*Steven cautiously proceded down the blackened streets. As he reached a corner he looked up, "Emerson St." a pale lettering based on a sickly green sign read. It wasn't a few inches above the sign that Steven could see the rest of the traffic pole engulfed in black. He looked down to his silver watch, the hands had stopped rotating long ago. Steven wanted to shivel a bit as he walked, but there was no cold out here, just emptyness, save for the soft light that shot from the cylindrical flashlight that he held to the side of his ear as he pressed onward. Finally the cone of light was marred as a shadow darted across it, it was...human. Running, Steven could feel the fear coming from it. When you have something, you can almost always detect more, even if you can't have it. Can't have her fear...

"Helen?" Steven called, and quickly traced his light in the direction she ran off. He could feel an omnious presense begin to overcome him as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and subtily he quickened his pace. Soon he was off the streets, and through the darkness he could read a sign in front of him.

"Joan D'ark Nursey School"

((Sorry it's so short.))

Mary had been running. How long, she couldn't really remember, and where? Well, that was even foggier. Everything, every emotion surging through her, would be thought to normally be tainted by fear. And while this was partially the case, it was not fear that drove her; it was rage. She was so angry, so maddened that this sort of thing could happen here, that she'd have to be part of this, words couldn't describe it. It was simply raw, pure anger, and that was quite the fuel to drive a human being. She had to have been running for longer than would be healthy, but she hadn't felt her stamina wearing out yet. And it wouldn't, oh no, not with this sort of thing going on in town. What was "this sort of thing", anyway? Just...death. Immediate, unexpected death. And why? God alone knows. If there was a God, anyway.

Still, at some point while she ran, her train of thought stopped. Her body soon followed suit, as she came upon a building. By it's shape, it was the old town theater, but the sign that would normally be read to make sure of this was not only faded with age, but now was grossly splattered in blood...just like practically everything else she'd seen. However, a building meant one of two things. One, that there was cover, protection, and possibly means of self-defense there, or two, that it held nothing but death and the causes of it. She took a risk, and decided to, for the time being, assume the first to be correct. Opening the door with some effort, she walked into the theater, looking left, right, back, forward, up, and down with every few steps she took. It was funny, the inside of the theater looked relatively untouched, save for the occasional broken lamp or damaged bit of furniture. And still, the very short hairs on the back of her head stood on end, as they had since she started running, providing no means of comfort. She reached the door that signified the end of the entrance hall, the only mildly damaged sign of "No food or drink inside the theater" still managing to stay stuck to the door. Looking around the hall one last time, and picking up a table leg that had been broken off for protection, she quickly opened the door, so that something couldn't take her by surprise. Seeing (with relief) nothing waiting or jumping out to attack her, she cautiously entered the theater itself. Maybe there'd even be people in here...her mind shut that hope down almost immediately. She didn't need people, they only caused trouble. She'd do perfectly fine by herself, just like she always had.

And yet, the visible jump her nerves did when she saw a seemingly alive man standing on the stage was not only in fearful shock (even if she didn't like to admit it). However, he could have been one of those...things that she thought she'd seen. Her mind was fighting battles with itself at this point. What if he was alive and well? She should say something and see-NO! If he was just a well-made...thing, saying something would only draw attention to herself and perhaps eliminate her advantage of surprise. She should just attack him. Yet...he didn't look dead, or even tampered with...

No, don't talk!

Yes! Say something you dumbass, before he gets killed too! Two sets of eyes are always better than one!

Like hell they are! I only need one set of eyes, thank you.

JUST SAY SOMETHING!

Finally, she settled for speaking, but tried to make her words sound dangerous, possibly to scare it off (fat chance, but still) if it wasn't a normal human being. As she spoke, she held her table leg in a defensive manner.

"Are you alive? Because if you're dead, heaven help me, I'll make you deader."

((And yes, I know that's from Neverwinter Nights.))

