Once everyone finished saying their first name, and saying whatever they wanted to say about themselves a hush settled in. It wasn't a welcomed hush either, but what more could realistically be said about their situation. There was still a tension within the group that Michael could feel, so much so that he could almost reach out and touch it. The tension was born of questions. Questions like: Can I trust the person next to me realistically? What happens when we run out of food? Why did this happen? Did it happen elsewhere in the world? When people starter to reveal their true colors were they gonna be like the clown who was in the tent? If that was the case things were gonna get ugly real fast.

The biggest question hanging over the group though was; what about tomorrow? A lot of questions and not any answers to go on either.

Michael let out an exhale and said, "Earlier I crossed myself as I said a prayer if that upset or offended anyone I'm sorry. I'm a practicing Roman Catholic, and I realize not everyone here is R-C or even believes in God." Michael nodded and said, "Fair enough. I will not force my religious or personal beliefs on anyone else. I will respect your point of view as long as you understand mine."

Michael stretched his legs out and crossed his feet and said, "I realize that we all come from different parts of the town, and from different places in life. Right now though we can either stand together and do what we can to survive, or we might as well march right back into town and wait to die. It's that simple we are all that each other has. We've lost family and friends and i will miss my family for the rest of my life, but my family would want me to do whatever it took to survive. This group is everything to our survival, and I will do whatever I can to help this group survive."

Michael looked around and said, "Sorry if I shot my mouth off a little too much, but this group it's all I've got left and I'm not ashamed to say it I'm more than a little worried about what tomorrow and the day after looks like. All that being said just because I'm afraid doesn't mean I'm not gonna act." Michael rolled his eyes and said, "Okay I'll shut up now, and I know most of you are thinking 'finally.'"

Michael stood up put another log on the fire and sat back down. He looked into the fire and thought about all those times he would see a fire in the fireplace at home. Seeing the fire going on Christmas morning was one of his sweetest memories. Michael smiled as he remembered the first Christmas Eric came home from college. Seeing him standing by the fire place and smiling as Michael came down the stairs made Michael's Christmas. Now fire would serve to remind him of what was lost to Michael and that it was time to move on.

Raven was listening carefully as everyone introduced themselves. Placing a name to a face and storing it away in her mind for later use. Her eyes wondered to everyone taking in every detail of everyone. Yet, she drew a blink at one person. Their face was there but blurry.

And for the life of her she couldn't think of his name. She only knew it was a he after hearing the suggestive comment he have to the woman of the camp. She rolled her eyes at the memory. She might as well add him to the list of 'No'.

She then listened as L-Leonardo spoke. She could not get over that nickname she has for him. It just works. She could tell he was definetly the leader. And he took the role well. He then started going on about how they needed to work together in order to survive.

Huh, what a sweet guy.

I mean come on! He even apologized if she offended anyone's religion. Which was really unneeded for her. After all, she is a Wiccan. Though, to be honest, she tends to keep it a secret. At her last school She was open about her religion and ended up getting called a witch by the entire school until her foster parents gave up on her.

And she took no offence at all.

Then, after everyone quieted down, she then began staring back into the flames. Something about it was bothering her. Bringing back bad memories of the fire she'd very much wished to forget. Yet, she couldn't move her gaze.

The group had all introduced themselves, one by one. Michael and Leon and Henry and Raven and Lillah and Raphaela and Spark, she recalled in her own head, the very English pronunciations sounding like familiar things, pronounced wrong. Her mother had been popular in town, and had wanted her to make friends. She'd probably suggested that she befriend a few of them when they were new in town. She never had. She was still sat trying to fix the words together as Michael talked. He was quite talkative, but seemed friendly, although half of his words were nonsense to her.

Justine looked around the group to check the names were in her head, that she wouldn't forget them, in case she needed to know them. It wouldn't do to offend anyone unnecessarily. She'd heard some of them mentioned when people were talking with her parents. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about them being gone. Her whole life had burnt out in minutes. "I," she had to pause, trying to fit the English together like a puzzle to be solved as she tried to join in. "be Justine."

The mistake went unnoticed by her as she pieced together what else she would have said, had her cheeks not been burning in childish embarrassment at the stupid pause in the middle of her introduction. 'My parents did make... Drink. '. She swore under her breath at the missing word, hunching up in shame. She despised English almost as much as she hated America now.

She let the spotlight move on, forcing a weak smile to hide how humiliated she felt. It wasn't even like she was the only immigrant there, since Leon, or one of them, spoke Spanish and English fluently. It made her seem foolish, like a child, and that weakness could kill her. Nobody had any choice but to put up with each other now, so it was best not to irritate them with her frankly appalling grasp of their language.

