danger.

He tersely handed her his napkin, and risked a look back the way he'd come - muffled buzzing and crackling still carried out from the flickering smoke. There was a flash and another wave of rolling heat, followed by a sudden volley of gunfire and a small explosion. The crackling stopped. There were other noises rising to replace it, though - metal buckling and glass smashing, strange whoops and zaps, and an all-pervading pressure that prickled his eardrums like white static, all set to the unsteady rhythm of gunfire. For a moment Euryl thought he was hearing music, like the incredible sounds he'd heard on that night, but somehow harsher and darker. A sudden nausea made him lurch - when it passed, he found himself staring at the ground. There was blood on his trainers, and splattered across his clothes. Somewhere along the line, his nightmare had become real, and he hadn't even noticed.

Looking up again, he was greeted with a sight even more surreal - a pair of gigantic wolves, standing majestically before him, their fur whipped to-and-fro by a breeze that had sprung up. The eclipsing moon hung above them in the morning sky - Euryl couldn't quite remember his solar physics classes, but wasn't there something wrong with that? He stared at them, paralysed with awe, feeling like a tiny jungle rodent watching a tiger pass by. One of them leaned down and tried to pull on his sleeve - the message was crude but straightforward, and he understood instantly. He couldn't say he trusted the creatures, in fact it would be a lie to say he felt anything less than terror towards them, but there was a strange calm in knowing that if either of them wished him dead, there was nothing he could do to stop them. As it was, they didn't seem to wish him or Audra any harm... and even without their prompting, he knew he had to hurry to safety. Something was coming, something more dangerous even than the warzone behind them. The four hurried off towards the huts, as the dark sands rolled in over the outer fences.

[Igraine]

Though both wolves could smell the trepidation and worry coming off the humans, that was the least of their concerns at the moment, a thing to be considered when the sky itself was not about to fall upon all of them and devour them like prey.

The she-wolf was still not contented with the hesitant pace the woman-friend had tried to set, but she was content when the young man-she-did-not-know began to hurry along with them. Surely the woman friend would move far quicker now too? She looked to her brother, the dark wolf, and caught his green eyed gaze, the whites showing with worry, as they bounded toward one of the cave-like shelters, away from the storm that was coming. It did not seem the entrances were open, but no matter – they would batter their way through, if the ones with thumbs did not see fit to make the openings wider.

And it was at just that moment, when the doors were opened for the humans and the dark wolf, that she sensed yet another… another familiar… a friend. The man-friend – and he was… he was… hurting?

At no point during the wolves’ flight had the relentless sounds of the screams and explosions, the shots and the cries, ever once faded. The scent of gun powder and blood, ozone and fine sand had permeated everything, a multi-layered and brutal assault on her tender senses. But now that she focused, even in that split second, she could almost see a trail to him. His cries and his scent and his blood burned brightly before the she-wolf, as she ignored her brother’s tortured howl after her, begging her to come inside where-

The golden wolf bounded over and around the bodies of men and women, both living and dead, to the man-friend. She did not question why or how this should be, that she should go after him. He was… he was a part of her… her pack. One of hers now, whether he would or no. And find him she did, easily and within seconds. Her head lowered and she cringed before her man-friend, her tail falling as the weight of his misery fell on her like the heaviest of rains. His pain – he was howling his pain with a man-voice. She would have mourned with him if she could have – raised her cry next to his and howled her grief alongside him – but there was no time now, all her instincts screaming to get the two of them to shelter.

The she-wolf buried her teeth into the back of his jumpsuit, careful to grab no skin – these humans were so very delicate, after all. And she began to tug at him, pulling with all her strength back toward shelter, and safety, with as much tenderness – but urgency – as she would show a wayward pup. She heard the sound of her brother behind her now, not so very far away at all, snarling a warning to anyone who seemed to want to close the doors – though he would never let them without her there.

And when she finally dragged her man-friend indoors, the doors to the cave-like were closed. The she-wolf sniffed at his body, a worried whine, a small whimper, issuing forth from her mouth as she smelled the blood on him, unsure if he was truly harmed in his flesh, or his soul alone. And knowing there was little she could do as she was now, that she had not already done, the she-wolf relinquished her hold to the woman within. Painlessly and seamlessly, the light golden wolf lost her fur, the face becoming shorter and more snubbed. Fangs and claws all receded as her joints popped from place and reassembled themselves, bones lengthening and splitting and reforming as the whines and yips became, at last, a voice.

“Tony… Tony?” Rachel asked, her voice still barely better than a hoarse whisper from the effects of the tear gas, “Are you all right? Please just say… something… ?” She winced as the blood coursed to the side of her head where she’d been struck by someone’s knee, running one tender hand over what she was quite sure would eventually be a hell of a black eye. “Talk to me, please… are you all-“

Her head snapped up at the sound of Jason’s deep growl, an unmistakable threat of dire harm for someone – though she could not imagine for whom at that moment. Her blue-eyed gaze followed the track of her brother’s ominous glare, toward a few men who quickly averted their obvious stares from her, and toward the far more immediate threat of her brother. Rachel remained confused for a moment, trying to understand what possible reason they would -

And then she looked down. Rachel shook her head and rolled her eyes, giving a sidelong glare at the gawking men. With a sigh of frustration, she looked about quickly, realizing they had somehow made it into one of the bunkhouses for shelter. Without a second thought, Rachel stripped the sheets off the nearest bed and made herself a makeshift toga of sorts before kneeling back down beside Tony, shaking his shoulder gently. “Tony?”

[vitamin_kitten]

At the urging of the wolves, and now that Euryl himself seemed compelled to move at the animals' prodding, Audra made her way towards one of the Quonset huts. The closer she got, the fast she moved. That wall of sand would not take very long to get to them. It would be there in less than a minute. They only had seconds, and the urgency and gravity of the situation was not lost on Audra at all.

She began to run, and felt the two wolves and Euryl on her heels. They burst into the hut, and the ground began to tremble, signalling the closeness of the strange wall of sand. Audra nearly collapsed to the floor against one of the beds and closed her eyes, hoping not to see that scene of death once more. She felt its presence from all over the camp, felt it congregating over her head like some ground zero, like there was a doorway of death there from which the very thing had to pass in order to claim lives. It was a sickening feeling, a feeling that sapped Audra's energy like a vacuum.

In a matter of seconds, the wolf that had prodded her with its big head had disappeared, and then quickly returned carrying the black guy- Tony, his name was Tony- in its mouth. The wolf dropped him to the floor, and the tremble in the earth beneath them grew more violent as the wall of sand approached. When it finally arrived, it was with a thunderous roar so deafening that Audra thought the world itself was turning inside out and collapsing on itself. She heard cries and pleas for help, gunshots, the sound of a helicopter being brought from the sky, explosions, death. Everywhere death.

The only thing that kept Audra from crossing over into sobbing mess was the sound of Rachel's voice. Where had she come from? Certainly Audra hadn't exactly been paying attention to who was already in the hut, but she thought she would have noticed a bright orange jumpsuit. Audra opened her eyes to see Rachel- now in the nude- kneeling before Tony and tending to him with such an expression of concern that one would have assumed their knowing each other to have existed long before the camp.

Why is she naked? Audra wondered to herself, about the same time that the woman seemed to realize this fact for herself. She quickly made herself decent with a sheet from one of the beds, and as she returned to their awkward little group, Audra noticed one of the wolves was missing. It wasn't rocket science, and in a matter of seconds, Audra made the connection. The wolf had been Rachel. Rachel can turn into a wolf? It was a fascinating notion, and one Audra decided to ask her about when the time was more appropriate.

[Kesteven]

Euryl didn't remember much after that. One of the wolves had turned into a naked woman, but he wouldn't have been in much of a state to appreciate the sight even if the dark wolf hadn't made its position on the matter clear. He'd thrown up a few times, putting him back to square one as far as eating for the last few days was concerned, although he was too exhausted to think about being hungry. Somehow, despite the war outside and the sandstorm that shook the entire building, despite the giant wolf growling nearby, despite the throbbing pain in his head and, well, everywhere else, he'd managed to fall asleep.

He woke in darkness, with various muddled memories of waking to tend to the wounded, some kind of trouble with an armed group outside, and various other things, some of which seemed fairly plausible, others less so. He felt food sitting uncomfortably in his stomach, so he supposed at some point someone must have brought him something to eat. Looking out of the scratched and broken windows, it seemed as though the worst of the sandstorm had passed, although there was still a steady wind kicking up particles and making the outside a generally unpleasant place to be. In the dim moonlight, he could see that some of the other buildings were all but buried under drifts that had built up around them. That, and the beaten-up bodies resting around him, illuminated by some small electric lanterns, were the only immediate indication that yesterday hadn't been one long, horrible nightmare.

He could hear an occasional distant thudding noise rising over the wind. Some kind of heavy weaponry, perhaps? If so, that meant the 'riot' had been going on for almost a day now. He couldn't see any guards or military nearby, though - they were probably waiting for the buzz to die down and the sand to clear before herding everyone back in.

He pulled back the blanket that covered him, and tried to stand. Bad idea. From his sitting position, he looked around the room for familiar faces. The black Alpha, no, Tony, some corner of his mind informed him, Tony was there, and the wolf-woman beside him. So was Audra, and reassuring though the sight of her face was, it brought back unwanted memories of the previous day.

He lay back down and closed his eyes.

[Deadman - D17]

It was a quiet evening tonight... good.

For some reason, business had slowed down this past week. Tonight was the worst, with only a few to compliment the regulars that seemed a permanent fixture at the bar. Two guys playing pool while their girls looked on, a couple people camped out on the lounge chairs, sipping drinks and listening to the three-man jazz band in the corner, it was quiet, plain and simple. Steve kept saying it was going to pick up, though, that tomorrow would be busy as all hell.

Not that he would be around for it.

Peter stretched, rising to his full height for what might have been the first time that day, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as a series of soft *pops* ran down his spine. Terrible posture, he had always been told, it would catch up with him later. Of course, later, he'd be dead, retired, or at some dead-end job that didn't require physical labor beyond typing a few words on a computer or picking up a phone. For now, it was another tool, a weapon, a deception. As long as the side effects wouldn't sit in until he was at least forty and past his prime anyway, it didn't matter.

"That's it, Steve." He leaned over the counter across from the bartender, arms reaching across to drape hands over the other side. Steve, Stephan Smith was his full name, forty or fifty-something, who lived as if he were barely thirty. Nice guy -bit strange though- loved to argue everything, he might actually miss leaving this place a little. "Contract's up as of..... twenty seconds ago, and counting. The other guy's trained, he can take over just fine."

"You're mighty eager to head, Gabe" Ah, Gabe, his alias, one could say. Not that he was trying to hide or anything, he'd paid what few fines and tickets had come his way. No, it was just his way of starting new, a fresh start. New name, new places, new things to learn and discover, and nothing the old could do to catch up. "Wouldn't want to stay a while longer, eh? You hate this place that much?"

"Heh, no, it's been fine. Time to go, that's all, find somewhere new... I would like my money, though."

"Money? Oh! Yeah, I was paying you, wasn't I? Damn, how'd you pull that one on me?" Smartass as always, "Let's see... last two weeks, here ya go, don't spend it all in one place... unle-"

"Unless it's here, of course," 'Gabe' finished for him, swiftly counting the stack of twenties Steve handed him, "You tell me that every time you pay me.... And what the hell-? I work two sixty-hour weeks and this is the thanks I get?"

"You don't get paid for sitting around, you gotta do something! Lazy bum-"

"Do something? Put the vodka down a second, you're saying I haven't done anything-?"

"You broke up two fights this week, only one the last-"

"That's because those where the only fights-!"

"Not my problem-"

"Listen, when I got here there were at least two brawls a night. Wouldn't the fact that there's a best two a week mean I have been doing something?"

"Well- Shit. I guess you have a point there..."

"You know, here," Peter pulled out a twenty from the stack, handing it back to Steve, "How about you give me a bottle of Daniels, and we call it even?"

"A bottle? You work here for six months and don't touch a drink, and now you want a bottle?"

"A little something for the road, since I don't drink when I'm working."

"Now, I can respect that -not that I'd follow such an ideal- but you know man, this just doesn't work. Either you drink all year 'round, or you don't drink at all, there is no middle! Either you're a drinker or a dry bastard, but you can't be a drinker half the time and a bastard the next. Not only that, bu- Hey! Yo, Gabe! Are you even listening?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course," Peter replied distantly. It wasn't a complete lie, he had been listening at first, but then his eye had caught the single, rusted Television set above the bar.

"Hey, can you turn that up?"

"What-? Oh, fine man, shut me out for the tube. Bah, younger generations, no respect..." Apparently, Steve decided to be an old man now, as he turned away to rummage through cupboards and drawers, mumbling under his breath all the while. He came back up soon enough, sliding a bottle at Peter with one hand, while the other fiddled with the remote to unmute the t.v., brinning narration to the scene of smoke, dust, and confusion.

"...using abilities we can only call ‘magical’, the Air Force started to use lethal force.

Other Emergents used these abilities to take the upper hand in the standoff and used their abilities to disable the Air Force’s weapon systems and force the Air Force personnel into retreat. A Blackhawk helicopter overhead strafed the camp and the inmates to suppress them as the Air Force pulled their people back, but to little avail as the Black Hawk itself was brought down by a sandstorm that I, Greg, think must have been conjured..."

"Hellspawn, they are." One of the regulars spoke up as soon as the feed ended.

"Damned fiends," Another, "Government's finally gettin' it right, though. Just gotta shoot 'em all."

"Yeah, but you see what they did?" The third, "Guns were barely workin'."

"Bah, sohuld've just killed 'em back in the camp!"

"Yeah, but you got all them protesters and others...."

"Emergents..." Peter ignored the words of the three drunks, replaying what he had just seen over again in his mind. There had been talk about these 'magical beings' for a while now, mysterious, intriguing talk. Random humans suddenly developing mythic powers and abilities? What happened? What was the cause, the catalyst, the reason? Questions upon questions, they'd been driving him mad for months!

Now though, he was free, and it seemed, some of these 'emergents' as well. What were they like? Were they still human at some, or most levels? Or something else entirely?

So many questions... He needed answers!

"Alright then, I'm out." Slipping the money into one inside pocket of his leather jacket -it's shoulders worn and cracking from weather and use- and the bottle of whiskey in the other, he stood and turned to leave. "Thanks for the work, Steve, I thought I'd never be able to get that new bike."

"Bah, just leave already, will ya! And take that bike too, I'm sick an' tired of it cluttering up my garage!"

"Heh, alright, alright," He held up his hands in mock defeat, "I see my gratitude serves no purpose here. Very well then, I'll be getting my bike a-..."

Peter paused, turning back to look at the smugly-grinning bartender for a second. Wait a second, he reminded him about the bike -as if he would forget, it being his ride, not to mention next to his bedroll- but what about the man's spare key? He might have not wanted to mention that, with those three still here, but they were oldtime regulars, knew more about Steve and 'Gabe' than either would care to admit.

Huh..

"-and getting gone, see ya Steve."

"And you, Gabe....

And dammit man, at least this one time, buckle those things so I don't have to hear that 'slap' slap' wherever you walk!"

"Heh."

*Slap*

Peter left the Bar, and everything about it, behind as he walked, set on moving forwards. And sure enough, with each step, the heels of his feet rose up from the ground before his sandals, the straps that were meant to confine them within the shoes hanging unused, the sandals finally parting with the ground to meet his feet once more with a sharp *slap*.

*Slap*

*Slap*

Partially to let others know he was nearby, partially to more easily get out of them, the sandals were -like everything else about him- a tool, a deception. And now, hunched back over, the true length of his arms hidden within the sleeves of his jacket, sandals slapping away, he left. Steve's house was a twenty-minute walk, after that would be a quick catnap, and then he'd be gone.

Where too? Well, this time, he actually had a destination.

Wherever the emergents had escaped to... Wherever he could meet up with them.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

"Oh... oh my"

It hadn't taken long at all to near the detainment facility, and the chaos that surrounded it. He certainly had picked the right bike -a Harley, used, but still in quality condition, and fast- unfortunately, speed wouldn't help him much here... except maybe get him shot.

Guards, guards and more guards, military personnel swarmed along the barricades separating the facility from the rest of the world, right along with mobs of protesters , and quite a few the regulars back at the bar would get along with wonderfully. All told, it was a mass of tense confusion, one that just so happened to stand between him and where he really wanted to go.

"Well, this complicates things."

