Pope Bishop the Prince woke up with the fate of the world on his mind.

He felt the nagging of the universe as it became misaligned, and he felt the haunting stench of the predators responsible. He was surprised he had fallen asleep at all, last year, for the voices never stopped. They were angry. Angry at the Pope Bishop because he couldn't do anything, angry at the wrongness of the World, angry at the inevitability of the task they would have to give. But mostly, angry they had to trust so many mortals.

Pope Bishop sat up, inhaling the whiteness and nothingness around him in a thick clot of smoke. He did not wait, or think, or explain. He just did what he was supposed to.

He exhaled, letting out glittering white dust that floated out past him and into the Earth.

---

New York saw a strange sort of meteor shower once the clock struck nine-- yet none could tell what was so strange about it.

Lovers embraced underneath its heavenly glow and children made hopeful wishes upon its many arcing lights, but New York felt it in its gut; like the Earth had just regurgitated an unwanted meat onto its favorite plate. The shower was shortly lived, however, and the sudden rush of euphoria and strangeness even shorter. It was soon forgotten among things more pressing to people.

Except to Strange. Strange knew this was a sign, though he didn't know a sign of what. He did, at the very least, know that this meant he had to make his move.

Strange tried to push out with his magic and set things in motion, but it was difficult. New York City was a bustling metropolis with constant noise and infinite scents and millions of residents that called it home (not to mention those here who did not call it such). There was still a touch of day in the sky, leaving the city crawling with crowds of people. (Though, Strange knew it would be this way for him regardless of the time.)

Men and women dined. Children ran on the sidewalks. Wall Street was littered with hungry and greedy men. Times Square never stopped shining.

The world within the city was just filled with an ever-moving crowd and mixed demographic. To contact such select people as he had been researching for days, before he was ready to and before he had decided that they were the most fit for the job (Strange had the world to choose from, literally) was difficult in and of itself. Adding onto it that he had to do it right now, and in this city?

Strange sighed. It would be difficult. Difficult but possible.

His workings were incomprehensible, but they came with results. The air stuttered a little bit and the floor melted a lot of a bit, but he managed to make the Contact without much damage to his surroundings. It would get to them soon: within a day or two. Or as he hoped, within an hour.

Unfortunately, Strange was drained, and he could not give to them each a specific message at a specific time in a specific situation. He could, however, be much more vague. "Appear to them in a means that is realistic to them," he said. "As a letter or thought or message. As a man or woman, or as a loved one. Reach them with whatever means necessary. Just get them together under whatever pretense-- tomorrow in Central Park." It seemed as though Strange was giving orders to someone, and he chuckled at the ignorance of the thought. He finished his message.

"We'll meet at the stroke of nine."

'Joy to the World, the Lord is Come. Let Earth, Recieve, Hi-'

"Hello?"

There was no response from the basic nokia track phone. Not at first, anyway. Then, a string of numbers sounded from the phone, followed by another long pause, then four more numbers. Fairly standard procedure for a job offer, though one of the more annoying methods. The first string of numbers was a one use call-in voice mail, while the second was the password needed to receive the message inside. Of course, the numbers would only play once, and if there was no pen or paper handy, he would just have to remember them. If he hadn't been an accountant, he probably would have just refused any job offered to him that way. They generally ended up being the most risky, but his internal number-cruncher told him they also yielded the highest rate of return for time invested.

Dialing the number and entering the password took no time at all. The message, delivered from what sounded like a voice-simulator, was short and to the point. 'Meet in central park, at nine tonight, come alone.' That they knew he was in New York was less than surprising. His general location when he wasn't on a job was a well known among his clientele, as he made no effort to hide that he lived in the Big Apple. What was surprising was that they knew he wasn't on a job, as he'd only recently gotten back, literally three hours prior, and that without giving him other information on when and where to meet, if he was not able to make it there would be no other way for him to take the job.

But, even that wasn't really surprising. Having dealt with mages for nearly a decade, he'd gotten used to people knowing more about him than they should. It came with the territory. If nothing else, he'd managed to find ways to keep what he didn't want known private, so no major concerns when someone tried to impress him with a divination spell.

Finishing his beer, he stood and made for the door, leaving a twenty on the bar. The trip to his place took roughly thirty minutes, and the ride to his warehouse from there took only about fifteen. He had a few hours yet, but there were some things that he needed to check.

Walking into the large complex, he looked around, waiting. When a huge shimmer began coming towards him, he spoke a few words in Latin, then kept walking. Moving forward, he takes a deep breath, before stepping into a circle drawn on the floor. The thing had cost most of his second take, but it was worth it. The warehouse was empty, save for the guardian and the circle. Anyone who found it would either die in the attempt to get to the circle, or be very disappointed when they made it through.

He was suddenly floating in a very narrow, but very deep, pool of luke-warm water. Knowing better than to go up, he instead swims down, heading for the secret compartment that opens the drain. After all the water drains out of the small tank, he is free to open the second compartment, which the water pressure had kept sealed before then. Stepping out into the large, underground bunker, he looks around, then walks towards the glowing sphere in the middle. Once there, he pulls out his phone, nodding at what he expected to find. The phone shimmered in the light of the orb, letting him know that it had been touched by magic. When he was in the bar, no one but him had seemed to respond to the phone ringing, which had made him suspicious. Whoever had contacted him had used a spell do to it, but disguised it to seem like a more mundane approach. That alone filled in a number of gaps in the question at large.

Going over to a storage locker, Smith retrieved a number of items, his sword among them. Other than the standard weaponry, ranging from a number of small explosives to a few small but powerful handguns, he also collected a number of small trinkets whose purpose he alone would know on site. Seven in total, two of them were protection against magic in general, with another that prevented people from accessing his thoughts specifically, while the others were more offensive in nature.

Finally certain he was ready, he turns and walks back to the door, exiting through the teleportation circle just as he came in, the tank filling with water again once he leaves. After getting back, he speaks the Latin phrase again, heading for the car outside. He had just enough time to make it to central park, even accounting for New York traffic. Though, as per the usual, when he arrived, he was the first. Taking a seat on a park bench near by, he pulls out a newspaper, content in the knowledge that one of his baubles would keep the various magical auras he had hidden on his person from being detected via magic, while his own human nature would only reveal itself to be the completely magicless entity that he was. To anyone who didn't know better, he would just be a man sitting in the park, reading the New-Yorker.

“I don’t care if you have to smuggle funds around, just get me that contract. Goodbye!” Said Frankie.