The bastardice invention - the peversion of humanity and industry and something arcane - lumbered forward, slowly outstretching its arms. Aphrodite's legs quavered with every step, as if it would collapse with every footfall. Elisa still cried out, cried until her throat became sore and until hope had all but abandoned her in this den of darkness. A sudden cry from its lips - its full, passionate lips - drove the frightened child into further shock and disbelief:

"Child, do not cry! I am here for you!"

Such a grotesque shreik, it could not in any way be considered human. It could not be considered living.

With this exclamation, Aphrodite made a lunge for Elisa, stumbling over itself and sending the child's fragile body toppling to the hard, stained ground. The back of Elisa's head impacted first, knocking her out instantly, plunging her consciousness into darkness.

One simple sentence resonated through Elisa's mind:

"I will not leave you again."

Her eyes swiftly snapped open, and with her sudden reaquaintance with concsiousness came the reaquaintance with pain; the back of her head stabbed sharply and, as was discovered when her hand was placed over the injury, bled slightly. Something beyond the curative capabilities of mere bandages. Though as she mad the futile reach for them, she was instantly reminded of the key that she had come accross, after their encounter with the abomination. Now attentive of her surroundings (and now adjusted to the dim light of the room), Elisa found herself spawled upon a miniature bed of a wooden frame. Whimsical carvings of a rabbit adorned the frame, and her limbs hung helplessly from its sides and dragged on the carpeted floor. A tortise served as her bedside companion, stuffed and wide-eyed and sporting a dopey grin. The walls were a light blue, a sky blue, and bordered with letters, all twenty-six of the alphabet. In a far corner sat a table low-set to the ground, surrounded by several red chairs intended for small children; this was all positioned in front of a blackboard which had accumulated several layers of chalk dust in what seemed like several years of use. A bin of various toys was to the right, and adjacent to it was a combination shelf and coatrack; while the coat hooks were all empty, the shelves below still stored an array of small pillows and blankets.

Still woozy from her unanticipated rest, Elisa approached the miniature table, still messied with several papers (mostly an array of construction paper cut into miscellaneous shapes) and crayons of nearly every color (the only black crayon had been worn down beyond any pracical use). She wasn't sure why, but the fact that there was plain white paper buried under the myriad of colors intrigued her, and so a few sheets were folded and pocketed, along with a deep blue crayon. Not the most serious of mediums, but should she need to do some writing ....

From outside Elisa could hear the faint yell of someone--a man. Steven, perhaps, or James; there was no way for her to tell. Although, she was able to make out what was said. It was a call for ... Helen.

If only they knew.

Bastion's shoes made a quiet echoing sound through the dead, empty street as he sauntered through the dreary night setting. Nothing but a headache and a cheap bottle of rum were his company in his search for people that he could perhaps grub money from. He had been ditched by his boss after they had a dispute over money, leaving him in some weird town that is unfamiliar to his eyes..

He scratched his dirty lice infested head with his grubby old hand, debating withhimself if he should stay where he is now and wait for someone to pick him up, or to find his own way out of this darkness that was growing ever creepier. He decided to chance the town with his 2 feet not wanting to spend another minute in the street lamps cone shaped glow.

Bastion placed the rum back into his one good pocket of his torn up jacket and chose a path which could lead him to sorrow, or possibly freedom from this prison. You can't do it Bastion, you always were a coward. "Shut up" he yelled at his voices from the passed now coming back to remind him of what he has done. You'll just end up getting hurt again liek you always do, you can't yourself, your just a bum on the street a nobody, no one cares if you die. "I said bug off" he yelled picking up a nearby rock and throwing it into the night surrounding, the voices stopped, for now.

He looked down as the ground passed by underneath him counting the cracks to possibly get his mind off his emotions and voices. the crisp air filled his noise giving more wieght to the uneasiness that kept rising with no limit in sight. The more he walked the more sick he felt. "why are there no people?" he thought.