Hopping off his bike, he walked it a bit off the road, laying it behind a rock and slipping the key into his back pocket before turning back to make his way to the crowds. As he walked, he kept himself hunched, hands hanging just over the front pockets of his jeans, arms seeming to be 'normal' length as much of them remained concealed by the jacket sleeves.

*Slap*

He zipped his jacket down one-third of the way, before resting his hands just over the twin, flip-folding knives poking out from his pockets. Between his hands and the jacket itself -not to mention everyone's attention being divided by everything else- it should be almost impossible for someone to see them. hopefully, if there was a confrontation, he could talk his way out of it, or solve it with his fists alone, without having to resort to drawing those knives.

Yep, father still had a hold on him... Damn.

"Hey! You! What are you doing here?"

The cry snapped Peter's attention back in front of him, eyes quickly scanning the man who yelled, as well as his companions. Protesters, it seemed, the signs helped.

Well then...

"This is the place, right? Where they're holding those people against their will?" Martial discipline kept his face a mask of urgency and concern, seemingly honest. "I saw what happened on the news, and came as fast as I could, this is madness! The government can't be allowed to do this, how can we stop it!?"

Part of what he said was true, the rest? Well, this was urgent, and he was concerned, so it all fit together nicely. And it seemed the protesters bought it, too, sweeping him up in their crowd, deafening him with their chanting cries.

And Peter cried right along with them, making his way through the mass, moving closer and closer to the front ranks of the protesters as he yelled with the best of them. Would he have preferred a better plan? Well, Yes, but this was the best he found, so he might as well see where it took him.

Another.... Interesting experience, to say the least.

[Guest]

(Pt. 1)

Shaw was in a world of pain; three when one should have put anyone down, but he was still groaning and moving. He’d swatted away the animal nosing at him, as if thinking that somehow, a coyote got in and was looking for easy meat; he wasn’t that dead quite yet. Before he knew it, it was Rachel, trying to get him to respond, even as his ears rang and he could feel a whanging headache and the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, like a working boiler engine on an old steamer.

It took a while for him to regain focus enough to figure out what she was trying to say, even as he tried to rub the moist sand and the rest out of his eyes so he could see; not coyotes, wolves. But they weren’t trying to nibble him, and he wasn’t sure…well, he was out of it. Knock on the head or something. He tasted a combination of blood and sand, gritty and metallic in his mouth, and slowly rolled over, onto his belly, groaning and trying to wipe it out on his sleeve, an unpleasant combination of mucus, saliva and blood. The floor was cold tile, just like a courthouse or something, stark and impersonal, but comfortable and soothing. It was almost tempting to drift out and let the pain in his head go away, if he could force it.

An attempt to move his head again produced a blindingly-sharp pain and a low moan. He wasn’t nearly ready to answer the questions, but she wouldn’t shut up, so he finally managed, “Yeah, muh fuggin head hurts…” And perhaps that statement gave him the strength to grab something metallic and haul himself up, shakily,

He looked around with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, taking in the place; it was Imhoff’s supply shed, full of useful…things. But above all, there were bottles of water, stacked up. Clearly, the Gremlin was stashing things on everyone. His first steps were the drunken lurching of a man whose eardrums were busted, or just utterly disoriented, but he used the walls and other things to help hold himself up as he went for the nearest towel-like piece of cloth and blew his nose out; bloody and then some, clogging everything up.

“Thanks,” he mumbled; he had no clue who gave him the towel, just that he had one. He wasn’t sure who all was there, but he glanced around and got a headcount. Some he knew, some he didn’t. There were big dogs running around here, Alaskan Huskies or somesuch, like it was some kind of kennel or something. He didn’t have the brainpower left, in the throes of his massive exhaustion, to ask what the hell Huskies were doing in the Nevada desert.

He could feel everything creaking on him; every breath was a nightmare as the bruises on his back screeched a protest of pain to him. He tried to lift his arms and didn’t get them as high as he wanted before the pain got him.

“…fuck…naw, shit, I mean fudge. There’s a kid in this cocksucker’s shack somewhere, gotta watch my goddamn language…” there was a quality to it as if he wasn’t all there, but clearly, he knew what he needed; he lurched toward one of the beds, formerly used by Imhoff and his supply goons, but the same as anyone else’s; scratchy wool blanket, metal frames, cheap sheets. He didn’t care which freak’s slime he was sleeping in, anything was better than this one.

Once down and curled up on it, he was out. He didn’t even have time or the gumption to ask, “What’s with all the dogs?” before he was done for, out like a light.

[vitamin_kitten]

The day seemed to stretch painfully into evening, and even amidst all the sounds of shouting and shooting, many of the Emergents holed up inside the building somehow managed to pass out, or else had no choice but to, depending on the type and extent of their injuries. Audra watched as Tony finally came to, muttered a few obscenities, blew his nose, and zombied his way to a bed. Others wavered in between various other phases of consciousness before passing out, or moving and drifting off to sleep. Euryl seemed to fade pretty quickly. He slept fitfully, waking up a few times to be sick and then drift off once more. As for Audra, she seemed to be one of the few lucid ones there. Sure, her head throbbed from the bruise over her temple, and her body ached from the stress, but the mental and physical strain on her seemed to be dramatically less than it was for others. She was able to make due with dozing for most of the day, and worrying while awake for the rest of it. It was almost a blessing when the sun began to sink below the horizon and darkness began to settle over the chaos of the Emergent camp. For one thing, the temperature dropped with the sun, and made the conditions of that tiny hut a little more bearable. For another, it seemed that the fight was beginning to die down.

Audra opened her eyes to the darkness of the room, and winced as she tried to move- clearly, sleeping the way she had been had not been a good idea. Her back was stiff and sore from the hard floor, her mind weary from the lack of quality rest. Sitting up, she surveyed the still shadows. It seemed that most people had finally settled down within the safety of the hut and were sleeping, or attempting sleep. Audra had a mind to try it once more herself, but she thought a small walk around the space would help with her achey muscles before she attempted sleep again.

With a grimace on her face, Audra rose to her feet, and began to slowly move around the hut, careful not to disturb those who were resting or sleeping. As she made her way around, she noticed a larger shadow against one of the walls that she hadn't really looked at properly until now. The silhouette outlined by the darkness of the room was that of the other wolf- the one that had worked with Rachel to urge Audra and Euryl to the hut. For a moment, she stood where she was, staring at the outline of the wolf's fur, the subtle rise and fall of its form as it breathed, and then, carefully, quietly, she made her way to its side, and waited to see if and when it would take notice of her.

[Igraine]

Rachel stepped back when Tony stood up, moving out of his way quickly and letting him move about where he would. He didn’t sound or look terribly coherent, but at least he was up and around – and that was good enough for her. She was no doctor – at best, she’d taken a few CPR courses over the years here and there, and she had no idea if it was a “good thing” he collapsed in the bed all over again. But he was a big man, and strong… all would be fine. Should be fine. She hoped.

She looked about her then, and realized that Audra had made it inside. She gave the young woman a small smile and a nod – she thought she might have caught her eye, but Rachel really wasn’t so sure. There was also the young man the wolf in her remembered with Audra outside, but he simply looked exhausted and sickened. Everyone seemed in such misery and pain, shocked she could only assume if not by their physical wounds, then what they had just witnessed – hell, what was still ongoing outside. The sporadic sounds of gun shots and screams and shouting was eventually replaced by the sound of engines. Many, many engines - She could hear them all the way into this hut. Rachel had no idea what any of this might mean, nor whether they were even remotely safe inside this flimsy hut, but it was as close to shelter as they might actually get, she knew.

She knelt by her brother, still the dark golden wolf, as he stood there patiently, staring up at her with his brilliant green eyes. Slowly she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her face into his ruff, breathing deeply of his good, clean scent that brought her such comfort. ”We have to talk,” she whispered to him. Rachel rose then and made her way to the supply shelves – thankfully, beyond luck or reasoning, they had made it to this place of all places in the camp.

She pulled out standard issue camp clothing, the button-up shirt and the khaki pants, socks and underwear and even a pair of tennis shoes that fit her. Anything but that damned detestable orange jumpsuit. Rachel dropped the sheet she had wrapped around her, dressing now in her new, clean finds. She also put together clothing for her Jason and simply held them to her, waiting there in the far supply nook for him to join her, as she knew he would.

Nor did he disappoint. The dark golden wolf loped into the alcove after her. Rachel watched, fascinated beyond words as the magnificent wolf transformed into her brother before her very eyes. She did not think twice about the naked human flesh before her now, though he still grabbed up the sheet and wrapped it around himself, a glance toward the others still in the other room before he turned to her. It wasn’t for her, but for them. They were not like the others anymore… they did not… think like that.

And that realization – that even her thoughts were not the same anymore… That scared the hell out of her more than anything else in this long, grueling day.

Jason wrapped his arms around his little big sister, and she did the same for him, resting her head on his chest for a moment, ignoring the throbbing pain of her face, and simply enjoying the sound of his beating heart. Finally she looked up into his face, a million conflicting concerns and fears running through her mind. This was no place to talk, but it was as close to privacy as they might get for God alone knew how long . Still, she almost laughed when she realized she could barely get a question out… there were just so damn many…

Finally, she settled on one. Sort of. “What are we, Jason? I mean… this is all so… Are we really… you know?” Rachel whispered urgently, praying he would understand.

Jason simply chuckled, and laid his chin on the top of her head. “You know the answer to that, Ray Ray. But we’re not alone – you met the others, last night. It wasn’t a dream – and there are more of us out in the world. We just… we just have to find them.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. None… at all. Even my thoughts, Jason. I don’t even … I don’t even think right anymore. And I can smell things, hear things, sense things – things that I shouldn’t, couldn’t before.”

“This isn’t the time or place, Ray Ray. I can’t explain anything to you here, now, about what we are – but you’re going to be all right. It’s not… it’s not a bad thing. There’s more to it for you and me, but we’ll find a better place to talk than this place. And… all this?” he continued, one hand waving about him, taking in everything of the camps, “I don’t know why it’s happened – any more than any of these people here do. All I know, is that the world we always thought was ‘just pretend?’ Fairy tales? Well, it isn’t - and it’s come back with a vengeance. “

Rachel simply sighed, and rested her head on him again. The question she’d kept locked away, it was burning to be asked. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, small tears forming at the corners now, as the accumulated weight of months of a nightmare she could not begin to wake from fell on her. “Not bad, Jason? How can it possibly be ‘not bad?’ I killed Greg, didn’t I? Or… this… this… wolf thing I’ve become?”

Jason closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing quietly, collecting his thoughts, before he kissed the top of her head tenderly. “Oh… Ray. I don’t…” He paused for just a moment, before continuing on. “Yes Ray, your body – it killed Greg. But it wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t you. And it wasn’t the wolf you’ve become – listen to me. You’ve got to believe me.” He took his sister by the arms, pulling her from him just enough that she could look into his eyes, see the sincerity there, and his desperate need for her to believe the truth of that simple fact.

“Today, outside – there was no pain, was there? Becoming the wolf… no pain. And you, all of you, stopped and fought to try to bring people here, to safety. That is the real Rachel Evans. But for you, and for me – there’s something laid on us, our family I think. The others, they don’t… they don’t experience what we do. I can’t – I don’t know the whole of it, but I’m figuring it out. And I’m so sorry Ray, I’m so damn sorry I was too slow to piece it together, to get you away safely before… what happened. With Greg. But if you don’t ever listen to a single other thing I say, I swear to you – what happened was not your fault. It was not something… I can’t say it won’t happen again, Ray. It will. But the… the… thing – it won’t hurt anyone else. I’ll make sure-“

A cough, just a little too close, outside the alcove. Jason’s head shot around, eyes narrowed dangerously as he sniffed the air a bit. “Not here, Ray. I’ll explain more, later – just know, there’s no danger here tonight. I won’t stay, like this,” he said, dropping the sheet before he began the transformation back to the bronze wolf, “no one knows… me yet… and I’ll keep it… like… that.” The last word came out more as a snarl, as her brother looked up at her now with those hauntingly green eyes of his.

Rachel simply nodded, wiping her face quickly with her fingers. She grabbed up the clothes she had picked out for him anyway, into her arms. Jason trotted back out into the main room as Rachel followed quietly, letting his words sink into her head, picking each thought up and carefully turning it this way and that. But the more thinking she did, the more exhausted she became. She felt the call of the moon outdoors this night, but there was nothing to force her into danger… Quietly she leaned against an empty spot against a wall, sliding down it quietly as her brother curled up next to her. He laid his giant head in her lap as she leaned against his warm softness, her far slighter form all but lost in the darkness next to him. And within minutes, the woman was soundly asleep.

It took a little longer for the dark wolf to find rest, though. It was good to be here with his sister, but he would have preferred they all be together – all of their pack mates - outside the confines of this bad place filled with the smells of gun powder and diesel and death. The wolf whined just a little, but finally just nestled his head further into his sister’s lap as her soft, warm form leaned against him. Almost he had closed his eyes, when he realized he was being watched – that someone was actually approaching them.

This was… a new thing. Everyone had thus far given him and his sister a wide berth. And most of the time, he could smell the stink of fear on them - in some ways, he preferred that. But this was the human woman, the one his sister had wanted to bring inside. She moved quietly, slowly – there was nothing to make him suspicious of her there, as she made her way next to him. Green eyes opened fully now as he lifted his head to look at her, though he never moved his body. His sister was sleeping, and he did not wish to wake her. Still, green eyes met her gaze directly as he tested the air about her, keeping her scent to memory. If the she-wolf wanted the woman’s presence about, and trusted her, that was truly all he needed to know.

Gently he huffed at the woman, his tail lifting and falling once onto the tile floor with a singular *thud* before he lay his head back down in his sister’s lap.

Rachel peered over the wolf’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded with sleep and blurry, as she smiled gently at Audra. ”He won’t hurt you,” she whispered quietly, ”You should get some sleep while you can, though. Rest. It will help… feel better.“ The woman yawned widely before laying her head back down into the wolf’s shoulder, all but disappearing from sight again as she began to snore softly.

[Guest]

Hours later, outside of Nellis Air Force Base, despite the nightfall, there was a raucous protest going on. Normally, the Las Vegas Police would not be involved in this, as United States Air Force property was not in their jurisdiction, except the emergency nature of the situation, with all the hootenanny that went on with the ‘Uprising’ required that Nellis ask for support from Clark County to help man the barricades.

But even then, the Air Force was in charge, and the letters were boldfaced to the Vegas cops, even though they were used to putting down problems hard, as only a tourist town could. The Sheriff called every thirty minutes to rant about getting permission to ‘aggressively defuse’ the situation and got a ‘hell no’ from General Dalton, who didn’t want yet another explosive event to come through on national television with more violence; orders from the president were clear; no more scandals.

The protesters knew this, and among the sweating, chanting, yelling throng, with their candles lit and their signs going, were quick to jeer at the ‘pigs’ and throw every invective they knew at them. They knew, so long as the news cameras were rolling, as long as vans from almost every national and international news agency were there, they’d be fine.

In fact, the pro-Emergent protesters were even better chums with the media than the military was right now, and why wouldn’t they be? The entire country was still reeling from the shock of a United States Air Force unit turning machineguns on civilians, detainees and dangerous or not. And that was compounded with the shock of the hocus-pocus on TV, something Homeland Security tried to keep off the tube to avoid scaring the plebes.

The protesters even had people to translate and work with the foreign press, more language capability than the military, or at least Nellis, could summon up at the moment.

No, the Air Force was calling the shots here and trying, desperately, to do damage control for the situation. And so the Las Vegas police had to sit there and endure even thrown liquids while the press reported ‘the bloodbath,’ nevermind that the live ammunition was fired when it was clear that the Air Force guys were in danger for their lives. The counter-protesters, who were actually, man-for-man (or woman-for-woman) much louder than the pro-Emergent protesters, but also smaller in number, because a number of them melted off after the Uprising started, threw the fact of the killing in their face constantly with jibes and sneers. It was just as well that none of the SP’s were the ones actually in the compound, or their institutional anger might well have boiled over when they were spat upon and cursed at.

Behind the police, there were floodlights and helicopters in the air, the sounds of jets screaming and diesels roaring, and a constant movement of traffic along a corridor cleared by the Nevada Highway patrol to allow the military to move their gear in. While it was possible for the military to move tanks across open countryside, the typical situation was to mount them on trailers and haul them on the highway, to avoid wear and tear on the roads, to avoid damage to the vehicle, to save gas and to move faster. It seemed a little pedestrian that the armored vehicles came in that way, rather than on the road, like Patton busting the lines at the Ardennes.

