THE ZONE: A Survival RP (IC Thread)

[The Warriors of the Sun]

snip

"You've probably got more things to worry about then us, dude."

Patrick snickered before saying, "I don't know if that should comfort or worry me." He turned his face to look at the approaching woman and he immediately smirked in embarrassment as he saw the woman walking over with her arms pointedly crossed over her chest. "Oh boy..." mumbled Patrick with a smirk still plastered on his face as Jennifer closed the distance.

"I'm Jennifer, and that's Asshole."

Patrick's smirk turned into a genuine grin as he watched the woman offer her hand. The feeling of joy and relief when he was first held at 'gunpoint' by two of the three red-headed girls who appeared to be triplets returned to him. He graciously shook Jennifer's hand with his, still soaking hand. "Sorry, I haven't had a chance to dry off yet." Patrick blushed in embarrassment as he quickly ran he fingers through his wet hair, the tell-tale sign that he was at least a little nervous. "I'm Patrick Ausman, and uh, it's a pleasure to meet you...really. Glad I didn't scare you off with that uh, performance..." Patrick's eyes quickly shot over to where the nearest triplet was as he finished the statement before quickly returning to meet Jennifer's gaze. He was fairly certain the three had no intentions of introducing themselves to him anytime soon and Patrick certainly wasn't brave enough to make the attempt either.

"And uh..." Patrick looked down to the floor, not hiding his bashfulness in any way. "If you need anything please let me know. I'm really greatly for y'all's hospitality in a place like this. So um, if there is anyway I can repay you for it, please let me."

[Deramen]

Atlas Biotech Corporate Office | Nevada | Day II

"Do it. Water, or hit me!"

Valerie could feel a headache coming on now. Hard and fast. Dick joke. Her mind flitted about, trying to come up with a plan, some way to counteract Yuki's affliction. None seemed to surface, and instead she could only stand by as Salk went to town on the woman. It seemed to have an effect, but Valerie felt dirty. Gross. Hiding out in some disgusting, dank old office building, beating the hell out of some horny asian woman strapped to a pipe. It sounded like the plot of a bad porno, or a snuff film.

"We don't have any cold water, Yuki. We've barely got enough food to last us the next few hours."

She motioned to her bag, still strapped across her back. By her count, they had more ammo than food now, and ammo was running short. Even with the supplies from Krauser's dead comrades, they only had enough weapon between them to ensure that a suicide pact wouldn't be a wasted gesture. That was, of course, assuming the Burrower's young didn't do their best Xenomorph impression on Yuki's stomach. If they did, they were fucked. Pure and simple.

With an angry sigh, Valerie threw one of the flimsy office chairs across the room. As Giuseppe rose from his chair to wretch at the woman, Valerie needed all her strength not to beat the man's teeth in. The pistol was raised once more, and Valerie snarled at the man. She was truly a sight to behold now: dirty, angry, frazzled hair and covered in blood. If one were to look up the definition of a lunatic in the dictionary, they probably would find the definition of the word lunatic, which most certainly applied to Valerie at that moment.

"Sit the FUCK down, Giuseppe. I am not in the fucking mood."

Her attentions turned to the others, and Valerie finally caught herself. Visibly shaken, she ran a hand through her hair as she backed up against a nearby wall, sliding down it's crusted paint to the floor. Fear, stress, anxiety, it had ground her down to a nub now. She let out a long, tired sigh as she sat there. Her head shook. Eyes drifted to Salk.

"Alright," she said. There was a hint of tired defiance in her tone. No collapsing now. No falling apart like some little girl. If the group fell apart now, if she fell apart now, they'd be dead by dawn. She pushed up off the wall, and to her feet, looking even more exasperated than before. Even still, she forced a tone of authority.

"We're keeping Yuki tied down for now. If the worms do their thing, and she dies, then that's it. Giuseppe stays tied for now. Someone needs to take first watch, and seeing as the cowboy just got sexually assaulted, I imagine he'd like to rest for a little while. That leaves Salk and Krauser, because I'm going to take a fucking power-nap here in a minute. One of you two needs to take first watch. We'll sleep in shifts. Me, then Krauser, then Salk. If we alternate throughout the night, we should be fine."

She motioned to Yuki, then to Giuseppe.

"If Yuki gets out of the restraints, we'll deck her and put her back in. If Giuseppe gets out of his restraints, we deck his ass and throw him to the Hellhounds."

Another deep breath, this time the authority felt genuine.

"Are we all on the same page now?"

Giuseppe grumbled and put his chair down next to a wall. He yawned from a combination of soreness and anger. When he finished he he turned his head to Yuki again to stretch his head only to see marks on her. His eyes widened. "You might want to stop assaulting her you dicks! Even if she is horny or something!" He looked at Salk, who had just a minute ago slapped her. "Fucking hell dude didn't you save her or something? Even as an insane man with nothing to lose, I find your actions deplorable." He tried to spit on him but he was too dehydrated to really get it going. After failing to spit on Salk he looked down as he mumbled.

[Relikai]

The blows stung, and Yuki collapsed onto the floor in a heap, her arms held by the tie securing them to the pipe. She felt the last two especially hard, their impacts finishing what Valerie started. Yuki was now dazed, seeing flashes as she hung from her bindings, jaw hanging open as she became limp.

Damnit. Damnit... Damnit!! Yuki thought, her mind screaming in pain and protest as blood filled the side of her mouth. A gum got cut, or something, as her saliva mixed with it to give her a taste of carbon. It slowly trickled down her mouth and onto her shirt, but Yuki was beyond caring. She heard the derogatory comments regarding herself, and yes, Yuki knew that it was true. She looked the sort, and acted the sort. What kind of self-respecting woman pulls a man onto her chest just to get a kick out of it?

"Th-that's good. Hitting Yuki is good!" Yuki cried at the noisy man who most might assume shared the same level of sanity as her right now. Yuki gritted her teeth as she felt the burning within her start again, trying to resist the temptations to go back to being a whore. She started sobbing quietly, soft enough not to be heard by everyone, but her sniffing told them what was going on. Part of her wanted to die, both in shame of being a horny whore, and being a burden to the group. The best she could do, with her mind still intact, was to shut up until she recovers, which she suspected would be an hour or so.

"That's good..." Yuki repeated, closing her eyes and biting her lips as her ordeal began all over again...

[Deramen]

The blows stung, and Yuki collapsed onto the floor in a heap, her arms held by the tie securing them to the pipe. She felt the last two especially hard, their impacts finishing what Valerie started. Yuki was now dazed, seeing flashes as she hung from her bindings, jaw hanging open as she became limp.

Damnit. Damnit... Damnit!! Yuki thought, her mind screaming in pain and protest as blood filled the side of her mouth. A gum got cut, or something, as her saliva mixed with it to give her a taste of carbon. It slowly trickled down her mouth and onto her shirt, but Yuki was beyond caring. She heard the derogatory comments regarding herself, and yes, Yuki knew that it was true. She looked the sort, and acted the sort. What kind of self-respecting woman pulls a man onto her chest just to get a kick out of it?

"Th-that's good. Hitting Yuki is good!" Yuki cried at the noisy man who most might assume shared the same level of sanity as her right now. Yuki gritted her teeth as she felt the burning within her start again, trying to resist the temptations to go back to being a whore. She started sobbing quietly, soft enough not to be heard by everyone, but her sniffing told them what was going on. Part of her wanted to die, both in shame of being a horny whore, and being a burden to the group. The best she could do, with her mind still intact, was to shut up until she recovers, which she suspected would be an hour or so.

"That's good..." Yuki repeated, closing her eyes and biting her lips as her ordeal began all over again...

Giuseppe turned his head over to her and felt disgusted for someone he cared for. "Look at it! Your fucking making her like the pain! Your playing with a fine fucking line and you better stop because if you don't, I will kill you. Even if I die doing it." He glared at the men with a fury. "Do you understand the situation? Because I will bash your head with this chair if you dare put a finger on her." He started breathing heavily as she started sobbing. "Look at her, she's crying. Let it time pass and wait for whatever comes. I promise you in an hour or so this will stop."

[Wallenburg]

WALTER KEELE
Glendale, Nevada || Real Time

---

Through the window up into Glendale, Walter watched as the strangers fell in. Then Spencer entered, somewhat wary of the new environment. Behind him, lights flickered to and fro across the landscape, growing steadily brighter. Miller appeared near the edge of the portal, bright lights illuminating his body.

"Well, that's bad. The portal's going to close on him if he doesn't hurry up," said the hooded figure. "I'll see if I can keep it stable a little longer."

Walter watched as the hood reached the chalk out toward the window and gently traced along its edges. The border of the oval window stained a bright, lively red. Then the red died down to a deep, mellow purple. Walter could hear him whispering to the window incoherently. This man really is nuts, thought Keele.

"Come on, Miller, hurry up. Ignore your new buddies and get the hell in."

Miller spoke on the other side of the window, but no sound carried over to Walter. Sound would not cross the barrier between the real world and the strange realm he stood in. Miller's heel touched the edge of the portal.

"Finally. Come on, hurry it up!"

Miller began talking again, clearly irritated with whomever he had encountered. Things were deteriorating up in Glendale. Then Miller dove down face-first into the window. Walter watched in astonishment as he fell into an upright position, crossing the portal slowly. There was a sharp flash on the other side, and something hit Miller.

Miller fell onto his feet on the dark side of the window. He clutched his side, his face twisted into an expression of pain. On the other side, a familiar man was staring down at them. Bill.

"Fucking Jew bastard shot me in the liver! Close it!"

"It's about time," muttered the hooded man. He lifted his piece of chalk from the side of the window, and the image of Bill immediately began to flicker out of existence. "You pushed my fifteen seconds, Miller."

"W-Where are we?" Miller stuttered.

Walter looked over at Miller as the window finally closed. The darkness quickly closed in on them and consumed everything. Walter could see nothing.

"Um, do we have some light?"

There was a flash, and then a flare began to glow in the hooded man's hand. "I'm not really sure how to answer that," he said. "We aren't really anywhere, as far as I can tell. The best I can manage is to call this under the skin of the Zone. You can cut through its flesh and go either way. It is unshakably tied to the real world, but it isn't part of it."

The flare illuminated each person, but the darkness around them absorbed any other light.

"There's nothing out there but more windows. They come and go. We're going to find one into Dry Lake. I imagine we are close to one right now. I tried to get our window out of Glendale reasonably close, but I've never been great at this sort of travel."

He could tell that Walter and at least a few of the others were confused. "This is an alternate dimension, if you prefer to think of it that way. It'll help us get to Dry Lake without incident. Miller, we'll need you to tell if a window is open to the right place. If you've been to Dry Lake before, you'll be our best shot at spotting it through a window."

[New Grestin]

"Look at her, she's crying. Let it time pass and wait for whatever comes. I promise you in an hour or so this will stop."

Valerie shot Giuseppe the dirtiest look she'd given him all day, and at this rate, that was an accomplishment in it of itself. Shaking her head, she slotted the pistol back into it's holster on her side, instead opting to stare the man down.

"You're not killing anyone Giuseppe. You're going to sit your ass down in that chair, or you're going to go for a walk outside."