Inside his own private building, only for him and employees that he saw fit to work under him, Frankie sits at his desk just waiting for the day to end. Well, he’s also waiting impatiently for a certain contract to go through so he can rest easy. Earlier in the day, he was heavily on the phone making calls to investors, politicians, and big-time businessmen and women. He was trying to secure a big contract from all of them cause they are all apart of this secret firm that would be very beneficial to Frankie as both an information gatherer and seller. Actually, it’s more like he wants to have this information so that he can use it when it will suit him.

Standing up from his mahogany desk, Frankie turns to the window and looks out. His office is on the highest floor of the building and out from the window, he can see all the people walking, going about their own business, he can see the Manhattan Bridge. Based on the amount of light and the colors of the sky, it’s around midday right now and Frankie just smiled at how much of a beautiful day it was. He sat back down at his desk and turned on his computer. As the monitor turned on, Frankie saw some numbers appear upon it. He tried to figure out what was going on, so he entered in some button combos in high hopes that it would fix whatever was happening. However, as he found out, that would not happen. The numbers began to arrange themselves, slowly forming a pair of sentences.

“Come to Central Park at nine tonight. Come alone.”

When Frankie read that message, he first thought it was some hoax or some kind of joke some hacker out there was playing on him, so he didn’t believe it at first. Though, when he would think about it just a little bit more, Frankie would consider seeing what this was about. Even with all of his information gathered inside of his mind, Frankie still didn’t have any answers about who exactly sent him this message or who hacked it into his computer. So, it was settled. He would take the day off and see what this was about.

When Seven O’Clock PM rolled around, Frankie would bid everyone a goodbye as they too were heading off. When everyone headed home, Frankie would also do that for a brief moment only to change into something less work-like and more semi-casual. He would end up changing into an outfit that consisted of blue jeans, black shoes, a brown jacket, brown leather belt(holding up said jeans), navy blue dress shirtand a medium brown jacket.

When he departed from his house, Frankie would make an assortment of turns on several streets until he arrived at Central Park. It was coming close to 8:30pm, and Frankie just would play the waiting game, as it would seem. So, he would take a seat next to another man on the bench. He would pull out his phone and just seem like some normal man using his phone while in the park.

Nia Winters woke up on a wide, wonderful meadow. As far as her eyes could reach, there was only nature. It felt almost alien for her, being the only object in the entire scenery that seemed decidedly out of place. She slowly got up from the soft, grassy ground where she must have fallen asleep, looking around sleepily. The girl immediately realized where she was, she had been here many times before. Behind her grandparents old farm, there were endless grassy fields and light vegetation, barely worth being called forests. Still a little disoriented, she stood up, brushing off some grass that sticked to her back from lying down for so long. She didn't quite remember if she lied down to take a nap in the first place, or if she fell asleep by accident while indulging in the nostalgia of this place and the beauty of untouched nature. This was by no means unusual for the girl, being a little drowsy after waking up. Being a commited student had taken its toll on her and messed up her sleeping schedule more than she enjoyed, which in turn made these episodes more frequent as of late. Convinced that the drowsyness would dissipate, she took a few uneasy, bare-feet steps and enjoyed the feeling of grass that had grown naturally for decades. The slightest breath of wind gently played with her almost waist-long hair. She closed her eyes again, savoring the moment before she had to return to the farm.

And then the wind stopped. The birds chirping moved into the distance. The cicadas ended their quiet concert. The entire meadow fell into perfect silence. Nia opened her eyes again, confused. She looked at the cloudless sky, no feathers to be seen. She stared at the motionless trees, no leaf moving in the slightest. The quiet was overwhelming, and herself clearing her throat felt almost deafening against the vast absence of sound, so much that it scared her a little. Confusion turned into concern. Concern turned into worry.
And then she felt it. Felt something moving, faint at first but definite and real. It was in the trees. It was in the grass, in the earth, in the small streamlet to her right. It was inside herself and in the air. Like pressure shifting. Everything was bracing for something, like the human body braces before a certain, inevitable impact. Nia covered her ears, as if to protect them from an impending sound that'd break the veil of silence.

"...Miss Winters!"

Nia woke with a start when the nice old lady from behind the library desk touched her shoulder, calling her name. Her heart was racing and she flinched away from the woman, again disoriented and perplexed. The book she had rested her arms and head on slipped off the table during this motion, producing a loud thud as it hit the wooden floor.

"You need to get some sleep, dear. In a bed, not on top of your work."

The lady offered her an empathetic smile, since she knew how much time the girl had spent in here over the course of the last weeks. More time than at home.

"We're about to close." She added. "I'm sorry to wake you like this. Take your time packing your stuff... shouldn't finals be over by now anyway?"

Nia packed her notes in a hurry, avoiding the last question with a muttered apology, escaping eye contact. The woman didn't press the matter. She felt for the exhausted girl but knew there wasn't much she could do. "Just leave the books, I'll take care of it."

She nodded thankfully, grabbed her one-strap backpack and was about to dart off, as the librarian called for her again. "You forgot a note." Nia stopped in her tracks, thinking very hard for a second before turning around again. "Must be from someone else..." she started, as she was certain not to have removed anything from the notepad in her backpack. "Are you sure? Looks like your handwriting to me." The old lady held a piece of paper in front of Nia that definitely was written by her. Surprise made her forget about the question where the woman had learned to distinguish her handwriting, but the urge to leave was greater than her curiosity, and so she took the note from the smiling old librarian. After thanking her briefly, she finally made her exit, out on the nightly streets of NYC. She quickly forgot about the note stowed away into the left pocket of her jacket. Until two streetcars and a cup of cheap noodles later. In the safety of her tiny, cramped apartment, Nia remembered the note and finally sat down to actually look at it. There wasn't much written on the paper, just a date, a time and a location, but clearly she wrote this. Coincidentally, it happened to be Central Park, 9p.m. tomorrow. She tried to remember why she wrote that down for the entirety of half a minute, when realization hit her that she couldn't even recall what book she fell asleep on. Nia decided that the old lady was right - she had to sleep. Barely managed to brush her teeth before passing out half dressed on top of her bed.

Thankfully, the nightmare from the her unvoluntary nap didn't return. After sleeping half the day away, that note bugged Nia for several hours. The option to return to the library again and ask what book she had borrowed last night didn't seem very attractive, it was awkward enough to get caught like that. But she could for the life of hers not recall what that was about. It didn't fit into anything else she wrote down yesterday. It just made no sense. Was she to meet someone there? Unlikely. Even if she had forgotten all about an appointment like that, who would meet up with her? And at that time and place? It was driving her crazy. In the end there was probably just one way to find out. Even if it turned out to be nothing, she could still have a nice stroll through the nightly Central Park...