The buildings seemed to stare at him and distort out of shape with gloomy detail. Bastion just did his best not to look at anything. It's been like this ever since he became poor, he feels more vulnerable all the time and hallusinates people he's seen and other things. Temptation has controled his life as well along with alcohol and visions. He grabbed his drink from his pocket and drank a little. He needed to find some place to stay, it was gettig to dark and he felt like the devil was at his heels.

He glanced around to see one building different from all the others, it seemed to possesa small shred of life which he finds comforting. He approched the building cautiously so he doesn't trip overhimself. He craned his head upward a little to see blurry words, the booze was begining to cloud his sight. But what he could make out was red letters. He looked around a little bit more to make sure nobody was following him and then entered. He stopped halfway into the dorrway and thought to himself. "Is this really safe, or will i just become a target". But still it was better than anything else in town. to amke sure he was or was not alone, he gave a shout "Is-any-one-here" he slurred loudly (I'm in the theater now)

After the thirty-second glass of vodka had gone through Davids throat, He wondered if he was drinking too much? After a good, empty laugh, he started to pour his thirty-third glass of Vodka, into the shotglass. He guplped it whole in a mere second, as usual. He placed the shotglass on the bar gently, and started to day dream about a life he used to call his own. A life thats was full of promise, and pride. He had a loving wife, who he loved over anyone else. He loved his job, and always gave hundred and ten percent. But things change, drasticaly. She was so suttle about it, as if it was expected to happen in the first place. David had plans made for him, her, there unborn children, and there future together. " Im sorry David, but I cant feel the same compassion for you as I did years ago. Its over, im sorry." With that final note, and her things packed, she walked out the door, and never looked back. That was the last time I saw her, outside of the divorce process. After that was over, I never saw her again. Thats when I started to drink, and things only could get worse after that. "Look at you David, you're a train reck." "I want you to go and get some help, take a few weeks off, and go see a clinc, please." " You have no idea what you're talking about Mike!" "You think its just that damn easy, just to start fresh, well its not!" "Its easy if you try David, for godsakes show some backbone!" "You son of a .." Thats when it was over. I punched the guy in the jaw, out of anger. He fired me on the spot, called me a dirtbag, and A few other things I'd rather forget. I can live without my job, its her thats making me feel regret. I ran it through my mind over and over again. Trying to figure out were I went wrong. David then cracked opened a new bottle, this time Jin, and poured it into the shotglass closes to him. He then inhaled it, and slamed the glass on the bar. Tears were flowing down his cheecks now. He couldnt hold them back with alcohol anymore. It built it up inside for far too long. "I just whish there was someway I could have pervented this from happening from me." "I thought I made the right chioces throughout my life." I never did anything to hurt someone else." "So why did this happen to me." He took the bottle of Jin and started to chuge it down, hoping to find some kind of release, or unconsciousness. He dropped the empty the empty bottle of Jin, ans leaned forward from the stool. The bottle of Jin rolled down to the other side of the bar, stopping when it met with the wall. He was back in the time he was with his wife at there honeymoon. "Never leave me David, I wanna be with you forever." Then with a smile he could never forget, they kissed, and held eachother. Then a schriek of pure demonic anger awoke David in his slumber. He stood completey straight, knocking over his stool, and preparing to grab his pistol, which was inside his coat. He started to look around frantically, but was still very dizzy, and fuzzy from the alcohol he just consumed. With his other hand he rubbed his eyes, hoping for better vision. He walked to the bathroom to the right of the bar, and washed his face really cold water. Then he grabbed a towel, and started rubbing his face together witht eh cottoned towel. The demonic shrieck awakened his senses again. Now David was sure it wasnt a animal. He walked outside of the bar to look at his surroundings. Nothing but diserted roads, and buildings. He looked uo, to find the sky covered in grey clouds. It made the town itself completey grey. He went to his car, which unfortinatly was out of gas, to grab his shotgun. He came to this town to just get some alcohol, and some gas to get into the next town over. I wanted to move somewhere far awhile from my old life. Hopefully to start fresh, and get a disent job. But as he remembered that howl that came from this diserted town, he knew something evil is going on here. He loaded his shotgun , and brought all of the ammo he had left on him. He left his car behind, and started walking to his left. "What the hell is going on?"