It wasn’t all peaches and cream for the protesters either, though. Many of them saw the reports or heard the reports, and many of these people were out protesting because they had family or friends in that facility, as much as protesting for the sake of civil or human rights. Both sides were kept in their respective ‘zones’ by disgruntled-seeming police, who looked like they wanted nothing more than to be away from the mess. It wasn’t far in the distance that actual Army units, from Fort Irwin or other parts of California were being hauled in by trucks, deploying for the real deal; artillery and other vehicles hauled in by truck, all for this compound that was supposedly secure. The police looked toward those preparations and shuddered at the idea that they were going to be this close to ground zero.

The word came through in the pro-emergent camps; ‘Back to the camp, we’ve got something going.’ But despite this movement of people away from the protest lines, the cops seemed too wrapped up in their own doings; the dangerous ones were the other way, these were just harmless protesters that they could squash easy.

The protesting was done in shifts these days, with each group having gypsy camps that came up at various places, if they couldn’t afford hotels. Vegas was always prepared for people in RV’s, and RV camps were generally the agreed-upon bivouac areas. So when the word came through and various peope started moving away from the protest line, it was figured that the protesters merely were getting tired and turning in for the night, mostly because it was routine. And, in a way, that’s how the protesters wanted it to look.

The scene, away from the bacon, among their own, was different; a tall woman in a work shirt, with thick, but graying hair, braided like rope and held back with a bandanna, held the floor as she explained it. “Look, I know this is askin’ a lot on y’all,” she said with a drawling voice, rich and sonorous, “But those folk in that camp don’t have anyone else lookin’ out for them. Now, you know what’s gonna happen if this keeps playin’ out; some politician or general’s gonna push the button or send the order and there’s gonna be violence. And like we saw on the television, that violence may not work. The government’s –scared- people, they know they aren’t entirely in control anymore, and that makes them panicky; they think they can still get control.”

She was weathered and swarthy, good looking in a country Senora way, and done up in dusty jeans and the workshirt so as to imply that it was exactly what she was. New Mexico, West Texas, something like that. She looked like she fit in these parts, a bit, except these parts were Sin City.

There were others there, notably a very pretty Chinese girl, whose skin was so far as to nearly be translucent, and with very carefully applied makeup, wearing her own pair of slacks and a simple blouse as…well, it looked more Hollywood, contrived, than actually buttoned down. There was a magnetism there also, but of a different sort; she smiled and many of the men felt themselves flush. It was hard, for some of them, to concentrate, yet when another poked her on the shoulder, she seemed to start and the men themselves seemed to come back to reality, albeit still watching her for their cues rather than the woman.

The man who put the hand on the woman’s shoulder was a different story; there was little to him that stood out physically, except that he looked like he wanted to get on with things; approaching middle age, badly shaven and wearing a Detroit Lions t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. The eyes were brown, the cheekbones prominent, but he could have been any sort of American from anywhere if the t-shirt hadn’t, albeit perhaps misleadingly, proclaimed Detroit as the fellow’s hometown. He carried a bulging shoulder bag, patched and frayed, hanging across his thin frame from the shoulder to hip. But the energy crackled around him, felt viscerally, rather than directly noticed.

There was another figure there, but he seemed to hang back, hulking and large, and wearing some of field jacket with a sweatshirt hood beneath it; unusual attire for this sort of weather. He also, incongruously, wore gloves over his hands and long pants, which was idiosyncratic for this weather; it intrigued many of the crowd, but they weren’t really able to get close enough to get a good look at the fellow. But his presence was what spurred the thought that these were Emergents openly showing themselves now, something that hadn’t happened until now, due to the scrutiny of the camps by various law enforcement.

But here was a crowd of them, or at least a crowd that arrived together that included them, wanting to speak to the protest organizers and looking for volunteers to ‘do something.’ It was a gathering among tents and trailers and RV’s, various vehicles strewn about. Some people stood in truck beds or on roofs, trying to hear what was up. Of course, from the outside, it looked like a drum circle, or whatever a bunch of new age hippies did when they weren’t spitting at authority.

One of the braver organizers spoke up, “This won’t be violent, will it?”

The beautiful Chinese girl seemed about to say something, opened her mouth, but was stopped by the older Latina, who seemed to be in charge, “No, this will not be violent. We have a way into the compound that will not involve any confrontation with the military or the police when we do it. We don’t want that. It would merely make things worse. If someone is going to shoot, better that it’s them, not us. But I pray that it’s no one. We have a plan to resolve this all without force. But you have to trust us, and it isn’t for the fainthearted…”

A woman, older, with gray-streaked blonde hair tied back in french braids, wearing a nicely cut sort of ensemble of trousers and blouse, but looking weary and beaten down from life, the lines showing as if they’d just come in recently, came forward, her purse clutched in your hands, “Excuse me, ma’am, but my name is Nancy Melville. I’m here because my daughter Caroline is in there. She’s a good girl, she’s in her second year at Cal. She wouldn’t hurt a thing! I know you’re…well, Emergents, too, but if you have a way to get my Carrie out without more violence, I’ll volunteer for whatever it takes. You just tell me what I have to do.” She seemed timid at first, stumbling over “Emergents” but built up a head of steam as she got to the point; maternal courage fuelling it as she got louder and more insistent, almost combative before people’s eyes.

She wasn’t the only one.

After that, a roar of voices went up as other volunteers, often the parents, spouses, friends and family, as opposed to the ideologically motivated, wanted to make sure they were included, as if afraid that they’d miss the chance to see the loved ones that were so cruelly and arbitrarily taken from them.

The older Latina tried to get control of the situation, but finally turned toward the hooded figure, massive and sinister and sighed. That figure stepped forward and boomed, roared really, out, “Please, there is room for all, and we’re glad you are going to help. But we need you to stay calm, or you will alert the police and everyone else of what we are up to.”

It was a strange, bestial voice to be urging calm, but there were the familiar nasal intonations of the Boston accent, but a very working class, “Fahk da Yankees” sort, not some Harvard “Barney.”

But all the same, the crowd quieted, even as the figure pulled back, abashed and cautious, as the woman took over, “As Casey,” trying to put a name to the mass, “Said, everyone that wants to get in will get in. It’s not without risk though, so you guys have to make the decision and quickly, so we can do this. Also, we need to get food and water, medical supplies and other things gathered up so we can bring it through with us. There are people hurting there, and we need to help them.” And we may have to stay for a while, if things don’t work out went the unstated point.

“Okay, what do you want us to do?” querried one of the more experienced protesters, one of the organizers.

“I want you to organize a line and keep order, gather the supplies, medical, food, water, cellphones especially, and distribute them. I also want you to clear a space, a big space, in the middle here, because my friend Max.” She glanced to the tall man in the Lions shirt, as he seemed to draw in on himself and rifle through his bag for things, in a distracted, attention-deficit sort of way that paid little heed to the world beyond his immediate concerns, “is going to set up our shortcut into Nellis.”

[Guest]

The detention facility itself was quiet. It wasn’t expected that it would be quite so civilized, even late at night, but Shaw figured they were all tuckered out. He’d woken up about half an hour ago, feeling fairly good, except for the bruising, and surrounded by some people he knew, and others he didn’t, including Rachel and a man that looked a lot like him. But he didn’t want to talk much, trying to take in what he’d seen when the helicopter hit, and wishing he had a radio.

Ogre was still there, and awake, “You looked really out of it, there. And you still look rough, Tony, right?”

“Yeah, I got shot with the rubber rounds. The stuff bruises you bad. I mean, I knew that, cause I used to be a cop, but I never got shot with it three times in the same general area before. What’s your name again?”

“Aaron Rabinowicz, a pleasure.” The man stuck out that incongruously manicured hand, kept well even despite the prison conditions, and Tony wanted to know how the hell the man did it, while Tony himself took it in a considerably more callused and that was all torn up from recent events. He wasn’t even sure how he got scraped and abraded, but he assumed that he’d been tossed around in the duststorm.

“Glad to finally learn your name, Aaron, I’m Tony Shaw. So, I gotta get a shower, you want to come along? Probably ain’t good to walk around here without a partner. And, no offense, you’re a scary looking dude, even if you sound like you went to a good school and manage to keep your manicure in this shithole.”

The bit about the man looking like he did was delivered with humor and the stated point that he knew the guy was a normal joe; it was a brash, balls attempt to break the ice, but it seemed to work. But the fellow seemed to take his unfortunate lottery number in this new life with some degree of self deprecating humor, rather than anger, despair resentment or bitterness. Or he just hid it well and put a painful smile on top of it all.

“Yeah, I could use a shower. Least I can do, since I’m doing without my stylist and makeup artist right now.” That was deadpanned back at Tony.

“No shit. So what do you do, Aaron?”

“Well, I was one of the candidates for press secretary, after I worked for the Department of Defense as their spokesman to the press. Now? I’m not sure.” He gave a shrug. No one had a clue what they were going to do on the outside, and the roar of a jet engine overhead, as well as the dull thrum of activity in the desert, where sound carried over the empty spaces for miles, stated a clear case for the idea that there might not be much time left.

“Yeah, no shit.” He grabbed a towel, as Ogre did as well, and tried to tiptoe out of the place, taking a gander around the alley of wooden boardwalk and sand between the Quonset huts before stepping out. But the conversation continued, after they confirmed that they weren’t in too much danger…at least, not immediately. “So what happened while I was out, man?”

Ogre grimaced, “The Air Force is no longer in control of this facility. No one really is in control of it, but for now, none of the native scum have decided to try to take over. But if something doesn’t change soon, there will be a fight for the supply room and the mess facility. Your friend, the woman? Her brother somehow got in, along with a bunch of his friends, and they aren’t wearing fur for fashion.” Tony looked at him oddly, but didn’t push. Instead, he glanced off in the distance, toward the glow of lights and the myriad of ominous sounds.

“So what’s all that?”

“The military. They’re moving in the Army with all the gear; AFV’s, IFV’s, UAV overflights. Artillery, no manned flights or attacks on us yet, but it’s bound to happen. The news is that the Secretary of Homeland Security resigned, the country is torn in half and the Hill is in a huge fight over what to do with us. And, speaking as a former government man myself, I don’t think the fight is going well from our perspective. They’re scared, but they weren’t actually here for the Uprising, they didn’t feel the raw power…”

“Yeah. I get it. The pencil pushers and politicians think they just gotta ‘get tough’ and show ‘zero tolerance’ to get control, but…”

“…the harder they grasp, the more star systems slip through their fingers,” Ogre confirmed.

Despite the levity, or humorous cynicism, of the comments, there was a distinct fear of what was to come, and the feeling that they were on borrowed time. But neither man, wrestling with their demons, wanted to particularly discuss the unpleasant fate that seemed to await them. Or, even if they did get through it all, what would happen to the world they were both so sure of, for different reasons. For Shaw, it was easy to pretend that the Uprising didn’t actually happen, but what if it kept going, and things just kept getting weirder? Eventually, the pretense would have to end, and that represented a fearful threshold for Shaw.

At least you won’t be taking the kids with you…

This time of the night, there was no line to the showers, and that was part of the reason why Shaw decided to risk availing himself of it, though he realized, “Damn, they mighta cut off all the water for this.”

“Guess we’ll see. I’m not giving up this quickly,” said Ogre; well, the guy looked like he was used to a very high standard of personal hygiene, not that Shaw could blame him; they probably all smelled like sweaty Georgia asscracks in mid-August at this point. It was also chilly out, this time of night, surprisingly so for the desert; well, at least to a guy that’d never been in a desert before. He was much more used to the balmy Baltimore nights.

The shower area was very ad-hoc, built quickly with camp stalls made out of woods and showers with very crude, ‘Navy’ style showerheads. But a turn of one of the faucets confirmed that there was some water yet, and it was even hot.

“Damn, we lucked out.”

With that, they chose their stalls, though they also kept their stuff close by, figuring it better to get it wet than have it stolen. But it seemed the quiet of the place was lasting, even through a luxuriant, indulgent shower that one couldn’t get in the camp with the guards and everyone else enforcing their brand of order on everyone and keeping the line moving. Five, ten, fifteen minutes, just deeply scrubbing himself clean of it all, and trying to let the water wash away the stress and the strain. He had a hard time lifting his arms without pain, but managed to get his shoulders and the rest of it anyway.

That silence around the camp was suddenly disrupted with loud but indistinct noises as people screamed and yelled in terror. Shaw cussed; it had to be in the shower, of course. Like everything else, timing was apparently against him these days. He pulled his towel off the peg and started to dry himself vigorously, and pulled on his coveralls, still fairly dirty itself, while he still damp, making it harder to actually pull them over as the denim tried to cling to the skin.

From where they were, it sounded like screaming, with the walls and the shower water going. And, once out of the stalls, he and Ogre Rabinowicz exchanged a long look, wondering what horror was being perpetrated now. It was a fearful sort of glance, but Ogre, for a desk-jockey, seemed to have a fairly clear head amidst confusion. Perhaps it came from managing in politics.

“Let’s see what it is. If possible, let’s try to get back to the supply shed with the others. Deal?”

“Yeah, that works.” Shaw was relieved that the guy was doing the thinking in this situation, because he still felt too wrung out, too in pain to do rational decision-making. Something, deep in his soul, was at a breaking point, and he shied away from that place. Between the divorce notice, the uprising and everything else, the last few days were going too fast, too furiously and his ability to cope with it was diminishing. It was like riding a rollercoaster too long; exciting at first, but exhausting, after a while. Most people couldn’t imagine it, but eventually, one could come to resent the rollercoaster, or so he imagined.

“And to think, no one bothered to say, ‘It can’t get any worse than this.’”

“You just did.”

***

The activists cleared things out, moving cars, trailers, tents and campers aside to make room; they did, however, put up a very large pavilion tent over the area that they cleared, fearing helicopter surveillance. Also, the activists used the vehicles and so forth to create something of a barricade to obstruct easy access by foot and vehicle access to the central area at all, if only to give the work at the center of the camping area time to shut down.

It wasn’t precisely anything the police could arrest you for on the basis of reasonable doubt; the use of votive candles and designs drawn into the ground, people garbed in various sorts of attire that seemed to imply ritual use, shuffling in various places or merely swaying where they stood. And, at the center, the tall, rather quiet man that arrived with the others to organize the ‘relief’ moving around, chanting sonorously, as he placed things here and there, every step and syllable of the chant deliberate.

There were no observers who weren’t either involved in the ritual or were unaware of what it entailed; exhausted bodies falling forward and others rushing to cart them off as others took their place, allowing the depleted people to sleep and regain their sleep; they’d never tried anything this large before, and the toll was burning people out. Beyond the immediate area, guarded by others, the line of activist volunteers waited, smoking, joking and waiting, some plugged into their iPods, but all loaded down with the equipment for their rescue. They assumed, perhaps naively or because they were in denial, that their mode of transportation would be an aircraft or something. After all, why clear such a space if not for a helicopter.

The truth was something to give a physicist a nightmare.

There was the feeling of power gathering here, almost the sort of thing, one could imagine, that was felt at the first nuclear weapon tests during the Manhattan project, where humanity deliberately tapped the most elemental and volatile forces of nature for use as a weapon. In this case, an even more inscrutable and elemental force was being channeled, but it had little to do with atoms or plutonium, and nothing whatsoever to do with science. As befitted a more primal force, emotions moved this.

Not all of the people engaged in the activities inside the circle, the Ritual were Emergent themselves; the ritual required an Emergent with the right sort of abilities to conduct such a thing, but did not require that it all be Emergents. There was, however, a hint of disapproval in the face of the Mexican-American woman watching the whole thing unfold, the speaker from earlier.

“You don’t look comfortable with this, Benita,” growled the robed figure of Casey, or so he’d been called.

“I am not. We are about to directly confront the government with power. We planned this for a month or so, but it was meant to happen later, not so soon.”

“No plan ever…”

“…survives first contact with the enemy. I know, you repeat that as if it’s a Hail Mary, Senor Casey.” She gave him a cheeky smile, “But you’re right. But I am not used to this sort of feeling that events are outpacing us, and even forcing our hands. And what if it goes wrong? What if they just decide to nuke us?”

“It’s possible,” the growling voice admitted, “But unlikely. It’s all on camera now, and the men in charge are politicians. They are already reeling from merely shooting people yesterday. I think we can do this.”