And so Nia Winters arrived at the scene. Dressed in a plain, dark gray mantle that made her blend in neatly with the dim lighting, she breathed in the refreshing night air and slowly strolled through the park, with no clear goal and no expectations. However, not without a spark of hope either.

"Hey, turn around. No, no, not like that, do it cut- yeah thats the stuff!"

A flash lit up the restaurant for a moment, as the head researcher snapped a pic of one of her team doing an absurd princess-like dress swirl.

Vacation time was always wild for her team this time of year, when another crew was sent there to get another perspective on the matter. So after handing in their research notes, findings, materials and what else, the head took out a map, and after a round of drinking in the super sciency boat, as the then drunken head named it, declared they would visit wherever the dart hits on the map. All three of his darts missed, the last one bouncing off harmlessly off the ceiling. In the end, she had to intervene, her dart landing squarely on New York.

So here she was, with the rest of her crew touring New York. By the looks of them one would never even think of them as researchers, as they acted more like high school dropouts when off duty. It was so strange for her, she even dreamed of Bill Nye, complete with intro, songs, and outro.

Not knowing what else was there in New York, they wandered around aimlessly after visiting, and getting banned from the Statue of Liberty, and soon entered a famous fast food outlet. And here Clarissa Jarlheim sat still, wondering how she was going to finish this huge burger and still ask for seconds without being called a glutton. Her team was good enough people, silly and never serious. Especially the head. He'd never wake up on time, leaves his room all in a mess, and always forgets to write up the day's findings. Honestly she didn't think he'd even make it without her.

***

By the next morning, after another dream of Bill Nye, she woke up in the one room they all shared in the hotel, where most of her team were still dead asleep or somewhere groaning about their hangover. Serves them right for drinking excessively. Clarissa has simply poured her drink into another of her colleague's glass, which none of them seemed to notice. She regretted doing that however; as soon as they stumbled back into their room, the woman whose glass was kept repeatedly full, grabbed her like a vise, and dropped dead asleep on the bed. Clarissa wasn't strong enough to force her way out, so she fell into uncomfortable sleep there dreaming of meaningless things, until the woman let go of her sometime during the night.

Yawning at the memory of last night, she got ready for a walk, putting on her favorite outfit with her favorite jacket. While the rest of her team were oblivious or too drunken to know where they wanted to go, she knows of a place to relax. Which was why she didn't tell her crew about it; someone would have called the police about some street gang operating there. Snorting the mere thought of the head in jail, she headed out of the hotel after leaving a note saying she wanted to go look around alone and took a cab to Central Park. It took her a while to actually get in there as she saw the Museum of Natural History. Pure curiosity took her in there, and the sheer amount of things to look at almost made her forgot why she came here in the first place. Tearing herself away from another interesting exhibit, she walked outside towards Central Park. Nighttime had already fallen, reminding her she may not have as much time left before her head researcher comes along calling her holding several bottles of booze with her equally inebriated crew members.

That reminded her, Bill Nye was talking about the environment last night in her dreams. He was extolling the advantages of having a large park in every city, when he suddenly suggested to her she should go to Central Park and see what he means. Like in all dreams, it didn't seem that strange to her, so she readily accepted.

So here she was now, and it was almost nine o'clock. It was certainly calming in here, away from the bustle of the city. The lake was beautiful, there were statues everywhere, and was that a hotdog stand still selling at this time? Deciding she'd stay here for a while, she ordered a few hotdogs from the stand and started on them. Eating here in the park with actual trees was a nice change from the rugged ice, snow and sea she had grown accustomed to over the last few months.

She'd never been to the USA before this trip. She'd never had enough money to make it out of Europe, but it hadn't bothered her. Everything in due time, and maybe she wouldn't have left Europe in her lifetime with that attitude, but so what? Leone was french to her soul. She could have stayed in Paris her whole life and it would have been awesome. However, here she was, sitting in a cheap hostel in New York with her travel companions. A stereo was playing songs by Babylon Circus in the background, as they talked, drank and smoked. An opportunity had arisen for her to make the journey to this city of opportunities in particular.

"If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere", her friends had told her when trying to convince her why she should come with them on their search for fame yet again. Leone had repeatedly stated she didn't have the money even if she'd have loved to come with them, and that there was no way she'd get it in time for the planned date of departure. In the end, the group had agreed to pay whatever Leone couldn't herself, because her unique and newfound talent could most certainly come in handy. To them it was a party trick that should be exploited, and to be fair, that's what it mostly was to Leone as well, but she kept wondering what the true nature behind it was. She'd kind of become a female version of that guy from the Police Academy, except it wasn't a movie, and she'd done it without any form of practice.

They'd arrived in the city yesterday afternoon, after spending around eight hours on a plane. It wasn't her first time traveling by flying, but it was the longest time she'd ever spent on a single plane trip. Her group consisted of ten people including herself, four girls and six guys. There was just two people who she'd not met before coming on this trip. The group was only spending the first couple of nights in the hostel, before they could move into whatever flat or studio they were renting cheap from someone's relative while they were out of town for a few months. Leone was still feeling strangely tired even though she'd slept like a log the previous night.

Jeane offered her a pack of cigarettes, but she turned down his offer. It might be fine for some of them to smoke. She'd only done it once for the experience, as she needed strong lungs to play her instrument. It might be fine for guitarrists and the like, but to her it was unprofessional. You'd see these superstars play live, and they had so much energy on stage she had to doubt any of them regularly touched any of it. She could understand some of the heavier drugs though, as they boosted energy and creativity.

Leone finished her beer, stood up and grabbed her saxophone case, before telling her friends that she was going for a walk and would be back soon enough. She strode out of the room without anyone objecting or coming with her. She wanted a chance to fully take in New York with her senses, but also have a look around for street musicians and good spots to play. They'd come here to make it big, yet she anticipated many wonderful moments just playing for the new yorkers on the busy streets. She'd read stories about people who'd been discovered that way too, but she didn't know how much truth it was to them. She wanted to believe though, and if anyone should be discovered while playing on a street corner it should be her. It was what she'd spent a lot of her career as a musician doing after all. Sometimes she'd had more serious gigs too. The joy she felt when playing was too great for her to sit around and wait for those though.

