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[Arcuna]

Compared to the near-pitch black inside the bathroom, the dining area looked almost normally lit. I was finally thankful for the rain—and not to mention Ward's forcefield—for without it, this place would be burning up from the sun, even with the windows mostly boarded. This was arguably the coolest I'd felt all week, but I knew that if I didn't get control of my temper, it wouldn't last long. My body tends to heat up a lot whenever I am angry or embarrassed, and right now I was feeling a hell of a lot of both.

To the left of the main dining area from the kitchen was a separate room, a few steps down from the main level, where Solomon, Chris, Jon, Ed, and another blond haired girl sat in awkward silence. All of the tables in here had been pushed together to form one long one, and the four here had taken advantage of the ample room to spread out. I picked the side with Jon and Solomon and sat directly between them, with one empty chair of space in either direction. “Glad to see you survived, Jon,” I said.

“You too,” he said quietly. After another awkward pause, he asked, “How's your friend?”

At first I thought he was referring to Solomon; apparently Solomon thought so too, but the confused and brief glance we shared cleared that up. “Oh, Theresa?” I asked, trying not to trip over my own words. “She's okay. Or, at least she's alive. She saved our asses back there, before Chad got to us, but her power takes a huge toll on her. She shoots lightning, but she feels it like it's hitting her, so yeah.”

“That's quite a power,” the blonde chimed in condescendingly. I shifted my gaze to her, looking for some sign of jest or sarcasm, but saw nothing more than the wide-eyed, forced enthusiasm one makes when talking to much younger children. Once again I felt my body heat rise as frustration welled up inside of me at the thought of some little brat, clearly older than the other girl but still probably younger than my sister, talking down to me about things she couldn't even comprehend. When I didn't respond within the expected amount of time, she added, “Theresa's lightning, that is.”

“She fried at least a hundred of the zombies who were after us,” I stated coolly, just waiting for an excuse to punch her. “She did it while basically grabbing a power line. She didn't stop until she fainted.”

“That's quite commendable,” the girl said. “She sounds very brave.”

I blinked. Though she was certainly on the defensive, there was nothing about her that made her seem insincere or mocking. After pausing for a moment I asked, “How old are you?”

She smirked and replied, “That's a long story. Let's just say I'm older than I look by more than a couple of years.”

“You can regenerate?” I asked. “I would expect the body to cap around mid-twenties, not...well, how old you look, no offense.”

“None taken,” the girl answered. “But I'm not a healer. My age is just the price I pay for my gift. I can stop time.”

“Are you serious?!” Solomon burst out excitedly. For the time being, he seemed to have forgotten about our spat. I should have been relieved, I know—post-Rapture, you learn a lot about not taking things for granted—but part of me was pissed that he would so quickly disregard his feelings and forget about being mad at me.

“I am,” she said with a smile. “Or, at least I can slow it. It feels very strange, so I'm not sure. Either way, when all of this...” She paused for a moment before continuing: “That is, when I first discovered what I could do, I was much older and more frail than I care to say. Old enough to be your grandmother.”

“Well,” I smiled back politely, “You certainly don't look it. I'm sorry if I missed this, but what was your name?”

“That's quite alright. I'm Hazel,” she said. The ever-present knot in my stomach tightened instantly as a memory I had been trying to drown managed to grab at my ankle. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

We each took turns introducing ourselves. Afterward, Solomon turned to me and said, “Hey, wasn't Glenna's middle name Hazel?”

The knot collapsed upon itself and gave way to full-fledged nausea. “Yeah,” I replied faintly. “It was my great aunt's name.” The memory of my little sister still fresh in my mind from the two little girls here, it was near impossible to block out the truth of her death. Her loss alone had been enough incentive for me to go out and recklessly kill more than a couple of zombies when I was still hiding out at Solomon's house, but looking back I realized that my reasoning made no sense. The zombies weren't the ones who took my family away; they were my family. Hell, for all I knew, maybe the Angels were once people too, though the most recent one I'd encountered looked more like four or five stuck together.

We faintly heard Chad's voice from the other room, speaking with the little girl, whose name, I overheard, was Sam. In an ungraceful attempt to break the silence, I called out, “Hey, Chad! Get your sexy ass down here!” Chad gave no response, but I did hear him and Sam giggling. “Chad, baby, I need you!” I shouted again. Hazel and the others, even Solomon, smirked as Chad entered the room with his best seductive face. “You rang?” he said with a twitch of the eyebrows.

“You know I did,” I started to answer as my nausea spiked again. “But first I think I need to banish my insides.”