“I suppose, I just wish we had more choi—“

The last observation was cut off by the whooshing sound and feeling of air being displaced and the crackling ionization of the air, like a lightning strike.

Then suddenly, it was as if a line were drawn in the air by Max, the ritualist, with his fingers. As the chanting reached a crescendo, and the flames themselves flared and then guttered on the candles with the wind, there came a flaming, electric-purple colored line down the middle, perpendicular to line drawn at the very center of the circle. There were gasps from those watching, even Benita and Casey, despite themselves and despite having seen it done before on a smaller scale to get to Vegas. Max did not lose concentration, however, as he made as if grabbing the edges of the line of purple flame that hung suspended in the air, and then pulled his arms out wide, as if flinging open a pair of doors in grand fashion.

What unfolded was a swirl of energies, almost butterfly-shaped, that crackled and shuddered around the edges, but was functionally floating suspended in the air. But no one dared say anything as Max continued to dance around it and chant, laying things out and tidying up.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of gawking and watching the shadows thrown by the light of the thing, Max declared, “Alright, it is ready. Bring them through.”

Casey nodded along with Benita, but it was the Chinese girl who spoke up, in a voice so sweet and compelling that it could argue the sky plaid, and be taken as fact. But she offered a choice, or more of a command, “When you step to the conveyance, you must make the choice to go or to refuse to go quickly; either enter it or leave in an orderly fashion and go to the back of the line if you wish to join again. But there is only so much time, so everyone must move quickly, without arguing.”

This, here, held the hint of compulsion, and it was Casey who seemed disturbed, by the body language beneath the hood and olive drab field jacket seemed to convey his sense of disquiet at watching it all, “Benita,” he whispered, “should we really let her use her compulsion like this? We didn’t want to use it to make their choices for them, are you sure that we want her giving orders at all?”

“I’m not sure,” grimaced Benita, “where to draw the line with Rosalie, but she wants to help, and she hasn’t given commands like, ‘Agree with me against your will.’ She’s merely told them to line up if they want to get in, and move quickly, or given instructions on what to do if they get cold feet. I suppose you might see it as quibbling, but I think it’s an important choice.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, but we are in a desperate sort of situation, and our Miss Cheng has agreed to be very careful about what she does.”

“I know, I agreed with you, but I still don’t like it.” She could feel Casey turn his eyes on the crowd, who seemed eager, on the balls of their feet, to hear what Rosalie Cheng, a famous, at least in Asia, CantoPop singer, had to say in that absolutely entrancing voice. Even Casey had a hard time pulling himself from the brink of being compelled, and he knew the dangers.

“We can’t just tell her to sit down and do nothing, Casey. It’s the same with Max, we have to keep them actively engaged, but in a way that keeps them from abusing what they can do. If we fail, we’re merely showing the fanatics the worst of ourselves, handing them weapons to use against us.”

There was no response; even as they watched the first volunteers file into the conveyance, and onward. Both had to wrestle with their consciences, even as they actively watched the first planned, conspired really, resistance to the authority of government with magical powers, take place.

[Guest]

The crowd of Emergents in the camp that were outside, in the open ‘recreation’ area to observe a line of purple fire split the air and then unfold like a fan of flame, with a multitudinous, electric swirl within were surprised by it as much as anything. The scream that went up in the place was one of sheer panic. No one could take anything for granted anymore, and the inmates, many of them just normal people, were still coping with the traumatic events of the day before, well, the day before as of midnight, only three hours ago. They bolted in all directions, diving and sprinting away as if the helicopters were attacking again.

Others, hearing the screams, dared to peer out the door of their huts, dreading what they thought was the military’s push to ‘liquidate’ them all, only to see people emerging, stumbling, really, through the Conveyance itself, some coughing and spluttering from the surprise of it, others breathing heavily and energized by it as if from adrenaline. The first person raised a yell, even over the inmate screams, to the people coming out behind her, in a pushy, New York tone, “C’mon you, git a move on, don’t stand theah pukin, cleah the way for da rest, move it, yeah, move it! Thadaway, okay?”

They were dressed in all sorts of civilian clothing, not jumpsuits or military uniforms, and they didn’t have weapons, but seemed to be carrying backpack fulls of things that they started hauling off to one side of a nearby hut in order to deposit, stacking like humanitarian supplies. Some of them even waved cheerily at the Emergents, a gesture that seemed terribly strange to a class of people that were so roundly reviled on the outside, or so they were led to believe and even believed themselves, as a result of their institutional experience.

The camp Emergents, wary, fell back in their doorways, slunk in the shadows as they wondered what this loud, raucous new interruption was.

Tony, watching from the shower hut with Ogre Rabinowicz, looked over to his fellow, whose prodigiously long jaw dropped, and said, “Damn, I think those new age hippie yuppie latte drinking Eddie Bauer edition protesters are actually doing the Berlin Airlift over the Star Gate, my man…”

[Kesteven]

***

"...here with Emergent Rights Campaigner, Robert Dunstan. Robert, what are your thoughts on the event?"
"Well, Jon, it's certainly a tragedy - this has been a very dark day in the history of human rights, on a par with the Tiananmen Square massacre in 1989, marking it as one of the bloodiest uses of force by a government against its own people this century. Certainly not something any of us expected to see in a supposedly civilised, democratic nation."
"And what significance does it have for your lobby?"
"It's too early to say what the political repercussions will be, but personally I don't think there could be a clearer sign that we need to take the issue of Emergent Rights seriously. What transpired in the U.S. can never be allowed to repeat itself here - Britain has to stand forth as a beacon, sending a message to the entire world that integration is possible, that compassion and cooperation can triumph over fear and ignorance. The first step is to repeal much of the tyrannical legislation our government has been passing in the last few weeks - we must see to it that protests can take place unimpeded, and that we treat those with Emergent abilities with care and respect. It was the use of unwarranted military force against civilians which escalated the conflict to such disastrous-"
"Excuse me, if I might interject-"
"Mr. Johnson, please wait until Mr. Dunstan is finished."
"If you would let me finish first, Jon, I must remind viewers that it was only after the detainees began to endanger civilians with their 'abilities' that the military responded with lethal force - before that, they were only using harmless riot control measures which have proved effective at peacefully dispersing violent protests many times in the past."
"Hold on, you can't seriously be suggesting that this was the fault of the detainees, can you?"
"Now, I'm not trying to pin blame but I want to make it clear that these are not normal human beings we're dealing with, and as such we can't think of this in the same terms as previous conflicts. The error the Department of Homeland Security made wasn't in attempting to contain the Emergents, but in badly planned, careless execution, allowing them to gather in one place without suppressing those with dangerous abilities. With careful planning, constant observation and effective deployment of the 'anti-emergent' technology our scientists are developing, we can contain the Emergents until their abilities are better understood, at which point we'll see about re-integration with the general population."
"And just how long do you think that will-!"
"Robert, Paul, I'm going to have to cut you off there, I'm afraid that's all we have time for right now. We'll be returning with a full debate later, after this report from field reporter Cassandra Harrison, concerning the latest developments at the Nellis compound..."

"Eira, honey, don't you think it's time you went to bed?"

Laura's voice was cracked, and her eyes were bloodshot. She'd only stopped crying because she'd run out of tears, and her failed efforts to disguise this fact only served to make her seem more dishevelled and uncertain. "I'm worried about your brother too, but there's nothing we can do right now. Just come to bed. I've phoned the authorities, they say they'll contact me as soon as they have any information..."

The fourteen-year-old girl said nothing, but continued to stare blankly at the television screen. Laura stared at the back of Eira's head, and sighed. She knew they'd been lying to her; everyone involved with the situation was far too busy trying to limit the damage to bother with petty requests from worried families. They must have got a thousand calls like hers, at least. Perhaps after the damage was done, and they counted the bodies... she dreaded that call more than anything, but even that would be better than this, the unbearable stress of not knowing. It was tearing her up inside, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could last. She walked over to the sofa and sat down, wrapping her arms around the insensible child, as much for her own comfort as her daughter's.

***

Euryl's eyes snapped open again, but he could quickly tell that it wasn't through those that he saw. A line of bright fire soared before him, twisting through the astral plane as doors that had been sealed for over a millennium were forced open. From the gaps between dimensions, strange creatures watched, cautious of this transgression into their world. But for now, they elected to wait, and observe...

The fire exploded with light as it made contact once again with the physical world, slicing open a neat gash in the fabric of space. When Euryl could see again, it was by normal sight. He hauled himself to his feet, fighting the wave of nausea, and scrambled to the window - what he saw there was amazing, even by the standards of the last few days. People were walking out of some kind of miraculous portal, a gate of purple fire that lit up the night, bringing vibrant colour to the sandy greys of the midnight compound. There was no question that the gate wasn't of natural origin, and the people coming out didn't look like victims of a random disturbance, or the vanguard of another assault by the military. Could it be that they were being rescued? He scarcely dared to let the hope take root, but even if rescue was the objective here, his troubles were far from over.

The blanket of fear and paranoia hadn't lifted, but now for the first time since he'd come here, a ray of optimism pierced through into Euryl's heart. Cautiously, ready to take cover at any moment, He opened the door and walked out towards the newcomers. As soon as he was close enough to be heard, he called out to the nearest one.

"Hey, Excuse me! Who are you people? What's going on?"

[Deadman - D17]

A waste.

That's what it had seemed. Falling in with the protesters, shouting himself hoarse along with them, all for nothing. He hadn't found a way in, only succeeded in becoming friendly with one faction at play here, and hated by the other two. A waste, a disappointment, that's what it was.

Or at least, that's what it had seemed, until a protester caught 'Gabe' just about to hop on him bike and head out, calling him back for 'something spectacular'.

And spectacular it was... Amazingly so.

Peter elected not to participate in the ritual directly, choosing instead to observe from the outside. As enticing as it was to learn about the power of these Emergents by experiencing it directly, watching was nearly as good. In fact, in the long run, it might have been the better choice, as he noticed how drained some of the participants were. No, research was important, but not to the extent that he would allow his guard to drop so far.

He stood outside the ring, watching with wide, intent eyes as he absently sipped at the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. The whiskey was still in his jacket, unopened, but he didn't want to reveal that, not yet. It wasn't useful yet, best to wait, besides, it looked like something would be happening so-

A-.....

Amazing.....

It happened, was happening, here, all around him. The power, he could feel it gathering, feel it pushing the air away, condensing in the center of the ritual. The cup fell from his hands, the hot liquid spilling over his feet, but he didn't notice. His gaze, his mind, the very core of his curious, inquisitive being was drawn forwards, towards the power, the magic that was manifesting before his very eyes.

A line, splitting the air in to, and delving who knew how far through dimensions beyond their own. It stole the light from the candles all around, feeding upon them, adding their light to its own.

And then, suddenly, it opened. Like a pair of wings, beautiful and terrifying at the same time, reality itself seemed to have been pushed aside, repelled by the mystical energies, by the might of the Emergents.

Awestruck, there was no other way to describe it. Peter was awestruck, dumbfounded, rooted to the spot, rocked by what had happened, what he had witnessed. One, one emergent, with the help of human volunteers, had created a passageway that they were told would take them inside the compound.

The... power of it all, the... potential. Where there any drawbacks? Beyond exhaustion? It wouldn't be practical for everyday use, but such a mode of transportation could prove invaluable in times of emergency. All those disasters, natural or otherwise, where the damage could have been mitigated if only everyone could have been gotten out in time. Yes, there were potentially criminal applications for this as well, but surely if someone with this power existed, another might with a counter-ability?

The power of one, one of these emergents, it struck Peter deep. The Government... what were they doing? The pros of helping these people, working with them to see what benefits could be made from these powers, yet they just throw it all away? For what? Irrational fear? Bah!

“When you step to the conveyance-" The voice, the speaker herself immediately caught his attention, dragging him out of his daydreams. Why? He still wasn't sure, he had been asking himself that ever since he had first seen her.

"-you must make the choice to go or to refuse to go quickly; either enter it or leave in an orderly fashion and go to the back of the line if you wish to join again. But there is only so much time, so everyone must move quickly, without arguing.”

He complied, moving quickly to the line and preparing himself for whatever marvelous experience actually using this... 'conveyance' might be- but not without a curious stare at the woman who had spoke. Something about her was... strange compelling, yet... 'off'. Who was she? An Emergent as well? If he was to judge by association, then yes. So if that was the case, what were her powers, he had to wonder? Strange.

Strange...

..Oh! He was up!

"Heh, amazing, you all are truly amazing." His smile was genuine as he stepped up to the portal, shouldering his back, heavier than normal with added supplies. "Well, here it goes!"

He jumped -leaped, really- at and into the portal, still grinning like a fool. All of this was simply amazing, an intellectual's dream, and he was living it!

~-~-~

If Peter had leapt into the portal, he practically flew out of it. Chest heaving, eyes wide with ecstatic enjoyment, he joined those who had gone before him, feeling better than he ever had before. He felt as if he could lift a building, or leap one. Adrenaline? It had to be, yet with none of the usual triggering effects of imminent death. All of the benefits, none of the stress or dangers? It was an unbelievable experience!

"Heh.. heh... come on now, deep breaths. Calm down a bit, you're getting giddy, can't have that now, can we? Wouldn't be good, might scare someone..."

Reluctantly, he seized control of his body once more, forcing his heart rate lower, overcoming the rush. It was amazing, truly, but not something he really could afford right now. Right now, he had to deal with the fact that they were in the middle of a heavily guarded prison. Not only that, but the great flaming gate wasn't exactly subtle, if any guards happened to be around and saw it.

No, better to be calm, act fast. Others were staking supplies, but that brought another question to mind, weren't they going to get these people out? Well, if no one else, he might as well. That had been a sort of secondary objective most of this time, pushed to the forefront by what he had just witnessed. He wanted to learn more about these 'Emergents' understand them better, see just who they where, and what they were capable of. The best way to do that? Not in this place, that was for sure.

He tapped the sides of his jacket, then pants, reassuring himself that money, booze, and knives where all still there. He had brought a few changes of 'civilian' clothes with him, not much else, but the rest were taking care of that. Now, his eyes scanned the area as he moved to the outskirts of the human 'rescue' team. Emergents seemed to be watching back, cautious? Fearful? Human emotions, understandable in a situation such as this.

"Hey, Excuse me!" Ah, one of them spoke up! Peter turned to the voice, noting the one who it belonged to. Thinner, blond hair, younger than he expected, but intriguing -granted, he was finding all emergents intriguing at this time."Who are you people? What's going on?"

"Oh, Hey there!" He called back, moving swiftly over to the man and dropping his voice down to the level of normal conversation. "You can call me Gabe, Gabe Markson, and you are-?" He held out his hand, "And I don't know much about these other guys, but for me? I want to get you and your friends out of here."

[Kesteven]

The first thing Gabe noticed as he drew closer was the shocking state of the boy's appearance - quite aside from his blanched skin and the dark bags under his eyes, his clothes were torn and he was smeared almost head to toe in dirt and blood, some of which was green, and various other stains, most of which didn't invite closer inspection. This observation was shortly overshadowed however by the stink, which hit Gabe like a truck, and smelled as though it had already hit several other people and a sewage farm on its way. Blood, sweat, vomit, more blood, and even more sweat were just a few of the more prominent strands in the symphony of odours, none of which were pleasant and all of which shot straight to the human hindbrain in eliciting a reaction.

Euryl seemed oblivious to his state as he reached out to grasp the extended hand in a gesture of habitual politeness. "Thank God!" he breathed, not normally a religious man but at this point willing to thank any celestial being you'd care to name. "Euryl. My name's Euryl. We, uh, we've got some dead, and a lot of wounded..." Memories of the past twenty hours began to filter back into his mind as he scrambled to express the situation. "Everything's in chaos here, everyone's hurt and confused. We're not sure if we're still even prisoners. We tried to set up a sort of HQ over there as soon as the sandstorm cleared," he said, gesturing to the supply hut, "but there's people all over. I don't know how many. How many groups, even. I think there's at least one other faction trying to organise everyone, and then there's the ones that said we should fight..." He trailed off, seemingly distracted, before continuing. "Uh, we moved the badly wounded to the bunkhouses, where there's beds and more space. The electricity's mostly out, but there's still some hot water."

He rubbed his temples and looked at Gabe with pleading eyes. "Please. You have to get everyone out of here, quickly, as far away as possible. It's not just the military. It's this place, it's doing something to people's minds. Making them crazy. It'll get you too if you stay here, all of you. We have to get away!"

