Hearing that voice echo through his mind, Frankie thought he was on some type of shit that only junkies would take. Then again, Frankie didn’t know of any drug that froze an area and projected some kind of heavenly voice into one’s mind. So, obviously Frankie wasn’t right in that area. Still, he found it extremely odd that this guy would say that the world needs him and the other seven or eight people around. This sounded like something straight from the Power Rangers or The Avengers, except this wasn’t a television series or a comic book series. This was real life and Frankie seemed to find himself immersed in this craziness.

As he would speak more about how the lot of the people gathered were chosen by this guy and that they have all accepted the job. Funny, Frankie didn’t remember saying yes to any kind of job, especially one that revolved around magic. Though, the more he thought about it, the more Frankie started to realize that his new gifts of gathering more information than he ever had in his entire lifetime was starting to make sense. Like, he never was able to get as much information as he had in the last month in the five years he’s been in the Information business. Perhaps the hillbilly was right and that something of the supernatural(or whatever the guy called it) was happening beneath Frankie’s nose and he didn’t even know about it.

On the mention of the eleventh hour, that made Frankie look at his phone and he just couldn’t believe that over an hour has almost elapsed. To him, hearing the man speak to him and the others around, it only seemed like ten minutes at most. Something else also got his attention. The whole thing about ‘it’ beginning. What was that supposed to mean anyway/ Was this guy talking about the end of the world happening at eleven O’clock? If so, then was Frankie supposed to be on-board? He didn’t know and this was just way too much information for Frankie to take in all at once.

Frankie rubbed his head as he just felt like he had the worst headache of all. His blonde hair would be roughed up in the front, and some bangs would float over his eyes. Frankie would use his hands to brush them back to the back where they were and he breathed in as if stressed. He would look around and saw no one had said anything yet, so he would have to break the ice. “So, what? Are we supposed to just blindly follow you just cause you say the world is going to be ending?” Frankie said obviously not believing a single word. “I’m all for this supernatural, magical hoop-lah, but you got to give me more than that if you want me to just go with you.” He said.

Leone was slightly creeped out by Mr. Hillbilly, as he smiled and confirmed that he knew about the napkin, but didn't expand with any explanation of what he knew. She let him keep it or whatever he wanted to do with it. It wasn't long after that she felt a presence invade her mind and talk to her. It addressed them all though. She wondered why he needed to commit such an invasion of privacy if he was going to tell them all the same thing. Leone listened anyway, as he appealed to the dreamer she was when he spoke about how the world was in danger.

When Mr. Hillbilly mentioned a reward and how Smith had the proper opinion of it, Leone frowned. She wasn't greedy as the old man. If she was to do this, she would not want a monetary reward. Heroes should act ouf of selfishness and a love for others, or when it came to the more exciting stories, an interest in fame and legendary status. The man had already concealed everyone else from the group and made sure to keep this meeting a secret. She was curious about if they were supposed to keep all of this quiet, sign some kind of contract for their silence or be killed off if they tried to prove any of it as real to the outside. To prove it could be quite difficult in itself, but if she did she would become famous.

The guy who had called the man Hillbilly first didn't seem to believe a word of what the man had just told them. Leone wanted to believe the man, as it would explain all this magic and why she'd developed powers herself. She'd been chosen by a higher power to be a hero, which any and all would admire. Leone could become a renowned bard unlike anyone else. How many musicians saved the planet, after all. She stood with a silly smile across her face as she thought about it.

"What kind of reward? Only money?" Leone asked eventually when she'd snapped out of her daydream, and tried to keep her voice sounding indifferent. "Are we supposed to keep all of this quiet from everyone else as the world dies?"

She was disturbed when she checked the clock and saw that there was only half an hour until it started, whatever it was. Leone hoped her friends wouldn't spend the entire night looking for her in this city. This may count as an abduction if she had no real option to leave, and her friends would be better off staying out of the trouble she'd gotten herself into here. The police probably couldn't do anything either.

Making no attempt to leave the area, Leone decided to accept this task for now, if only to see if Mr. Hillbilly was pulling a prank on them all, or if she'd actually been chosen to save the world. If he was telling the truth then it was futile to try to run away. If anything it was obvious that there were powers at work here that she could not explain in any other way than that she'd found someone else who knew how to use magic. That alone should be worth hanging around a little longer for.

At first, Smith was stuck speechless, not by what had been said, but by the resulting inner conflict. Half of his brain wanted to laugh in the mage's face, while the other half wanted to unload a clip of lead into him and then walk away. If nothing else, the guy had broken several basic tenets of a standard business transaction, which meant working for him would be a no-go. For one, he hadn't named a monetary sum as payment. He'd instead mentioned a 'reward', of unknown value, without even a hint at what it really was. For two, he'd framed the job like it was some sort of holy crusade, and that sent up eight different kinds of warning flag. Working for fanatics was always a bad idea, and Smith had learned that the hard way. 'Fanatic' and 'lunatic' were synonyms, as far as Smith was concerned. Finally, he'd used magic to communicate with them, without an obvious reason. While Smith's trinkets kept his mind from being read, it was a one-way filter, and if nothing else, it made him extremely weary to even be around the guy, as people who used magic that nonchalantly put Smith on edge even more than Russians.