Mal had been a fool to come here, to this town he barely knew. He thought he could pay his way through college with his acting tallent. What a naive fool he had been. In retrospect, it was his naivete that damned him; really, his foolishness, coupled with intelligence and all-powerful knowledge, could have propelled him to the top. But he just didn't know. By rights, he should have gotten himself an acting scholarship. He was good enough for one, but he was lost in the world, adrift and unable, for the waves, to hang on to opportunities that came his way. It was no fault of anyone else's, and Mal had learned much in his few weeks there, making new connections slowly, as was his want.

Of course, even those few small friendships were all but null now. Who knew how many of them were even still alive? Probably none of them; few had, and it seemed the least likely to do so were those chosen. It made no sence that he was alive even now. He had heard a sound, a bit like thunder, a bit like fire burning, saw blades, the roar of the Beast, and of a great wall collapsing under the weight of ages. In the end, the only description that did it justice was the one that left it most to the imagination. It sounded like death, if death sounded just like one expected it would. Then, he was alone with the blood.

So he did what any actor would do in those cirmustances. He found himself in the theatre, on stage, exposing himself to the world.

"Here I am, bearing my soul to you. Will you judge me? Ignore me? Damn me? It's too late for any of those things. Who and what I am is decided, after a trial by fire. I cannot be ignored, for I no longer exist. You cannot damn me, for I am in hell. I ask only that you help me, or you kill me. Both would be a mercy, either preferable to this wait. Send me something, someone, an end or a begining to my existence"

As if in answer to his... it could be called a prayer... the door to the theatre opened, casting a light into a darkness. Haloed by this light was a girl, an angel of mercy for certain, for she bore the manner of someone who would accomplish her goal, whether it may have been to kill him or save him, or simply to save herself, Mal coming along simply to advance that goal.

What, soft, from yonder window breaks? he wondered. It is the east, and Juliet is the Sun.

"Are you alive?" she asked. "Because if you're dead, heaven help me, I'll make you deader."

She speaks! Oh, speak again, bright angel!

Mal was broken from his stupor by the arrival of this girl. He had prepared himself for death in any form it might decide to strike, but had almost forsaken the possiblity of life. The first living person he had met since... well, since the last living person he knew was slaughtered, awakened in him a kind of fire, a will to live that had been seeping from him, like blood from a wound. He did not want her to die, and he himself did not want to die, a quality that he had been lacking since his survival came into question.

"I'm alive." He was alive! It was true. He had been wondering, but it was affirmed in that instant. Drawing in a new breath, the first air to taste fresh, and like life, for what seemed ages, he projected with all his considerable might, "I AM ALIVE! And I'd love to stay that way for as long as I can!"

He lept off the stage with glee unfounded, fervor rediculous. Dashing like a madman up to his savior, he wondered if he was not a little mad. Ah, well, madness he could deal with. Hamlet was mad, and he... actually, he and everyone he loved died at the hands of his nemesis's treachery. Mal decided madness was not the best course of action. However, a little glee in the face of adversity couldn't hurt anyone. He saw the girl tense up a little at his sudden animation.

"Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you. My name is Malcom Barret, most people call me Mal. I am definately a human being, and I'm quite eager to stay as such, so if you'd like to avoid the prospect of being one against the world, I'd say that two against the world sounds like better odds to me, though I'm no math expert. That's why I'm an actor."

Definately going mad.

Despite the fact that she was fighting the urge to jump up and hug the guy for simply being an alive human being around her, she had to thing Mary-style. An actor? Lovely, just lovely. He was more likely a follower of "the pen is mightier than the sword", which certainly didn't help her any. Now, she felt a bit nervous, being that she was only armed with a table leg, and the theater was a place where all sorts of nasties could jump out at any given moment. Nervousness, as per her normal behaviour, turned into sarcasm.