She pointed to one of the boarded up windows of the upper-office building. Shoddy plywood was the only thing separating the tiny pocket of humanity from the outside. It would be more solace if it were just empty air. Valerie could practically see the creatures wandering outside, could feel their awful pungent breath on her neck, their writhing forms as they drew closer in. She shook the feeling off.

It was just nerves.

At least, she wanted to believe it was just nerves.

With a sigh, she turned to the others. The exhaustion as visible on her features as she spoke.

"Look, he does have a point. Just let her relax for a bit. Decide who does the first shift. I don't really care how. We'll alternate one after the other until morning."

There was little time to respond, as Valerie disappeared into one of the corner offices, closing the door quietly behind her. The office was unremarkable. In another time, it might have played host to some Human Resources Rep or an accountant. Now, it was some poor scavenger's hovel for the night. A mahogany desk sat in the center, topped with little trinkets and a busted laptop. The fake plants were still mostly intact, save for a thin layer of dust on each leaf. The walls were just as decayed as the rest of the building. Photographs with the same motivational quotes, pictures of family vacations, and even an employee of the month award.

One photo, a man with slicked back hair and a woman, on the beach. Her blonde hair shone brightly in the sun as the two looked out into the surf, hands clasped together.

A pang of despair hit Valerie. Memories of her husband dredged their awful form back into her mind. She forced them back down, drowning out the sorrow with more sorrow.

She had to imagine that whatever poor bastard had owned this office was really proud of that award at some point. Now, if it were lucky, it might end up as a nice piece of tinder for a fire.

Valerie tossed her bag to the ground, flopping down to the musty carpet. Her head rested neatly on the bag and, though was fairly lumpy, it was better than sleeping on the floor. Within a few moments, she had closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

---

She woke with a start, in the same office. Silence permeated the room. Her eyes flicked around. The office resembled the one she'd first entered, but there was a subtle strangeness to it that she couldn't quite place. The angles seemed too angular, the colors seemed off. There was this sickly sense of wrongness that grabbed her guts and twisted like a knife.

Valerie rose to her feet and looked to the desk. Pristine, shiny mahogany. Little trinkets scattered about around a laptop, fully intact. The walls were similarly untouched, painted in a very light shade of red. She ran her hand across it, as if to feel if it were real. It very much was.

On the walls themselves were motivational posters and family photos, much like the ones before them. However, now the smiling families looked angular and deformed. Their carefree faces seemed contorted into those of reverence. Like the looks one might see in a church on Sunday morning.

One photo showed a man, slicked back hair, and a woman on a beach. Her blonde hair was tied into a thick knot. Instead of bathing suits, the pair now wore a suit and a dress. Both were a shade of harsh, jet-black. The two didn't look carefree, they didn't look in love. They both carried a feeling of reverence and terror. Their eyes seemed to drift out towards the open ocean, past pallid white sand. Valerie's eyes followed. Out in the surf, she could see black forms beneath the waves. Strange forms, humanoid, but not quite. The water was a sickly green. Like vomit. Further out, her eyes met with an enormous form. It stood tall, and if the scale of the photo were right, it had to be hundreds of miles tall. The distant clouds obscured it's awful appearance, but deep down, Valerie knew what she was looking at. It was something else, something wrong.

Her eyes glanced back to the couple, and for the briefest moment, she could have sworn they looked back.

She turned back towards the door, and it opened with a quiet clank. The office was similarly abandoned, but now it lacked any human life whatsoever. No Salk, no Krauser, No Giuseppe, not even Yuki. The exposed piping that Valerie had tied her to was now replaced by a water cooler. The room seemed much larger than before. The lines of cubicles seemed to stretch for miles. There was an organic feeling about the place, Valerie thought. The distant sounds of moving muscles and a beating heart were the only sounds in the place. Even her footsteps seemed muffled as she walked along, occasionally peeking into the cubicles.

Each was exactly the same. Desk, computer, all like it had been installed just the day before. Except, in each cubicle there was a photograph next to the computer. It had taken her a few passes to notice it, but it was the same in each and every one. Unease curled her stomach into knots as she slowly crept into one and looked. For some reason she couldn't quite divine, she felt like she needed to remain silent, lest she draw attention to herself.

Attention from what, she couldn't say.

The photo above the glossy, black desktop was of a symbol. Black against a white background. A figure, like a man stood in the center. It's face lacked any features. Only blackness. Six arms came out of it's mass, three on each side. A sword sat in the bottommost hand, and Valerie's eyes followed it along. It was being driven into some kind of snake that wrapped around the figure, as if to constrict it like a Boa. No, she thought. Not a snake. A worm.

As she rose, her eyes caught a glimpse of something moving among the cubicles. It was tall, like a man, but it was not a man. It was just human enough that the very concept of the human form was more perverse for it's existence. A black cloak was draped over it's thin, armless body. She could hear the sounds of it's skittering legs. Just as it's hooded face began to turn towards hers, she ducked back down. Fear began to brew up in her, and she slowly crept from the cubicle out into the office.

Just as she did, she heard quite whispering behind her. Valerie stopped dead and looked back. The Hooded Figure stood, barely five feet behind her. It breathed deep, labored breaths as it stared at her. Her eyes glanced up and down it's cloaked form. There wasn't much to be seen. The cloak draped all the way to the ground.

Valerie rose, slowly, and began to back away from the creature, looking anywhere she could for a respite. It just stood there, watching her like a statue as she backed away.

Faster and faster she backed from the abomination, until she felt herself up against a wall. It still stood there, watching her dutifully as her hands fumbled against the wall. Her heart had leaped into her throat, her stomach forced bile into her mouth. The creature merely watched. It just watched. It never stopped staring at her once. Finally, a respite.

Her hands gripped onto a doorknob. She jiggled it, it budged, and Valerie doubled back into another room. She moved to slam the door shut. Something reached inside for a moment, and her eyes caught a glimpse of the Hooded Figure standing there. Practically on top of the door. Loud, raspy whispering flooded her ears. It moaned at her, and she couldn't quite tell if it were aroused or in pain. The stench of rotting insects and electricity, the smell of week old blood and festering, putrid standing water flooded over her like a wave. Just the briefest glimpse came to her, the briefest glimpse of whatever was beneath that hood.

Eyes. Nothing but eyes. Eyes of every color and size and species. Eyes that were milky white and eyes that were popped, eyes from lizards and Elk and people and from things she didn't want to think about. Eyes that all seemed deathly focused on her.

With all her strength, Valerie forced the door shut. She let out an exasperated cry. Half a moan of terror, and moreso one of angry despair. It was all a nightmare. It was all a dream. If she could just wake up, she could be out of this awful place. The Zone was a fantasy compared to this. She repeated the words in her mind over and over, like some kind of prayer. It's just a dream, it's just a dream, it's just-

"It's not."

A voice. Feminine, but not quite, came from the back of the room. Valerie looked up, finally examining the room she was in. The walls were painted a deep shade of red, yet they seemed fluid. The longer she looked at them, the more they seemed to morph and change, flowing like oil across water. Her eyes drifted to the center. A pair of chairs, similarly red but lacking the red flow. A coffee table sat between them. Brown, wood, looking eerily out of place in the whole scene.

In the furthest chair sat a woman. Bright red hair tied off in a pony-tail, a few shades brighter than Valerie's own. She wore a long, flowing black dress that seemed to go on forever. It looked like something out of an old movie, Valerie thought. In the woman's hand was a cigarette, while the other hand motioned towards the nearest chair.

She flashed Valerie a smile, and spoke once more.

"Have a seat. We have a quite a bit to discuss."

[Ximea]

Atlas Biotech Corporate Office | Nevada

Salk turned back toward Giuseppe. "Didn't you just shred your hand trying to do the Bishop knife trick? You're one to talk about fine lines and enjoying pain." He shook his head and ducked into a restroom.

Salk wiped his brow again. Water. Gotta find water.

There were three toilets. Salk pulled the lid off of the cistern behind one of them. The interior was dry. Yeah, a few years of desert will do that, lid or no lid. He sighed. Plan B, then. Salk took a deep breath, held it a moment, and bit down hard on the back of his hand. He winced, forcing himself to bite harder, until he drew blood.

After a moment, he released his hand and shook off some of the blood. He gasped slightly and closed his eyes as the pain receded to a level that permitted thought.

Okay. I've got this.

Salk stepped out of the restroom and positioned himself in a place that gave him a view of the barricade, Yuki, and Giuseppe, without putting him close to any of them - especially Yuki. "I've got first watch. I'll wake one of you up in a few hours. I recommend sleeping well away from the girl."

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Winston felt himself reeling from the sudden face plant into the ground he performed….again. A certain sense of Deja Vu came to him, and he stood up from the black ground beneath him. The others flanked him from all sides, a dark void surrounding the area. Winston blinked, but could tell no difference as he stared into the realm. He felt like speaking, but couldn't find himself to be able to, as if a cat had latched onto his tongue with it’s dirty claws.

Winston flinched at the sudden light source being protruded from Roy, who illuminated each and everyone of them. Miller, who had just entered, screaming about his liver and a “"Jew bastard.” He was seeming to be playing douchebag Bingo, what with the variety of his insults and yells. Winston stared at them, and then listened to Roy speak.

***

DAY 1

The man in the mask was not impressed. Not, one, bit.

“Listen, I don't give no infermation about my clients.”

It was a raggedy man, in a white tank top and jeans who was talking to him. He had a shrill voice, one that was not so vaguely Southern as well. He had sold the man he was searching for a truck. The blue macaw masked man frowned under his cover, and crossed his arms. “I need to find him. He doesn't know what he’s getting himself into.”

The redneck smirked, and put a hand on his hip. “Like I said, I don't give no infermation. Go home, retard.”

The masked man was growing tired of this game. He quickly grabbed the pistol as his hip, a Glock, and pointed the barrel directly into the man’s face. “Tell me right fucking now.”

The man jumped back, and a frightened look appeared in his eyes. “Shit! Glendale! He’s headed for Glendale!” He held his hands up in surrender, and tried to turn away. The man in the mask pulled the trigger, a loud bang and a muzzle flash being the end of the poor car renter. His brain matter and skin littered the ground, a messy hole splattered through his forehead. The masked man looked at the mess he had made as the man’s body hit the ground. There was a mixture of blood, brain, piss and shit soaking into the desert, and so the masked man turned around and left.

He holstered his pistol, and knew that someone was to come running soon enough. A few screams were heard in the distance, and the masked man approached his motorcycle. A sports bike, he wasn't sure of the brand, because it didn't exist where he was from. But regardless, he tore off his mask and replace it with a helmet. The mask was tucked away into his saddle bag, as he cranked the engine up and drove on.

He passed by a Denny’s, where a cluster of people roamed around inside. They seemed to be holding some sort of meeting inside the diner. Likely about heading into The Zone. It bothered him. They didn't really understand what they were doing, what The Church was going to do to them. That bastardized cult only got stronger as the days went on. The masked man briefly considered rushing in and dropping one of his makeshift bombs in the place, then watching their bodies be splattered across the area with the rubble of the diner. He would do it, if only to rid the world of that Denny’s. That disgusting place was only one of the similarities between his world and this one.

He turned away from the diner, shaking his head. He couldn't do it. No, it would bring too much attention to himself. He adjusted his blue helmet, tugging upon his letterman jacket, then pulled his motorcycle off to the side. He wouldn't kill them yet. They were too much use to him.