Raffy really wanted to say finally. The whole heart-to-heart thing wasn’t typically her style; it had the slight risk of getting attached. Though, Raffy was a bit too cold to get attached easily. She preferred the artificial bonding over shared interests’ route; it gave her room to maneuver. Raffy kept a sincere, apologetic countenance despite her annoyance, her eyes wide and her mouth frowning somewhat. Every once in a while she would change it vaguely as to give the impression she was harmlessly thinking. The official manipulation would begin tomorrow and she was excited, giddy even. Raffy, after all, wasn’t happy unless she was in control.

“Let’s talk ‘bout something else.” Raffy uttered, clearing her throat in ersatz discomfort. “I…really like the movie Jaws. Not the second or third, but the first original one. Old movies are so good. Has anyone ever seen The Breakfast Club? Best movie ever, I say.”

Raffy wasn’t lying. She loved these movies with a passion, and she didn’t want to think about their situation. She didn’t want to think about their town of ashes. Raphaela wanted to focus on the mindlessness she received when watching a good movie, when she ignored everything that happened around her in preference to a moving picture. Raffy felt like crying, not because she was sad, but because she was angry. She lost nothing, she was fine, she still had herself. Except for control. She was not in control and she needed to have control. Raffy bit down the feelings, promised herself power; promised herself that, in the morning, everything would be fixed. The tears died down and she waited for someone’s response to her questions.

Sleep escaped him like the dragon from a heroin addict. Jojo stared through the thin tent sheeting to the thick black custard in the sky which engulfed everything and everyone. The tent wasn't much farther than ten or so feet from the nicely-sized campfire (ridiculously close, he thought in hindsight), so everyone's discussion could be heard quite easily. Sob stories and identities were shared, exactly what Jojo would rather not do. 'Hi! I'm Joe Stark! First name of a New York guido, surname of fictional heroes, nickname of a circus monkey. An infamous prankster with no real friends and only one drunken kiss under my belt, I thrive on the chaos and panic of others with little respect amongst the general population of Midcreek. But who cares? I'm in these beautiful woods with some of my greatest unknown friends, and my only thought is who here would be willing to bang me. Let me make a rough calculation; 0 times 0 would be, roughly, 0. That's not a bad number, if I would say so.'

That thought almost made him cry. But Jojo felt like he was done with crying. The soot irritated his eyes and the racking sobs aggravated his burned throat. No more crying. There was no need. So he sat up and turned to the right, listening to Maxxy whimper in her sleep. He slowly squeezed out of her motherly embrace and stroked behind her ears. Another whimper escaped her. Jojo unzipped the tent and slipped out. The campfire sat only a short distance away, but anything outside the ring of warm bodies were hidden by a curtain of absence, everything outwith it was void. He stood waiting and watching for a moment, how each of them sat and gazed at each other and the fire. A bristling fur rubbed against Jojo's leg. Mother Maxxy was awake. Jojo lightly walked into the ring and seated himself in the largest gap, his dog beside him with her head on his lap. He wasn't going to say anything, not yet, This was a heartfelt moment, and the only thing suitable enough to shout out in a heartfelt moment was 'penis!', but that thought didn't appeal to him.

He stroked Maxxy's head, long and heavily. Hannibal looked bored. Not bored, in fact. Jojo wasn't a master of people-watching, but it appeared as if he was judging everyone. Red Fox was definitely judging people. Everyone else thought she was still listening, but a short break from it all allowed Jojo the power of meta-thinking. Rattata wanted a friend in similar circumstances as her. No dice, with only Leon being present. He was quiet and weak and malleable, which was maybe why Red Fox was looking at him like he was a human-sized burrito. Captain Nixon was spewing his heart out. He should be wanting to shut the fuck up soon. Do your praying in your own spare time, heathen. Only one god ruled, and that was Loki, god of trickery. Lillah was basically in the same boat as Jojo, far as he could tell. Maybe he would have a friend in here. Hit Girl talked to much, and said too little. That would become annoying. Spark didn't seem bad. He didn't talk much and gave only what everyone needed to know at present.

Red Fox spoke up. "I'll have to agree about the movie thing. On The Waterfront is by my favourite. 'You don't understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.' Call me crazy, but that rings a few bells for me. But I think the best of the Brat Pack films was Ferris Bueller's Day Off. 'Cause, let's face it, St. Elmo's Fire sucked more dick than a New Orleans prostitute," Jojo replied. He was a big movie fan, but sometimes got a little too carried away with his thoughts. He often forgot to recognise that other people had feelings.

Lillah had quickly settled back into her silence, her light eyes gazing to each new speaker. If they kept it short, they held her attention. If they exceeded a sentence, she found her attention on the flames instead. Her dedication to learning everyone's name was about as ambitious as the work she did to put up the tent, but she knew she'd get it in time.