“Oh,” Chad remarked, the lightheartedness in his voice still present but all jest absent. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said as I stumbled up the steps and started to make my way toward the door. “Gimme a sec.”

In the past, whenever I would start to feel sick, the only thing I would want to do is curl up on the floor of the shower and take a nap. Something about the feeling of being in a small, concealed space without the burden of clothing and with the warmth and noise of the running water enabled me to fall asleep so easily, despite even a lack of room to get the slightest bit comfortable. It may also have been the fact that in the shower, I could practically guarantee that no one would disturb me. While I was there, I had absolutely no responsibility; the world could wait for me to finish, regardless of the crisis at hand. Of course, more often than not, that crisis is, in fact, you; when people catch on that you're feeling unwell, they take it upon themselves to check up on you every thirty seconds, whereas I personally cannot think of a time when I'd more rather be left alone.

Unfortunately, I realized mid-hurl, I would likely never have any part of that luxury again. With the undead rising from who knows where, and grotesque beings with supernatural powers that far outclass our own appearing more and more frequently, those who would rather live cannot afford to do much of anything on their own. The safety of Ward's bubble was its own Hell for locking me in with so many other people whose own needs I had to take into consideration. For that matter, I only knew a few of these people anyway, and of those few, two of them hardly wanted to speak to me. The damn shield didn't even let me feel or hear the rain that darkened the sky above us. I had studied the concept of fight-or-flight in school, and I understood the parallels it had to stress, but why my body would choose a time like this to eject anything I could potentially use to survive was completely beyond me.

There was a warm hand on my forehead, and then Solomon's kind voice: “How ya feelin'?”

“I threw up,” I mumbled, staring down at the yellowish puddle of partially digested soup spreading out over the concrete. The last thing I wanted was someone touching me and hovering over me, but this was more for his peace of mind than it was for mine. In an attempt to get him to let go of me without making it look like I was shaking him off, I took off my shirt and began to wipe the vomit from my face.

“Here, let me see if I can get a towel inside,” Solomon started to say.

“It's okay,” I replied. “I have an extra shirt in my...”

Shit.

“In where?”

“My backpack,” I finished. “Did I have my backpack with me when I got here?”

Solomon thought for a second. “I don't think so. ...No, you didn't; I remember because I was gonna ask about that.”

“Damnit!” I curled up into an upright fetal position against the wall of the Joe's Crab Shack and tried to fight off another wave of nausea. I racked my brain for memories of the last few hours, but lack of sleep and an overdose of adrenaline had blurred most of my recent memories. Had I left it outside Greg's house when Jack doubled back? No, I had retrieved it then. It was with me through the fight with the monstrosity that looked like an Abomination out of Warcraft III, and I remembered wanting to drop it when we were running, but had I? I couldn't remember having it after Chad came, but... was it when I rushed in to save Theresa? Or was it before that?

“What all was in it?” Solomon asked.

“Everything. My laptop, my Zen, my camera... I had everything in there.”

Solomon shrugged. “Well, without power or Internet, they're just extra weight. You can't really use them now.”

“Oh fuck you,” I retorted. “They all still had battery life left, and not to mention years of memories. All we would need to do is find some solar generator somewhere, and they'd all be fine.”

“You're not thinking clearly, Jacob,” Solomon shouted back. “Maybe you should try using your power and seeing that.”

“Did I not already mention I was exhausted from using it? It's stressful enough having to hear you babble for hours on end; the last thing I want is to be inside your head too!”

There was a long silence before either of us said anything. Solomon finally spoke first: “I'm sorry. I can't help being on edge. None of us can. But if we don't get our shit together, none of us are gonna live when Ward needs to rest. While we're safe, we can tear each other down as much as we want, but we are not safe for much longer.” He waited for a response, but I gave him none. “Please,” he continued, “you're the only person here who I know even remotely well, and you're my best friend. I don't wanna lose you to a fight, whether it's with words or with superpowers and monsters. We don't know the people inside, and we don't know if we can trust them. Plus you've told me that it feels good to use your Alpha field. I think right now we could all use it.”

I sighed. He was right on all counts, but, frankly, I was feeling stubborn. “You know they'll be aware of your sentiments and motives the second I start emitting, right?”

“They probably trust us just as much,” he offered with a faint smile.

I relaxed and brought myself to a more comfortable sitting position on the ground. Already I could feel my body preparing, releasing all tension and changing my thought patterns to something a little closer to sleep. I waited patiently until I found that ever-present light within me, took hold of it with my mind's hands, and said aloud, “Are you ready?”