He waited for them to finally leave. They all got in a truck, piling themselves into boxes and such. While no of them were looking, the masked man made his move. He sneaked up, crouched down and ready. He had already analyzed everyone of them. He stepped up, and took a sticky substance out of his pocket. He knew that it would. They would all be gone, once they took him into the Zone. He placed it upon a wheel, and then backed away, feeling the remote for it slightly coming out of his jacket pocket.

He waited again. They approached the wall. They attacked. Just as he had planned.

The masked man quickly jumped upon his motorcycle, speeding off towards the wall. He took one of those makeshift bombs from before, and lightly tossed it at a soldier who’s nametag read Calloway. The masked man didn't even get to watch as his head exploded and sent shrapnel into the others. Sand and dust poured out from under his wheels, as he spun after the truck he was chasing. The little remote in his pocket was ready now as well, and he grabbed onto it and pressed the button. It would soon come after them.

Just as he had expected it to.

The truck crashed, and the man stopped his bike. He waited again, watching them file into a laundromat. Pawns. He would hunt them down, one by one, as he if he were one of those slasher movie villains.

“Euugh.” His head was feeling a little loopy, maybe from the adrenaline rush he had just felt. He still felt. Then again, he hadn't ever really felt the same since he….since he what? He couldn't even remember what he did. To become this way. Or was he always like this? Running forever, and ever, hunting down everyone who dared to come near The Church. He never had worked up the courage to face them, although this time he felt was different. He would kill them this time. Maybe.

The man in the mask approached it, as something came about that threw him off. A spatial anomaly, that sucked up the residents of the laundromat like a vacuum. He had to move fast.

He grabbed his motorcycle and drove towards the scene of the crash, and found himself next to it in a blur. He couldn't remember the short trip there anymore. All he knew was he saw somebody, crawling from the crash. They were soaked in blood, and appeared to be a soldier. It was a black man. The only one of the group. The masked man took a second to wonder if they were just racists, and had beaten this black guy up. The thought amused him, and he stepped by soldier. He would live. This could not be tolerated.

The masked man picked up a shard of glass, and approached the soldier. He turned him around, and stared into him for a brief moment, before stabbing the shank into his adam’s apple, and watched him die.

The masked man continued towards Glendale.

***

DAY 2

His spree would not be over anytime soon, it would seem.

The masked man sat in the bar of Crossroads, watching Miller and his friends talk around it. A mob would be there soon, to kill them. That’s what somebody had told him. “The fed’s here, the fed’s here!” Ignorant souls. When he was finished with Miller and his company, he would come after this pathetic town as well. “Seccessionists” they called themselves. They would die, just as the rest.

The masked man was not wearing his mask currently, but nobody noticed him. Who would? He might have looked familiar to some of the people in the room, but he had never been to Crossroads before.

Miller and the gang walked out of the bar, and the man put his mask on and watched from the window. A fight went on, but the masked man retained none of it. It just gave him more of a bloodlust. Best to ignore it.

One of them hadn't been captured. The Australian. The masked man took off out of the bar. He raced down the alleyway, watching the one known as Amatol be taken. The man who was Harold would not escape. He was simply next.

The masked man found Harold cowering behind a trash can, looking for any Seccessionists. The man said nothing, but simply put his gloved hand over Harold’s mouth and began to drag him away.

The masked man had taken notice that the Crossroads had been employing the mutated wolves as watch dogs. They kept the ones they didn't want to use in a small pit, where would eat kibble and play. The masked man wondered if they missed the taste of meat or the thrill of the hunt.

He placed a gloved finger over the hand that covered Harold’s mouth, and whispered “Shhhh…”

He tossed Harold into the pit, sending him screaming as the mutated wolves tore into him, ripping off his legs first. They tore his face apart, spattering their mangy fur with blood. Their maws were covered in his guts, and the man died there. A little splattering of blood had dropped onto the masked man’s shoe, and he brushed it off quickly with his gloved hand.

The masked man returned to his bike, and sped off into the desert again.

[Deramen]

Atlas Biotech Corporate Office | Nevada

Salk turned back toward Giuseppe. "Didn't you just shred your hand trying to do the Bishop knife trick? You're one to talk about fine lines and enjoying pain." He shook his head and ducked into a restroom.

Salk wiped his brow again. Water. Gotta find water.

There were three toilets. Salk pulled the lid off of the cistern behind one of them. The interior was dry. Yeah, a few years of desert will do that, lid or no lid. He sighed. Plan B, then. Salk took a deep breath, held it a moment, and bit down hard on the back of his hand. He winced, forcing himself to bite harder, until he drew blood.

After a moment, he released his hand and shook off some of the blood. He gasped slightly and closed his eyes as the pain receded to a level that permitted thought.

Okay. I've got this.

Salk stepped out of the restroom and positioned himself in a place that gave him a view of the barricade, Yuki, and Giuseppe, without putting him close to any of them - especially Yuki. "I've got first watch. I'll wake one of you up in a few hours. I recommend sleeping well away from the girl."

Giuseppe gave Salk a dirty look. "Goddammit dude! I've told you all multiple times now, it was cause of the yellow man! He wants to kill you all! I swear!" he sighed. "None of you will listen though, but when the yellow man comes to peal your skin for fun, you'll come running back to me and I wont help any of you." Giuseppe started rambling about the yellow man, demons and pain. Unfocused on anything else but his ramblings.

[The United Equstrian Front]

|Mesquite Relocation Site B3|

As Samantha walked through the Site she kept hearing the voice of her friend Taylor at her last day in Alaska, Tay sounded so eager to go to the Zone and explore and save whoever was crazy enough to go in there. She should've told Tay not to go else she would've died due to what these scientists call an 'entity', a being made entirely of the Zone's energy and whatever elements it can use to manifest itself. Samantha closed her eye's and breathed,
(What happens, happens Sammy you couldn't stop her from doing anything.)

Samantha was pointed to the Zone's 'entry' point when it was time, the metal garage door was diffidently not what she was expecting. She almost felt a little cheated at the 'hype' that surrounded the ZA tests and outside information. Her gear and equipment was strapped and accounted for and she was more than ready to go, she marched forward to the 'stand here' sign that was bolted to the floor. She stood there for a minute before the door opened, she saw an empty parking lot and some rust infested cars and motorbikes. She instantly shot forward as the door closed with a mighty bang, she turned back an saw the outside of the building gone.

Samantha shrugged before heading to the entrance of the parking lot and crouched when she came to the door, she picked up a nearby rock and tossed it outside, she waited ten seconds before sprinting outside and ducked behind a nearby Ford pickup, as she expected a gunshot was heard and a ping of metal above her, she smirked and crawled underneath the pickup as she did this she deployed her L115a3 and shuffled to the front of the truck, she aimed down the scope and saw a reflection of a scope in a nearby building she smirked and aimed over the snipers midsection and fired, a plume of red marked her first kill of the day, she crawled out of the truck and holstered her sniper rifle and jogged to the building the sniper inhibited, after climbing a set of stairs and walking down a hallway and taking a left at an intersection she found the room the sniper was in, she pulled out her M93r from her waist and flicked the safety, she barged into the room and checking her corners and finding nothing found the sniper's dead body and a pool of blood. She looked at the sniper and found a Dragunov SVD near his corps. After looting whatever she could find Samantha crossed the hall and opened a door finding a skeleton and a box of dope, she tossed the skeleton out of the room and pocketed the dope, you'll never know what will bring profit after all.

(DAY 1)
(I killed a man today I was hoping for more of a fight, but I'm thankful that Satan gave me a refresher course in death. Well the shadows grow long and I must retire.) After that she picked a corner and dusted it off and fell asleep facing the doorway.

[True Refuge]

Jen was caught a little off guard by the sudden concern. Not just that someone in the group seemed concerned about her, but that it was Hawkins of all people. Perhaps the Ice-Queen wasn't as frosty as she initially believed. Jen pushed her hand away, lightly. There was an air of unease about the woman that never seemed to falter, a paranoia she could never truly shake. Even the simple gesture, friendly as it was, put her back on edge again. Her voice stuttered a bit as she spoke, letting a little more of the hidden Texan accent back in.

"I, uh, yeah. I'm fine. Really. I'm fine."

There was little reassurance in the words. If anything, they brought more unease into her. It was easy to work, to think, when she knew someone was out to get her. Now, that whole mindset was threatened by the simple gesture of kindness. Now, she wouldn't know if the next time it would be a gesture of kindness, or Hawkins going to snap her neck.

Jen was torn from her paranoia by one of the triplets, Kim, if she recalled correctly, speaking up. The trio seemed even more on edge then Jen was, and she was only on her eighth drink of the day. In some reality, somewhere, it was happy hour, she mused as she took a quick swig from her flask.

“Anything we can do to help?”

The woman shrugged, motioning to Hawkins before stepping off towards the Altar.

"That would be her department," Jen said, jokingly. The first genuine joke she'd probably said in hours, days maybe. She slid past the Altar and back out into the pouring rain, to the Humvee. A brief scan over the windswept, muddy plain revealed that they were alone. At least there was that. Her hands dove into the vehicle, snatching up her rifle and bag, the latter of which was quickly slung over her shoulder.

Out of the pouring rain and back into the dankness of the Chapel Jen went, rifle in hand and thoughts swirling in her head. That was always how it was. She could never just turn off. Her father had always said she couldn't stop thinking. He was right, in a way. She tossed the bag against the altar, setting the rifle neatly next to it. Her attentions were then drawn to Patrick, the newcomer. He seemed tired, frustrated. They all were, Jen figured, as she listened to the man from afar.

"...asshole, should I be worried that all the girls he are going to kill me in my sleep?"

A wry smile curled across the woman's face as she went through her things, doing a thorough check of her inventory. She called out to Patrick, flicking past a few old rifle magazines and old Jumper parts.

"You've probably got more things to worry about then us, dude."

She shoved up to her feet, sauntering over to the man. Her overshirt remained firmly on, and she made it a point to cross her arms. Moreso to poke fun at the man than anything. Wasn't like there was much to admire anyway. A single, gloved hand reached out to the man. A token gesture, sure, but if she was going to be stuck with these people, she wanted at least one of them on her side. It would help if Silvas or Hawkins finally went off on her.

"I'm Jennifer,"

Another hand motioned to Silvas, who seemed more concerned about his gaudy suit than anything.

"And that's Asshole."

Silvas laughed silently, shoulders shaking a little with each quiet chuckle. "Well, now that's my new nickname, at least 'asshole' is better than being called a gangster slash mobster for wearing a suit." He looked towards the group. "It's certainly more fitting, despite the fact that it's a little unoriginal and I was the one who suggested it. As for throat slitting by a member of our dear party, Patrick, you'll be safe for the meantime. Honestly, we've only known each other's existence for an hour or two at most, best that you keep your suspicions about everyone."

"As for repayment," he scoffed, "don't mind anything about it. Good old Zone kindness is what we're all about here."

He flicked to Hawkins and a million different ideas to make fun of her decision to give a bit of emotional therapy, to Jen of all people. His mouth even opened a little bit, but his tongue faltered. Perhaps maybe not something so harsh this time. "I think Jen's at least tough enough to bear a few deprecating jokes, don't you think?" Instead of offering his best witticism, he went walking around the Chapel, searching and making a commotion as he did so. "Of course I want to kill something, Jen," he said absent-mindedly. "Doesn't it just scream 'me'? I'll kill the nest or whatever with you once I find wherever I put my damn gun."