[Igraine]

Through the chaos and the fighting, the explosions and the gun shots, the three wolves moved beneath the proverbial radar of soldiers and guards and Emergents alike. After all, when the world as far as the eye could see had been turned into a desert hell, a land that most closely approximated a Dante-like vision of the apocalypse, who could possibly be bothered to notice the movement of what could only be a few coyotes? A few particularly bold, uncannily large coyotes to be sure – but certainly far less dangerous than the two-legged scavengers and predators that ruled either side of the two camps.

The black wolf scurried beneath the metal chain-link fences, negotiating a way through the concertina wire that had been blown apart at some point by either natural or supernatural means – the “how” not necessarily a matter of concern for his purposes. A quick glance over his back to the red and gray she-wolves following him confirmed all was still well as they made their careful way into the makeshift desert prison. The trio kept to the night’s shadows insofar as possible, traversing the camp swiftly as they unerringly tracked the scent of their own kind.

The head of the bronze wolf snapped up quickly from the lap of his sister, brilliant green eyes blinking in surprise as his body stiffened. Rachel could not miss the change in her brother beneath her, as she too lifted her head from his soft, warm ruff and looked around her in anticipation. The scent – the heady, earthy good scent filled her nostrils as she began to rise to her feet, the smile on her face widening by the moment. The doors opened on unsure hinges, as the three loping figures made their way into the room. Almost as silently as the shadows they had followed to get here, only the tentative *click click* of claws against vinyl proving the solidity of the wolves’ forms.

Rachel put her hands over her mouth, delighted beyond words, wanting to laugh out loud or cry with joy but not wanting to wake the exhausted people all around her. She simply fell to her knees again, holding her arms open wide as the wolves came to her, their own bodies wriggling and trembling with delight as she tried – and failed – to hold all three of them to herself at once. A small giggle did escape her as she sat back again against the wall, surrounded now by a happy warm wall of fur.

Well, almost entirely happy. The bronze wolf growled low in his throat at the black, who immediately dropped his head, though his golden eyes never left Rachel. Not supposed to be here. Too much danger from the men and their guns, not supposed to- A fiery red muzzle pushed into the bronze’s ruff, brilliant green eyes meeting his own as the she-wolf leaned against him for a moment with a soft, conciliatory whine. Where one went, they would all go – nothing would change that.

All four wolves lay about the woman - their lost loved one recovered - a living blanket of fur and warmth beneath which Rachel did not think she had ever felt so content, or at home, at any other time in her life. She wondered if Audra was nearby, if the young woman had seen these new arrivals as well, but not wanting to wake her if she had somehow managed to find rest for herself in the night.

The sun was still hours from rising, bringing another day with it. The woman did not think to question this new blessing, making peace even in her thoughts with the things she knew – somehow – instinctually. And while the silver wolf lay over her legs, warming her in the cooling desert night, an ebony black head lay against her shoulder, golden eyes meeting her own blue gaze as she wrapped her arm around his great neck before lying against him. Her brother lay by the red she-wolf, both curled up tightly against her as well.

No, she did not question this small good fortune. The world had changed forever, somehow, some way – perhaps even gone insane. She had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again – she knew it in her bones - and Rachel could only see the wisdom of the animals now: find the joy of the moment, in that moment. No other time was guaranteed.

Rachel had dozed contentedly again for she knew not how long, when the sounds of people stirring about her began to register in her sleep-addled thoughts. Something… something was coming… an indescribable scent was on the air now, something like… like ozone or… brimstone perhaps… maybe the smoky scent of a candle snuffed – heaven help her, she could not make the scent but it was so strong-

And then the screams. They pierced through her head like a spear as she leapt to her feet without a single thought, bolting to the door of the supply hut and throwing it open just in time to have her night vision utterly destroyed by an explosion of purple light. She fell back for a moment into the hut, blinking her eyes as she rubbed at them with her fingers, heedless of who might or might not be headed in or out toward this new… new… she not not what. She felt the wolves about her legs, reassuring and waiting for her to recover.

Rachel took a deep breath, able to see again - even better now in the strange ambient violet light that lit so much of the compound now. The screams had stopped, and there were no further explosions, no sounds of fighting or anything alarming as a strange, preternatural silence seemed to overtake so many of her fellow prisoners. She walked into the open, her pack in tow as she cautiously moved toward the… whatever it was.

And then, the people began to arrive through the purple vortex. They didn’t come with guns or weapons of any kind. Not with military equipment or threats or shouts but… just themselves. With… supplies? And even more impossibly, with the occasional smile and a wave for the dumbfounded Emergents around them.

It took several moments for Rachel to grasp what it was she was truly seeing. A portal. The purple light was a portal of sorts, and through it came just… people. Normal people with supplies and well wishes for them. The freaks and the despised and the exiled…

She simply could not help herself as she walked steadily toward the violet light now and the growing crowd. Her brother and the others followed her - a strange entourage to be sure, but one that would not be anyplace but by her side, even in this strangeness. Rachel saw the young man who had been with Audra before, the one who had been so ill when they were in the hut, as he clasped the hand of the tall young man, Gabe, whose brilliant grin seemed to have a life of its own. She tilted her head a bit to the side and listened to his words, Euryl’s words, and his name. Rachel knew his fear and his concerns, and her heart broke at the panic that seemed to rise in his voice as he pleaded with Gabe to get them all out of there.

Her senses utterly inured now to the sickly odors that permeated the air of the camp, Rachel walked to Euryl and simply laid a calm, steady hand on his shoulder. She looked about for a moment at the people who continued to stream through the portal with their precious load of supplies, her brow furrowing in doubt at the idea they were actually here to help the detainees get to the other side of these fences.

At least, not yet.

She returned the nods and waves of several of the newcomers, before she smiled gently at Gabe. “I’m Rachel,” she said easily with a casual, friendly note in her voice, as if they were simply meeting for the first time, exchanging pleasantries most any place in the world that was once “normal” or “right.” She seemed utterly unmindful for a moment for the strangeness of the circumstances, for the great purple bruise over her left eye, or her generally disheveled state despite the newer clothes she wore. “And… you’re not here to get us out, are you Gabe?”

She ran her hand absently over her brother’s great furred head as he stood, alert and ready, by her side. Her blue-eyed gaze continued to scan over the almost continuous flow of people into this little slice of hell, the compassion and empathy and concern coming from them in waves of utterly selfless action. It was almost just too much… almost overwhelming, to see this outpouring of kindness for a group of people they had never known or met – people who, according to some quarters, weren’t really even supposed to be “human” anymore. She could feel the pinprick begin at the corners of her eyes, and did nothing at all to stop the single tear that began to fall slowly down her cheek.

“No matter,” she continued, her voice almost choked with emotion as her eyes followed the newcomers, “it is just… just good, really good, to have you here.”

[Deadman - D17]

If Euryl's pleading request to just get everyone away from here hit Peter hard, the emotional words from the woman who approached moments later -flanked by four.. wolves?- struck him down to the very core.

“it is just… just good, really good, to have you here.”

To be... to have someone thank you, no, not for saving them -she didn't even think he was here to get them out- but for simply being here... the shock on his face must have been as obvious as the portal he had just came from. Yes, he was not exactly what one would call an emotional man. Hell, Steve had straight up called him 'one cold bastard' after a particularly bad brawl left a woman bleeding with a broken leg.

Oh, he had treated her for shock, of course, as well as splinted her leg and brought her to the hospital. But that wasn't what he had meant...

'You're one cold bastard, you know that? Poor girl gets hurt and what do you do? Knock out the guys who started the fight, take her to the hospital, and come back like nothing happened?'

'Heh, well I can't just split from work, can I-?'

'Damn it, man! This is what I'm talking about! We got gals crying, guys freaking out, hell, even I'm shook up. But you? You're joking as if nothing even happened!'

Steve had a point, but it wasn't like he didn't care. It just all seemed so distant to him. But this? This was different. This was here. These people, these 'emergents', they were human, so human in his eyes. More so than all the 'humans' he had met, more so than the woman who was injured, they actually seemed 'real'.

It was strange... and a little scary.

"I can't speak for anyone but myself," A warm, reassuring smile grew across his face, as he looked from Euryl to the woman and back again. "But yes, I am here to get you guys out, as many as I can. I even know a place where we can crash for a night, figure out where you all want to go." Steve would go nuts, but he liked money more than the whole emergent/human issue anyways. It might cost him what he just got paid, but he had more money anyways.

"I might be able to secure a shower, too, or at least some running water, which you might like." He chuckled at Euryl, "But let's go get your friends and get the hell out of here, okay? I don't know how long they can keep that gate open, and anyway, I'm sure you guys don't want to stay here much longer, eh?"

If Steve were here, he'd still probably call him cold, smiling and chuckling in a situation like this. But this was different, he just... couldn't really explain it...

Although, that might just be it.

[vitamin_kitten]

Audra heard Rachel's sleepy words, but her eyes were locked on the wolf. He stared back at her, almost with as much interest as what Audra held for him. The wolf's eyes were deep, penetrating, though somehow comforting. The single wag of his tail had put her somewhat at ease as well, as if he could read and understand her thoughts, her emotions, as if that single gesture, that one movement had conveyed an entire speech on why she should not be afraid.

I bet underneath all that fur, he's just another human being, just like Rachel.

Finally, Audra tore her gaze away from the wolf's- made easier by his own blink and settling of his head. Just the same, she stared for a moment longer before readjusting her attention to Rachel's half-sleeping form, mostly hidden behind a blanket of fur. She at least seemed quite content, despite the circumstances. It was enough to give Audra some small gleam of hope, though she was not optimistic about their immediate future, especially after the mini war that had erupted that morning. Things looked bleak, and though she could hold to the hope that things would turn out okay in the end, in some way, there were no assurances for tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that. All she could do was take Rachel's advice and get some rest.

Audra gave one more cursory glance around the hut and the shadows scattered around, listening to the varied breathing and sleeping sounds that surrounded her, before moving back over to her spot and attempting to settle in for a little more sleep. It wasn't easy. She didn't remember the floor being this hard or the air being so sticky- in spite of the chill that hung there now- or the night sounds being so loud. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes, and somehow, blessedly, found sleep once more.

In her unconscious mind she saw her brother, and behind him a line of faceless figures of all shapes, sizes, colors. From the way they stood, they looked like they could have been people, but not any people that she was familiar with. They "looked" at her with their featureless visages, while her brother stood at the front of the line, boring into her hazel eyes with his gray ones. He didn't speak or gesture, and his face was devoid of expression. All Audra could tell was that he seemed to be waiting for something. But what?

"What?" she said aloud, finally giving voice to her thoughts. In answer to her question, her brother faded from view, and the first person in the queue floated closer to Audra, its face coming into clear view. Audra recognized it immediately: one of the people who had died earlier that day. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, and as the first victim floated silently by, the next was taking its place, the face again easily recognizable. It glided by, a silent spirit, emotionless, expressionless, lifeless. Each in turn, the phantoms moved by, their faces coming into focus before flying by Audra, until there were none left in the line. And as the last disappeared into the ubiquitous fog the defined this dream land, the sounds of screaming voices tore into her thoughts, and ripped her from the dream.

Audra's eyes snapped open, and immediately her vision was filled with a pervasively blinding purple light. Her first thought was aliens. Aliens had landed amidst the camp, intrigued by the Emergents. Stuff like that happened out here in the desert, didn't it? But no, that couldn't be right. That didn't make sense.

As if anything does anymore.

Groggily, and with some protest from her aching muscles and throbbing head, Audra rose to her feet. Immediately she sought out the three faces she recognized the most: Euryl's, Rachel's, and Tony's. So far as she could tell, they were not in the hut. At the very least, the wolf that had been accompanying Rachel was gone, and Audra was fairly certain that the two were pretty much inseparable. The spot where Euryl had been since he collapsed inside the shelter was empty, and where Tony had gone to Audra couldn't be sure. Maybe he had moved to a better place, maybe he had gone outside to investigate. It seemed that everyone was intrigued by the screaming, the chatter, and the strange purple light.

Audra made her way to the window alongside a few others, and stood staring out into the camp where what could only be described as a portal lay open and glowing, with ... people stepping out it. Fear was the first instinct to rise up in Audra. Another attack. Oh, God, they were being attacked again! The government had sent assassins after them to murder them all in their sleep! Oh, God! But no, wait, what was this? Euryl and Rachel- flanked by a pack of wolves- were talking with one of them. Could it be? Were they being ... rescued? No. It couldn't be. Audra had held hope, but even this was too much.

In spite of herself, she found her legs carrying her out of the supply hut and towards Euryl and Rachel and the wolves and the stranger. As she approached, she slowed down, and stood silently a few feet away, watching, listening, wondering. Could this be a miracle? Could this be a real rescue? If it came down to that and aliens, the latter seemed more probable.

[Kesteven]

At the shower comment, Euryl looked down at himself for the first time since the riot, and realised what a state he was in. Even though it was disgusting, and somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that most of that blood was from people who were either dead or dying right now, just a few yards away, something about the situation struck him as delightfully absurd.

In just a month he'd run away from home, gained magical powers (or gone insane, take your pick), witnessed the unnatural death of two cops, been imprisoned, charged with murder, and shipped to some kind of concentration camp that seemed more like a gigantic circus side-show, after which he'd punched a bogeyman, and somehow survived the closest thing he'd ever seen to hell on Earth. Now he stood covered in god knows what, surrounded by, yes, he was fairly sure now, a group of huge werewolves, talking to a smiling, poorly-shaven giant who'd just walked out of a magic portal.

Euryl's chest began to shake and tighten, and what began as a brief cough began to swell into a chuckle, then a full-blown laugh. He wasn't sure what he was laughing about or why - perhaps the reality of the situation was just too much to take, or perhaps it was just the relief that someone, anyone, was willing to help. It didn't matter; he laughed anyway, without reservation, like he hadn't done for a long, long time. When he was done, he wiped his eyes with one of the few remaining clean areas of sleeve, and made a brief effort to rub the dirt and grime his face. He looked up again, visibly refreshed - the outburst had cleared his mind and lightened his spirit, and he almost felt normal again. Normal... now that was something worth laughing about.

"Thanks, Gabe, I might take you up on that shower thing. If we're going to get anyone out of here, though, the first thing I'd do is reassure everyone in that hut that this isn't some kind of attack, and organise people into groups so the healthy can carry the wounded. I'll come help you in a minute, but there's something I'd like to know first, if you'll excuse me..."

He nodded to Audra and Rachel (and the wolves, just in case wolves cared about that sort of thing) and walked off in the direction of the larger body of their 'rescuers'. Something Rachel had said had twigged with him - she'd probably noticed it too. Those were a lot of supplies for a rescue mission. If they had instantaneous transport... what was it all for? Even if Gabe was sincere when he said he was there to get them out, it was possible there was more to this intervention than he knew, or was telling.

Starting with the least confused and most burdened looking newcomers, Euryl began to ask questions.

[Guest]

Teleconference, 8/9/09

“We have to negotiate with them.”

“Like hell we do! We have that place surrounded with two division’s worth of men and armor. We can blow the hell out of them with airpower and artillery. General, if you are saying that with all that, you can’t…”

“Secretary, I think you need to watch the news broadcasts and try to remember that this is not a conventional military situation. We sent Blackhawks over the prison compound to cover our men in the pullback from the compound after they started to breach the walls. The news got some very good camera shots of the way those Blackhawks went down and what they recovered from the wreckage. I guarantee you that sandstorms like that do not happen over the Nevada desert naturally.”

“What are you suggesting, General?”

“Mr. President, if you give the orders, we will attempt a military solution. However, the nature of this enemy throws most types of planning out the window. And it would be bloody; no matter what, this will be another bloodbath on TV, and that doesn’t even account for the possibility of more phenomena occurring that we have no real response for. I think your press secretary should advise you on what further attempts to control the situation with force will look like.”

“Rob?”

“Speaking as your press secretary, I don’t think you can afford force, unless you wish to be impeached. Maybe found not guilty, but certainly impeached. Most of the dead were American citizens, at least until they were stripped of their citizenship due to wording in the 14th amendment. It would be disastrous for you to order this one; we contained the first uprising and blamed the decision-making at Nellis, but this time you would be seen as making the call.”

“So you’re telling me that they control their own prison, and we have them surrounded with tanks but can’t do a damn thing to them without losing the White House and creating a political disaster.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“The whole truth is that I’m screwed if I let them go and I’m screwed if I take them down. And I’m screwed if I let the situation ride as is. So I’m screwed no matter what.”