((Sorry this took so damn long. Chad, it's all yours. ))

[Magus]

It was good to be among friends again. If the Rapture had taught us--well, at least me--anything, it was that people are a special commodity. Love 'em or hate 'em, when they're gone, you'll do just about anything to get them back. And when you live in a world where reality is deteriorating as with each passing moment and more and more ungodly aberrations are waiting not-so-patiently to suck your delicious face right off the face-bones, doing "anything" meant flying through clouds of essence-draining tongue-monsters just to find that friend. That, and dealing with little girls who keep insisting you're gay. It was a small price to pay to be reunited with the people I cared most about.

I left my broken katana with Sam and headed over to the where everyone had been sitting. The Lo Ammi, as Malachi so colloquially referred to them as, had pushed together some of the unused wooden tables to form one long row. Jacob, Solomon, Chris, Jon, Ed, Erin, and a blond girl all crowded around the long table and were chatting away. As I descended the two small steps leading away from Sam's quarter of the dining room, Jon turned around and hollered, "Look who decided to show up!" He followed up with a not-so-heterosexual whistle. In his defense, as I walked down the stairs, my hair was bouncing and waving with an otherworldly majesty...it wasn't really surprising that even the straightest of men found it gorgeous. Okay, so, maybe I was subconsciously using my power to make me look just slightly more epic. Sue me.

"Back off, bitch. He's mine!" Jacob hissed with an equally flamboyant wave of his hand.

"All of this commotion over little ol' me? Well boys, I'm flattered," I put my hand over my mouth and batted my man-lashes at the group. They chuckled, save for Ed and the blond girl, who didn't really know how to react.

"Gay!" Sam yelled.

"Loser!" I shot back, then turned back to my friends with a half-hearted grin. After getting acquainted with the blond haired girl, whose name was Hazel and was, evidently, older than my grandmother, I struck up light conversation with everyone. I've never been a fan of personality types. They're too rigid and people often treat them like neo-horoscopes, conforming their behavior to fit their supposed type. I've always been a stable introvert, but it seems the Rapture has changed even that. Within a few moments, Ed and Hazel were like old friends, and everyone chatted away without a care in the world. Well, the cares weren't apparent--but they never are.

Jacob's face went a ghastly white before he lurched away to the bathroom. Solomon was close behind. The two were friends well before I came into the picture. I decided to sit this one out. He and Solomon needed to settle some things anyway.

"Hey, uh....Chad, come here for a sec," Louis suddenly called out to me. After a quick glance around the place, I saw the man sitting placidly on a stool near the bar. A small glass cup filled with burgundy liquid was attached to his hand. Erin and Jon shrugged, which was basically giving me permission to assess the situation.

The bar area formed the back of the dining area and was, not surprisingly, one of the least lit areas of the Hallows. The few rays of light creeping in from the boarded windows shone down onto the sides and center of the room leaving the raised areas and bar perpetually dim and somber. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a trio of people napping comfortably in a second dark, raised area. A young Hispanic woman lay on an uncomfortable mattress, an even younger boy and girl snuggled up next to her. The young boy snored lightly.

"Your name's Chad, right?" Louis asked as I took the stool next to him.

"Yup, that's me alright. Louis, right?" I asked in return. I knew his name, but I figured asking again would soften the blow of him almost forgetting my name. I didn't particularly care, but I've been in that situation before. It's awkward and embarrassing.

"Yeah," he nodded, then took a sip from his glass. "Did Richard talk to you after you woke up?"

"Yeah he did. Why do you ask?"

"Well, I got another question for ya," he slurred the end of the sentence. "Do you believe any of that crap he said about God?"

I sighed. Religion was always a touchy issue with just about everyone I knew. Luckily, Jacob and Erin were as tolerant as people could get without being a giant writhing vagina about it; I didn't have to watch out for toes I could be stepping on when talking about my beliefs. There was a mutual respect for each other in our trio and that went as far as our self-schemas, including religion. Jon and Derek, however, were borderline anti-theists; Jon was vehemently against the concept of it and Derek tended to buy into the whole conspiracy theory and New-Age/Quantum-Mysticism crap floating around the internet, but copious amounts of marijuana will make any of us paranoid. Whenever religion was brought into the picture, I had to take a step back and examine things from a purely psychological, impersonal standpoint. Religion was, generally speaking, good for the individual. It serves as a mechanism to cope with anxiety and is often linked with transcendent, peak experiences (dances in Jacob's Alpha Field notwithstanding). However, because I take a more scientific approach to religion, I've never really had to come to grips with my own beliefs on God. You can prove the effects of being religious with science, but you can't prove (or disprove) God with it.