Grinning at Jen, he continued. "Probably should be more careful, shouldn't I? Next time an opportunity like this comes up, I'll miss it because I left my ammunition in the car or something like that..."

The glint of the MP5, barely visible underneath the luckily thin coating of mud it had acquired, caught his eye. Silvas quickly grasped it and gave it a brief check. "Indeed, I'm ready to kill something."

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Winston finished listening to Roy talking, and then shrugged and began to walk around the….void. Occasionally, a little flicker of light would appear close to him, and he’d jump back. But then, it’d be gone just as quick as it came. It appeared to be a window trying to open up, but failing.

Winston decided he would peer at the little windows that were sprinkled about. A few were nothing really interesting; just expanses of desert, or maybe a forest. A few others however, were quite intriguing. Winston looked into the depths of one, which featured a certain JFK driving down the street, before a blast of silly string flew onto his head from some unseen assailant. Screams were heard from everywhere, as his wife began to yell and screech. JFK spazzed out in his seat, throwing his hands up angrily. “Who shot that slop out? I banned that stuff for a reason! You’ll be caught you hoodlum! Caught!”

Winston smiled, and nervously laughed. “Okay.” He said, then walked to the next portal. The second worthwhile one he found depicted a bedroom in the dark, and stayed that way for sometime. Winston waited for something to happen, but it seemed liked nothing ever would. So, he began to turn away, but the door to the bedroom slammed open, and two….robots….came wheeling in. They reminded him of the maid from the Jetsons, as they had the same styled body with full green eyes. They slowly hopped onto the bed, and then stared at each other, when their metallic voices came on. “JONATHAN. No one must know of this.” One spoke.

The other continued the conversation. “No one ever will, MARIA. Now, let us perform the CHILD PRODUCING RITUAL.”

“Yes, let us do it.”

The two then wheeled themselves into each other, and metal grinding and screeches flew out of them with sparks. After a minute, they stopped. “IT IS FINISHED.” The one known as Jonathan said. The other one drew closer to Jonathan, and it’s voice box lit up. “Do you ever feel like somebody is….watching us?” The same metallic droning voice came from Jonathan the next time. “DO not worry, MY LOVE. You are being PARANOID.”

Winston began to feel a bit creepy watching this, so he turned and left again. The next one he found showed a man in full body riot armor standing out in the desert. The riot armor was a jet black, with many scratches and wear and tear on it. The man was holding a pistol, and talking to another that was kneeled on the ground.

“Look at what I have to do now. I have to interrogate you in the desert, just to get what I want. You know how much work that is…” He turned around to begin pacing, then saw the portal in front of him. “Wait, what the fuck?! Who are you?!” The riot armored man brought his pistol up and pointed it at Winston, who immediately turned and ran to the next window, the riot armor one closing immediately.

Winston stopped, and looked into this portal. Strangely, the scene in front of him was in black and white. An orchestra sat in a theater, playing a song that Winston had never heard before. It sounded something like Moonlight Sonata, but also mixed with the Jaws theme. The orchestrator himself was a wiry man, with thin rimmed glasses that made circles around his eyes. He wore a suit, and had a large nose along with a balding head. He reminded Winston of a white Gandhi. “That’s beautiful…” Winston said, when the orchestra suddenly stopped, and every head turned straight to him in perfect harmony. They all had the same appearance as the orchestrator, which startled Winston. But still, he really wanted to hear that song again. It was so….soothing, but emotional. “Don’t mind me, you can continue.” Winston said to the crowd, as then everyone of them stood up with synchronization.

Winston turned away and walked quickly from this one as well. The next he came to depicted a tv, with a quick advertisement for mouthwash, before going to a screen full of a rainbow of colors, along with two words; Zonin’ Out!

A voice came from the tv screen, a generic television announcer that sounded way too excited for his job. “And now we're back to, Zonin’ Out!”

The window then flicked to a gigantic creature that looked like it would make it’s home in Dead Space sitting on a couch, a wife beater and jeans draped onto it. It began to slap it’s tentacles together, and making all manner of nasty noises from it’s beak. The realm then changed back to the tv screen, where the episode of Zonin’ Out was beginning. Winston recognized it immediately. It was him, getting hit in the back of the head with Spencer’s rifle. Then he face planted on to the floor….in fact, it was all of them. Miller, Walted, Roy, the Lt. They were all there, in the exact same situation as before. A laugh track came on when Winston was hit, then again when Spencer’s boot came onto Winston’s neck. The exact same situation began to play out, as a laugh track played in the background. And then, after the Ecto-Cooler incident, it went back to the title card, with the same announcer speaking over it. “This episode of Zonin’ Out is brought to you by! Ecto-Cooler! It’s the greater clean!” An image of the shrimp cow popped up, and then Winston could hear the Dead Space freak grumbling. This was….unsettling, to say the least, so Winston also turned away and walked from this one.

The next portal he found depicted an office space, with a standard water cooler plopped into the middle of the room, right in front of a wall. Two figures came into view, both looking like the monster Cthulu, but wearing suits and ties. They both grabbed a cup, and poured some water, then began talking. “So, how is it going Lzhasto?” One of them said, sounding surprisingly like a warm blooded American. “It’s been alright, Chaatath.” He sounded similar, surprisingly not dark lord like. “How are your kids?” Lzhasto asked, and Chaatath took a sip of his water. “Oh, they’ve been good. Little Stllamakegtu drove his first human to insanity the other day.” Lzhasto seemed surprised at this. “Wow, really? I remember when he was just a little tyke, on his 216th birthday.” Chaagath laughed. “Haha, yeah.”

Before they could begin talking, a crab-like creature waddled in, screeching. Winston recognized it immediately as a Mi-Go. The Mi-Go screeched into the air, pulling on his white button up and black tie. Chaagath and Lzhasto faked a laugh. “Oh, hey Tom.” Chaagath said, and Tom screeched again, before grabbing a cup of water and waddling away. Chaagath and Lzhasto watched him go, before Lzhasto leaned over and began to whisper. “Y’now, someone really needs to tell Tom he isn't funny.” Chaagath coughed. “Yeah, I know, I know.” They sipped on their water for a few seconds of awkwardness, before Chaagath started the conversation back up. “So, did you catch Mountains of Madness Men last night?”

Winston walked away from this portal as well, and then found himself upon a portal that showed a road leading into a town, with a wooden sign that read WELCOME TO DRY LAKE and an Enjoy your stay! right under it. “Hey guys!” Winston called into the darkness, where he though the rest of the group was. “I think I found it!”

[The United Equstrian Front]

|A block from the Zone's entrance|

Samantha Woke up from her six hour sleep with cold sweat going down her spine and stomach, she had another nightmare of her dad beating her to a pulp again, she looked around the room and saw a piece of paper in front of her, she took a few last glances around the room before picking it up and reading it.

(Head to the Chapel Miss Rusminov, or me and my friends might start the hunt early
Signed, Your Death.)

Samantha raised an eyebrow before shrugging and getting up from her little nook, she rechecked the snipers room before leaving finding the body being eaten by a couple rabid dogs, she slowly backed away from the door before silently walking to the stairs and climbing down them. After that she walked to the end of the block opposite of the Zone Entrance, she briefly considers a more off the book way of getting to this 'Chapel', but then she remembers that most of these buildings are somewhat less sturdier than those outside of the Zone and discarded that little thought and checked her surroundings seeing nothing that would cause alarm she decided that a quick jog might give her a better chance at reaching the Chapel.

So she jogged for a entire hour before screeching to a halt and ducking behind a overturned SUV, she saw a group of mannequins in the middle of a road about four yards ahead of her, she calmly pulled her L115a3 out of it's holster and lay prone on the grown deploying it's bi-pod and aiming down the scope. All of them wore tattered clothes they wore before they 'came alive' in the sense, most of them were twitching and walking in circles and they all had bats, she shuddered when she saw one that seemed to be staring at her, she counted five thank Satan, she aimed at one in it's midsection and fixed her scope accounting for estimated distance and wind speed and fired, half of it's 'face' was blown apart and all the others turned to where she was and either started charging her at full tilt or limped at a her, she took aim at one that she deemed to close and aimed at it's midsection and ended up shooting it's neck causing it to loose it's head and fall flat tripping up it's partner in the process. She didn't spare the one on the ground anything and fired at it's head causing the head to explode in a plume of red, the two limping towards her were easily dispatched by a few well placed bullets. She searched all of their pockets and found about four lock-picks and a book of poems that she was dying to have. She shoved it in her Alice-pack and continued on with her journey.

After several hours of travel it was getting dark and she was forced to go into a nearby Village Pantry, she found a backroom without a lock and opened it, seeing nothing she found a corner and read the Book of Poems. After an hour reading it she put it back in her pack and wrote in her Journal. After doing that she put the journal in a specialized compartment in her gillie suit and fell asleep.

(DAY 2)
( Found and fought a group of mannequins today I won but now I have an empty mag and three more to go might need to keep confrontations to a minimum for the next few days until I can find more ammo for my sniper rifle. Other than that I found a Book of Poems, a large book containing about 500 European and American poems alongside 500 Haiku's, it was the best gift from Satan I could have. Samantha Russminov.)

[New Grestin]

"Indeed, I'm ready to kill something."

"Well then," Jen said, straddling over to the hatch. She withdrew the Fletcher once more, sighted it on the lock, and blasted it off with ease. The sound of the Shrooms below grew louder as she stepped off the hatch.

With a look of mocking theatricality, she gestured to the hatch, then to Silvas.

"After you, m'lord."

---

-SNIP-

Miller gave a dejected sigh before digging a hand into his jacket pocket, retrieving a single blue chemlight. He snapped it, hearing the noise echo along the void quietly. A dim, blue light began to emanate out, illuminating the darkened void. There were hundreds, if not thousands of portals stretching out along the void. Up ahead, he could see Winston exploring. He could admire the man's resolve. Even when they were trapped in an endless void of other realities until one of them happened upon the right one to Dry Lake. At first, Miller walked with confidence, ignoring the portals.

Yet, after nearly an hour of walking, he finally caved to curiosity and peered into one.

He immediately regretted the decision. He was peering into a darkened room, a heavily bolted door off in the darkness. In the center of the room, illuminated by a hanging bare bulb, was an elderly woman sloppily making out with a mannequin. He shook his head, turning away and wandering further down the hall, a stream of obscenities following closely behind him. He clutched a hand over his wounded side. With any luck, one of these portals would open to a hospital room or something. The mix of narcotics and alcohol in his system kept the pain numbed for the most part, but it was hard to say how long that would last.

The next portal gave him an interesting sight. A battlefield, looking like something out of an old Civil War photo. Bodies spread around, some blasted to bits and others merely shot. There were shattered buildings in the distance, and he could see something like a great, clockwork automaton straddling between the buildings awkwardly. On the battlefield, a wounded soldier in a gray uniform drug himself along, a bullet wound in his leg keeping him firmly on the ground. Miller had just begun to pull away when he saw something leap into view. A partially blown apart soldier, bearing the same grey uniform, moaned and shambled towards the man. Miller pulled his eyes away when he saw the wounded soldier move his gun to the side of his head.