After wandering the bustling streets for about an hour, she wondered how she'd get back to her hostel. Thankfully, she had her phone with her, but her friends wouldn't know New York much better than her, not that they actually responded when she tried calling and texting them. Leone had lost herself in the sounds and movements of an unknown city much bigger than her. She put her saxophone case down on the pavement in front of a staircase, prepared her saxophone and then begun playing. She could spend the time waiting for her friends to miss her by enjoying herself, and entertaining the passing crowd.

Leone soon forgot that she was lost. She drew the attention of some of the passerbys, received a few tips and watched people move to the beat of her sax. By the time she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, she'd almost gotten ten dollars in change. There was a napkin among the change too, and on it Central Park, 9 PM was written with red lipstick. It was strange, but it wasn't like she had anything planned for the evening. She talked with her friends on the phone, and they decided to meet at a restaurant which should be fairly easy to find.

When the clock neared 9 PM that night, Leone had found her way to Central Park, after asking for directions more times than she'd like to admit. She had no idea who could have left the napkin either, so she had to assume they'd approach her.

As the subway he was riding traveled closer to the center of the city, Eric was absorbed by his phone. This wasn't particularly unusual for him, but what was strange was what was on the phone this time. That afternoon, he had received a text message, which was in itself a rare occurrence, but especially bizarre was the nature of the message. It had come out of nowhere, from a number he didn't recognize, and it only said one thing.

"Central Park, 9pm tonight."

That was all. No further explanation, not even directions to a specific meeting place. He doubted it could be a wrong number. Whoever sent the message knew very well that its recipient was in New York City. Nobody in the mundane world had any reason to contact him like that, which meant that the origin of the message was underground, magical, or perhaps even both. It was possible that someone had taken notice of his digging around, and was trying to help him. Or maybe, just the opposite, he had angered the wrong person during his days as a thief, and his past was about to catch up with him. Either way, it was something he would have to face, and if it turned out to be nothing then there would be no harm done.

It would have helped if they were at least a little more descriptive, though, Eric found himself lamenting as he arrived at his destination, How am I supposed to find one person in this huge-ass park? Of course, Eric had a strong suspicion that he would be the one being found. This mystery person had clearly been spying on him. All he would have to do is wait. In the meantime, he decided to do a more conventional park activity and take a walk.

Eric made his way through the network of pathways that spanned Central Park, passing by a good number of people on their own nighttime strolls. Three months prior, when he had been preparing to make the move to New York City, a few people told him that it was strange that somebody so withdrawn would choose such a crowded place to live, but Eric actually liked people, at least from a distance. The diverse population of the city could be interesting sometimes. And here, he had no connections. He was just another face in the streets. Nobody pitied him, judged him, or expected anything from him. But most importantly, where there were more people, there were bound to be more magicians as well.

Eventually the time came close to nine, and Eric ceased his walking and came to rest leaning against a lamppost. He checked his phone once again. 8:55. Whatever was going to happen was supposed to happen soon. Putting the phone away, Eric observed his surroundings. Could one of these people be the one who called him here? Perhaps he should try a small spell visible only to other magicians in order to draw them out. But no, there was still some time left until the appointed hour. He would wait a little longer. He tilted his head back, crossed his ankles, and stuck his hands in his pockets. His relaxation wasn't feigned. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, it would have to be pretty crazy to rattle Eric Tyler.

"Huh."

Kiriakov woke up that morning in an apartment of the neighborhood of St. George, at the north part of Staten island. The light of dawn hadn't broke already and looking at his wristwatch the Russian sighed, realizing that lately he had been sleeping less and less each day. He looked through the window of his room, gazing at the megalopolis at the other side of the bay, and his mind drifted to the memories of his homeland, not because of the sky crappers, the culture or the people, but because of the sea. Until he came to the United States of America he had never lived close to the sea and the salty breeze now and then entered the wounds that covered his body, the scars on his arms and his back, and the subsequent itch made him think why he though at the moment that he abandoned Russia, where the dry weather was only a nuisance for the fur coats that he used to own. Nevertheless, he initiated his morning routine with a cold shower and usual grooming and shaving before going to the kitchen to make some Italian coffee and after pouring a generous amount of Jack Daniels into the mug he sat in front of the piece of paper that had almost deprived him of sleep the previous night.



Funny enough the first though that crossed Kiriakov's mind when this note came from an envelop with no sender was that whoever had made it was rather careless for including a numeric key encryption, the least secure, and including so few lines for a one time pad. The second though he had was that who in the world still uses this kind of time consuming and inefficient encryption for sending coded messages. The third though was:

"Now where the f*** did I put my pad?"

The One time pad was an old encryption method used mainly during the 40s, however, Kiriakov and some comrades used it to send messages to each other during the war, not for official messages but for fooling the superiors with things such as "I've snatched some vodka, let's go drink tonight" and the like. It was too much of a coincidence that the pad he used during those days was the keepsake he chose to bring to US and thus using such pad and the key that he used the message translated to the following:

9PM40.78s-73.96535

You wouldn't need to be much of a genius to see what it was referring to, the 9PM was an hour, the 40.78 was the latitude , S for stop and -7396535 was the longitude. In other words, go at 9PM to Central Park

"Huh"

And he though his stay in America was going to be boring.
He emptied the rest of the Jack Daniels into the mug, now emptied of coffee and then looked around the apartment, realizing that it was unlikely that he was going to return to it. The last drop of the whiskey tasted like honey. Kiriakov took his time to dress properly in a navy suit with a white shirt and a blue tie alongside brown shoes, he wanted to make a good impression on whoever he was going to meet, although deep inside Maximilian knew that the reason was that since he had left his job he hadn't had a chance to wear it and he wouldn't have another chance, another opportunity at being important and a way to pay respect to those years that had been erased from history. The last thing he did was grab a pistol that he had kept hidden below the bed and then he jumped out of the window.

When he was about to hit the ground, Kiriakov used his power over gravity to stop the fall and land gently as if he had only dropped ten centimeters. He raised his head and looked at the morning sun before starting to walk. And he walked and walked, not caring about getting tired or hungry, not caring about the people drifting by as if they were soulless ghost irrelevant to his life, he just walked, he walked though Staten Island, he crossed the Verrazzano bridge, he crossed Brooklyn and Manhattan, not taking the ferry, not going particularly fast, not being in a hurry or going directly to his destination. He doesn't know where he was, or if he did anything but walk and rest now and then, as if those hours had vanished just like the rest of his life without memory or trace of them.