"Well," I began in my typical impersonal fashion, "I won't deny that I am a Christian. There are many, many times in which I don't deserve that title, but by the grace of God, I am..."

"Ugh," Louis interrupted, downed the remnants of the alcohol, and promptly poured another shot.

"I do know, however, that this situation is nothing like anything any of us have ever faced before. Whether you believe in God or not, having faith and hope for the future is key to surviving this mess. You may not believe in God--and that's your choice--but have faith that we'll get through this. We can argue theology when there aren't monsters floating around outside waiting to eat our faces."

"Face the facts," Louis began, his tone harsh, condescending, and full of the stereotypical arrogance of fundamentalists of any faith or lack-thereof. "If God even existed, the bastard has left us here to rot. Does your Bible talk about those things outside? Does it mention legions of fucking zombies in Revelations? No. God is dead, kid."

"But Christ is risen," I whispered to myself. I took a second to stifle the instinctive rage that erupts forth whenever your self-schemas are violated. Inhale. One, two, three, four. Exhale. One, two, three, four. In the silence, I found my mind running with prayer. Wisdom was never much of my specialty. "You're free to believe what you wish, but that sort of negativity never helps, especially not in times like this. We need to stay together, stay united. Whether or not God is here isn't the issue; we are, and if we aren't willing to work with each other, despite our differences, then we'll never survive."

Louis grumbled, then looked into his glass again.

"That's probably not the best idea," I whispered, watching out for metaphoric toes.

"I've been doing this every damn day since my wife and kid died. I don't need you telling me how to run things," Louis scowled. His voice was dark, angry, but not at me. He was blaming God for what had happened, which wasn't uncommon in the slightest.

"I'm sorry, Louis," I stopped myself from going on a theological ramble about how his family was with God now. Such words would only drive him further away, and, perhaps, closer to the bottle. "Ward is going to lower the barrier soon. Would you mind showing me where there's a good spot to guard the Hallows when he does?"

After a moment, Louis put down the glass. "Follow me."

"Hey, Gay-Boy! I've got your sw..." Sam began, but was interrupted by a familiar, all-encompassing wave of energy. My body crumbled to ash and swirled in majestic union with everyone else. Completely dissociated and reformed as the Collective, we began the waltz of the Alpha Field.

OOC: Pt. II will follow sometime this weekend.

[Magus]

Jacob's Alpha-Field washed over the Hallows like a wave of warm amniotic fluid. I had been enthralled in it several times up to this point, and each time the feeling of unity amongst those within the field's range grew deeper with each use. The feeling was likened to that of a Local Area Network connection for computers. Each terminal kept its own individuality while being connected to each other, forming a working network, which happened to share whatever file or data the particular program was designed to. Everyone in the field kept their own identity, their sense of individuality, yet the lines between us were blurred tremendously. The A-Field didn't provide its terminals with psychopathy in the sense that each member could read each other members' minds; it provided us with various flashes of cognition, so that each member intrinsically knew what each other member was dwelling on. The more thought and attention expended on a certain point in mind, the more vivid and real it became to everyone else.

So, it came as no surprise when I felt the Hallows melt away in place of the Alpha-Lands. The rickety old Hallows became an amorphous hallucinatory dreamscape; the dim lighting leaking in from the boarded up windows erupted in explosions of colors more vivid than those created from the electromagnetic spectrum. Flashes of fiery red scorched each member of the collective with burning passion, anger, and hatred for the Rapture, for the blasphemous face-eaters that stole away our loved ones, and for the God that let it happen. The Collective spun about wildly as the Hallows bellowed out into a series of rolling hills, a quaint house with a white-picket fence surrounding its perimeters. Loathsome flames leapt into the night sky. The door flew open as Louis ran out. A blazing cross charred the lush, green grass of his yard as white-robed figures stood close to the cross. The flames of misplaced faith didn't scorch the men. No, the burning embers danced from the icon of Calvary and annoited the klansmen. Wings of purest white unfolded from their backs as Louis turned to me, his face becoming my own. His anti-theism became my own. Louis metamorphed into Malachi as dark-skinned children and a loving wife looked upon the icon of hate.