The boy next to her muttered something, but she didn't quite catch it and frowned at him for a moment--but he followed up with his introduction. Sparky was a fellow keep-it-short type of person, which Lillah appreciated.

The next to speak up, Henry, was keeping his distance from the fire; she had done the same at first, so she offered the kid a small wave--her commitment, however, was lacking and she wouldn't be surprised if it went unnoticed. She vaguely knew him--she would visit the diner after a workout, more and more frequently as the year went on. Although it had been better than dinner at home, she found herself regretting the time she spent at the diner instead of with her father.

The Frenchie went next, butchering English. Shit, Lillah thought, eyes widening ever so slightly, that's adorable. Though she quickly averted her gaze back to the fire. And then Michael spoke again and Lillah was most definitely one of the ones thinking "finally."

However, the talking continued--just on lighter subjects. Raffy began talking about her favorite movies and the boy who had retreated into his tent had come out to add to the conversation. He seemed a bit goofy and while that would have annoyed her on any other day of the week, tonight it brought the smallest of smiles to her face. She stayed silent, though, and her eyes wandered around the campsite.

Michael could tell he was going over the top with saying what was on his mind. That's who he was though his father taught him if you got something on your mind then say it! At least people know where you stand, but if you get called out on something you damn well better be ready to defend your point of view. People were starting to share their names and little else. That was okay at least there were now names to put with faces.

The smell of the campfire was a welcome relief because it helped dilute the smell of the smoke from home. It also gave the group a central point to meet at and just try to get to know one another. All of that being said what if whoever was behind the attacks in the city saw the smoke from the fire? Michael shook his head as though there was a bug nearby. He didn't need that on his mind right now, and he didn't need to voice that because who knew how the group would've reacted. He could tell that there were those in the group that didn't care for him. Michael was okay with that as long as they didn't try anything with him that was fine. They stay on their side of the street he would stay on his.

Michael was glad that Raffy changed the subject, because for the most part everyone had a favorite movie. This was a subject that was in everyone's wheelhouse and plus Michael had enough of the deep what about tomorrow kind of crap. It was time to just enjoy the fact that they were still alive. Just then class clown/putz came back out of his tent to rejoin the group. Michael didn't have anything personal against the guy, but he just seemed like the class clown act out here was gonna wear thin real fast. He gave his point of view on his types of movies, and Michael had nothing against the brat pack films they just weren't his first choice.

Michael said, "Casablanca and The Godfather. I'll watch them anytime."

And Michael left it at that.

Leon didn't consider speaking up about his favourite films, like the others. It was pleasing that the people around him were able to speak about casual things like that, and he probably would, too, but he wasn't really a fan of cinema. It occured to him, too, that he may well never get another chance to see a movie. These people were talking as if they could go and watch these movies right now, but for all they knew, the movies might as well no longer exist.

Leon picked up the phone that David had given him, glancing it, hoping it would give him answers. "Right," Leon nodded with an assertive confident tone. "I'm going to see if we have any answers..." The words that David had spoken... 'check it once a day' echoed through Leon's head as he pressed the button on the mobile and waited for it to load up. He was a little unsure if he was meant to be using it today but he was reassured when he found out that it had an unread message. He stopped breathing for a moment before he opened the message.

The message was an image. Midcreek. It was taken from near the school, that was no longer in view as it had been engulfed by the explosion as well as the flames that had spewed from it. Near the school, several soldiers were stood. In the corner of the image, there were two students running out of the building. They were falling to the ground. On closer inspection, it was clear that the soldiers had shot them.

The image was captioned 'for anyone that doubted me'. Clearly this was just some sort of confirmation that they were being hunted down, but it didn't give them any real answers, which annoyed Leon. All he knew right now was that his family and friends were dead, and he would be too if he wasn't careful. The reasons behind all this were vague and out of reach. Leon knew that David would divulge more of the information over the phone in time, but only if he was alive to be able to, and that was a big if. Leon really hoped that David made it out alive, because, if he was dead, then he had no way of knowing what the hell was going on.

"Huh..." Leon frowned, holding the phone up. He knew some people would find it gruesome, but they had just witnessed everyone they knew die, so he imagined they could handle seeing a picture of a couple of students getting shot. "So, yeah," he nodded after everyone who wanted a good look at the picture had had one. "That's that, I guess."

Raven decided to be quiet as everyone spoke up about their favorite films. If she knew them better she knew exactly what she'd tell them. 'I have to admit I love horror movies. Especially the cheesy ones because I love making fun of them. It's a good laugh.' But, because she didn't she kept her thoughts to herself.

Then, Leonardo went and decided he'd check for any messages. This caused him to instantly catch Raven's attention. She watched him curiously as he fiddled with the phone, watching his expression. She saw the change.