"Great, so when I'm getting slaughtered messily you can recite sonnets. Wonderful."

At that point, though, her tone softened a little, now lacking the sarcastic edge it had before.

"Well, I'm Mary Blacklyn. Most people call me Mary, although my old coach back in high school used to call me "Blackie". You call me that, though, or" she shuddered "or Mimi, and I'll have to kill you. So it's Mary."

She then looked around the stage. Stage props...dulled swords were sometimes props, or even unloaded guns...Maybe, just maybe she'd find some better defense weapons here.

"Uh...look, since you're an actor, got any idea as to what kind of stuff'd be around here that'd kill one of those...those things...easier than a table leg?"

((Editted to recognize Bastion's post))

She then heard the other voice. It wasn't dead, but then again, she didn't know if any of those things could talk (the ones that had heads, anyway). Nonetheless, she lifted the table leg in a defensive position again, and walked toward the figure that had yelled.

"Is anyone here?" The voice shouted. Typical, she thought, this guy had to be alive, because nothing dead would be that stupid. You don't give away your position like that! She wondered if he was armed. Oh well, might as well find out.

"Well, if by anyone you mean anyone living and not messily mutilated" At this she flashed Mal a dark smirk, "then I can speak for at least one person. Who are you?"

*The path to the nursey home's entrance was a simple white slade laid on the ground, yet in this dark world even that took a turn toward the macabre. In this dark in was instead an ashen path cutting the dead brown lawn into two in front of him. He had never attended this school in his youth, but he did have a friend who used to live nearby and they often played on the little playground around here. He remembered that the friend loved it because all the slides were shaped like animals, she loved animals. Steven had thought about going around the back of the building, and seeing the slides, but they were probably twisted and destroyed now. Along with his friend.

Along with everything from his memories.
Along with his life.

Steven pushed open the door the school, it's crimson paint plastered it a much more inviting look, strangly. When he was younger, he would have imagined that the home was very quaint and happy inside. White walls, tiny little tables and picture books and so many toys for the kids to play with and be happy. Of course, when he walked into an empty foier he wasn't surprised by the decayed walls and creaky wooden floor. Though he was able to make out a little bit in this foier, there was no light, so again he clicked on the flashlight that he had turned off before walking into the school. He stepped forward twice again and opened the door into the next room and immediatly heard movement. He shined his light over to see a female ducking down beside the little table inside of the room. So a bit of the innocent childhood life remained in this decrepit hell after all.

"Helen?" he called again, but when his light finally reached her he noticed that it wasn't her. "Oh, Elisa, it's you." He calmly replied.

WHAT IS THAT FUCKING SCRAPING? I'LL FIND IT, AND I'LL STOP IT! IF SOMEONE IS DOING IT, I'LL CARVE THEIR SORRY HEART OUT! Losing Elisa had jarred something loose inside of James' fragile psyche. Finally, the first thread began to unravel... the others would soon follow...