The scene faded to the darkest of blacks. Before long, the mortified face of a young Hispanic woman became apparent. Dark tears rolled down her cheeks as she clutched her two children under either of her arms. The echo of a three hearts beating madly gave the scene a terrifying tempo. Soon, the sound of heavy feet stomping across a hard, wooden floor began to match the tempo. I recognized the young woman as the sleeping mother in the corner of the room. Her fearful memories soon became the Collective's. A door creaked open ever so slowly, then the faces of the children contorted in sheer terror. A dark figure shambled into the room as the children shrieked. The pale-skinned, black-eyed man looked down on the children and made some blasphemous, inhuman growl. The woman stood up to protect her children from the man, a small silver gun shaking in her hand. The man shambled closer and, for a split second, the gun shimmered brightly, contrasting the bitter, all-consuming darkness of the dreamscape, but quickly faded to black as her heart sank into the abyss. She couldn't bring herself to murder her husband, Erin's husband, Hazel's husband. Her distorted face twisted and contorted until it became each and every one of ours'. With a burst of hollow light, a black-winged angel descended upon the three and took them under his wing. The black-eyed man was enveloped in darkness, as were we all.

Malachi stood along amidst a void of never-ending emptiness, then became like his surroundings. The bitter, lonely space went on for an eternity in every possible direction. There was no up; there was no down; there was no light; there was no darkness; there was nothing but empty space. For eons and eons, the space remained until it finally began to coalesce. Distant stars winked into existence shedding a faint light into the deepest recesses of the void. The nothingness folded upon itself and, for the briefest of moments, the presence of Malachi felt as if there was another Presence moving upon the infinite nothingness, bending it to a Will unknown and unseen. Burning planets took their orbit in space, but, as they began to cool and form, they fell away. Or, he fell away. Galaxy upon galaxy passed him by as he waited ever-patiently for a place to take hold of, to grasp a hold of and take form. He was graced with nothing but himself. In the emptiness of the ends of space, Malachi formed himself from nothing. His being coagulated from the void and brought into himself the stars, the sun, the moon, and all the uprooted planets that crossed his path.

A galaxy of planets and burning stars darted across the void, each taking form in him. A dark, russet colored planet was hewn into Edgar. A luminous violet planet soon became the humble form of Ward. An ancient green planet withered into a mass of vines that appeared vaguely like Richard, their ends tangled around a dead planet lost long ago. A bright, tiny meteor darted across space and across Malachi's atmosphere, burning away into the blond-haired, oil-stained shape of Samantha.

Time rolled backwards as the universe came into focus once more. Within the dreamscape, the Lo Ammi--those brought to the Hallows by Malachi--encircled each other. Edgar, the young Hispanic man with the ability to detect and track down people with abilities, stood tall. Soon, his face became my own as I--the Collective--saw the memories he wished to share. Blackness hung across the dreamscape once more. Soon, a familiar sound was heard. Suzetta, the young Hispanic mother, whimpered unseen in the shadows. A door opened as a sillouted figure appeared, this time much more tall and empowered, a nearly-empty bottle in his hand. Curses were hurled like punches at the woman and the children, but soon another figure appeared. A shaking pup of an Edgar appeared in the brightly lit doorway, his nervous hand curled into a fist. For the first time among many, Edgar stepped in to protect the family he thought of as his own, and for the first time among many, he was beaten within inches of his life. The scene replayed itself hundreds of times over, each time the image of Ed becoming the image of myself, the image of Malachi, the image of Jacob, and for each other one in the Collective. Then, the perpetual blackness became lit with colors beyond the human visible spectrum. A bottle shattered in the distance and a comatose body fell to the floor, only to arise that night with eyes as black as fear itself.

Green sorrow permeated the dreamscape. Thick vines writhed across it, devouring the black terror. Wilted, mourning flowers soon opened, painting the entire dreamscape like a forlorn grotto. Melancholic vines permeated the dreamscape centered around a single rose-colored Willow.The form of Richard knelt down under the single tree tracing his finger over an ancient carving, a heart with the initials "R.J." The other set of initials were too faded to read. A single branch hung down around Richard's neck. His feelings became my own. I tightened the noose and prepared to find my Rose again.

Two angels appeared in the distance. One approached solemnly, his face-covered with wings of white. The other trod over, his blackened wings spread out majestically ready to fly and fight at any moment. The two angels extended their hands down to Richard in unison. The first angel offered the man sanctuary and wisdom of love beyond which he had never dreamed of. The second gave him a flame to continue fighting life's battles. Richard took their hands and followed them to Hallowed ground.