Off to the next portal, Miller thought. His side was starting to hurt. Badly. Off in the distance, in the void that surrounded them, he could see other figures moving around. Some human, some not. Sometimes groups would pass along, only occasionally flashing fleeting glimpses towards his own. One of the groups, a pack of men in white labcoats with clipboards, was headed by a figure looking eerily like himself.

So, Miller thought. This is it. The Nexus.

He'd heard legends about it, stories from other researchers and scavengers. Evidently Roy wasn't the only one that knew about the place. Up ahead, a figured passed by Winston, who seemed quite interested in some orchestral music emanating from a nearby portal. The figure was a bit taller than Miller, cloaked in a long hood, face obscured by a plague doctor's mask. A heavy backpack hung off the man, jingling with pots and pans and jars. A long pole extended up from the bag, up and over the man's head, and Miller could see another mason jar loosely tied onto it. A small light buzzed about inside. The man nodded at Miller and kept along, briefly flashing an old-looking wood furnished handgun as he passed.

Of course, Miller thought. Even in creepy shadow dimensions, people spoke with sideways looks and guns.

There was another portal up ahead, and Miller briefly glanced inside, only to stop dead in his tracks for a moment. Inside, he saw a normal looking living room. The kind of decorations you'd see in a Millenial apartment, coupled with a contemporary design style. That didn't interest him. It was the people inside. Valerie, or rather, a version of Valerie. She'd traded in the ratty old military jacket for a hoodie and yoga pants, and he would have been remiss if he didn't say that she looked alright in them. Even without the "disgruntled veteran" look he so attributed to her, she was still instantly recognizable.

She didn't have that look of perpetual tiredness he'd come to expect from her. She looked perky, sweet, happy. In her arms, he could see her cradling a baby. Miller let out a long, deep, anguished sigh. Looking in at a world that could have been, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had robbed her of this, even if she didn't know it.

Miller shook his head, choking down the guilt once more with a swig of whiskey. It was a ritual he was much accustomed to at this point.

Up ahead, Winston called out.

“I think I found it!”

A sigh of relief broke Miller's lips, and he stepped up behind Winston. Sure enough, the window showed a road, leading into a town, and a sign that said WELCOME TO DRY LAKE. Miller motioned to the others, raised his rifle, and slowly crept out through the portal.

The smell of the desert air greeted the man, his boots crunching into the dirt as he stepped out of the portal. A pang of nausea ran up through his guts, and Miller briefly struggled to keep the bile down. It wasn't his first time, thankfully. The first time was always the worst. He scanned over the area.

It was about what he expected. A few mesas in the distance, the sight of the moon high in the sky. The lights of some distant hamlet a mile or two off. The wind blew past him, carrying with it the scent of cactus flowers. It would have been quite the pleasant scene in another context, and it was.

Right up until someone pounced Miller from behind.

He fell face forward into the sand, getting a mouthful of the stuff while something pinned him down. Irritation, rather than panic, coursed through him, and he managed to flip the assailant off his back. He began to swing the rifle around, but the movements were clumsy. His nub of a hand slipped on the trigger guard, and before he could re-adjust himself, a boot swung around and clobbered him across the face. Miller doubled back, tripping over his own rifle before blindly swinging a fist around at his attacker. It missed by a country mile. The attacker, on the other hand, was quick, precise, like the movements didn't have anything to do with moving.

Miller fell backwards onto the sand once more. Pain shot up and down his body. The assailant hung over him for a moment, planting their boot firmly on his throat, and he could finally see what he was really dealing with.

A figure, a little shorter than himself in stature, in a set of pitch-black fatigues. They clung closely to the figure's body, and by the curvature, it was either a woman or a really feminine man. A combat vest covered the figure's chest, while dark grey pads covered their knees and elbows. There was heavy padding all up and down the armor, looking like a cross between a SWAT officer and a bomb specialist. A bandanna covered most of the figure's face, but the question of their gender was quickly answered when he noticed a head of dirty blonde hair above it. It had the appearance of once being reserved, but now it was scraggly and dirty.

She snatched a bulky-looking pistol from it's holster, flicked a few switches on the side, and aimed it squarely at his head. Another hand drew back the bandanna, and it all finally clicked. Her face was rugged looking. Like one had just taken a plucky, nineteen something college grad and thrown her under a truck. Her eyes practically pierced into his. A set of three long, thick scars ran along her right cheek. Miller knew exactly who it was.

He sighed.

"Clarice."
"Miller."
"They sent you to kill me, finally?"

She shrugged. Her voice was cold, calculating. He could tell she was entertaining her options.

"Not really. They wanted me to bring you in, but then again-"

Miller cut her off.

"-Then again, who's going to argue on a report that I fought back?"

She almost flashed a smile, though Miller could feel the tread of her boot digging into his neck.

"Exactly."
"You're the only one left?"
"Yup."
"Revenge?"
"Paycheck. You?"

Miller shrugged once more, coughing a bit. He could tell she was enjoying this.

"Retribution, I guess? I mean, you would probably call it suicide."

Clarice raised an eyebrow.

"What the hell happened to you, man?"

He shrugged again.

"Same thing that happens to everyone else. How'd you find me? I thought I-"

She cut him off in response.

"-Thought you dug the tracking chip out, yeah. It doesn't work like that. The drones've had a bead on you since Mesquite."

Miller sighed. Of course they did. The Initiative was as powerful as ever. Didn't help that they had weaponized anomalies too.

"So," Miller said, struggling a bit under Clarice's boot. "What happens now?"

---

The Red Room | Dreamscape | Day ???
"What is this?"

Valerie's voice shuddered, as did her legs and most of her body. The woman just kept smiling, motioning to the nearby chair. Valerie's unease never faltered as she slowly stepped forward and sat down, easing herself into the cool, felt-like material. Her eyes glanced all around the room. There were a pair of lamps on either side of the two, with a single potted plant directly across from the table. There was a bizarre symmetry to the place, as though it were all specifically chosen, down to the smallest detail. Even the details of the woman's dress seemed specifically woven for the occasion. That same wry, demented smile still stayed curled across her face. She took a long draw from her cigarette, then spoke.

"Just a meeting. I figured it would be good to just sit down. Have a chat."

Valerie's hand motioned to the door. The distant moaning of the Hooded Creature seemed so far off now.

"A meeting. So that's why you let that thing come after me?"

The woman sighed.

"No. Unfortunately, there are certain things outside my control. The Inquisitors can be restless sometimes. Can I get you something to drink?"

There was a sort of false-kindness to her voice. It was as though she were trying to emulate an emotion long lost. Valerie's eyes narrowed.

"White Russian."

The woman smiled, then gestured to behind Valerie. She nearly fell backwards. The Hooded Figure hung over her, a long sinew of muscle emerging from beneath it's cloak and wrapped around a glass. Valerie's disgust was evident, and the woman took yet another draw.

"On second thought," Valerie said. "I think I'm good."

"Suit yourself."

Valerie eased back in the chair as the Hooded Figure skittered away out of sight. It stayed just at the edge of her peripheral vision for a moment, and then it was gone. Her gaze turned back to the woman, who had now leaned forward.

"Valerie, I've been watching you for some time. I've been watching your friends too. Jacob especially. Tell me, did he ever talk about his past? What he did?"

Eyes narrowing again, Valerie shrugged.

"No. I never asked. You're with the Church, I'm guessing?"

"That's a bingo."

"You just say bingo."

The woman rolled her eyes and sat backwards.

"Whatever."
"Where's my daughter?"
"What?"

Valerie leaned forward now. There was a strange intensity to the posture, a tension that she couldn't quite explain. It was as though all eyes in the room were on her, not just those of the Woman. She drew in slow, deliberate breaths as she spoke.

"Craig joined your shitty little cult, and he took Emily with him. Where is she?"

The woman raised an eyebrow.

"How would I know-"

In an instant, Valerie was out of the chair, standing over the woman. Anger had begun to course through her like adrenaline. It pumped through her veins, knocking everything into overdrive.

"Listen to me. I'm not doing this fucking song and dance routine. I don't give a fuck what Miller has to do with this, I don't give a fuck about any of your cryptic bullshit. I just want my daughter back."

The woman rose, slowly. Confrontation was not her strong suit, and Valerie's indignation hadn't gone over well. The woman seemed to give in, finally, breaking the facade of sophistication.

"Your daughter is with the Church now. She is being preened by the Grand Priest-"
"Where."

She shot her a bemused look.

"The Epicenter, of course. Where it all begins, and where it all ends, but that's none of your concern-"

Valerie snarled at her, the rage still flowing like rain. The crank had been turned, and now all the years and frustration and anxiety burst out.

"Don't you tell me what's my concern, you hoity toity bitch. This is all your fault. If you and your stupid cult hadn't come along, I could have been normal! I could have moved on! You don't understand what it's like to lose a child! I tried to live like an honest person and-"

Suddenly, the woman's face contorted. It mutated and malformed into one of rage, of indignation. Valerie felt real fear for the first time since she'd entered the room. Her eyes had gone bloodshot, her face cracked, the skin looking more like porcelain atop muscle and tissue. A hand, coming from an angle Valerie couldn't see, clutched her neck and squeezed. The air cut off immediately, and Valerie's knees buckled, dropping her to the woman's feet. An inhuman, rattly voice burst out of her.

"Shut up. Do you know why I took her? Do you know why you've suffered?"

The hand drug Valerie into the air. Her legs spasmed, searching for the floor as Valerie could feel her body begin to shut down. Her face began to blue as the woman continued, her face looking less and less human as she spoke. Teeth became sharpened and predatory, her eyes were almost pure red. Valerie would have screamed, if not for the hand crushing her windpipe.

"I hate you. I hate you for thinking you're unique. I hate you for thinking that life is an end that corresponds to your dreams and aspirations. I hate you for reminding me of what I used to be."

The hand released, and Valerie collapsed to the floor, wheezing and gasping for air. Another hand, unseen, snatched her by the back of her hair and forced her head upwards.

"We all sacrificed the dreams we held in life. We all accepted the Path. We all laid down our indiscretions, and we all did what was expected of us."

Her face came in closer. Closer, closer, closer. Until the two had their faces practically planted together. Valerie could smell the heavy iron scent of blood on her breath, the stench of embryonic fluid and bile flooded her senses. The woman's face was hollow now. It was hollow, but it wasn't. It was a god-shaped hole. The barren desolations of trillions of dead stars. The woman's voice echoed throughout her mind, shrill like nails on a chalkboard, yet heavy like a blow to the head.

"You will come to me. You will come to me because it has already been decided. You will come to the Church, and they will take you in with open arms. Then they will remold you. They will remold you until you will no longer be able to tell minutes from seconds, and seconds from eternity. Then you will be me."

Into the hollow. Darkness surrounded her. Infinite void of nothingness. She felt the endless anguish of a thousand dying souls, she could feel her flesh flayed from her skin and laid back down again. Her eyes were put out and put back again. Then, light. She stood on the craggy precipice of some long forgotten landscape, overlooking an endless desert of monolithic skeletons. A throne stood before her, seamless black onyx. As if forged from the very fabric of the night sky itself. Without thinking, she stepped around to the front of the throne, and she could feel her eyes begin to vibrate.