His wristwatch marked exactly 9 in the night when he stepped into Central Park

“Dr. Munroe?” Paige said quietly, sticking her head through the door to his office proper. The doctor, a well-built man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and brown eyes, looked up at her through his black-rimmed glasses, his fingers hesitating over the keyboard of his computer. “Kenny left. I put his appointment time for next week in the system already.”

“Oh. Good job. Thanks for letting me know,” he replied with a smile as Paige's face lit up like a Christmas tree at the compliment. “If you've already taken care of everything else you needed to today, you're free to go. I won't be here much longer myself.” Nodding, Paige confirmed that she had taken care of everything that she had had to do that day and withdrew her head from the warm, cozy office of the doctor. The cherry paneling and natural lighting was designed to make the visitor feel at home, and Paige could attest that it worked wonders on the nerves of the patients, as she had been, and still was, one.

To be fair, the rest of the building wasn't uncomfortable either. With humorous pictures on the light blue wall and a plush carpet, it did a good job of quelling the nerves of the patient as they waited to see the doctor, but his office had a decidedly cozier air than the waiting area. But that just went to show that Dr. Munroe had intentionally had the rooms designed to compound that soothing feeling. Whatever relaxation you experienced in the waiting room from the comics and colors was multiplied by the coziness of his office when you finally entered to meet him.

Before she could actually leave, there were still technically a few things that she had to do on her way out. The first was signing off the computer behind the front desk. The doctor had been quite clear that that was something that needed to be done every time she left the building, as it was a serious breach of security if she failed to do so. After having forgotten to do so more than a few times, Paige had figured that the best way to remember was to take care of logging off before doing any of her other end-of-the-day tasks.

The second, and last, task for that particular day was checking the bathrooms that were situated off the waiting room to make sure that no one was still in there and that the lights were off. Her mind wasn't really on what she was doing as she went about taking care of those few remaining tasks, however. Instead, she was thinking about the last words the patients had spoken to her after making their next appointments. Granted, there were only two regular patients that came in on Saturdays, but it was still weird that they had said the exact same thing to her: “Central Park. 9PM tonight.” And even weirder than that was the fact that they didn't remember saying it! Both of them had looked at her like she was crazy when she mentioned it.

The strangeness of the whole thing seemed like it might be something along the lines of the weird things that she could do. After all, why else would two people who have nothing in common say the exact same thing to her and have no memory of doing so? Really though, it had piqued her curiosity, and letting it go wasn't something that she would be able to do. Unfortunately, it was only around two o'clock in the afternoon once she finished her final tasks, which took a total of seven or so minutes, and that meant that she had a significant amount of time to kill.

By the time she got home, it was almost three o'clock, and she was beginning to think that she would never be able to last until she went to the park when her mother asked her if she wanted to go the store with her to pick up a few things after Paige got a fresh Goodnite on and changed into some regular clothes. Seeing a good way to kill time, Paige jumped at the chance, though it wasn't really surprising that she would want to go, as she loved spending time with her mom and dad.

Fortunately for her, though perhaps unfortunately for other people, Paige was a horribly inefficient shopper because she always gets distracted by things. With her mother there to help temper it, it wasn't as exaggerated, but it still extended the hour-long routine grocery shopping trip to about two hours. The trip was still successful, however, as they were able to get all the food and other supplies, like her changing supplies and soap for the shower, that they would need for the next month or so.

By the time they got back, it was around six o'clock. A late dinner killed another hour, and from there she only had a little bit of time to kill before she could justify leaving the house to go to the park, though she didn't actually specify where she would be going to her parents. She just said that she was going out, and they told her to be careful and take her phone. They probably assumed that she was going to see a movie or something, as she regularly did that. She didn't mind letting them think that either, as that would allow her some time at the park.

It was exactly 9:03 PM once she entered the park. Her outfit consisted of a lilac short-sleeved shirt with a silver star on the front, baggy black cargo shorts, and a pair of rainbow-striped Heely's on her feet, which was the same outfit she had wore to the store with her mom earlier in the day, minus the Goodnite, as she had, of course, changed into a fresh one since then. The heat in the late-spring air had lessened as night descended upon the city, though not so much that Paige regretted leaving her jacket at home. In fact, the breeze that blew across the park was delightful, not to warm but not to cold either.

As Paige walked further into the park, she noticed all the people who were still out and about, like the two guys on the bench, or the girl eating a few hotdogs in front of the stand, or the few people who seemed to be just out for a stroll. Regardless, Paige didn't see anything that seemed like what she was looking for, though, to be honest, she had no idea what she was looking for either. Humming to herself, she continued to walk in the direction of the park bench and hotdog stand, feeling drawn in that direction.

When she was about three feet off from the park bench, she felt like like she should stop. Something seemed... right about the particular area that she was in, and so she stopped and looked around, unable to mask her disappointment when nothing happened immediately. Sighing, she pulled out her phone to look at the time and maybe see about listening to some music or playing a game to kill a few more minutes. If nothing happened by about 9:15, it would probably just be best to go home.

9:04. 9:05. 9:06. Strange was late.

It wasn't like him to be late, especially on a day like this, where the lines of fate were stretching infinitely into the stars like mannequin strings. His mind raced with the thousandfold beatings of his heart; his magic worked to get everyone in Central Park, not to keep them there. A mild oversight that could have cost Strange the world.

Almost on cue, his phone started ringing. Strange couldn't deny that these worldly items were much easier than even magic at times, and muttered a prayer under his breath as he put the device to his ear. He wasn't surprised at who was on "the other end", though he was surprised at the intensity of this man's speech.

He listened. "Strange, there's a change of plans. Get them on board, and take them to me. I don't have much time, but neither do you. Try to make a good impression."

The phone clicked off as Strange arrived near the general vicinity of his gathered party. If that was to be a means of encouragement, it wasn't a good one for Strange. Oh well. Strange ignored his friend, and immediately started weaving intricate spellwork on a level he hadn't dare touched before. Of course, the stars were out, and the moon hung like a corpse in the sky, radiating magical energy. This made it easier for Strange, who understood the Laws and the Truths.

It was 9:08 by the time he made his way through the nightly crowd, and by then his spells had begun to take effect. The chirping of the birds, the din of mass conversation were all shut out. Any sounds of distraction were faded away into silence. Soon, even the forms of those who weren't directed here by Strange disappeared; they were still there, but unseen and unnoticed. It was like they were made invisible to each other; the crowd and Strange and his guests. He wanted privacy. Of course, there was a reason why he had to be "Private" in a place such as this. He was a forgetful being-- not a stupid one.