He then began passing the phone around for anyone to see. Then, when the phone got to her she stared at the image emotionlessly. She'd seen plenty of horror and action movies where someone was gun down. So, she was used to the site.

But, the thing is, she recognized the students. They might not have been best friends with her but they were civil. Which meant a lot more than you'd think.

She quickly shook herself out of those thoughts passing the phone along.

She didn't let any emotion show on her face but her eyes however showed the truth. She was afraid. She knew this was serious but.....somehow seeing this picture made it real. She looked down at her hands before placing each finger on her hand to the other fingers on her other hand.

A nervous habit of hers. Kept her calm, kept her busy. A distraction was something she really needed.

Spencer didn't contribute to the conversation about films, honestly having no idea what to say. He'd never been a massive lover of movies, finding most of them to be essentially the same, the only thing really varying in them being the people that starred in them, and even then they all looked the same. He thought there were more interesting things to do with two hours than waste it watching a fictional character's life, and so he made a habit of staying way clear of the things. Books, on the other hand, he didn't mind so much, although he couldn't actually explain why. He slowly found himself tuning out of the conversation, the voices just becoming a faint buzz as his gaze settled on the fire, watching the flames writhe and twist against each other, colours licking together until they were just a mess of oranges and yellows with the occasional violent streak of blue. It was relaxing, almost, made him forget about the craziness of the day. Part of him thought it might just all be some sick joke, a prank that someone from the high school had decided to pull in one last ditch attempt to be remembered by their classmates as legendary. He was still quite happily living in denial, and it was pretty obvious. It was only when Leon finally checked the phone that it all went down hill, and Spark's borderline calm was ruptured completely.

At first, Spencer wasn't even sure if he wanted to see the text, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd peered over the shoulder of someone else while they were looking, but even just one small glance was enough to make his stomach turn. He felt sick, physically sick, as a wave of familiarity struck him, gaze catching one of the dead figures that had tried to flee. He knew him. Max. They'd been friends, or, at least, mutually friendly with each other. They'd sit together at lunch, hell, Spark had even been round to his house when his parents got in heated arguments and he needed to leave. He was possibly the closest friend Spencer had, and now he was lying on the cold, hard ground, bullets ripped through his torso. Eyes widening, he practically stumbled backwards, a slight tremor running through his left hand as he swallowed hard, trying to remove the lump that was threatening to form in his throat.

It was all too real.
It was all too stressful.
Spark couldn't cope.

"I - uh-" he stammered, feeling like everyone was watching him, maybe even laughing. He needed a way to calm down or he felt like he was just going to explode in front of them all, his inability to deal with stressful situations the same way as everyone else crippling him right when he needed to get over it most.

"I need a fucking cigarette," he finally finished, suddenly realising his fingers had been drumming against the almost full packet since he got here. He was well aware that going off for a cigarette was probably the worst idea right now, especially if it meant he'd be left alone in a situation where he had a lighter and everything around him was flammable, but he'd just have to risk it. He turned and walked away from the group, offering Henry a nervous smile as he accidentally brushed his shoulder, almost forgetting he was even there. He doubted anyone was about to come after him, and to be honest, he didn't really want them too. Leon, Lillah and Henry seemed nice, but the rest? Spencer couldn't be sure. He wasn't good with loud, talkative people, and it was already starting to show. Shrugging the thought away, Spark pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, shaking hand stilled as it clutched his lighter, tight grip turning his knuckles white. He'd get over this - he had to.

Raffy was enjoying the conversation about movies. Other than causing drama and constantly being on her phone to augment the drama, movies was what she did in her downtime. She liked books, sure, she especially enjoyed The Art of War, but nothing was as good as a movie. It was mindless; she didn’t have to think for once in order to follow along. All she had to do was stare, listen, and maybe blink a few times. Movies were a guilty pleasure, an escape from the hard brain teasers that came along with finding ways to pin so-and-so against so-and-so. For once, when the conversation came about, Raffy didn’t think of advantages and disadvantages; she truly wasn’t being fake, for once, but instead she leaned forward and listened with rapt attention. She hummed in agreement to the Brat Pack films – she loved Robert Downy Jr. in Weird Science – and turned her attention to the talkative Michael when he offered his favorites. She was a bit disappointed when he didn’t elaborate, though.

Her previously bad mood had begun to dwindle as she entered a more calm state and for that she was thankful. For a while there, Raphaela wondered if she would lose it. The slipping of control, the unknown variables of their departure from the town – it was all a bit too much and she felt as if she was going to break. It would be a shame if she were to shatter, she had so many goals and to complete, a Bucket List if you will. Now – well, now she forgot. Everything left her mind as she dwelled on the overused movie plots that she loved, the best worst movie Sharknado which took many lines from Jaws, and the odd thought of how did Donkey make dirty with a freaking dragon. But then fucking Leon ruined it.