---

Shaw and Rabinowicz watched the proceedings in silence, once they arrived to where a crowd of Emergents were assembling to watch the newcomers arrive by what seemed like an oddly shaped door of purple lightning. Surrounded by the squat forms of Quonset huts, bathed in the purple light and feeling the sand shift around his ankles as a breeze kicked up a bit, it was hard to swallow that this was happening.

For Shaw, the question came to mind, muttered, “How the fuck did they figure out how to do that?”

The thought that other Emergents were extremely ahead of the curve, were wielding so much power consciously caused his skin to prickle; the desert night air wasn’t warm and his skin was damp from the showers, but he could tell the difference anyway.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled, but wasn’t particularly satisfied. Others were mobbing the newcomers as they came through, firing away questions, asking for news from the outside, and the word came around that the Army had this place cut off, and that the news was out that the guards no longer controlled the compound; they’d come because this was not, officially, a siege.

There were goodies that came through, food and water, sanitary supplies and other things, but, inevitably, what everyone craved was the cell phones that many of the volunteers were packing in. Rabinowicz looked at them hungrily and then glanced to Shaw, “Should we see if we can get one?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied diffidently; he’d just been served divorce papers, and the wound was too raw, too recent for him to want to call Jill, or even the kids. And his parents…that represented a certain fear for him, to call them. “Or, I mean, I dunno if I can do it. But go for it man. I don’t know what the hell I’ll say to my family man.”

Ogre nodded, “I was thinking more of calling my wife and getting a lawyer, not that it’ll do me much good.”

Shaw wasn’t sure how to take it, but asked, pointedly, “She’s standing by you, huh?”

“Yeah, she is,” he replied contentedly, and then looked to Shaw and red the sagging expression on his face, “Shit, I’m sorry. You aren’t the only one around here to get notices. I shouldn’t be such a fuckin’ prick. Look, call your parents, Tony, I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that your mother will want to know that you’re alive and well.”

“Yeah, as well as well can be. I just don’t know how the hell I get ditched like this when I lived my life for them. I mean, I had the Dream, man. You might laugh off a cop salary and all, but it was good. But shit, you must have one hell of a wife.”

The conversation was carried out in an undertone, indistinct to eavesdroppers, but nonetheless the two men started to walk closer to the center of things, toward the loud Bronx-accent directing the flow in of people and hustling people out of the immediate area like a beachmaster on a landing or something. The voice carried over the hum and buzz of conversation and echoed around the wall and buildings through the empty avenues between the Quonset huts of the camp, and through the empty desert night sky.

Someone sure picked the right broad to keep the trains on time, Shaw thought with some amusement.

“Yeah, well Sarah isn’t the only good woman out there. Cowboy up, man, you have two kids. Your mother can at least tell them that daddy’s alright. Your wife might have ditched you, and we don’t know if that was some sort of government pressure thing or not, but you still have people in this life. And even if your family rejects you, this is like the lost tribe running around here. We’re gonna all have to take care of ourselves, because a lot of the world wants us dead.”

“Makes sense,” he conceded, though it was easier to say than feel; the thought of getting out of this place and getting back to life as it existed before snaked through his consciousness, subtly altering the flow of his thoughts without being noticeable.

“What doesn’t make sense to me,” mused Ogre Rabinowicz, “is why they’re coming here instead of pulling us out…”

It was something to focus on beside his pain, even as he watched the tough, rangy looking fellow try to sooth the guy with the foreign accent who looked like he was wigging out a bit; and who wouldn’t feel it in this place. Guy looked like he worked out, but it wasn’t weightlifter muscle. Shaw could appreciate that, though he had a heavier physique himself.

“They ain’t pulling us out because they’d just hunt us all down if we got out again. I mean, we’re still as illegal as we ever were before the Air Force got kicked out of here, right?”

And it was true; people were streaming in, there were no preparations for leaving through the same gate. Shaw was trying to focus on the whole problem when he felt Ogre nudge his ribs; forcing him to look up. Ogre, by contrast, pointed to a woman, speaking quickly with a British accent; not that he could tell the differences between the variations, into a phone, but it didn’t sound like Michael Caine talking. But it wasn’t the content so much as what the woman was saying, in hurried, excited tones.

“No, I’m not crazy Nigel, and this is not some sort of hoax, either. Yes, there are people coming INTO the compound, and yes it’s by a bloody portal. No, I’m not hallucinating, thank you very much. Hold on, I’ll send you webcam footage, check your e-mail.”

She was in a trim, well kept middle age, despite being somewhat diminutive. Pretty, swarthy-skinned and jet-haired, and wearing a smart pantsuit that looked more than a little rumpled; then Shaw spotted the nametag. “Divya Ghazali, BBC.” She sounded like a bit of a firecracker as she barked into the phone, giving “Nigel” a lot of what for as she raised a blackberry device and, as far as he could tell, snapped off video with it; good old cellphone cameras, he knew at least a couple cops that got caught up short by it.

“Hopefully that will go through. No, I can’t get another bit of footage, that was the last bit of juice in my camera phone. I’ll try to hang onto this one or call you later. 8AM? Alright. I’ll try.”

She clicked the phone and gestured to the fellow who gave it to her, a large figure with a hood up and gloves on, along with an old army field jacket and some ‘Big and Tall’ sweatpants from Shaq’s store, as far as Shaw could tell.

“Excuse me, but could I please hang onto this? It will allow me to get in contact with the Washington office.” The reporter seemed a little bit off put by the looming figure, which was natural. She was probably in an extreme culture shock situation from abandonment by the Air Force during the uprising, and being left among the magical menace. Of course, the woman, Shaw figured her for Indian-British, seemed like she was handling it well enough. Then again, BBC reporters tended to be hardier than the American counterparts, more likely to go to really horrible places to get the news.

She was probably in for culture shock again when Ogre stepped forward, clearing his throat; Shaw cringed. That wasn’t the sort of thing you wanted to do when you were seven foot and change and had tusks jutting out and a bulbous snout, “Excuse me, Miss Ghazali,” he started, smoothly enough, and the woman seemed, despite her apparent fierceness, to cringe a bit, even as Ogre realized his mistake and held up a placating hand. “It’s me, Aaron Rabinowicz, from the Defense Department Press Office.”

That put the seemingly unflappable woman aghast, with a jaw dropping, “R-really?” Both seemed at a loss of what to say on a very uncomfortable subject; obviously, Ogre was not what he looked like before.

Shaw put in, remembering the man’s joke from before, “Yeah, he just doesn’t look the same without the makeup for the on-camera stuff,” in a sotto voice, which seemed to earn an exasperated glance from Ogre, before he continued.

“Yes, Miss Ghazali, really. Unfortunately, I can understand the surprise, I didn’t exactly take it well at first myself. But I was wondering if there was any way that I could borrow your cell phone so that I might call my wife. You see, she’s probably worried.”

It was the big guy in the hooded sweatshirt and the jacket that spoke up, in response, with a growling sort of voice that rumbled, “Excuse me, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Did you say you worked for the Pentagon’s press office prior to being put in here?”

He had a straight up working class Bostonese, Savin Hill or thereabouts, the sort of accent that they had in a certain popular movie lately.

“Yes, I was their spokesman to the press, in charge of handling their public affairs.”

The man put down his hood; it was a lot of fur and a pair of ears atop his head, poking out from the tufts, incongruously with a pair of glasses resting on what could only be called a snout. It was a vaguely humanoid face of white fur and a jet black skin, almost like a missing link between gorilla and man, except that the ears were perched well forward, like a cat’s.

Holy shit, it’s Bigfoot! Shaw thought, while trying to get his face to neutral, though he noticed that the reporter’s jaw dropped down even further.

“Excellent. I’m Casey O’Neall, one of the organizers here.” The dude removed his glove to show off a hairy, clawed hand, easily the size, or so Shaw estimated, of his head. It was kind of scary; the guy was perfectly friendly, and trying desperately to be unoffensive, but it was simply impossible not to be imposing when you were taller than Ogre and all fur and fang. It wasn’t that the man was ugly, it was that he was one of the trippiest examples of a beta-type Emergent that Shaw had encountered.

The man seemed to realize that he had a lot more attention from bystanders than he wanted, and seemed to steel himself a bit, even as he made an effort not to talk with his hands after Rabinowicz remembered to shake the proffered hand rather than merely stare at like a farmboy looking up at skyscrapers for the first time.

“I know this is sudden and abrupt, but I could really your knowledge and contacts. I mean, it’s not necessary, but you could make our plan go a lot faster. Does your wife have access to your contacts in a home office or something of that nature? Because we want to get on the air and contact as many people as possible, and we could use a guy like you. Look, is it at all possible that we could talk privately?” He glanced to Shaw and the reporter, “No offense.”

Shaw, usually voluble, simply nodded. The reporter, similarly not used to being put on her back heel, also was mute and left with nodding to communicate.

But Rabinowicz watched the guy skeptically before finally saying, “Look, Mr. O’Neall. I realize you mean well, but we’re in a really bad situation here and well-meaning plans to ‘help’ our situation that involve confrontation may well get us all killed. I won’t be a party to that. I’ve had enough of what we got in the morning. I won’t assist in any schemes for retribution. I hate what they’ve done, I hate that it’s come to this, and it’s easy to start advocating the easy solution, sir. But the easy solution, as H.L. Mencken likes to remind us, is often simple, easy and wrong.”

Shaw hadn’t even thought of that, but once it was there, he rolled over the idea of going and making the military and the government pay for his woes. It seemed so easy to channel his hate into the government, the military, the system, the legions of boobish voters demanding safety and screaming that he was a threat to them when they were the ones putting guys like him in a lockup and shooting them with everything they had, apparently ready to kill him out of utter fear. It was all to easy to look at these people and stop seeing them as humans, to cast them as the irredeemable enemy, a legion of pinch-faced fire and brimstone bible thumpers getting orders from radio and TV-ministries to “Destroy freaks cuz they’re the spawn of the DEVIL!” Get your shotguns and go freak huntin'. Uplifting stuff.

Too easy, to be just like them in fighting them, to give into a the hardwired fight or flight instinct, to bristle and snarl back aggressively, to want to see those that brought you pain go under in pain themselves, if not be eradicated. To assume the other guy doesn’t have a point or a reason, to decide that understanding them is pointless because they’re beyond contempt. And too easy to start a ‘them and us’ mentality. He scratched his head a bit as he glanced at Rabinowicz and gave a nod and a bit of a grin, agreeing with the man’s stand. It wasn’t about making the regular humans, particularly the ones that hated and feared Emergents and wanted them all gassed, feel what they felt, but to stop them in their tracks. Attacking them back for what they did would be emotionally satisfying, but ultimately counterproductive.

It was hard to tell what the man was thinking by expression alone, though Shaw made a go of it by watching those ears of his, like a dog or a cat. They flattened a bit, but the man replied calmly and reasonably, “Mr. Rabinowicz, I understand your concerns, and I want you to be assured that I do not want further violence. I intend to resolve this without further bloodshed. Your assistance in this would be appreciated because you can help pull off our plan. We don’t intend to strike at the military or harm people. All that would do is touch off a slaughter, both sides. We need to convince them without starting a war, and we came up with a way.”

Shaw spoke up, “Can’t really fight back, just get us all killed, but we can’t run either, cause then we’ll just get hunted. So you’re saying we’re gonna stand together and resist nonviolently.” He sounded a tad skeptical, but it was the cop in him, perhaps, insinuating that human nature wasn’t up to it, that the better angels of mankind would not prevail. He tried to force it back down.

“Yeah. But we’ve got a few things Gandhi didn’t have,” Casey jerked a furry, clawed thumb toward the portal, “Like that.”

Ogre seemed to mull it over, with a couple of nods, and a few seconds, that felt like minutes, of just staring at the man as if he’d popped out of a box on a spring, before nodding, “If you want to avoid violence but solve this problem, I’m with you. I’ll be happy to help you out. See you later, Shaw.”

“Go easy, Rabinowicz.”

The reporter seemed to get her voice back, even as she started firing questions, “Excuse me, Mr. Neall, could you please comment on what you are plan—“ but it was to no avail as the two not-quite-humans moved away in a conspiratorial fashion, to where others were in the compound.

He glanced to the reporter, “Uh, excuse me, miss.” Without the Ogre there to kind of arm-twist him into it, he wasn’t about to go trying to call home to explain things to his parents; he felt too overwhelmed to handle that sort of detail and it made sense to do it later, when he was thinking straight.

Instead, he headed toward Rachel and the huskies, though they didn’t really look like huskies in this light. They looked bigger and meaner than that—enough so that he kept a good two yards between him and them, strictly out of instinct. He found himself distracted by the music, wailing flutes and reverberating strings that played out inside his head and practically demanded they be danced to. The same music played before, but now, as if apace with events, it seemed to be building up to a crescendo as it picked up in rhythm every time he managed to notice it. There was a relation between it and other things, but he had no idea what that relation was or what to make of it.

Like others, he watched that portal, and saw the people come through, many speculating about what they would do and ‘the plan’ and it became clear that they weren’t going to leave just yet; the big guy, Casey? His conversation with Rabinowicz gave away a lot.

He leaned against one of the Quonset huts and gasped with pain, remembering the bruising all over his back. He shot right back up with his teeth clenched and staggered forward a bit, regaining his balance once his back was no longer screaming from the agony. There was a fellow there, a lanky guy that came in with the crowd, near Rachel and the ‘huskies.’ It seemed as good a time as any to ask.

“Hey man, not to be all forward and greedy, but you got some aspirin or something? My back is killing me.”

[Igraine]

Rachel smiled gently at Gabe, genuinely touched by his sincerity. Such decency was hard to come by in this world, though still a most welcome surprise. She looked down at Jason, running her hand lightly over his furred head as he leaned against her. A thought occurred to her though, as she considered the smiling man’s offer. No, it appeared with the influx of supplies into the camp, that it was entirely possible the already-imprisoned Emergents weren’t necessarily meant to leave the camp this way – despite Gabe’s optimistic offer. They were still prisoners of the government, stripped of their citizenship and their equal status with the rest of “normal” humanity according to the powers that held all the guns.

She sighed as she watched Euryl walk toward one of the huts, the laughter on his lips eerily “not right,” but at least it seemed he had recovered some sense of, well, purpose perhaps? And as she watched him go, she caught sight of Audra standing a ways back. Rachel tried to catch her eye and beckon her closer – there were phones here being brought in by these compassionate people. She did not know the woman all that well, but perhaps there was someone in Audra’s life – her family, loved ones, a significant someone perhaps, who was waiting to hear from her? Someone who might be worried sick over such a sweet, unpresuming young lady, and desperate for word of how she might be?

Rachel chewed her lip for a moment, as she considered her own parents… but no. Not now… There were so many people here, so many others who wanted just a few precious moments to call to the ones they loved the most, who still loved them. Surely Jason had kept them apprised of what was happening, the status here at the camps and… Rachel sighed again as she looked at the devastation around them, and the people who could only be journalists and reporters with their handheld camcorders and cell phones and cameras and blackberries. After this firestorm, they would be worried half to death for them both…

Later. Rachel promised herself she would call them later – there were simply too many others who had not had a chance to contact any family or friends at all, and here she was, with her great good fortune. The great, lean black wolf stood opposite Jason by her side, the red and the silver before and behind her as well, very much a living fortress of animal flesh. And oh how she loved them, even without an answer to the question in her mind or how or why that should be. Though she did not yet know their names, or even their human faces, they had faced possible death to come to her and her brother.

The future suddenly seemed so very uncertain, here. She could not possibly know if those already “categorized” and listed would ever be allowed to leave this place – alive at least. Surely the government that had demonized and incarcerated them without trial – surely they would be far too cowardly to attack this base while all the “regular citizens” were here. But would they really ever let the ones like her, the ones they considered frightening and dangerous, would they allow them to just leave? No… she had to be sure that if nothing else, if all hope really fell through, her beloved family would be all right.

“Gabe?” she said quietly, “Do you think… “ Rachel thought for a moment, how to phrase what she wanted to ask of this earnest young man. “I think you know, that these here with me are more than they appear,” she finally continued with a smile. “But they came here to be with me – no one ‘official’ knows they’re here, nor who they really are. I’m just… I’m just not so sure the military or the government or whoever the hell is in charge of this insanity, is going to let Emergents walk away from here. You know what I’m saying?”