The dreamscape formed into a mechanic's garage. It came as no surprise to see Samantha in stained over-alls working underneath a black 1969 Ford Mustang. She swept back a lock of blond hair as she loosened a single bolt. Black oil poured out of the car and into a metallic pan near the girl. A heavy door swung open revealing a well-dressed man and an even better dressed young lady. The lady stood a good foot taller than Sam. She wasn't short by any means, but conventional standards wouldn't classify her as "tall" either. She was, however, absolutely gorgeous. Her full figure was barely contained in the shimmering emerald dress that clung far too tight. Locks of wavy blond hair fell over her ample cleavage as the dim garage light reflected from her emerald eyes. She smiled and the room shown brighter. Samantha waved at her sister and father, then wished her good luck on her beauty pageant. Then, the Rapture came, and the Nameless One anointed the sisters with their new spiritual gifts, but Brittany received the greater blessing. I watched on in horror as I relived her memories. Standing in front of the full length mirror, I watched as bulging, putrescent growths bubbled up from my skin, disfiguring my face and contorting my body. I became an abomination and my sister became even better at what she loved in life. The dreamscape flashed with bitter crimson lightning, completely restructured itself back into the hollowed-out Joe's Crab Shack once more. Jacob's Alpha-Field washed back out to him like a waning tide.

"Chad, your sword is ready," Sam said, nearly in tears. "I...I had no idea," she whimpered, avoiding my eyes. Jacob's Alpha-Field is bidirectional; each individual can see what the other is thinking about, but the other can also see what the individual is thinking about as well. It works both ways. Just as I had watched Sam and Brittany find their way to the Hallows after the Rapture, she had watched me slay my own insane sister. Thing is, in Jacob's field, you don't just passively watch the person's memories, you experience them as your own. Samantha knew that she looked like my sister, and she was in my shoes when my katana--the one she had just finished repairing--sliced through Nikki's neck.

For as long as I had been exposed to Jacob's Alpha-Field, the connection had never been that deep. I had felt Jacob's thoughts and feelings before, but never had I so realistically experienced them. What was even more peculiar was the contrast between this connection and the one we made with the insane, cleaver-wielding man in Wal-Mart. His history had been revealed to us, but it was more distant and far-removed. It was as if his history was a movie we were watching from afar, unable to relate and empathize. He was completely and utterly...alien, a feeling I had felt encroaching when I thought about Samantha's sister, Brittany.

"Brittany..." I eventually blubbered on my way over to Sam's portion of the dining room.

"I made your sword with a steel called tamahagane. It's what the ancient Japanese used to make their swords with," Sam interjected.

"Tamahagane? Isn't that really rare?" I asked.

"Very. But, luckily for you, I can transmute metals," Sam said and gave a hollow grin, her eyes still pained. With that, she handed me the finished sword. My katana's previous incarnation looked exactly like what I paid for: a sharpened $20 knock-off that I got from a store specializing in incense, not cutlery. The new hilt was completely rewrapped with black silk. The blade was a deep metallic gray with a serpentine pattern in the steel found only in top-quality swords.

"Holy crap, Sam!" I yelped and whipped the new, perfectly-weighted blade through the air lightly. The razor-sharp blade whistled as it cut through the air as Richard and Malachi walked through the door. The two of them walked into the center of the room as all eyes fell upon them.

"My friends," Richard began, his voice as distant and soothing as ever. "I hate to interrupt, especially after that interesting metaphysical revelation, but the Barrier will fall in five minutes."

OOC: Jacob, if you want to characterize Lawrence, Hazel, and Solomon, that'd be cool. Erin, if you could take Chris, that'd be cool too. Feel free to back-track in your post to compensate for that. When you two are done, I'll start the next scene

[Ameryn]

I was surprised at the strength of Jacob's Alpha Field. I hadn't experienced it but a few times, but each time, it grew stronger. The memories of the people around me suddenly became my own. Looking deep into the thoughts of those around me was an eye-opener, and in an instant, we were all much closer, much more bonded. There was anger, hatred, compassion, fear, love, abandonment, and all of the above.

Chris had been thinking about his sister, his twin. They were different, but in so many ways, the same. Memories of laughter, playing in the mud, always having somebody there, even after the world turned upside down. These memories were imprinted on the mind of everyone around. Then the memories turned dark. Memories of him finding someone after the Rapture, the only girl he thought could ever love him, watching fate tear her from his hands. We felt his guilt when he couldn't save her from the grotesque, black-eyed creature ripping her apart, limb from limb. We heard her scream as it echoed in his head, over and over again. Then more sadness, as we remembered our twin sister walking away from us, while we stand guard at the tree house we had managed to put together.. and her never coming back. We couldn't find her. She was gone. We blocked the memories, put on a mask to hide the pain, and we told ourselves we won't let another person die without a fight. Never again.