He paraded around the picture for all to see, passing it around to turn the genial group into a mass of solemnity. Did he know how hard it was to make a good first impression when everyone was depressed? So, yes, it was safe to say she was annoyed. Angry. Frustrated. She just wanted peace and quiet – and a little bit of control and normalcy. Was it too much to ask for? Apparently it was. When the phone came around to her, she passed it on without looking. All the picture would do would bring up sentimental thoughts and unneeded feelings. Those feelings would make her sanity slip again and she really didn’t want that. At all. However, her mood took yet another turn – this was, after all, the third twist of her disposition that night – when Sparky the Fire Dog decided he needed to light up his lungs.

Raffy knew she promised to keep her hands off for the night, but he was all alone! It was too tempting of an offer. She just shouldn’t do anything, though. Planting a seed of friendship is all she needs; no deep stuff, nothing complicated, just a friendly hand. And, well, she did feel bad for him. Not too bad that would prevent her from using him and possibly ruining his not-really-living life, but she still had that inkling of pity. Thus, she wiped her face of all emotion – Raffy often bragged that she had the best poker face there was – leaving not even the pity, and allowed that diminutive real sympathy show on her face as she approached him. Raffy didn’t say anything, just leaned on the tree and looked at the ground. In all reality, there wasn’t anything Raffy could say at that point. Anything she said could turn him away, could make him irritated at her, but saying nothing could achieve the same result. But she said nothing.

Like a kid looking through their parent's closet in the middle of December and realizing that Santa didn't exist every fiber of Michael's being told him not to look at the picture. However something in his soul demanded that he see what had happened for himself. It would be the only way that Michael would truly accept what had happened. It would on some level bring closure to Michael in terms of family, but on other levels it would open up more questions and wounds to be sure. With a trembling hand Michael took the phone and with that his world was forever changed.

In the lower right hand corner he saw his mom's car still in the parking lot. That confirmed everything about his mom. Michael touched the corner as though he were actually touching the car and in a low voice filled with hopelessness he said, "Mom,,,,," He manipulated the image so he could see a little more and next to Max he saw someone laying next to him It was the one image that made him close his eyes and said, "Dad..." Robert was full off bullet holes and one right through the middle of his skull. He must've headed towards the High School when all hell broke loose. Thinking he would try to save as many kids as he could, but it wasn't meant to be. When Michael was a child his dad and him would play around and wrestle, and Robert used to tell Michael he couldn't win. Robert was fond of saying that he was "the toughest law man in town," and that always made Michael giggle as they played around. Over the years though Michael believed that to be true, and Robert more than held his own against all kinds of criminals and he kept the peace for years in Midcreek. However there's a huge difference between Dewey and his boys when they would get liquored up on a Friday night, and trying to take on trained killers. Now it was really over for Michael. Any miracle of him ever seeing his parents alive again in this life time died at the High School.

Michael handed the phone off and stood up. He didn't weep, whimper, or make a sound. However one single tear rolled down Michael's cheek, he could feel a scowl coming over his face, and his shoulders began to shake. He said in a voice that almost mimicked Christian Bale's "Batman" voice, "Excuse me."

Michael walked just over the ridge and sat near a flowing stream. He pulled out his wallet and looked through it and found the same picture of his family that his father had been looking at. Michael just stared at it in the moonlight. No more would he see his dad roll his eyes and shake his head every time Michael would go on and on about a new Springsteen song, or rumors of a concert tour. Never again would he hear his mom remind him that she was the principal of the High school and a little more decorum was required of him. Especially when it came to his use of the term "whatever" concerning something a teacher would say. Of course Ellen would later note that she wasn't arguing with Michael and his way of using it. Just that there needed to be some decorum with it.

Eric and Adrian were gone and it was safe to say since they couldn't get a hold of anyone in Midcreek they'd assume the entire family was dead. No more of Eric popping Michael upside the head and calling him a dweeb for his knowledge of all things Batman. Then 10 minutes later apologizing and asking if Michael had gotten the most recent issue of "Detective Comics" and could he read it. Michael would miss the little snort Adrian would do when she got laughing really hard. Usually it was watching episodes of "Arrested Development" that did it. Adrian and Michael loved popping some pop-corn, fixing some cokes, and binge watching the same episodes over and over.

Those days were now gone, and though Michael was with a group he never felt so alone.

At first, Lillah wasn't particularly interested in whatever "good luck" message the man had sent Leon, but after two of the boys and Raffy walked off with cracked voices, she was curious. She scowled and got up to look at the picture. "What is i--.." she started, though her voice trailed off and got caught in her throat when the phone was turned to her.