He turned so that they could all see him. He was unsure of what style of dress would be suitable for such a varied culture of people, so he wore what he had left of his last visit a few decades ago: a straw hat and some overalls held up by a black suspender. He wore no shoes, and his features were decidedly average; ear-length jet black hair and light green eyes.

Indeed, he looked quite natural.

Or so he thought.

Hmm. It seems this particular hotdog man had a flair for hotdogs.

Every bite she took was filled with the well done, moist but still chewy sausages, the buns were still springy and fresh, not stale and crumbly, and the vegetables tasted as if they were almost alive. In short this was either the best hotdogs she had ever eaten, or she was very hungry. They say hunger was the best sauce after all.

She had gone through her fifth and starting on her sixth when she noticed the hotdog man was gone. Not that she thought it was weird; the old man might have just left her there in peace to eat the dogs, and she did have her headphones on. The crew swore she could sit oblivious though the Apocalypse and the four Horsemen prancing around her if she put her headphones on. The song switched to a Kansas song then, and she finally realized there were just a few people left around, including someone wearing an odd assembly of clothes. Was it that late already? Old man hotdog must have went home then. Perhaps she should as well. A girl alone at night will sure to attract some unwanted attention.

Without any further ado, Clarissa gulped down the hotdog in a few bites, licked off the bits of sauce off her fingers, then started to walk back towards the hotel. If she wasn't mistaken she could flag down a taxi a bit further down the road. She just hoped she had enough to go back on a taxi.

Ah well, if worse came to worse, she'd shake down the head for some money for the taxi fare.

Once again, Eric checked the time on his phone. It was seven, now eight minutes past the hour. The possibility of the mystery person not showing up had always remained in the back of his mind, but the message had so heavily emphasized the time and place, he hadn't really considered it. It seemed he had gotten all worked up over nothing. It was a prank, or a mistake that he had received this message. The requested location's proximity to his own was a coincidence and nothing more.

"Tch," escaped through Eric's teeth as he left his resting place and started back down the way he came. He felt like an idiot for jumping to conclusions, and yet, he felt like there was still something he was missing. There was something wrong. Maybe there was something going on here after all. He took a step, then another, and another.

He stopped.

He had determined what was bothering him. Each of his footsteps sounded impossibly loud. When his shoe made contact with stone, the noise filled his ears. It was as if he was walking in a crypt. He couldn't hear the sound of countless other voices that had followed him since he had started living here. Even the crickets had gone totally silent.

Eric glanced at a broken light that had previously been in the process of being repaired by a park worker. The glass cover was on the ground, and wires hung out of the light, but the worker was gone. He shifted his gaze to the other side of a nearby pond, where there had been a young couple on a date. They had disappeared too.

But Eric wasn't completely alone. Behind him, there was the sound of another set of footsteps besides his own. Was this the person he was supposed to meet? He turned and looked back at the place he had been waiting, but it was just the seven or eight people that had been there before, one of them preparing to leave just as he was, and a man who was ridiculously dressed even by New York standards that had now appeared among them. There was no way...

"Is this some kind of a joke?" he said finally.

*Accidental double post*

What was it? Like almost ten minutes past the hour of nine? Frankie wasn't just going to wait around forever. He had things to do and with his job, he was always on the move, always busy. So, to be waiting past the time that the message initially told him to be at Central Park was definitely getting him slightly irritated. If there wasn’t anything to happen in the next few minutes, Frankie would just get up from the bench and start heading home. He’d yet to shower either, so that’s another thing on his to-do list when he gets to his home.

While still fiddling around his phone, Frankie yet again found himself staring at the time again, but then something happened. It was something a bit odd, As it would happen, Frankie would definitely notice it. The sounds he heard just a half of a minute ago faded out into silence and as he came to see, there were only about seven or eight people that he saw. The only sound that he heard, however, was a set of footsteps coming in from behind him. Frankie turned around.

Looking to the man in front of him, there was certainly an odd look to him. Frankie wouldn’t have had thought too much of this man’s style of clothing if it wasn’t for the fact that he was in New York and people don’t usually wear a straw hat and overalls. Mostly, it’s either suits or casual wear like jeans or something. So, Frankie definitely had some confusing thought about the matter at hand. Plus, there’s also the fact that why did everything suddenly go very silent except for the hillbilly in front of him? Yes, truly this puzzled Frankie.

Frankie would run right hand on the same side of his head and through his hair, brushing it behind his ear, but it would just flow back down. Frankie just didn’t know how to respond to this or even speak up. Thankfully, someone else would say something. It was pretty much what Frankie was going to say.

“So, you want to tell me why there’s a hillbilly in front of my eyes?” Frankie said scratching the left side of his head with his right hand.

As the minutes passed, she begun to suspect that whoever had left her the napkin had played a prank on her. Why specify a time and place for her to be at if they weren't going to be there themselves? She decided to wait ten minutes, not more, and then leave if someone hadn't showed up, lest she look the fool for waiting on no one. She avoided looking at any of the people nearby too much. They seemed to be doing nothing special, like herself, which made her wonder if any of them had left her the napkin. She doubted a man would have used lipstick to write anything though.

Leone noticed the change in the area's melody almost immediately, fearing that she was the trigger of the strange silence through her powers acting up. It didn't feel like she was causing it, but she focused her mind on her magic anyway. She'd prefer to keep the more interesting aspects of her powers a secret, but silencing any larger area than her personal sphere would mean anyone might realize she had them. She calmed herself down, as freaking out would attract additional suspicion. Any attempt to stop her power had no effect on restoring the noises in the vicinity, even when she kept trying and trying. The logical explanation was that she was not guilty. People began to fade in front of her, everyone except herself and seven other people. The sounds their footsteps created were still there.

"Épouvantail..." Leone murmured to herself when she saw the man who two of the men had reacted too. He did indeed look like a scarecrow to her with those clothes he wore.

Falling back on her mothertongue was natural to her when surprised or angered, but now she was in the US where they spoke English so she'd have to get used to speaking it daily. It wasn't like she would be able to hide her origin with her french accent either way unless she used her magic. Of course, it had its benefits to know two languages, like how she could curse without anyone understanding a single word.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hillbilly." Leone said, stepped over to the scarecrow-like man and showed him the napkin. "Do you know anything about this?" She had assumed the other man who'd called him hillbilly possibly knew him in some way, and therefore chosen to address him like that herself.