“People like you – they wouldn’t dare lay waste to this place with you here.” Rachel did not detail what she meant by “… like you,” hoping it would be rather obvious on the face that she meant nothing derogatory, simply “normal.”

“ But… I mean I hope, I really do, that someone somewhere will see reason – I’m just not relying so heavily on the decency of human nature, after today… “ Her eyes gazed over the devastation that still pockmarked the compound, the evidence of what had been earlier a little taste of hell on earth, before they returned to Gabe’s face. “I know this is a hell of a thing to ask, but if they won’t let ‘us,’” she said, pulling at the sleeve of her camp-issued shirt, “out of here, can you please take them? Or try to?” Her hands dropped to her side as she lay them on the heads of the golden and the black wolf, letting him know exactly who “them” truly meant. “Please?”

“Hey man, not to be all forward and greedy,” interrupted a rather familiar voice, “but you got some aspirin or something? My back is killing me.”

Rachel couldn’t help but laugh a little, the tension relieved no small bit by Tony’s sudden presence. “Yes,” she said with a small chuckle, “And that too, if you wouldn’t mind…”

[Kesteven]

Euryl sat bleakly on a pile of boxes that had been brought through the portal, looking at the sky. Now the sandstorm had passed, it was clear and deep - way out here in the desert, without even the glare of the floodlights, there wasn't a single corner of the heavens that wasn't teeming with stars - each closer look at the darkness between the pinpricks of light revealed only more, smaller pinpricks. Here, one might fancy he could see all the way to the edge of the universe.

So, they weren't leaving after all, not yet at least. He wasn't sure why he'd expected otherwise. They were marked now, doubtless every station house between here and New York had a record of every biometric it was possible to get on every one of them, and freedom would last only until someone recognized their faces or found a match on their details. Passports, credit cards, driving licenses, probably all worthless now, even if they could find where they'd been confiscated to - given all that, what kind of life could they expect, even if they did escape? Might as well make the best of it and take a stand here. On the face of it, it wasn't a bad plan, but something still bothered him - the curious sense of pressure was still hanging in the air, and far from abating it seemed to be growing, evolving. He was sure now that it was more than just ordinary tension in the people around him, and yet something about it seemed oddly familiar...

"-How about now? Lizzie? I love you, Lizzie!" ...Click. "Dammit. Here-" The phone landed in Euryl's lap. "Maybe you'll have better luck. Can't seem to get a damned signal. Say, would you mind getting off those boxes? I'm supposed to be taking them to the mess. Shit! Really would have liked to... well, guess I'll try later..."

Euryl grabbed the phone and wandered off to a quieter part of the compound, flicking the thing open and staring at the numbers. It had been a long time since he'd heard a familiar voice. Why hadn't he tried to call home? They'd taken his cell, sure, but he'd seen a lot of American TV. Wasn't he supposed to get a phone call or something? Nobody had offered one.

Feeling strangely anxious, he keyed in the numbers.

...7...6 ...8.

He could hear it ringing. For a moment he was afraid that nobody would answer, but then there was a click and the ringing stopped. He swallowed.

"Hello? It's me."

"...Euryl?" Came his mother's tentative voice, fuzzy but audible.

"Mum, are you okay?" He heard a small gasp on the end of the phone, and the reply came back cracking with so much emotion that Euryl felt tears begin to build in his own eyes.

"Am I okay? Darling, you didn't call in... we thought... we thought something had happened! Why didn't you call?! Where are you? Are you safe?"

He glanced around the compound, watching the hurrying people in the camp and the menacing lights arranging themselves on the horizon. "...It's kind of hard to say."

"You're there, aren't you? In that place, uh, Nelson compound? It was on the news. "

"Nellis, mum. Yeah. How did you know?"

A small laugh managed to find its way out of her throat. "You always did have a knack for getting yourself in trouble. I remember when you were five... oh, I'm sure you haven't forgotten. I'm just so glad you're all right. You'll be careful, won't you? Come home soon, okay? Please? We miss you."

"I can't come home yet, mum, but I will, as soon as I can. I miss you too."

"Would you like to talk to your sister? She's here too." There was a pause and a shuffling noise, followed by an uncomfortable silence.

"Hey milktop, you there?" he hazarded.

"I'm sorry," Laura's voice came back. "She's probably just feeling a bit overwhelmed, she'll talk to you later." There was some more shuffling, and Laura lowered her voice to a whisper. "I'm worried about her, Euryl. She hasn't said anything in days, and she barely eats. I thought she'd cheer up if she heard your voice, but... I don't know. I'm taking her to see the doctor tomorrow. Please come back soon." There was nothing Euryl could say to that, so he just nodded, even knowing she couldn't see him. Somehow though, she understood. "So," she paused, reluctant to continue. "Does this mean that you're... one of the people that... changed?"

"Well... whoever was running the show before all hell broke loose seemed to think so. I didn't believe it at first, but... I've seen some pretty crazy things. I don't know. Maybe they were right. I'm still me, though, I still like the same things, I'm still afraid of the same things. Everyone's acting like we came from another planet or something, it's ridiculous."

"I know, honey, I know." Laura's voice sounded as though it were starting to break again. "Listen, before you were born, your father told me... well, I thought it was a joke, but..." There was a crackling noise and the signal started to falter.

"What? Mum, you're breaking up. I can't hear."

"Well, ... told me his g... was, well, I do- ..."

"I can't hear what you're saying!"

"...ermind. Goodbye, darling- ... -ay safe. I love you."

"I love you too, mum. Bye!"

The line went dead, leaving his feelings in a bittersweet mess. They knew he was safe now, at least... he was worried about Eira, but she'd always had something going on, whether it was the time she broke her leg climbing trees or the time her boyfriend dumped her and she refused to leave her room for four days. She'd be fine, or so he tried to convince himself. Once again, he found himself feeling helpless and distant - he couldn't imagine how many other people here and elsewhere were feeling that right now, a thought which both scared him and offered some comfort. Focus on the now, the people he could help. That was the way to keep going.

He passed the others on his way back to the supply hut, loaded down with various bags. He paused for a moment to push the cellphone into Audra's hands, meeting her eyes with a nod of acknowledgement.

"Here."

It was all he felt the need to say before continuing on, adjusting a shoulder strap as he lurched off into the building.

[vitamin_kitten]

For a few moments, Audra continued to sit silently and observe the chaos around her. Though this night was nearly as hectic as the previous day had been, there was somehow a peaceful tension thickening the air. Audra wondered vaguely if this was hope, collective hope, like an aura rising up over the camp in light of the presence of so many allegedly helpful others.

In the distance she recognized Tony and that other guy, that big monster-y type. They appeared to be holding a small conference with an ominous hooded figure and a pants suited tan-skinned woman. She only hoped- yes, there was hope then- that the two men were gathering information that could be useful for getting them out of there.

Even though she stood a few feet away from Rachel and her pack, she could still overhear what the latter was trying to convey. These wolves were her family, and even if she didn't make it out of here, she desperately wanted for them to remain safe. It was a noble sentiment, and Audra couldn't say she blamed her.

Rachel glanced back towards her and beckoned her closer. It felt good to be remembered, to be included, especially in these insane times and in this situation. With a smile in spite of herself, Audra stepped forward and moved towards Rachel and her pack. The simple change in proximity was strangely enough to assuage alot of Audra's anxiety. She was reminded why she had originally chosen a profession which had allowed her to work with people.

"Here," someone said, and she felt something pressed into her hand. When she looked, Audra caught a glimpse of Euryl as he hurried past them, loaded up with bags as if going on a trip somewhere. As he disappeared into one of the Quonset huts, Audra turned her attention down to the phone in her hand. It took her a few seconds to decide what to do with it, but when she remember that this was a way to contact her family, she wasted no time in excusing herself from Rachel's group and moving to stand in her spot a few feet away once more. As she walked, she dialed her home number.

It rang.

It rang again.

A third time.

"Hello?" Her stepfather's voice. Tears rushed immediately to her eyes, and at first, her words were lost to them. "Hello?" her stepfather demanded.

"Dad," she croaked. There was silence from the phone. "Dad?"

"Audra?"

"Dad!" And then, there were no words, only incontrollable sobbing. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd felt without her family, how afraid she was for her life, how much she'd missed home.

"Holy shit, Audra, where are you? Kasey, come here!" Through her sobs, Audra could hear her mother's voice in the background, indistinct. "Just come here! Audra's on the phone!"

"Audra?" came her mother's frantic shout from somewhere else in the house.

"Hang on, Audra, your mother wants to talk to you-"

"Audra! Audra! Oh my God, where are you? What happened to you? Are you okay? What- where are you?"

"Mom," Audra managed, "Mom, I'm okay. I'm okay."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Nevada."

"Nevada?! What are you doing there? Are you at that Air Force base? Oh my God, Audra-"

"Mom, I'm okay!" Audra cried into the phone. "I can't talk long, but I wanted to tell you I'm okay, and I'm trying to get home."

"Jesus Christ, Audra, we've been worried sick about you!"

"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. Please, I'm trying to get home. I just- I can't talk long. Alot of people need the phones. We might be getting out of here. Just ... keep praying for us. I love you, Mom."

"I love you, honey." It was evident from the crackle in her mother's voice that she was crying too.

It took all Audra had to end the call. Once it was disconnected, the tears were a nonstop flow, and she considered selfishly holding on to the phone, if only for some small semblance of a connection back home.

Her parents' voices had been so close, as if they'd been standing right there with her. And now, like ghosts, like figments of her imagination, they were gone.

Audra slumped down to her knees in the sand and sobbed.

[Deadman - D17]

Peter sighed.

"If it really isn't possible for you all to leave, I would rather remain here as well. However, if you want... I can try and bring your ah.. friends out...

Oh! Asprin. Yes, I know I have some, one second."

Swinging his pack off his shoulder and in front of him, Peter began rifling through its contents, pulling out the few sets of clothing he had stuffed in as he did so. It was a welcome distraction, to be honest, there was far too much going on in his mind at the moment. First the portal? Then meeting these people with such extraordinary abilities? And then, now that he was where he wanted to be, meeting with such confusion? To leave or stay? To try and bring these people out, or help them in here? He wanted to get to know these people better, see what -if anything- made them different, see just what life could be like if they co-existed. So many questions, so many opportunities, so many-!

Oh, asprin, right.

He was at the bottom of his pack now, pushing aside books and various items that could be useful in the future. Nothing, nothing, no... those would certainly help with the pain, but it was a bit... much, not to mention, he wasn't really supposed to have them - he prescriptions had been for his brother. He did have actual asprin somewhere, it was just a matter of- "Aha! Here we are."

Laying his back carefully on the ground before him, Peter pulled out a small container, swiftly uncapping it before holding it out for the new guy and Rachel.

"Oh, and because swallowing them dry is never much fun -trust me- here." Unzipping his jacket all the way (he didn't care so much now if one could see the tops of his knives -If they were looking at his jean's pockets anyway) He reached in and pulled out the bottle of Jack Daniels. "Still cool, too." He grinned, spinning the cap off and holding it up. "I'm not much of a drinker myself, but I figured you all could use a little, calm the nerves some?"

It certainly seemed some nerves needed calming. He could only imagine what it might be like, imprisoned here for what? Suddenly possessing abilities even you didn't really understand? Trapped in one, small little space? Lord, he'd have gone stir-crazy in a week! It was no surprise then how relieved these people seemed, to have some, to have any contact with the outside world, and to be able to call their pare-.....

The smile melted away from Peter's face, as he noticed those with the phones. So relieved when they spoke with loved ones, so emotional before, during and after. Such a reaction, just for being allowed to speak with their families? Would... would he have reacted in the same way? Or....

No... those were thoughts for later. Or, better yet, never.

Taking a rather large swig on the whiskey himself -finishing it off with a vigorous shake of his head, as the liquor burned down his throat- he held it back out for them. "It's good, too, which I have to say is a surprise, considering the Scrooge I bought it from."

Such thoughts... thoughts for never.

[Guest]

To: Simmons
From: Michaels
Topic: Activity from Nellis Containment Facility

The following are phone logs of signals intercepted from Nellis; cell phone signals, and there are too many of them to just be reporters that were stranded when the Air Force got out. A couple of the logs are particularly interesting in that there is a running theme of confidence in some sort of plan and activists that have gotten past the military cordon. You should refer this finding to DIA.

By the way, one of those is Aaron Rabinowicz, a former DOD spokesman, to his wife, Sarah. And there was a transfer of data from his wife’s blackberry to the blackberry he is using from within the place. However, we have no further activity on that account, which implies that whoever is organizing this little piece de resistance is cage about switching up phones for sensitive conversations. We're not sure if bringing in the cell phones so that everyone would be calling their relatives is intentional or not, but it's making it hard to keep track of significant data in realtime. It's probably coincidental, but we can't rule out that someone really smart is helping these guys. Someone should advise the Secretary. I don’t envy that someone.

---


NSA Wiretapping, early morning, 7/9/09

From: xxx-xxx-3710 to xxx-xxx-6548
Cody Greenlaw, Nellis AFB Containment, to Kelly Greenlaw, Essex, MD

[start]
Kelly Greenlaw: [mumbled] Hello?
Cody Greenlaw: Hey baby, it’s me, they finally gave us phones in this place, I wanted to call to make sure everything is okay…
KG: [nervous] Cody…I thought you got the mail…
CG: What mail?
[slight pause]
KG: Well, the government came and said that they were freezing our assets, and I could afford to just let the bank accounts get frozen, so…well, I thought the papers would be there by now.
CG: What papers?
[Murmuring voice on the line, from nearby.]
CG:[agitated] Who the hell is that? What fucking papers, Kelly?
KG: The divorce papers, Cody. They were gonna throw me out the apartment and they got a fast divorce court for these cases. You’re in jail, Cody, and you’re a fuckin’ freak now. I took the apartment, gave away your dog and let your cousin Casey move in…
CG: [Howling] You fucking bitch twat whore slut!! How the fuck could you, it was only three fucking weeks, you didn’t even have to pay the bills yet! And with my goddamn cousin? And you gave away Rusty? I just went through all this shit to have my heart ripped out by you, you fucking cheap trick!
KG: Fuck you, Cody.
Casey Smalls: Yeah, fuck you, Cody! Now I’ve got your I-ROC AND your girl too, you cocksucker! Yeee-hoo!
[hangup]
[end]

--

From xxx-xxx-4877 to xxx-xxx-6586
Amy Nuendorf, Nellis AFB, Containment Facility, to Nuendorf Residence, Lancaster, PA
[start]
Marlena Nuendorf: Hello?
Amy Nuendorf: Mama, it’s me, someone brought in cell phones to us, we’re rescued!
MN: Oh my god, I was so scared for you, [sobbing] I saw the TV reports of the government shooting up the compound and I’ve been so worried…
AN: No mama, [sobbing] I’m just fine, I mean, it was bad, but it’s getting better. But I can explain that later. Is Lily there? How is she? I miss her so much…
MN: Oh baby, she’s just fine. We’ve just told her that mommy is on a vacation and we’ve been doing our best. She misses you though, every day she asks if you’re going to be home.
AN: [sobbing] Can you put her on?
MN: Of course, dearheart, here, talk to your father.
Peter Nuendorf: Amy, are you okay? Are you hurt?
AN: No daddy, I’m okay. I’m fine. Things were bad, but they’re getting better.
PN: Look, Amy, a lot of us have pooled together our money and we’ve got a class action suit and a lot of lobbying going on, we’re going to get you out of that ghastly camp soon. You just tell us if you need anything and we’ll try to help…I’ve been screaming the ears off Jim [Representatitive James Hagen, PA-16] and told him he can either help me or a lot of people [Nuendorf Motors, Lancaster PA] will be donating to their opponents, in primaries and general elections.
AN: It’s alright daddy, they have some people, they managed to slip past the military…somehow. They’ve got something going on. If they need something, I’ll let you know.
PN: Do you have any idea what they intend to do?
AN: Not all of it, but I know the idea is to avoid fighting the army. They say there’s a woman who talks to [pause, hysterical giggle] uh spirits, and she says she they know all sorts of things, political things. And there’s a lot of people here with banners and reporters that the Air Force left trapped here when they pulled out yesterday. I swear daddy, it’s going to be okay.
PN: [sobbing] I just wish there was more I could do. I feel so helpless here, and you’re stuck there. I’m doing all I can, but it’s not enough, baby, I’m so sorry…
AN: [sobbing] It’s okay, daddy, we’ll get through this. We just…
MN: Amy, I have Lily here, she really wants to talk to you.
Lily Nuendorf: Mommy?
AN: Yes baby, it’s mommy. How are you, baby?
LN: I miss you, mommy. Are you coming home soon?
AN: Yes baby, there are a few things that have to get done, but I’ll be home real soon, that’s a promise baby. Until then, you do what gramma and grandpa say, and be a good girl, okay?
LN: Yes mommy. They have me in a school up here, and I made some new friends, their names are Jenny and Margaret. I really like it up here, but I want to be where you are.
AN: That’s great Lily, I’m so glad things are going well up there. When I come back, I’ll get you some presents and we’ll have a party and you can invite Jenny and Margaret over too.
LN: Okay, mommy.
AN: Can you put Gramma back on the phone, baby?
LN: Yes, mommy.
AN: I love you, baby. No matter what, I love you. Don’t you ever forget it.
LN: I love you too mommy, I miss you.
MN: Amy?
AN: Mom, do her friends’ parents know…?
MN: Oh yes, they know. We hired private tutoring for all the local children whose parents or relatives are emergent, you see... We took them all out of public schooling because everyone’s worried how the relatives are going to be treated. You know how your father is always going o0n about smaller government anyway…[sobbing]
AN: Thank god. Mom, I love you, but I gotta go. Other people need the phone. I’ll call you guys when I get the chance, but everyone else is trying to call their families and make sure that things are okay.
MN: Alright, Amy. We love you. We’re doing everything we can to get you out of there, including holding Jim hostage with the donor money…
AN: I love you mom. I hope I’m home real soon…bye.
[end]