OOC: Short. Sorry. :/

[Ameryn]

bumping for Jacob. =P

[Arcuna]

My field blossomed forth with a greater intensity and fullness than I had ever before felt, and immediately I could feel the soothing effects my ability had on my own nausea and headache. My senses began to lose relevance as I became aware, one by one, of each individual residing within the protective barrier of the Hallows. Each node of human life force within this bastion began to resonate in beautiful harmony with one another, responding millions of times per second to the psychic pings that we now sent out to one another as naturally and necessarily as breathing. When my field achieved equilibrium and gently ceased to expand, I concentrated once again on my own breathing and on the healing force that came from the simple act of social interaction. Thoughts and images bubbled forth from all around me, nearly all of them filled with bitterness, fear, and rage both for what we had lost already and for what more we were sure to lose in the days ahead. As the location that was the Hallows faded away from me, images of a familiar neighborhood took its place and filled me with a longing for days past. I took on the form of a man whom I loved far more strongly than I had loved any woman, save for my own mother or sister, and yet whom I loved solely as a friend. I was now a man whose greatest assets were his morals and strong sense of judgment, but who was at the same time so afraid of other people that he buried his his emotions in ethanol, built a crib out of tetrahydrocannabinol, and operated under the guise of false confidence only so thickly layered. It was from this perspective that I saw the world, focusing so narrowly on where I would be in the next five hours without any clue of where I would be in the next five years. Working my crappy day-job I immersed myself in drama, sex, and caffeine, because those three things alone were all I needed to guarantee that I would never be alone. When darkness fell and the lives of so many innocent people were snatched away, I honestly thought things might be easier. With no more need for money, I could simply take what I wanted, when I wanted it. After all, I had Jacob by my side, and together we were indestructible. The poor man that I was, that my best friend was, never did see it coming that he would lose his own mother in the same manner, however. I had the misfortune of experiencing this realization twice, both as myself and as Solomon, because in addition to the beautiful and often haunting insight I gain from my ability, I was also literally there when he lost his mother to the Rapture and then to his power. Solomon had telekinetically punched a hole through his own mother's stomach and then launched her across the room like it was nothing. He chalked what he did up to survival, not incorrectly, but nonetheless he carried the burden of wondering if it had been too soon, if there hadn't been something else he could have done to save her; meanwhile, he secretly begrudged me for having the foresight to leave home, to hide with him, because it meant I never ended up having to kill the very beings who had created and raised me so lovingly. In this world, all that mattered was Solomon and what he wanted, and not so secretly, he partially blamed himself for what had happened to all of us. It was as if God had finally grown tired of his screaming and wailing about the injustices He had exacted on him, gotten off His lazy ass, and descended upon our world like a plague to teach him the real meaning of suffering.

To suffer. To submit to or be forced to endure something. What irony it is that the greatest suffering comes from being forced to endure life itself. The feelings within us swirled and shifted until they once again took form, this time as a twenty-something UT college student who had lost all reason to live and, through a cruel twist of fate, had lost the ability to die. We took on the face and emotions of Lawrence, a man who now resided in a fetal position on the floor of the men's room in Joe's Crab Shack. Life had never been easy for us: our father was dead, our mother was an alcoholic, and it was only through extreme perseverance that we had earned the grades and scholarships needed to go to college. Icy waves of self-loathing and worthlessness washed over me nearly every second of every day as I went through the motions of going to class, studying, and attempting to maintain healthy social relationships. None of it mattered, really; it was all just a hollow excuse to stay away from home where my mother drank herself sick and threatened to shoot me dead if I ever got the balls to come back home after abandoning her like I did to go to college. Part of me believed that if I just tried hard enough in school, I could get the money and knowledge I needed to pull her out of the grave she was rapidly digging for herself. Lawrence's memories fast-forwarded to the night when he did finally visit her, only to find her, his mother, my mother, sprawled out in her run-down rocking chair, unconscious. She had finally finished the job that she had started two years prior, and by the time Lawrence managed to call 911 it was already too late. His mother, he now understood, was one of the lucky ones; she was too days early in ending her life, meaning that Lawrence never had to witness the horror of her standing back up, craving not alcohol, but human flesh. He knew no one who survived the Rapture, let alone that he had no friends whose loss to mourn, and with nothing left to live for, he brought himself up to the top of the UT tower and jumped as if it were nothing. Much to his surprise, he also landed as if it were nothing. He had not a scratch on him, and he didn't even remember crashing to the ground. Instead, he just sort of...landed. Lawrence's memories once again fast-forwarded to a scene in his mother's living room, with his mouth around the double-barrel of a shotgun and his big toe on the trigger. He pulled it, he heard the bang, and he saw a blinding light illuminate the room in front of him from within his mouth, but after the blast, there were simply two large slugs sitting uncomfortably in his mouth, one halfway out of each barrel. He removed the gun from his mouth, dropped the slugs to the floor, rinsed out his mouth, and left. A day later the men known as Edgar and Malachi found him and brought him to this place, where he had barely eaten or slept since then.