There, before her, laid the desiccated remnant of some indescribable thing. It carried only the vaguest resemblance to a man, as though her mind could only barely translate it's form it something recognizable. On it's faceless, black head, laid a crown. In one of it's many hands, laid a sword of the same material as the throne. Almost implicitly, Valerie drew her eyes away from it, towards the creature's chest. It moved up and down, rhythmically. Slowly, slowly. Ever so slowly. Only the faintest bit of life remained in the creature.

Buried up to the hilt, in the being's chest, was a bright white sword.

Valerie's whole body shook. Her organs felt like jelly, her bones felt like dust. She could hear the woman's voice in the back of her head once again.

"Your existence is the scream of a dying god."

Void enveloped Valerie once more, and in that moment, a wave of understanding shook her to the bone.

---

Valerie awoke with a scream, flailing and tumbling from her makeshift bed like a spastic maniac. Cold sweat poured over her. The panic took minutes, maybe an hour to settle, and then she finally rested against one of the office walls. A silent prayer escaped her lips. Sweet Jesus, she thought. If there was, indeed, a Sweet Jesus, and if there was indeed a god, then it was Her.

A slight pain drew her attentions to her arm. Valerie drew back the sleeve to reveal a long, thin cut, like a razor-blade. It ran the length of the arm, ending near the elbow. Only a thin layer of dried blood had covered it up. That didn't worry her as much. What truly worried her was when she stood to wash off the wound. A crumpled sheet of paper fell from the sleeve, hitting the floor with a light plop. She snatched it up and unfurled it.

One cut is merely a step on the path, and there are many steps to take.

For like you I once was, and like me you shall be.

Valerie sat up, wide awake, the rest of the night.

[Monfrox]

Chapel

Hawkins was less than thrilled, and decided that it wasn't worth fighting it anymore.

"You two had better bring back some supplies or not come back at all."

It was as if her words fell on deaf ears, so she really didn't expect them to pay attention to that either. She shook her head and walked back to the rest of the group: The triplets and Patrick. Looks like Father didn't make it. Well, he tried being Rambo and it was only expected that it didn't work. She pointed to KT.

"Alright I want you for the first 4 hour shift starting now, and you-" She pointed to Kim. "For the last 4 hour shift. That gives you both at least 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. You," She looked to Kimberly. "can wring out the wet clothes if you want, but other than that I want you focusing on not catching hypothermia, so get cozy with your sister for us, will ya?" She looked back to KT. "You can come get me when your four hours are up. Any earlier and it better be an emergency. We all need to get as much rest as possible." Her tone fell somewhere between orderly, motherly, and exhausted. Well, it had been a long day for her and the others.

The veteran walked around and found some old drapes and a few Bibles. Well, when you're in the Army anything can be a pillow just as anything can be a bed. She gave a pair of drapes to Kimberly with one of the good books before taking a pew a few rows down and, after some effort to get comfortable as she could, pulled her cover over her eyes and tried to get some winks in.

---

Where in the Hell...

The Lieutenant groaned. 35 pounds of extra gear did not for a soft landing make, even if the Rebel had broken her fall a little. Well, tough luck for him. He really oughta not done that, but she appreciated not getting a face-full of concrete on her way down. She rolled over and stood up, following the rest of the group and just trying to stay with them, and quiet. She wasn't really curious about this place. If anything, she wanted to get out of it as soon as possible. This whole day was fuckin' weird. So weird that she wanted to really, really, really just say "fuck it" and walk away. Homesickness was definitely kicking in.

She sighed but perked up when someone called out they found it. Well, better sooner than later. She watched Miller go through and soon followed suit.

"Last one out dies painfully!" She said in a sing-song voice. She came out the other side with a serious case of vertigo. "Oh God..."

Yep. There went that fig bar she just ate. Right onto the ground. She tried standing and walking, but her head spun and she felt like she was going to pass out. She flopped onto her butt and held her stomach, taking a swig of water to spit rinse the vomit out of her mouth. She saw an armed woman holding Miller at gunpoint. She took a second to pray that she didn't intend on killing them all. Given her current state, there wouldn't be much the LT would be able to do about it. Then again, she couldn't do much against a person with a gun to begin with.

[The Warriors of the Sun]

Chapel

"Huh..." murmured Patrick disappointedly as his introductions with Silvas and Jenifer were cut short. They had not taken him up on his offer to help out the group in the moment, though he didn't feel like he owed the group anything quite yet. He just wanted the opportunity to prove his reliability and trustworthiness as quickly as possible, but he was sure opportunities would arise with time.

The pair that introduced themselves to himself seemed quite excited to accomplish some goal that Patrick knew nothing about and determined was best not to inquire about. He turned around to head towards the specific pew that Hawkins had pointed out to him a few moments before. Each step on his way to the pew was met with an annoying slosh as his soaking socks squished against his equally drenched shoes. The realization that he was still wet without the distraction of conversation caused a shiver to run down his body as if he was only cold if he thought about it.

When he reached the pew he removed his coat and hung it over the armrest of the pew, the seat beside the armrest quickly grew a puddle as his coat began the slow process of drying. Patrick took a few more steps down the pew to take a seat, not wanting to sit in the puddle of water he just made. He quickly slipped out of his wet shoes that he pushed under the pew in front of him so they too wouldn't form a pool where he was sitting. Next came his socks which he placed on the seat of the pew between himself and his coat. He stopped undressing at this point, the rest of his clothes were just as soaked as his footwear and coat, but he didn't feel comfortable enough to take the rest of clothes off at this time.

Patrick removed the magazine from his handgun as he placed them beside himself. Chances are nobody would notice, but he hoped it would help put anyone who notice a bit more at ease with being around another stranger. Patrick stretched his arms out across the back of the pew with an audible sigh of exasperation. He wasn't tired at all, and the wet clothing wasn't making him sleepy as well. He began to tap his thumbs against the back of the pew, trying to find anything to kill time till the moment exhaustion would claim his body. And at this rate, he had quite some time to go before sleep would take him.

His mind began to wander as he blankly stared forwards, softly humming to the tune of Castle of Glass. His journey so far was not what he expect when he first came to here. He passed the border ready for adventure, danger at every corner, alien creatures to be mesmerized by. But that wasn't what he was met with; tension was the best he could put it. Having a feeling that every shadow he saw was going to kill him, behind every corner was a deranged being, yet still feeling alone. Even now, surrounded by the first group of people he had found in this place who thankfully turned out to be friendly, he couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that had been sitting with him since he entered.

His thoughts were interrupted as Hawkins began making some irritated response towards Silvas and Jenifer which Patrick guessed was probably a regular thing for however long they had known each other. Which probably meant Silvas and Jenifer were the troublemakers of the group, perhaps Silvas 'nickname' had some actual validity. Though from the little they spoke the pair, Silvas snd Jenifer, seemed to be quite friendly. Hawkins began divvying out duties among the red-headed triplets, mostly just guard duty. Patrick frowned when he realized he was going to be left out of these duties. He didn't blame her, he was the new guy. But anything would help the restlessness he was feeling right now. But there was nothing for him to do, or at least nothing he was willing to do. He closed his eyes as he leaned his back, now facing the ceiling. He switched tunes to Young and Beautiful as he anxiously awaited to fall asleep...

[Wallenburg]

WALTER KEELE
Glendale, Nevada || Real Time

---

Almost immediately, the hooded man set off to find a window to Dry Lake. Walter felt around on his body for a flashlight, but he could find nothing. Roy's light bobbed in the distance, still bright despite its distance. Another light, dimmer, flickered behind Walter. Some distance away, a window had opened. He turned and stared at it in curiosity. He approached it slowly. It was a forest. A lush, green, quiet forest. The leaves of the many tall trees swayed gently in a breeze beyond the window. He reached his hand out the window and felt the cool air waft over his fingertips. Surprised, he pulled back. He looked over his shoulder at the others. Winston and Miller were looking into other windows far away from him, and the hooded man sat stationary, seemingly waiting for a window to open before him.

Walter looked back at the forest. "Sequoias," he said, smiling. "They're sequoias. Mom took me to see them when I was a kid. So tall, so old..." He felt his heart lighten. Darkness surrounded him, and he had no idea where he was. He had just escaped death, and he knew that Miller leading them to their deaths. Yet standing in front of the window relaxed him, reminded him of the world he had known as normal. He was four years younger, when the Zone was nothing to him. His smile widened, and he reached into the window again to feel the forest breeze.

I could escape now, thought Walter. I can just step in, and then I'm out. The monsters can't hurt me. That woman, that red woman will never find me. He frowned. But then I can never go back to my old life. I'll never find my friends. I'll never find the captain. I'll never find Emilia. He could feel his heart twisting, torn between survival and sacrifice. He looked back again. Winston and Miller had moved. The hood remained where it was. Walter sighed and decided to walk over to his hooded friend. The forest flickered behind him.

"Hello, Roy," said Walter. "What are you doing?"

"Looking at a window."

Walter frowned again in confusion. "What do you mean? There's nothing here."

"Come closer. Here, I'll extinguish the flare."

The hood motioned for Walter to sit down, then smothered the flare. Walking over next to the hooded man, Walter sat down and looked forward.

"Do you see them now?"

Before them was a massive window, one that would go almost unnoticed by anyone else. But Roy had sought it out. The window opened up onto a massive expanse of stars. Some blazed brilliantly, while others emitted a soft, dim glow, humble yet everlasting. A white speck curved quickly across the window. A satellite.

Walter could not speak, and the hood chose not to. They sat there, mesmerized by the great expanse before them. Walter's mind tumbled once more through his past. Everything he had given up. Everything he had lost. His face began to tingle, and soon Walter realized he was crying. He sniffled, and the hood turned to look at him. Even in the darkness of the void, the hood's eyes reflected light from the faraway stars to convey their own sad thoughts.

"I know, Walter. I know. It hurts no less for me than for you. No amount of time in the Zone can make you forget how things once were. Or help you to forget how to lament the loss of the past."

Walter nodded and looked back at the stars. The window was far more stable than the others. It had not even flickered once. "Roy, did you know this was here?"

"It's been here for months. I come here often. The naturally built windows last far longer than mine, but this one is especially ancient even by those standards. I will miss it when it is gone. It is one of my favorite windows."

Off in the distance, Winston shouted out to the group. Walter turned his head to Winston's voice, then turned back to the hooded man. "We have to go. Winston's found our destination."

The hood sighed unhappily. "Well, it was going to happen eventually. I tried to get us a little further away from Dry Lake than I could have, but the positioning of these windows is damn near impossible to pin down. Let's go. We can come here later, when we have figured out what Miller's trying to do."

They walked across the void, passing strange and often unsettling portals to times and places within and beyond the Zone. Winston stood at the edge of a window, while Miller was already climbing back into the real world. A sign reading "WELCOME TO DRY LAKE" confirmed Winston's finding.

"Good job, Winston, especially on your first venture into this place. Now, how's 'bout we--holy shit! Miller just got jumped!"

On the other end of the portal, a woman had pinned Miller to the sand, holding his neck down to the ground with her boot. The lieutenant had also jumped out of the portal and promptly vomited upon her exit. The stranger drew a gun on Miller and spoke. The words did not carry over past the window, and from the woman's behavior, she clearly could not see or hear them. The portal was invisible to her.