He kicked down a busted metal door with a rusty "Mall personnel only" sign on it and ran. His vision spun from his head injury and he was completely off balanced. He half ran- half stumbled through a narrow corridor until he reached a plain and rusted metal staircase. He was getting close now, the infernal scraping and scratching bombarding his sanity all the while. He started to bolt up the stairs, but tripped on a loose piece of rusty metal and fell flat on his face, which made a resounding clang on the thin steps. For a minute, he didn't move at all, the scraping ceased. Then, agonizingly slowly, he rose as it began again with renewed fervor.
He tore up the stairs and reached another door. Quickly, he reached into his coat and drew the boxcutter. Then he dove straight into the rusted door, which crumbled under his weight. He fell and slid into the middle of the roof, the tiles of which were slick with a mixture of blood and raindrops.
James rose, and slowly began to look around as his vision once again steadied itself. All around him were bodies, human bodies, naked, with holes gouged into their faces. He spun around, looking at the carnage surrounding him. There were a dozen at least. Then he noticed the scrapes, as if some heavy, sharp metal object had been dragged incessantly across the roof. They were everywhere...
Somehow in that oppressive darkness movement caught his eye. He shined his light up, only to see something fall from the power lines. It landed with a heavy thud, partially flesh, but with the clang of metal as well. for a moment, neither moved. Then, slowly, the heavily bandaged form rose. It was mostly a torso, nearly all mummified, with a mouthful of twisted teeth. The legs ad been chopped off and bound at the knees, and the hands had been replaced with meathooks. Holes gouged into their faces. James stared incredulously.
"You did this." The creature only hissed. Then James charged, raising his boxcutter, thinking for a moment he could kill it, end it all...
Then it swung one of those massive, hooks, and flung James off the roof and into the black abyss below...

The shine of Steven's flashlight illuminated Elisa's face, as well as the girl's surroundings. Instinctively, a hand rose to shield some of the light from her eyes. Being able to see the nursery school in adequete lighting for the first time, she could finally notice how decrepit the building was; the walls were not a stunning robin's egg blue, but a drab white; the adorable plushes adorned around the room had suffered extensive wear and vaguely resembled what they truly were; the chalkboard was marred by what seemed decades of writing; and everything, from the small table she knealt by to the bedding to the toy bin, was covered in an eerie film of off-colored dust. It was only now that the ancient flooboards protested underneath her weight.

Elisa was quite contented that Steven - that anyone - had found her, contented to the point of feeling quite awkward in his presence. "Steven ... good thing you--I-I mean, I'm glad you're ... here," Elisa hesitantly uttered. "Helen ... about her ... she--" No, she couldn't tell. "I take it you h-haven't seen her? Well, let's just get out of here anyhow."

Elisa sprinted towards the entrance through which Steven had entered, then turned to face him. She had seen this place through the eyes of others, and she did not wish to stay any longer. Not as long as she was deprived her vision.

Even Leo Knight's bright neon orange prison jumpsuit could barely be seen in the suffocating darkness. With each step his muscles ached, his throat was painfully dry, and sweat poured into his eyes and the open cuts from going over a barbed wire fence. Despite all of this, a smile was on the man's Hollywood face. Freedom. He has made it out. All his life he was acused of being born with a silver spoon, of being handed his wealth and position in life becasue of his parents. Everyone assumed he was just a spoiled brat with no real skills and lucky to be born into the family he was. Leo, however, had just proven that he had the intelligence nobody would ever believe he possessed. Through a combination of charming one of the lonlier female guards and commiting the layout of the prison to memory he had made it out of the gates, into a plumber's van he knew would be there that day, and drove. Drove fast towards this eeriely empty town. He could always hear the sirens behind him, sometimes they would get quieter, but they were persistant. The van was low on gas before he even got in it, and soon he was forced to take to his feet. He ran hard, never looking back, but with the voices of police, sirens, and barking police dogs always right behind him.

Now those sounds were growing softer when Leo allowed himself a quick smile. Fear was still gripping him, though, he knew that he would wear out before any of the police did. His optomistic side, however, told him to be grateful that he was in this town, seemingly empty and full of hiding places.

His optomistic side would quickly prove to be an idiot.

The barking of the dogs grew loud and fierce. The backround chatter of the police became urgent and afraid. And then there were gunshots. And then there were screams. At first Leo thought they were the screams of him being discovered, and that he was being shot at, but the screams were too filled with panic, and the gunshots too far away. The volume of the screams and sounds of weapon fire decreased, and Leo then heard footsteps. He flattened himself up against the wall of the town's mall and staired in the direction of the sound of running. It was dark, but he could still make out the sillouette of the police officer. More vaguely he could make out the shape of something behind the officer, something large, and something with what looked like well over two arms. The creature fell on the officer and, with the officer half screaming and half sobbing out what almost sounded like an our father prayer, dragged him back down the street towards where the gunshots had originated, and now fell silent.