In between these two souls so bleak and lacking in the drive to continue onward was a life whose desire to live shined out like a beacon. Her mind was far older than any of ours, but her body was that of a teenager, if even that old. Vivid images of kind doctors and loving family members flashed before us as Hazel recalled the last two years of her life, which she had spent in and out of various hospital beds. The number of diagnoses and medications she had received were irrelevant to her, and though she had lost count, it was hardly due to mental incapacity. The reason, she adamantly believed—and was probably not wrong for doing so—that she had survived for as long as she did while host to cancer, arthritis, and so many other afflictions, was not because of the drugs that doctors pumped into her veins; it was because of optimism. It was because of her fierce will to live and steadfast belief that there is always a bright side of every situation that she never lost hope, but at the same time humbly accepted her mortality. When the fateful morning came that not a single doctor or friend or grandchild came in to say hello, she didn't think much of it at first. But when a pale, black-eyed, lifeless shell of a human staggered into her room with the intent of ripping out her flesh and eating her alive, her light-hearted reaction was simply thinking that he probably wasn't here to bring her flowers. As clear as day, the willful phrase “I don't want to die” rang out in each of our minds. “I'm not done living yet,” she knew. As if in response to her declaration, the world around her slowed to a crawl, and the zombie became no more a threat to her life than the Earth was in danger of losing its moon, which it was, in fact, doing at the blazing pace of one inch per year. In her partially-drugged pace, Hazel stood up, left the hospital, and did not allow time to resume its normal pace until she was miles away. In the aftermath of her escape, she looked down—we each looked down—to see that her body had reversed in age from its frail form of ninety-six to a mere sixteen. Her afflictions had all but vanished, and her body once again matched her mind in sharpness and energy, but her power was one that she used with extreme caution. Having only used it twice since then, Hazel had regressed to a barely pubescent twelve, perhaps thirteen-year-old.

As I continued my deep breaths and watched my own physical pain reside, I felt outward and experienced the minds of each of the other beacons of life force in the Hallows. Even Ward, so deep in meditation, was not excluded from the field's interconnecting forces, though it did nothing to break his concentration. If anything, it served to heighten my own. I became aware of a sort of disconnect between ourselves and Theresa, not as though she were dying or in any danger, but as though the connection were simply...bad. As near as I could tell, she had not moved from her spot in the women's restroom, and she was certainly conscious, albeit exhausted and stressed. Is she actually resisting me? I wondered, and I felt the others wonder it along with me. Not that she had any obligation to indulge me in the use of my power; her reaction was nothing more than a mere curiosity to me. Unsurprisingly, I also found myself unable to detect either Jack or Greg, likely because they were together and Jack was resisting the field as well. I thought little of it; despite not trusting Greg in the slightest, it was obvious that he could, in truth, do little to harm Jack.

My nausea pangs gone, I let my field reside and reduced it to a barely noticeable level, just enough to remind myself that I wasn't alone. I stood up to face Solomon, who was still standing next to me. You're using me, I thought to him. I did not say it aloud, nor did I send the sentiment to him through some means of telepathy. I simply thought it, and on his own Solomon knew that I was thinking it.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just, sometimes this place is really lonely, you know?”

“Solomon,” I answered, “you can't rely on me as a crutch. I will be here for you as long as we both breathe, but my power is not your crutch, and I don't use it for your personal gain. You forget that we can all feel everything that happens, so this isn't your little secret anymore. I know you don't want to believe that you're addicted to alcohol or pot, but you should understand that I won't indulge you if you get hooked on my ability.” Solomon said nothing to argue or contradict me. “Let's go inside,” I continued. “Ward is about to wake up, so we can talk again once it's safe.”

((Daaaaaaang, I'm rusty. I'll likely go back and edit this later to make it suck less. ))