She froze in place, muscles tensing, as she stared at the picture. "No," was all she said for a moment, shaking her head as she took a step back. Though her footing was off and she stumbled back and onto her ass where she had been sitting. "Shit!" she growled, quickly hopping back up. "Wh-what are we going to do? If they find us, won't they just..." She couldn't find the words, but her light eyes flickered to the phone to make her point. "Why?" she demanded instead, gesturing at the phone. "What the fuck is going on anyway? What happened obviously wasn't random."

Her eyebrows were knitted together and her eyes wide as she looked between the phone and Leon, then occasionally another student. Well, former student. Speaking of which, she found herself glad that the picture sent was only of prom goers getting shot. She had watched the men throw her father back into the fire he had escaped from only to burn alive, and the memory of it had her shaking with rage, fear, confusion, and a clusterfuck of all sorts of feelings. Calm down, Lawson, she told herself instead of waiting for a half-assed explanation. She took another step back, worried in the back of her mind that she'd hit someone if she didn't put some distance between herself and them.

For the second time that night, she found herself counting. However, in her head, she couldn't get pass three without having to draw in a long, shaky breath and start over. That was generally her cue to start counting out loud. Though, glancing over the others out of self consciousness had her pause, and that gave the anger just the right amount of time it needed to creep back into control.

Lillah's hands had been clenching and unfolding, but they suddenly stayed clenched as she stepped toward a tree. Her fist slammed into the trunk, splitting some of the bark--but the skin over her knuckles as well. It took a second hit before the pain hit her and she pulled her hand back to shake it, her jaw clenched as she felt tears well up in her eyes. "Fuck," she gasped, kicking at a stone, getting some satisfaction out of it flying off into the woods. Then she dropped into a crouch, hiding her face in her hands. We're dead. The thought echoed in her mind, followed up by familiar anxieties that insisted it might as well be on your own watch.

The phone was passed to Jojo. "Way to fucking piss in our corn flakes, Hannibal. Jesus Christ. Excuse my blasphemy, Saint Mikey." A new nickname. He grinned at his outstanding wit and sharp thinking before getting serious again. "Seriously though, get that shit out of here. I knew both of them." Max had been a frequent customer for his pranks, and would even pitch in his ideas when he had a good one. And Max was quick and very bright, so they were generally highly inventive and clever. But Jojo never used them though, not for spite, but for the name. He couldn't have competition, and he couldn't have Max running him out of business. The guy understood though, and for that Jojo would call him a close acquaintance. Sheriff DeLorenzo was a completely different matter. That man busted his balls for years. Couldn't do jackshit about his Annual Pranking Palava! though, so he would eye Jojo with distrust every time he saw him in public. Though only thing Jojo could do was return a wicked grin. It was a love/hate relationship.

But the images sickened him. He knew these people, and they were a living concoction of chemicals and organic materials. They had likes, dislikes, smells, deficiencies, and history. That, together, created a person. Now when one concoction ended the 'living' in another concoction, that seemed like faulty logic. He glanced at the phone again and tossed it to the next person. "As much as you think showing these pictures are going to prove to us that it happened, we don't need that. There are certain members here who -" Jojo glanced at Saint Mikey "- probably shouldn't be dealing with sensitive issues. Keep it on a minimum number basis for the now, some people are still raw." Jojo's sarcasm was leaving him momentarily and was being replaced by a deep-seated responsibility, a trait he had never possessed.

Jojo massaged his temples and could feel the blood pounding through his veins. A headache was coming on. He glanced around. Saint Mikey was weeping in the woods and Red Fox was awkwardly standing in his vicinity. Another kid, Henry, was still behind the night curtain. Lillah was freaking out. But God-damn, did Red Fox have a nice figure, He was just thinking about how he wouldn't mind being comforted by her when Lillah's words stirred him. "Shut up. We will be found if you keep squeaking. Of course it wasn't an accident! An army doesn't just waltz into a hick town and start shooti... An army. Our army? Because I didn't see any planes as if it were an international force, it just... happened. Are you implying this was the U.S.[ armies doing?" Jojo asked quite aggressively. She wasn't implying anything, of course, but Jojo had took a tiny seed of a thought and ran with it. That was how conspiracies started.

There weren't much to be said after everyone introduced themselves. The silence stretched on, leaving but the cracking of the fire, and the chirping of crickets the only sound audible in the forest. Henry felt the heaviness of the situation settling in on himself once again. Instinctively, Henry curled up in a ball against his tree trusting the darkness would conceal him from the rest of the group.

Right then, he can almost hear his sister Gabriel say, "Please do us all a favor and stop being a brat. Your moping around wont get you anywhere, Henry. What's done is done. It's time for you to move on!"