Nia had been wandering the park with no clear goal for almost twenty minutes when she just stopped. Her feet were about to start hurting, as she wasn't exactly accustomed to exhaustive walks like that. When she checked the watch on her phone, disappointment creeped into her expression. It was four past nine, and nothing had happened. Whatever was supposed to take place, she missed it. Maybe she was in the wrong part of central park? It wasn't the smallest place after all, and her 'instructions' weren't exactly precise. She re-examined the piece of paper one last time, unable to learn any more from it. As she crumbled it and held it in a closed fist, her eyes spontaneously turned to the sky. The girl was unable to make out even a single star, presumably due to a thick carpet of clouds. She didn't think anything of it at first, but then realized that a lot of people seemed to have left the area. In fact, she was almost alone, and the area had fallen completely silent. Nia tried very hard to listen for the distant traffic noises that were never really absent in the city, not even in the most secluded spots of central park...but there were none.

Immediately, she remembered her dream from the library-nap. It was a different scenery, but the more she thought about it, the more relevant it appeared. She didn't know why she really came here, just like in the nightmare. The note? Maybe a random aspect of another dream? It would certainly explain its inexplicable appearance. And now the silence... Nia fought the urge to instinctively cover her ears as she did back then. Unlike in her nightmare though, she didn't wake up. Instead she heard a voice nearby, one of the few people left in the vicinity. They sounded upset. The girl slowly turned to the origin of those words, realizing these peoples appearance for the first time. They were...diverse, to put it lightly. They looked perfectly normal in the somewhat crowded area before, but now that they were the only ones here, each of them was somehow individually remarkable. Nia wondered about that for a long moment. Had she not seen them earlier? One was even wearing what looked like a navy suit to her, not that she knew much about those. The most striking looking example of a human being was dressed particularly strange - somewhat like a cosplayer or maybe an actor in a costume - and apparently the source of the others confusion. He was the only person who decidedly seemed out of place, too. It was a weird moment for the lost student, seeing people like that and not making the semi-obvious connection. She had spent a good amount of the last year trying to find traces of the more special people out there, people like herself. Thought about them every single day, looked into every single face with scepticism, expecting someone to approach her eventually, because she just couldn't be the only one. Somewhere deep down, she knew there were others, but the long period of not finding the slightest hint of their existance turned almost-certainty into wishful thinking. And now, that the moment had come, she didn't even consider it. She was merely drawn in by the oddity of that unusually clothed man. Still dumbfounded by the situation, she slowly approached the small assembly. Hands buried into her mantles pockets, and keeping a respectful distance. Forgetful about the dangers of approaching small groups at night and the note in her hand, driven by curiosity only.

'European mix, class 5, three hundred meters. American, class 5, five hundred meters. American, class 4, nine hundred meters. French, class 5, three hundred meters. American, class 5, four hundred meters. Russian, class 3... one mile. American, class 5, four hundred meters.'

Smith ticked this information off as each new person drew near, using his rings reaction as the basic gauge for their power level, based on a rating-system a previous owner had devised. The smaller the number, the more potent the mage. It wasn't a perfect system, as it didn't take into account anything more than the rings reaction, but between that and the general feel Smith got from the person, he felt reasonably certain he had accurately ascertained their respective kill-zones. Need be, that would be the distance he'd take a shot from. Most of them were low priority, and shouldn't need as much range-the class three was probably a huge overestimate, but something about Russians always made Smith weary-but he preferred to play it safe with magic. So far, nothing too dangerous, and none of them were likely his boss. The only weird thing was how many there were.

Then everything went quite.

He looked American, from about fifty years ago and halfway across the country, but that was obviously a disguise. Whoever this was, he was a class 2, and that meant nothing less than a one-mile kill zone, with inquisition rounds. So, the boss had showed up, and he was wearing business-casual. That never meant good things. With the looks of the rest of what Smith had reason to believe was his 'team,' it meant that he was likely about to be sent on a suicide run, or a test drive. Amazing how similar the two tended to be, though the latter somehow had the higher mortality rate. Considering the spell he threw up to give them privacy, though, things leaned more towards the test drive. No need to hide information if the group's expected chance of survival is zero anyway.

Folding the paper and getting to his feet, Smith stood up, looking around. In his leather overcoat and business suit, he tended to cut an intimidating pose when he wanted to, and being the biggest one there, it was unlikely he wouldn't draw attention. But, just in case, he thought it best to make sure he had the spot light. Looking over at the man dressed like a hick, he shakes his head, shrugging. "Not a very bright lot, are they? Некоторые компании исключены , конечно." The last was directed specifically at the Russian. From the look of him, if nothing else, he looked to have a weapon, and again, Smith had a healthy respect for the race of people who embraced the 'scorched-earth' strategy as their primary defense.

"First off, let's get some things straight. I don't come cheap. My usual fee is six digits, minimum, and the first one better be at least a three. That said, I don't work with amateurs. I don't know what you're planning, but two of these kids look like they should be in college, and one of them looks like she actually Is. Also, I don't know how long you've been out of the loop, but your disguise is about fifty years out of date... Or were you going for Huckleberry Finn impersonator? Oh, and one more thing. Who was on the phone? Yea, I saw you talking to someone as you walked up. Someone we should know about?"

The last part was a bit of a stretch. A normal client wouldn't answer, and would probably take offence to the question. Private matters were private, and a hired hand wasn't meant to know about them unless it was deemed necessary by the check writer. However, this guy looked like he was less than normal. Throwing him off would help with the haggling, and if there was a team involved, there were other important matters he would need the benefit for. If Smith was lucky, he'd get an actual answer, and be on his first step to figuring out the larger picture. Just because it wasn't his job to know didn't mean knowing was a bad thing, especially when it kept him alive.

Kiriakov arrived at 9:00 at the park, however he wasn't in the exact spot marked by the coordinates of the note he received and thus he walked in said direction for quite a bit more than he had already walked. He was a bit angered at the fact that he was probably going to arrive late, and he was already thinking that the delay may have caused the person he was going to meet to leave if he or she though that Kiriakov hadn't decided to appear, more probable for said person to be a he than a she because there were two possibilities, one of them that the sender was an old acquaintance of the Russian, and Max didn't have female acquaintances, and the other possibility was that it was sent by a magician, in which case it would have been irrelevant. Now to think of it, only the magician option would make sense, since he had erased all his traces, including his new place of residence in the USA, so he was a clear disadvantage at knowing about the one he was going to interact with.

While he was lost in this train of though, Kiriakov stopped his walk when he realized something:, all sounds have ceased, all noise had disappeared, the people he had seen around had gone like smoke and everything seemed lifeless and static. There was no doubt, such thing must have been magic. He kept walking, but the nature of such power made him more and more nervous, he couldn't understand what was going on and he had probably entered a trap. He even aimed for his front pocket looking for a cigarette, finding none and remembering that he hadn't smoked for decades, so instead he held tightly the 9mm gun he was carrying concealed in his jacket, unsure of his capability to draw faster than problem could arrive.