"Okay, guys, here's the plan," said the hooded man. He was still quite surprised at the events across the window into Dry Lake, but he tried to remain focused on the people still left in the void. "We stay here and see if Miller gets blown away. If we need to, we can cap the lady holding him down pretty quickly. Then we find another way to Dry Lake, or maybe just turn around and go somewhere else."

Walter looked over at Roy with an expression of utter disgust. The hood fidgeted in place before sighing, "What? I know it's cold, but better him than us, right?"

[True Refuge]

"Well then," Jen said, straddling over to the hatch. She withdrew the Fletcher once more, sighted it on the lock, and blasted it off with ease. The sound of the Shrooms below grew louder as she stepped off the hatch.

With a look of mocking theatricality, she gestured to the hatch, then to Silvas.

"After you, m'lord."

"M'lady," Silvas replied with a beaming smile and a mirror of Jen's theatrical tone. A few drips of adrenalin starting circulating, and the strange urge to yawn and stretch appeared. It was barely pushed down, although he let the wrist not hanging onto his gun flex. "The Shrooms outside seem somewhat agitated by that incredibly loud shot," he continued, making a wild gesture towards the others, "I suggest everyone be super-duper vigilant for the next few hours until they calm down. Perhaps be a little bit more careful next time, Jen. The storm makes a lot of noise, but it doesn't hide everything."

He casually strolled over to the little metal hatch. "It's a little odd for a chapel to have a hatch, isn't it? Simply a door and some stairs would have done one their own, without the mysterious atmosphere. It's behind the damn altar as well. What a great place to put it." Peering over the edge of the opening, he cast his gaze down the damp and mold-covered set of steps leading into whatever was down below. It was slightly difficult to make out the bottom. "Dear oh dear, it's quite dark, isn't it, Jen? A flashlight would probably come in handy here. Too bad I don't have one. The one thing I usually don't need because I'm usually sleeping," he sighed, "is the thing I probably need most right now. Of course."

Chapel

Hawkins was less than thrilled, and decided that it wasn't worth fighting it anymore.

"You two had better bring back some supplies or not come back at all."

It was as if her words fell on deaf ears, so she really didn't expect them to pay attention to that either. She shook her head and walked back to the rest of the group.

Silvas turned his head and watched their tired leader walk off. "Come on, Hawkins!" he exclaimed with an even wider smile. "How some faith in us, would you? We'll bring something nice back for you, don't worry." A small chuckle was let free as he positioned himself in front of the open hatch. In a much quieter tone, he said to Jen, "Going in now."

Go in he did, nearly slipping over the mossy steps and grabbing the side of the door to secure himself. "Jesus!" he muttered up at his temporary expedition partner. "These aren't safe at all. Be careful when you come in, all right? There's a lot of steps here... Deep basement..." With that, he looked down the steps and began a slow advance, barely thinking about either what lay behind him or in front of him. The adrenalin was really hitting him, and with a dash or two of fear, it made his heart pound and a mostly invisible sheen of cold sweat pop out under his suit. The darkness turned him into a silhouette soon enough.

[Relikai]

Her gaze was blurry, her breathing haggard as perspiration continued to flow down her head. Katori Yuki was lying on something soft, hands bound to the side, same with her legs. Pulling did not work, as she was securely bound to whatever she was lying on. She could feel her shirt on, but something seemed to be missing somewhere.

"You'll be earning a lot this way." A voice said from the side. Yuki turned, but was unable to see anything. A sharp pain from her groin reminded her of what was happening with that dark figure towering over her, Yuki could not see, but felt every single bit of what the figure was doing.

"Just get it over and done with." The voice said again. "Next!"

Another figure took over, as Yuki simply rolled her eyes. She was bored, these figures unable to please her in the least.

"Do you really think this would work?" Yuki asked, in a bored tone which made the figures pause. "Do you really think that you would take my mind that easily?" Grunting as she felt herself being lifted, the bounds no longer securing her hands, Yuki was placed on a chair, facing the unknown figure, the dark figure as it slowly approached.

Yuki grimaced at the sight of the figure, as the voice which spoke earlier continued. "Katori Yuki, why do you resist us? You can be our host, you can live through us..." The worm-figure spoke as the place started to be illuminated. Yuki turned around to see... Worms... More worms... Worms with human arms and legs sprouting from their bodies, standing as if they were humanoids. A sick feeling came over Yuki as she realised what happened earlier, that these creatures were responsible, not humans.

"Yuki, Yuki, Yuki..." The hands reached forward and pressed down on her thighs as the worm brushed its head against her stomach. As if on cue, Yuki vomited, white bile which bled from worms she killed erupting from her mouth as she felt a million wriggling sensations explode at once. She continued as the worm rubbed itself against her gently, as if caressing a long lost lover. Yuki had a slight respite as she looked at her self. Her sweater was ruined, soaked as it clanged onto her. The worm removed itself from her stomach, which kept to it's normal shape.

For now.

"Yuki, you can be our mother... You can live your consciousness through us... Each of us which was born from your seed, you grow stronger... Transcend this mortal human body and enter our collective... Yuki... Yuki..."

The model turned her head to the side, looking at the floor as she resisted entertaining this monster. Become a creature of the Zone? What kind of logic was that?

"You are scared. I can feel that, Yuki. But... What if you were united with someone you love through this way? Would it be so bad? Would it seem such a horrible fate, living forever, having an empire of your own? Yuki... YUKI!!"

Yuki inhaled, and nearly screamed as the worm transformed, into a male, an American male who was familiar to her. It was Yuki's senior, one who most of the girls admired in school for his looks and brains. Yuki herself was once attracted to him, and many said that the two being together would be perfect. Indeed the two went out for a while in secret, but broke up when he tried to force himself on Yuki, insisting that he has first rights on a body which was shown to people around the world, before Yuki was claimed by some sleazy modeling director.

"Michael!" Yuki screamed as the man laughed.

"Yes... YES! I have become a Worm! I have been seeking you out Yuki. My children... My consciousness... Why do you think that few Mannequins ever got close to you? Why do you think that the most you killed were Worms? Because, they were me! I was protecting you, and at the same time, I was desiring you!"

Michael's eyes were bloodshot as he screamed into Yuki's face, the model recoiling in fear as she screamed to drown out his voice. It was in vain, for. Is everywhere she saw, were Michaels. Michaels all around the room, Michaels inside her own body.

The yelling and screaming was cut by a bright flash of light, immediately followed by a bang. Yuki felt herself moving, felt herself running as she dashed away from the chair, away from the bed. Her stomach rolled as she vomited once again while she was running, Yuki ignoring the sick dripping from her mouth. There was a speck of light, a door, as Yuki kept running. On her left, on her right, Yuki saw her group. Richard, Giuseppe, Krausser, Salk and Valerie. They were running, but the worms were catching up. They would never make it through the door...

Unless Yuki had something to do about it.

The girl threw herself against the door, breaking it open as her comrades ran past her. There were several cries, as Krausser and Salk collapsed. Valerie, Richard and Giuseppe tried to lift them, but the worms were too close. Yuki got up, slamming the door shut as she pushed it against the press of worms, gritting her teeth as her group made the escape. At least, the wounded, the weakest of the group could sacrifice herself for the better of the group, ensuring that they survive.

Who needs Yuki anyway. She thought. They all hate her. She could feel their anger, their hate at this girl who was only as worthy as her boobs and butt. So far, she has only been a burden, so she was glad, Yuki was glad as a tear rolled down her cheek, doing her best to hold the door.

Yuki felt the door cave in, as a worm's head burst out above her, Yuki screaming as it's fangs opened and covered her entire head. Unable to breathe, yet feeling oxygen get injected into her bloodstream, Yuki was choking as she was brought back to her chair. This was it, this was her end.

Opening her eyes, Yuki screamed as she felt a crushing sensation on her womb, realizing that she was giving birth right there and then. Her screams drowned out the chanting of the worms, her eyes rolling backwards as she expelled the creature with a final push.

Gasping for breath, Yuki opened her eyes, finally daring... Daring to see...

Yuki gasped as her palms became sweaty, her knees weak, arms are heavy. The Vomit on her sweater already clear as she saw what reminded her of the horrors of the worms...

Mom’s spaghetti.

---

Yuki was jolted awake by her own perspiration, as she felt her hands become free. She remembered being attacked by a worm, by the worm leaving its essence on her, going crazy and trying to get herself pleased by Salk and Krausser, Richard coming over and freeing her to... To...

Shame burned along Yuki's face, as she felt her legs move. No longer was she bound, but she has never felt so cornered, so trapped ever in her life. Immediately, Yuki's hands went to check... Nothing. No trace of worm on her crotch, from which she sighed in relief. Salk was looking at her, but... But Yuki was no longer bound, and most importantly, no longer horny.

No matter, she had no desire to move. The exhausted girl lay down on her perspiration, as she fought back tears of shame and regret. Without herself knowing, Yuki began sobbing, began to cry, her throat contracting as she tried to stop herself, stop herself from caving in.

Stop herself from becoming part of The Zone.

[The United Equstrian Front]

|The Chapel|

Samantha had finally done what she herself dubbed impossible, she reached the Chapel like that living note wanted her to, no that note was in her pocket 'writing' out messages a mile a minute most of the time in languages she didn't understand but the few times she could read it, well it was disturbing at the least. She snapped her fingers in a jaunty theme she heard one time, in her pack she could feel a couple mags for her two guns digging into her back, not that it hurt or anything she just thought that needed to be said, she stopped snapping and felt her locksmith tool strap each slot filled with it's proper tool and she checked her pocket feeling her Ipod and headphones. Then she checked the two way radio she had in the opposite pocket and only heard light radio chatter. She shrugged not caring if it spewed nonsense or not it was just there to make contact with nearby people or if possible talk to the more less frighting anomalies, like the notecard she has in her back pocket which constantly changes font language and the size of letters.

She's been walking for several hours now twitching at random moments whenever she felt that something or someone was staring at her, she pulled out the Notecard again and saw a name and a title, Miller and The Hood, she tilted her head and whispered,
"Now you start making sense? Well as much sense you can make being part of this 'Nexus' thing which I highly doubt you are." She looked up and saw a couple people and froze,
"Huh it seems I'm getting somewhere." She shrugged and pocketed the Notecard and unholstered her M93r and shot into the air, she was hoping that got their attention, after firing the gun she holstered the gun and waved.

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Winston, while having enjoyed his expedition of the cosmos and beyond, was anxious to get out. A much as he wanted to continue looking through these portals, he was really hoping the Dry Lake portal wasn't going to close on him. He briefly wondered what would happen if it closed while he was walking through it, and imagined a swift slicing of his head in half like a watermelon.

Winston shuddered at the thought, and that was when the rest of the group came walking over. It was at this time Winston took a little peek into the portal. It was….beautiful, to say the least. It surprised Winston. He expected more robot grinding, or the horrific abominations of Lovecraft mowing the lawn. Not something like this.

Winston watched Miller and the Lt. step through, and he prepared himself to do the same, when he heard Roy speak. It was a compliment, directed towards Winston. The man smiled, but then Miller was jumped upon by a woman in riot armor, similar in appearance to the man he saw earlier except she was missing the helmet.