Easy for you to say. Henry thought back. Unlike his sister, Henry doesnt possess the courage, and strong will. Where she is free-spirited, Henry is being shackled by people's expectation. It sucked!

"Well, it only sucked because you didn't try to do anything to make it un-sucked. You can do so much more, little brother. Besides, we're made up from the same stuff after all. You only have to realize it for yourself." Henry can imagine her saying that while ruffling his already messy hair. That made him smile a little. May be Gabe's right. I need to do something.

That was when something or someone brushed pass him. He was so distracted with his thoughts that he had lost track of what's happening around him. Henry looked up and saw Spencer. Although he gave him a nervous smile, there was something in his expression that told Henry something happened in the campfire. Henry would ask him what happened, but he looked like he wanted to be left alone, so Henry decided against it. Instead, he walked towards the fire to find it out himself.

He can see that everyone had crowded around Leon. Their grim expression was enough to tell him how bad things were. Suddenly, he was scared again. You need to do something. His sister's voice echoed in his head.

"H-hey, what's happening?" Henry asked nervously as he tried to approach the circle. When one of them handed him a phone, the phone he recognized as the one David gave Leon, at first he didnt know what to do with it, he held it in his hand like it was going to explode any moment. After awhile, Henry decided to press the lock button, swiped, and what he saw next made him so mad he wanted to scream his head off. What did they do to deserve this? Who are these people? And why Midcreek?

"Terrorists." Henry said finally, voicing out his suspicion since the incident happened, "I mean, what else could they be?" He remembered the conversation he heard from his radio scanner, they sounded like they were on a mission, like it was planned.

You need to do something,

Henry decided its about time to tell them what he has heard, even if remembering it may involve remembering a few painful memories. He tried so hard not to cry as he told them, but when he's done, he said, "It made sense. The explosion, the shooting, everything. Its all to terrorize us, right?"

Justine hadn't wanted to look. She doubted she'd understand it, but judging the reactions of the others ignited the morbid curiosity inside her. And God, she wished she hadn't. She held the phone out for the next person to see with one hand, covering her mouth with the other. A single, choked sob came out between the whispered "Pourquoi?" and the realisation that her brothers would never see her again. Or would the shooters go for them, too? It was unlikely, but the sinking feeling was there.

"Is not a accident." She managed to force out, but it was quiet and possibly unnoticed over the sound of other people's sobs. Somebody had arranged this, to kill their entire town, with them inside. Just for... For what? It was evidently something worth wiping an entire town off the map for, so something huge.

She hunched, looking at the others owlishly, hoping to pick up on something. Perhaps. It might have been possible had they not been the most conspicuous group of people she had ever seen. They didn't belong together, and she clearly didn't belong with them. Why would she? If she didn't understand them, they would hardly understand her.

Justine prickled, before standing and moving to the edge of the group. Where she felt more comfortable, less inclined to be part of their conversation. A sick feeling had settled deep in her stomach and she knew it wouldn't go any time soon.

Michael kept a quiet vigil over by the stream. He could hear the sound of voices being raised, and the time honored "shut up" being uttered at one point. Michael began to analyze what he knew and what everyone else was saying to try and come up with logic to this situation. Mr. Spock would even have a hard time trying to figure this one out, and the answers Michael was coming up with considering the facts in hand wasn't a good picture. As the voices continued to raise and become more pointed Michael had enough of it. Michael usually didn't like playing the physical intimidation card, but at 6'1" and just over 220 he was not above using it when he had enough. Michael knew how to use his size and strength to put anyone down. He had been in share of fights before and usually won, but Michael was hoping that if he did lose it that his anger wouldn't be influenced by what happened in Midcreek.

As he stood up he saw Justine sitting off by herself. She looked so alone and looking like someone who was just lost. That took Michael's temper down a few notches. Justine spoke broken English and she seemed like a nice person. Michael knew if he went over there and did his Incredible Hulk routine that would just make things worse, and maybe even make Justine feel more isolated. Michael walked over to her and gently put his hand on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear, "It's all right. I got your back." He smiled and winked at her. Not like Jojo's wink and a smile but one that Michael hoped conveyed a sense of wanting to be a friend...if that was possible.

Michael rejoined the group and sat down where he was previously. He said, "Here are somethings to ponder: On our way up here did we see or hear any emergency, Federal Government, or National Guard vehicles pass us by heading into town? As Jojo noted we lived in a hick town. You don't go to Midcreek without a reason or unless you're just passing through. Anyone who looked or sounded different that we didn't already know would've stood out to the rest of us. If the Feds were expecting something how come they didn't coordinate with my dad at the Sheriff's Office? Federal Agencies count on local law enforcement and emergency agencies to cooperate for operations concerning possible terrorist threats. Local Law Enforcement is the eyes and ears for the Feds. None of them ever contacted my dad. I've seen how their operations work I speak from experience." Michael looked up to the sky and said, "Planes are still flying in and out of LAX. On 9/11 everything was grounded within minutes of the attacks. LAX is still open for business." Michael looked back at the fire and said, "Fact is though even if we can prove everything who do we tell? And who'd believe us? They've got every angle covered, and whatever they were trying to do they succeeded. This was done by our Government for reasons we don't know, and may never know. Best we can do now is try to survive."