However, what arrived first was Kiriakov at the point of reunion, everyone had disappeared save seven other people plus another that had become the center of attention thanks to his unusual clothing style. All the people present oozed an aura typical of youngsters that Kiriakov found rather offensive, their looks, their manners, he wasn't fond of what the "kids these days" had become and it couldn't be more obvious that he was going to have no choice but to work alongside them, even worst, not even being their boss, some of them started to question the guy with no shoes, if it wasn't clear enough who the one that had called them was. Well there was an exception, this huge blonde guy seemed a bit more mature and respectable than the rest, but that was only until he opened his mouth

Smith said "Not a very bright lot, are they? Некоторые компании исключены , конечно. "First off, let's get some things straight. I don't come cheap. My usual fee is six digits, minimum..."

On one hand, Kiriakov respected how good the giant had been identifying him as Russian and speaking in his language, not to mention the consideration in regards to showing some respect to him out of the "Not being very bright" bunch. On the other, he was rotten to the core, not only he held this pedantic and high attitude of superiority, even worst, he had a high regard for money. In this world money has managed to become the gasoline powering the humanity, and he didn't like it, nobody wanted to work for a better future, for justice, or because duty called for it, just for money, and Kiriakov hated that, so he called on it, in Russian, nobody else had to understand what he was going to say

I have a six digit number for you, zero point zero zero zero zero one dollars. If you really think this guy is going to pay you a single cent more than that you are either stupidly delusional or blind

He then talked in English to the rest of the group with heavy accent

"You have no patience? Leave farmer guy explain himself instead of harassing with questions."

He took the chance to sit in the bank that has recently been left by the blonde giant, Kiriakov was tired from all that walking.

Having lost herself in playing Angry Birds on her phone as she waited, it took Paige a few moments to notice that something wasn't right. It was quiet. Too quiet for New York on a spring evening, even if it was in Central Park. She should at least be able to hear the cars from the street nearby, even if the park itself was deserted. Looking up curiously, she noticed that almost everyone had vanished. The only people left were some of the people that she had noticed before, like the two guys sitting on the park bench or the girl eating the hot dog.

Before she could check her phone to see if she could really have zoned out long enough for most everyone to go home, as she did tend to zone out as a part of the BPD, a strange-looking man appeared. The strange thing about him wasn't how he actually looked, but how he dressed. Straw hats and overalls with black suspenders weren't exactly commonplace in the bustling metropolis that was New York City. The oddity, of course, was right in line with what Paige had experienced earlier that day, so she figured that he was probably the one responsible, though how was the question.

Before she could ask, one guy, with dark hair, who was leaning against a lamppost spoke up, asking if what was going on was a joke of some kind. Suddenly, a thought that hadn't crossed Paige's mind before ran through. Maybe she wasn't the only one who had been communicated to? Well, that or the guy was someone who wasn't used to the weirdness of magic, not that she was all that familiar with it herself. Another male, this one with blonde hair, echoed the statement of the first guy, though he specifically asked why the “hillbilly” was there.

By the time that Paige walked over to ask her own questions, like who he was and where he was from, a girl with brown hair had also arrived to ask her questions. While Paige waited for her “turn,” standing off a little bit to give the others some privacy, she noticed that two guys, a blonde and an older gentleman who both spoke some kind of weird language, and another girl with black hair hadn't yet approached either. The two guys didn't even seem to be aware of the stranger, at least at first, while the girl seemed wary of approaching the group without knowing more. The older-looking man clearly had, as he chastised them from harassing the stranger with so many questions all at once.

Looking at her phone again, Paige noticed that it was now close to a quarter after nine, which meant that she had plenty of time to make it home before her parents began to grow worried. Movies didn't usually let out until around ten or so anyway. Hopefully the stranger would explain what was going on so that she could get home.

Strange took in everything before him as quickly as he could, making silent revisions in his mind. He'd have to make some earth-currency when he got the chance, and buy more culturally acceptable clothing-- he couldn't currently waste his magic on aesthetics, after all. There would be a larger use for it soon enough.

Strange opened his eyes, which he had shut in his meditation of events, with the questions and remarks of everyone gathered fully analyzed in his head. He responded as properly as he could, turning to face the twenty-four year-old brunette next to him first. He looked down at her, putting name to face as a cool breeze wafted against his hat, causing it to dance slightly against his scalp. He smiled at her --warmly, he hoped-- and reached for the napkin in her hands. Leone.

Strange played with the napkin in his hands, turning it over and basking in the residual magic that he had charged into it. He smiled again. "Yes. I do."

He didn't have much time, perhaps only a half hour at best, but hopefully he could make it work. Sand began to kick up into the air of Central Park, from underneath the grey pavement, floating loosely into the atmosphere like scraps of paper tossed carelessly away. It was a small thing, maybe even unnoticeable to everyone; Strange, however, knew what it signified. He turned, facing everyone else, pushing his presence against theirs in a collision of minds, trying to coerce them into hearing him.

"I need you all." He began, his voice thick and deep and heavenly, "The world needs you all. I do not know that you all believe in God, or that you believe in goodness over evil, just as I do not know why I decided the world needed you over the many others just as qualified. However, I can assure you of two things. The first is that you will be rewarded. To some, this is a job; to others, this is nothing but a waste of time; to none, however, is this unimportant. You are all affected. And you will all be rewarded, because...well, I believe the young Smith has the proper earthly opinion of all of this. It is closest to what the magical community calls a 'job'. Thusly, you will be gifted for your help."

Strange's face turned slightly hard as he continued, but a deeper glance would reveal regret and remorse. He had to use magic to keep himself from crying (the one physiological aspect of his body he couldn't yet control).

"I apologize for drawing you all into this, and I know that you may all laugh at my words of a dying world. Perhaps it is because my attire is what you all would call "groovy". Or at least, I believe that would be the proper terminology. Nevertheless, this brings me to my second point. Whether you believe me or not, whether you were enticed or not; it does not matter. Your age does not matter. I was forced to choose, and I chose you. By coming here you've accepted this 'job'. You cannot decline, as it is not up to me. You may try to leave, but at the eleventh o'clock it will begin."

It was 10:30 now. Strange did not know how or why, but time seemed to have passed quicker as he gave his speech.

Rather, as he gave everyone their death sentence.