--

From xxx-xxx-7554 to xxx-xxx-8746
Jacob Birnbaum, Nellis AFB, Containment Facility, to Birnbaum Residence, Miami, FL

[start]
Martin Birnbaum: Hello? [agitated] Who the hell is this?
Jacob Birnbaum: Dad? [sob] Thank God it’s you! It’s me!
MB: [gasp] Jacob! Thank God you’re alive! Are you alright, what’s going on?
JB: I’m okay dad. They have me in the Nellis facility.
MB: You mean the place the government just shot up? That [snarl] concentration camp?
JB: Yeah. Didn’t they tell you? Something happened at the high school and they had me bundled off before I could regain consciousness.
MB: No, all those schmucks told me was that they’d put you away for the public good. Two goons grilled us about you. And your principal refused to supply information. I tried to sue them, but it’s no good. Homeland Security is able to declare judicial immunity for everyone involved as they please. [growl]
JB: They brought me to this camp dad, it’s horrible…everyone here is, I dunno, different I guess. I’m safe from them, a lot of people are just normal folks, but I’m scared, dad. I think they’re going to finish us off soon. They started shooting yesterday, guns, bombs, rayguns. They just mowed us down. And the guards kept telling us we aren’t human anymore before that. They kept saying things like that our citizen was stripped and we had no rights.
MB: [quavering, enraged] Meshugenah. Are you unharmed, son?
JB: Yeah, I’m okay, but I’m really, really scared.
MB: You remember your grandparents, son. Your grandfather survived Auschwitz and your grandmother lived through Ravensbruck. You will live. You have everything to live for, Jacob Isaac Birnbaum, you keep telling yourself that and you’ll live.
JB: What if I don’t, dad?
MB: Then that’s in God’s hands, son. But this time, we are not powerless. [sighing] But you do what you can, you do all a man can. You are not alone, you are never alone, son. Your people will not forget you and we will not allow these monsters to slaughter you like animals again. [pause] We took out your Israeli citizenship, and we have the embassy working on these scum. As soon as we spring you out, we’re emigrating to Israel, to Acre, where my cousin Shlomo will take us in. The house is already sold, and we were just waiting on word of you. We're staying with the Mendelsohns for now.
JB: But what will we do over there dad? Everything I have is here! Is it safe there for people like [choke] like me?
MB: I don’t know son, but at least over there you will not be put in camps. Most of Europe are doing the same thing as they are doing here, but the Israeli embassy said that you will be your rights as a citizen will be respected. No one in this family will ever be put in a fucking camp again, I can promise you that. Some countries are treating emergents badly, son, but Israel is not one of them, thank God. As soon as you are out, we’ll be safe there.
JB: [Sobbing] Dad…please tell mom I love her, but there are other people here, they need the phone. Go with God, dad.
MB: Shalom, son. I will.
[end]

--

From xxx-xxx-8642 to xxx-xxx-1925
Claudio Santos, Nellis AFB, Containment Facility, to Maria Santos, Houston, TX

[translated from Spanish]
[start]
Maria Santos: Hello?
Claudio Santos: Baby, it’s me.
MS: [gasp] What the hell happened to you? You never came home and they said…[sobbing]
CS: I know, baby. It’s messed up, but I’m okay. Everything’s gonna be okay. How are things over there?
MS: [sobbing] It’s horrible, the government keeps making threats, even after I showed them the green card and all, and they were trying to push us out, unless I divorce you…[sobbing]
CS: Okay baby, that’s okay. A lawyer I know in here said they’re doing that to anyone that stays married to cut down on the number of lawsuits; pressuring people into divorces and all. Don’t worry about that, Maria. How’s baby Diego, is he okay?
MS: [sobbing] Yes, he’s here. He’s asleep. He said his first words last week…
CS: I know it’s hard baby, but you gotta stay strong. I’m gonna be fine, I’ll be back before you know it. You just do what you gotta do to hang onto the house. I know they’re making people get divorces, and you just gotta do it. I know that Father Patrick will try to talk you out of it, but you gotta just do it.
MS: [sobbing] But I CAN’T! I won’t be able to look myself in the mirror if I don’t at least stand by my man...
CS: Baby, I know you’ll be there when I get out. But we gotta do this for the baby.
MS: But what about the Church, they want us to...
CS: I know what they want, but the reality is, are they gonna do anything for us? I know, they said they'll give charity, like we're a couple of bums, but I don't think it's worth losing savings and everything else we sweated for because some priest wants a living martyr to make a political point with. I'm sorry baby, I know that sounds like blasphemy, but I gotta take care of my family first, you know? Money ain’t coming in without me working at the office and you on maternity leave. How is the garage anyway?
MS: [sigh, sob] Oscar and Pedro are running it, and they’re making sure to pay what you’d be making if you were there, even though the government dissolved your ownership share of the business.
CS: Good, they’re good guys. I’m glad they didn’t stiff us. So we’re covered. You just get the divorce. We can figure it out later, but I gotta know you guys are safe, I can't make it here if I gotta worry about you two.
MS: [Sobbing]I love you…
CS: [Choke] I know you do, baby. Now, other guys gotta talk to their wives too, so I gotta go. But I love you and the baby. I’ll talk to you later, mamacita.
[end]

From xxx-xxx-6425 to xxx-xxx-8746
Aaron Rabinowicz, Nellis Containment Facility, to Sarah Rabinowicz, Chicago, IL

[start]
Sarah Rabinowicz: Hello?
Aaron Rabinowicz: Sarah, it’s Aaron. I’m alright, but there’s a lot to do and not much time, they’re probably listening in on us. Can you take my blackberry and transfer over my call list to this number?
SR: Alright Aaron. I’ll do it right away. I love you. Be safe.
AR: I love you too. It won’t be long, we’ll see each other again soon. I'll wear an extra nice bag over my head for the occasion.
SR: [chuckling]I’ll be waiting. Warts and all.
AR: [chuckling]
[end]

---

Shaw gave the guy a careful once over as he was digging through his stuff; rangy, tall guy, but whipcord muscle. Shaw was used to watching people and the shoulders generally didn’t lie about these things. But he took the aspirin gratefully, and a swig off the bottle to wash it down, once he’d popped them in his mouth. Afterwards, he handed the bottle to whomever was next, while saying, “Thanks. The SP’s shot me in the back not once or twice, but three times with their damn rubber rounds. I’ve probably got a map of Africa in bruises back there, but I haven’t gotten a good look in the mirror.”

Others, like the guy with the strange accent, some kind of Brit, and the girl, were getting on the phone, like a lot of people, and having a variety of conversations. Tony just wasn’t sure if he was ready to confront Jill over the divorce or being cut loose. His wife wasn’t the sort of girl that would shack up with another guy right after divorcing, she was a decent woman, but he felt betrayed nonetheless. But others had it just as hard, even if Rabinowicz was apparently one lucky bastard.

The girl ended her call sobbing, and sank to the ground. Shaw got on his knees and, in the tradition of Ev Barrett’s First Law of the Sea, did what Rachel did for him, though he was a little more careful about it; he just put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, “I know.” Well, he was trying to offer a shoulder to cry on, though he realized that he probably wasn’t necessarily the best one out there for it.

It didn’t really matter that he had it shitty and guys like Ogre Rabinowicz had it good and people like Audra were scared or that guys like Gabe came in for a bunch of strangers when his own wife abandoned him to his fate. Everyone was in the same boat together here, it seemed.

The crunching of sand beneath a boot heel announced the arrival of someone else, a gaunt looking rail of a fellow in a Detroit Lions T-shirt and carrying a bagfull of…stuff. Shaw looked up at the voice, and not before.

Whoa, ground control to Major Tom, we’ve got a real space cadet here, his mind jeered, while he tried to comfort Audra and watch the dude, somewhat warily.

“I’m Max Kopeck, I’m the ritualist who made the gate. Benita here,” he said in a very flat sort of voice, calm and measured, though his eyes were burning and staring beyond, “says that the spirits say that you two there,” he nudged his chin toward Audra, “Have a lot of power in you.”

The older, sun-browned woman cut in, “What he means, sir and miss, is that he needs to make a bigger conveyance than before to get the press into this facility with their vans so that they can broadcast without being interfered with. And the spirits are saying that you two have a lot of raw power, the sort of thing we need. We were using humans before, and while that can work, it’s only good up to a certain point. We came in here knowing that we had enough energy to perhaps make a man-sized conveyance but…”

“But,” Kopeck cut in, “we need people with power, not just NPC’s,” the fuck did that mean? “to help fuel the ritual if we’re going to get the cameras and equipment through with the media. That means people like you. We’re trying to find the ones who are true sorcerers, magicians, whatever you want to call them. People that cast the spells instead of just using inborn talents.”

Shaw recovered a bit, or tried, “Yeah, uh, okay man. I don’t know shit, though. I have no control over anything. I don’t know how to DO anything, you know?”

“You can learn later, but you can still work on this ritual with us, both of you,” the woman, with the long, thick, gray-flecked braid and the almost...well, she looked like she was Mexican and something else, really, said gently. "You don't have to, no one," she shot a glance at Kopeck as if he were about to say otherwise," will force you, but we really need your help."

Shaw glanced from the woman, who seemed more grounded in reality, to the man, who seemed spaced out, but impatient in that detached, almost inhuman sort of way before answering. “Okay. I’ll do it. Not like there’s much of a choice, sittin’ around here, waiting for the man to take us all down or helping the only people that gave enough of a shit to come and help us. You just tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it, ma'am," he added the honorific seamlessly; he kinda had the feeling he was talking to one of the people who helped organize this...salvation, and that rated heartfelt respect in his book.

Besides, if he had no real choice he could at least pretend as if he had one and conduct himself accordingly.

[Igraine]

Rachel smiled gently, though she still shook her head quickly at Gabe’s offer of the whiskey. Beyond the occasional glass of wine at dinner or a good beer on St. Patrick’s Day, she had never been much of a drinker after her college days were over. And though she thought she did a pretty good job of hiding her revulsion, grateful beyond words at the young man’s sincere offer of help, the smell coming off the bottle now almost made her nauseous.

She watched the young man’s face become rather pensive, as he watched some of her fellow “detainees” speak on the contraband cell phones. Rachel could not help but wonder what, exactly, would bring someone like this so far, to selflessly offer help to people he had never known or met before this day. He did not seem to have a single relative or friend detained in the facility – yet, here he was. There was a story there, she was sure – but Rachel was wise enough to know this was likely not the time or place to ask that of him.

Her smile widened just a little, became more tender, as she watched Tony comfort Audra. Well, insofar as a brusque man like him could, his hand on her shoulder thoughtfully. Rachel could not know what it was about the young woman – almost a girl, really – that brought out the instinct in everyone around her to protect her, watch over her…

… Which made the strange man’s proclamation about her having a “lot of power” even more curious in Rachel’s eyes. Not once yet had she seen or felt anything about Audra that would make her think such a thought about the delicate-seeming woman. But it was not as if she could speak with “the spirits” – or whatever the hell they were – herself. And if there was anything she had learned during the last couple months, one could never take for granted what might be beneath the surface of another person. Great good, great evil and, quite obviously, even greater power could be hidden only skin deep in the most innocuous-seeming of places.

Rachel exchanged a glance with her brother who, it seemed, understood as much as he could of what these people planned to do. She understood quite well the intent behind getting more media and cameras in this blighted place, and she approved. Humanize them. The world needed to see them as human beings again. Not as freaks or dangerous monsters locked away, but as real people unjustly persecuted and afflicted and imprisoned.

Because if the “next time” ever came, it would be a hell of a lot harder for the ones with the guns to just mow them down in cold blood - without dire consequences, that is…

The silver she-wolf watched the tall, dark man stand - the one who smelled of hot sand and cumin – leaving the weeping young lady alone for a moment. Quietly she padded toward her, making little fuss at all as she leaned heavily into the young girl before looking into her face with soft, intelligent yellow eyes. Her steady presence offered, if she would have it, a warm soft pelt to rest against, and a strong back she could lean on, should she rise to the challenge these strange people offered.

[Kesteven]

Euryl laid the bags down and collapsed, turning his back on them as he did so.
The work had gone some way towards clearing his head; the methodical cycle of stacking, sorting and carrying was slowly massaging an imitation of order back into the mess of the world, but how much good it would do in the long run wasn't his to say.

As he sat he became increasingly aware of the rank smells rising from his person as the sweat from so much heavy lifting bore out vapours on purulent wings. The festering cloth was starting to cling to his skin, and the feeling began to plague him. He felt a pang of shame for letting himself get into such an offensive state, and resolved not to stay in it for a second longer than was now necessary, rising to his feet to grab a set of clothes and a towel, the soothing waters of the shower already drizzling over his mind. His hands paused over the pile of grey, regulation jumpsuits, then withdrew. No, he wasn't a prisoner any more, not a number or a classification. He was a human being with rights - specifically, the right not to have to wear some damned ugly, itchy jumpsuit. He rooted through some of the donated clothes he'd been carrying and selected some khakis that looked as though they'd taken a beating but had more than a few left in them, and a brown-and-white short-sleeved shirt. Then, shivering at a chill from the door, he added to the mix a heavy garment he'd initially taken to be some kind of brown trenchcoat, but which actually turned out to be a thick, hooded cloak. With an embroidered hem and silk pockets it looked as though it might once have been expensive; the effect was slightly spoiled by a number of stains and scuff marks, but rather than disappointing Euryl, they led him to wonder who would own such a garment, and just what kind of life had brought it to him. With the cloak wrapped around him, he cast out into the darkness.

When in the stall he stripped quickly out of his clothes - under other circumstances he might have been self-conscious about his nudity in a construction so flimsy it failed to hide him from the silvery gaze of the stars, but what place had such embarrassment here? In the past 48 hours he'd seen people far more naked than a mere lack of clothes could ever render them. He first washed his clothes in the tepid water, before folding and hanging them carefully. They were now rather the worse for wear and hadn't been much good in the first place, but they were now the only link he had to a life of certainty and comfort, however dreary and empty it might have been. He then washed the blood, sweat and dirt from his skin and felt some of the anxiety slip away, too. It had been too long since he'd washed. At times like this it was easy to empathize with the Hindu faithful as they submersed themselves in the healing waters of the Ganges, the monks under waterfalls on distant mountains, the Muslims making their bodies fit for worship with water and prayer, John's followers renewing themselves in the Jordan so that they might meet the coming apocalypse free from sin. Their apocalypse had been, in Euryl's eyes, less than advertised, but with recent events it wasn't hard to believe that the End Times were once again upon the human race, even more final than before. He had a feeling it would take more than a splash of water to prepare for them this time, but it was a good start.

He turned off the faucet and scrubbed himself down with the towel, quickly now his body heat was riding the steam off into the cold desert night, and threw on the new clothes as soon as he was dry. The cloak was warm and comfortable, and fit surprisingly well. He was pleased with his choice. Arms filled with damp clothes, he set off back for the other buildings, feeling suitably refreshed, and much more presentable.

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