Michael walked away and went back next to Justine. He shrugged his shoulders and whispered to her, "Let's see what happens next."

Exactly where Spark had ended up when he'd staggered off, he didn't actually know. He was close enough to the group to hear their voices, but in exactly which direction he'd paced, he had no idea. All the trees looked the same, oak brown bark coated with a dark green moss, leaves and branches hanging lazily overhead like the weight of the leaves was physically pulling the soaring structures down to earth again. Still, where he was going wasn't really a concern for Spark at that point in time, shaking hands still manage to light the cigarette with a certain professional ease - the kind of finesse you only achieved when you'd been smoking a little too long. Even when he was on the verge of breakdown, Spark could still manage to light up. It was sad, really. It was the carcinogenic stick in his hand or the forest, however, and he knew he'd rather let his lungs go up in flames than the forest. He'd been dealing with things this way for years, and wasn't about to stop just because he was out in the middle of nowhere with people he didn't know. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if he ever ran out...

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he lifted the fag to his lips, sucking the smoke into his mouth and inhaling, eyes closing for a minute as he cherished the nicotine hit, slowly breathing the light smoke out again, letting the cloud escape back out into the air with a quiet sigh. He couldn't deal with this, he couldn't spend the rest of the foreseeable future with a group of people he barely knew, hoping one of them wouldn't screw everyone over in the name of self preservation. What were they really supposed to do now? Sit and wait like sitting ducks? Everyone they knew was dead, not one single member of their tiny little town spared, and yet they were alive. There was something bitter and wrong about it, somehow, and Spark couldn't help but feel like he'd rather have just died along with everyone else. He wasn't a survivor. He wasn't even a follower, really. He didn't feel like he was anything, and he definitely didn't feel he was anything worth saving.

Taking another long drag, he turned around, only just seeing Raffy there, back pressed against a tree casually. He almost flinched, but, even if he had, she wouldn't have been able to tell - entire body still quaking slightly, Spark physically unable to stop it no matter how hard he tried. Admittedly, he didn't actually know what to say at first, holding the cigarette between his lips as he slipped the packet and his lighter back into his jean pockets, doing anything to avoid eye contact with her for a minute or two. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to risk having a breakdown on the first day, and he certainly didn't want to risk a breakdown with her.

"D- uh - hello?" he said quietly, biting back the urge to just spout something sarcastic until she went away. He'd been brought up being lectured about not being rude, and he didn't intend to be just because he wasn't having a good time playing survival with a group of borderline strangers. Sure, he was scared, maybe even a little stressed, but that didn't mean he had any right to outwardly be a dick about it. Instead, of resorted to his usual nervous pattern, offering her a small smile as he took the cigarette out of his mouth again, flicking some ash to the ground lazily. He didn't know what else to say, so he left it at that, not even sure if there was anything else he could say - something like 'I'm sorry I freaked out because all my friends are dead' just not sounding right, somehow.

When another kid responded to her, her gaze snapped to him as he accused her of making accusations. Speaking of hitting someone, it seemed like the joker was volunteering himself as a punching bag. Lillah turned to face him and stepped at him, fists clenched at her side. "Don't fucking put words in my mouth," she snapped--her hands were shaking and she struggled to keep her own voice straight. She raised her arm to shove at his chest challengingly. However, another boy speaking stopped her and she glared at Jojo for a moment longer before turning her attention on Henry.

"There, see? Terrorists," she agreed. Granted, that made her self conscious: much of her heritage was Middle Eastern and it'd be easy for them to grow suspicious of her in light of the nation's modern history. Regardless, it made the most sense to her. The joker was crazy--it wouldn't make sense for a government to wipe out their own people like that. What was there to gain from something like that?

Then Mr. Michael DeLorenzo returned to the group to throw up his theories. Every word out of this guy mouth just pissed of Lillah, and that's when he was talking about the Bible. Now he was talking about planes and LAX and she didn't really follow everything he was saying, to be honest. It sounded like he was agreeing with the joker, but that couldn't be right. So, she just pursed her lips and quieted again, her fists clenching and unclenching at her side. Blood was drying on the one she decided to hit the try with, and she was just starting to feel that. She shook her hand a bit, and looked back to Henry, the Jojo, then the Frenchie to the side, waiting for someone to follow up on Michael's..third? fourth? speech of the day.