Leo was never a man to fall easiely to panic. All throughout his widely publicised trial for the murder of his celebrity wife he appeared perfectly calm and collected, certain of his innocence. Even when the guilty verdict was given he appeared calm, much to the dissapointment of the watching public who wanted the drama to be thick. So, despite the horror that he just witnessed, and the loud objections his muscles presented when he began to move, Leo Knight was ready to put one foot infront of the other , until his path was blocked by a screaming man, barely out of adolescence, falling infront of him, aparently out of nowhere but more likely from the roof above him. Leo jumped back and even began to scream, but stopped himself when he remembered the creature he had seen. He saw the man begin to move and Leo extended his arm down towards the young adult. His calm voice was a sharp contradiction to the chaos around them. "Hey, kid, you alright? Don't let my clothes fool ya, I'm not dangerous. Or, at least, you can count on me being less dangerous than the other things prowling around here." Leo flashed one of his perfect smiles that had appeared on many magazine covers, and hoped the young man could give him some answers.

James fell for a short, oblivious eternity... until he felt his back hit something metal. He heard a cruch as steel bent under the sudden weight, his weight, and the shattering of class. As the object buckled, he fell limp onto the damp asphalt a few feet below.
"Hey kid, you alright, don't let my clothes fool you..." Everything else was lost on James. Alive. He didn't know how, but somehow, he was still alive. His back, head and limbs all sang a piteous ballad of pain, but he was alive regardless. with agonizing slowness, he rose, holding onto the object that had broken his fall, a car, for balance. He was shivering, trembling. His legs felt like jelly under him. He didn't dare let go. James felt something warm run down his cheek. He touched it and pulled a way his finger. Blood. After a moment, he gathered the will to try to turn around. Someone was there, facing him, gaping at him. James suddenly realized he had asked him soemthing,t hough he couldn't remember what. He tried to stand up on his own, almost collapsed, a caught himself at the last second, clinging to the car like a scared kid...
That's all you are... a scared kid, crying for your mommy.
Shut up.
Hahahaha.
"M-m-m-my n-n-name is J-James." He stammered out the words as if speaking for the first time, spitting a thick mixture of his saliva and blood as he did so. "W-w-w-who are y-y-you?"

Bastion entered furthur into the dank dusty theater where upon he discovered more people, maybe illusions. "Are you real?" he questioned rubbing his eyes blanketed in alcohol. One of them seemed to be wanting to attack, but seemed somewhat scared. He wasn't surprised at that fact, what with all thats going on. "hold it hold it" he raised his arms in defence awaiting for the wooden post to slam down upon him just in case "I'm on of you".

Now that his eyes have adjusated to the atmosphere of the quarters, he could see 2 young people gauking at him as if he had been dead for years.

"who are you people, whats going on here?" he began questionging trying to find ansers to quell his mind "Put that thing down will you I'm not going to kill you or anything"

*He stood alone on the roof above and quietly watched, his lips twitching ever slightly underneath his greasy black locks of hair that masked his face. Though human the man was quite uncivilizied, he giggled to himself as he curled his arms up to his face and begin to suck on the tip of the gnawed pen.

"And he shall gain a wealth undescribed..." He gently whispered, the writer stood on the roof quietly, laying in wait for the children that would save him.
------

*Helen? I was just with her, though....what could've happened? No, I should be worrying about Elisa, before something happens to her, too....speaking of which....

Steven shined his light, tracing Elisa's movements as she proceeded toward the door, phasing out the minute details as he desperately tried to clear his mind in this hell, he spoke to her.

I guess not...but, have you seen James since we got seperated? Steven followed Elisa, and pushed the door open, walking back into the foggy abyss...it had become a good way to describe anything in Harrowsburg.