"We stay here and see if Miller gets blown away. If we need to, we can cap the lady holding him down pretty quickly. Then we find another way to Dry Lake, or maybe just turn around and go somewhere else." Roy said.

Winston felt a perplexing dilemma upon him. Help the abrasive Miller from being shot in the face? Or join Roy and Walter in going to some paradise land? Winston had to admit, in any other situation the choice wouldn't be a hard one. But Winston’s conscience was speaking up about this.

Winston sighed, and pulled his gun out of it’s holster. “As inviting as that sounds, I really don't want to live with horrific regret and guilt for the rest of my life.” The Lt. threw up, and Winston briefly wondered if he would too.

No matter.

Winston leaped through the portal and felt his feet hit the dirt. He pulled the pistol up and pointed it at the back of the woman’s head, before finding his own breakfast rising up. He would have thought those Pop-Tarts would be digested by now…

He threw up a puke of red slime and white mush, some of it splattering onto the woman’s shoe.

“Oh God, I am so sorry, this always happens when I talk to girls…” Winston said under his breath with no seriousness intended, before wiping away the vomit trailing from his mouth with his sleeve. “Can I have a do-over? That would have looked so cool had I just not thrown up. Please? No? Okay…”

Winston coughed away from the woman, his gun still firmly planted in the air. The barrel was pointing at the back of her head, Winston’s finger on the trigger. “Now, drop the gun.”

This made Winston practically giddy with excitement. He had never made empty threats before. God, that sounded so cool! If only I had added a witty one-liner, like “before I blow your meager mind into the sand.” Or, no, that sounded too villainy, maybe he could…

Winston took his mind off of how cool he thought he was, and trained his sights on the….well, sights, of his pistol. Which were pointed at her head. Yeah.

***

MIDDAY 2

I….I love the colorful clothes she wears…

“Please! I have a wife and kids!”

And the way the sunlight plays upon her hair…

“Of course you do.” The masked man said to the man huddled below him. One of the Seccessionists.

I….hear the sound of a gentle word…

The masked man held a crowbar in his hands, already bloody from two of the other Seccessionists he had found.

On the wind that lifts her perfume through the air…

The masked man brought Winston’s pry bar down upon the Seccessionists head. The first swing knocked his eye out of place, splashing blood onto the floor. The man on the floor made a strange gargling sound, trying to scream.

I’m picking up good vibrations…

He slammed the prybar in again, this time sticking it inside the man’s face.

She’s giving me excitations…

The man was dead now, so the masked man lifted Winston’s prybar up and walked away. He had retrieved Winston’s things from his truck, but not before the masked man had burned it down with the two Seccessionists in it. The Beach Boys song continued playing, one in which the three bodies that now littered the room had been listening to while playing cards. The masked man left it on, and then left the building before anymore of those redneck freaks could find him.

He talked to Winston later in the day during the Ecto-Cooler incident. Sometimes it wasn't Ecto-Cooler that came out. Sometimes it was just the Spectral Hunters, and sometimes they killed Walter. Sometimes the Lt. broke her neck when she jumped out the window. Or she got left behind, and the masked man stayed behind and bashed her head in. Sometimes the Nazi was with them, and swallowed some Ecto-Cooler and died. Sometimes Valerie was with them. She always lived. That’s what they wanted.

The masked man blinked under his mask, feeling a migraine. He was standing by his motorcycle. What was he thinking about?

He had to find Winston. They were headed for Dry Lake. Him and the man of the same age needed to have a talk.

The masked man sped off towards Dry Lake. He would make it there before they would, if he judged his time right. Things always seemed to go faster for him, strangely. He didn't know why.

He would find them. He would kill them. He would kill them as he did before.

The masked man had a nosebleed.

[The United Federation of Terrans]

Atlas Biotech Corporate Office, Nevada

Krausser sat in a now stationary rolling chair, by a broken window overlooking the plaza below. As the introverted bookworm he was, the pyramid escalation of violence from the scavengers feeding on the corpses to the larger predators fighting over the scavengers, made him feel sick; especially knowing that the bodies down there were Germans from his world. He scoffed a little at the thought; despite what he had witnessed, he still found the notion of passing between worlds as easy as stepping through a door ridiculous. A blur of motion drew Krausser's eyes as a four legged predator of some kind tore a beetle-like scavenger from a almost stripped body and devoured the bug mid-air. The sniper part of Krausser admired the display of power and accuracy that the predator displayed; so much so that he brought up his rifle and looked down it's magnified view to get a closer view. The beast moved akin to that of a giant wolf, low to the ground with it's head held low as it's clawed feet barely made contact with the ground. Though the shadow's hid the rest of the beast's traits, it was covered from head to foot in scales that shifted in tones from a night black to a concrete gray as the moonlight hit them; and the German couldn't help but admire the way they shifted seamlessly.

"Dummkopfs" The word floated into Krausser's ear and the sniper froze, eye still glued to the scope as a cold fist clenched his heart. The way the word barely disguised any sense of distaste, the almost slow crawl in how it was uttered and the invisible exclamation point at the end that signaled that topic was closed forever. It had been the last word Krausser had heard his father utter as the then teenaged Krausser had gone off to school; the day the shot down Allied bomber engulfed his family home and last living family member in flames.The word had echoed through his mind as he sat on his knee's in the mud as the flames burned around the upraised tail section that bisected his house; a lopsided grave marker for the body of his father and the air-crew. Krausser shook the thought from his head as he returned to his impromptu Safari when a phrase came with a resemblance as haunting as the first. "Die schwache erben die Erde, sondern die starke es nehmen"

Now Krausser turned with his rifle raised, cloak twirling around him as he looked over the office and found nothing close enough to deliver the hushed memories of his past. Krausser stood stock still rifle raised as he peered into the skeletal remains of the office that yielded no answers. With nothing to address, Krausser returned to his overwatch and observed the creatures below; trying not to pay attention to the pinpricks of ice that forced their way up his back. Even as he stepped off guard duty to rest his head against his pack, the phrases bounced around his head as he nodded off. Krausser could have sworn however, that he saw the smiling grimace of his father's weathered face before he drifted off into nothingness with his rifle cradled firmly in his hands.

[Tayner]

Richard Spencer
Unknown

Spencer jumped through the portal like everyone else, except no one was there to cushion him. The impact nearly broke his neck, but that would've been too easy for him. Time seemed to slow down as Spencer stood up, barely keeping his balance. He looked up to see the Lt. falling down right above him, and Spencer being the gentleman that he is tried to cushion her fall, and try he did. He stuck his arms up to catch her, but the momentum and kenitic force she had built up in her fall was just too much, and combined with his injury from his fall, well, he didn't do to well.

His arms gave out and soon did his knees too. The Lt. nearly crushed him, and after the fall she stood up and continued on without even a thank-you. Meanwhile while everyone was looking through the windows that disturbed the blackness of the void, Spencer simply tried to stand up. His shoulder ached, his head was still sore from the bullet Bill put through it, his knees were practically destroyed, and his arms were sore. After he managed to stand up, Winston called out to the group, and Spencer picked up the now empty rifle and proceeded in the general direction that Winston was at.

When Spencer found the correct portal, he saw that Miller and the Lt. were already through the portal, and Winston was proceeding through. Walter and Roy seemed to wait behind, and that's when Spencer assessed the situation, another stranger on the other side of the portal was holding Miller at gun point, while Winston was regurgitating his breakfast and waving around his gun. Another shitshow provided by the Zone, once again.

Well, it's now or fucking never. Spencer thought to himself.

He stepped through the portal, every muscle in his body aching, as well as the undying urge to puke. At least Spencer didn't have any breakfast to spill on the ground as his feet landed on the ground. He walked past Winston, and greeted the woman with what seemed to be the new customary greeting in the Zone; the butt of his rifle. He didn't hit her as hard as he hit Winston, but the woman still collapsed, right on top of Miller.

"If I had a quarter for every time I smacked someone with my rifle today, well, I'd have fifty cents." Spencer said, looking back at Winston. "Shit, I'm getting to old for this." He continued on, the struggle being very much real. "You alright?" He finished, directing the question at Miller. He extended his arm to the man and hoped he had enough strength to actually help him up without collapsing himself. The only thing that probably kept him standing was the adrenaline that was still pumping from nearly being killed in Glendale.

Another day in the office. He thought to himself.

[Beiarusia]

Kimberly Tallow
the Chapel

---

KT wasn’t one to willingly take orders, especially when she hadn’t even volunteered herself in the first place, but between the stern look of Kim and the creepy jaunt down to the basement – which seemed like a stupid idea given that basement + spooky church = Scooby Doo levels of horror – KT was content to simply chill near the chapel’s front window, keeping an eye out for anyone, or anything, that would consider sneaking up on them through the main door. Not that she would enjoy doing so. Sighing as loud and as long as she could, the girl grabbed her baseball bat and trudged over to take her shift, still clad in little more than her undergarments and the shirt given her by Hawkins.

Kim was to take the last shift while Kimberly was ordered to stay warm and to get cozy with her sister, a phrase that caused the formerly soaked girl to blush. A smoke would be helpful but Kim had preemptively shook her head against such an idea. Given some drapes and a bible – not that any of the three were particularly religious – the two girls tried their best to get comfortable on the pew near where Patrick had staked his own claim. Hawkins was nearby as well a few rows over in what amounted as a little campsite of sorts.

“Comfortable?” Kim asked, having wrapped both herself and Kimberly in the drapes. They did their best to lay near one another but could only manage an awkward entanglement with their legs and heads opposite one another.

“I’m fine,” Kimberly said as a heel nudged her in the back.

The bible lay on the floor beside them, unopened.

KT was leaning against the window, bat against her leg, tapping on her knee with bored fingers. It hadn’t been too long since everyone went to bed – or downstairs – and already she was bored. Keeping watch was akin to watching paint dry. Sure, she understood why Hawkins was such a worrywart about such a thing, and given the Zone it was a justified action, but there was no way not to complain about such a chore. KT was cold, half naked, and away from the warm and soft bodies of her sister who was currently snuggling up to Kim most likely. KT glanced over but couldn’t see the two girls from where she was. She saw Patrick though, and once certain he wasn’t up to anything KT allowed her eyes to wander some more. The pastor didn’t seem to make it. Good, but KT couldn’t help but to be disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to end him. She should have done it when she had the chance. Maybe he was rotting outside and she could smack his corpse for good measure.

Someone was approaching. A figure a little ways away in the darkness. KT had only just noticed the movement, and had only focused her gaze when a gunshot rang out through the air. The girl instinctively ducked to the floor, thinking they were being shot at, and called out to Hawkins. “Someone’s shooting at us!” For good measure she scrambled over towards Hawkins and repeat the phrase. KT didn’t have a gun, so who better to take care of an armed threat than G.I. Jane.

[The United Equstrian Front]

|The Chapel|

Samantha stopped waving and crossed her arms watching the building and wondered whether or not the people she saw were shades or actual people, every once and a while she shot a glance behind her checking to make sure that gunshot didn't attract unwanted attention. Her pack was starting to annoy her so she took it off and set beside her, she really hoped the gunshot was actually a smart way to attract the people's attention then again these were survivors of the Zone and a gunshot could mean anything from a simple hello or a death wish. She shrugged again and set herself to wait about one or two hours and if there was no contact she'll leave.