He was about to mention of all this, when he remembered something. Something very important, about something the mage had said. He'd mentioned the eleventh hour, and how things would change. Something about it had triggered a memory, and that meant a couple of seconds of Smith standing silent, trying to figure out what was so important about the eleventh hour. While his memories from the sword were flawless, they were still memories, and required a bit of effort to search through, as much as any person needed help drudging up old memories, but even more so because of the shear number of memories Smith had to drudge through.

Something was important about the eleventh hour, but not just because of the time. There was something else, something about the date. What day was it? Smith had seen the date, on the newspaper he was reading. He hadn't picked up on it at the time, but something about it had seemed important to him. That wasn't unusual, though, basically any given date had been important to one of the swords owners for one reason or another, but this suddenly seemed much more urgent, now that the eleventh hour had been mentioned. A certain mage, who had held the sword once, had been doing a study on magic, and how it seemed to slowly change over time, stretching the bounds of reality as it did so, until finally...

"You're... You're talking about the convergence, aren't you? That's what this is about." Smith didn't need an answer, he knew that's what it was. The dates all matched up perfectly with the research notes he remembered, everything falling in to place with the memory as it came rushing back to him, for the first time in this case. The research was old, so the chances were that the name of the event was off, but what it represented had been a cause of concern several hundred years ago, when mages had first started theorizing about it. Now, it seemed that it may finally be coming true, and if that were the case.

"Son of a-" And with that, Smith began a string of curses and fowl language that spanned centuries of history, speaking in tongues that hadn't been heard for centuries, using phrases that had lost their original meaning before anyone there's grandparents had been born, all the way to modern slang, touching on every language from English to ancient Egyptian, speaking in multiple dialects of each, with French and Russian both included at one point or three, and didn't stop until he was breathing too heavily to form words around gasps.

And after all of that, he still didn't feel that he had accurately depicted his level of frustration with how thoroughly boned they all were. If he'd had even the slightest hint of a notion that shoving his sword through the hick would fix his problem, he'd have aimed up and starting from the groin out of spite. The one event in all of predictable history he had taken drastic steps to avoid getting involved in, he had suddenly stepped right in the middle of, and all because he made a single slip and decided to check on a job on the exact wrong fucking day.

"Well, isn't this just freakin' peachy!" He continues after he can finally breath again, pointing a finger at the mage in suspenders. "You've got two minutes to convince me that putting a bullet in you will somehow make me more fucked than I already am, or I'm going to do it just for therapeutic reasons. And don't think I won't. Magic may be about to go wonky, but I've got enough time to activate the Ptolemian Gateway I've got strapped to my thigh, and you've just given me reason to believe that's a reasonable alternative." A Ptolemian Gateway, named after its creator, the Egyptian warlock Ptolemy, was a suicidal spell that sacrificed the life of the wielder at a moment's notice to summon a gate way that momentarily overlapped a thirty foot radius centered on the caster with complete void, simultaneously making any magical defense impossible while tearing everything in the area to shreds.

It was a powerful, complicated, and extremely dangerous spell that was well known among the experienced magical community. The secrets of its creation had been lost millennium ago, and only a few preconstructed versions still existed. Smith had been informed of their existence via the sword, and had actually managed to obtain one. It was presently locked up in a huge safe surrounded by guard spells in the basement of his underground bunker, completely inert and even partially damaged-not beyond repair, but beyond his ability to repair-and Smith knew all of this.

However, the Hick did not, and Smith had centuries of experience in how to run a bluff, and what magical items he did have were more than enough to keep even a level 2 from divining the truth through magic alone. Smith knew all of this, and was bagging on that fact to get a little more information before liquid fecal matter hit the proverbial rotisserie air-circulation apparatus.

A voice spoke, seemingly from within her mind, as her headphones did nothing to silence it.

She ripped off her headphones immediately, finally noticing the dead silence of the place, as if they were the only ones left alive in New York. It was such an outlandish situation that she froze, unable to think of a proper reaction to this before she considered the possibility of... ESP. Or magic. Or whatever alien thing that can cause this. Were they, the people gathered here now, gifted with special abilities? Like she was? All those time no one else but her had ever exhibited such powers and then all of a sudden a whole bunch cropped up in one place.

Even more worrying was the fact the strange guy mentioned a contract everyone here just accepted. What did she accept? What sort of thing did she just got herself into? The two rather menacing looking men were also rather worrying. Both of them looked like they kill people for breakfast.

Clarissa realized all of a sudden she was still standing there with her mouth open. Whatever that was coming would come at 11pm, and by some sort of trickery or sorcery, it was already 10.30 and ticking. None of them had really even noticed her yet, thus she must remain calm and collected. Her grandfather would laugh if he saw her trembling and shaking like his. "Be fearless in a hunt," he once said. "The animals can sense your fear."

It probably applies to this sort of situation as well, though considering what the strange man said, she was beginning to feel like prey. So like prey, she should skedaddle fearlessly away from this group, regardless of whatever rewards, threats of a dying word or anything else that man said. Having magic does not mean one was immune to being addled in the head after all. Next he'll be telling people to go down into pillars for secret train stations, or to go buy owls for mail.

Silently bidding the strange group goodbye, she sprinted down the path, towards the Museum of natural history.

Whoever this guy was, he was sorely mistaken if he thought she would just follow them around meekly.

Eric didn't hear most of what the others said after the revelation. He was lost in his own thoughts, trying to weigh what he had just been told against what little he already knew. This stranger had influenced them all to meet at this particular place without them knowing it, and had hidden them from the eyes of dozens of people. Eric wasn't sure if the best magicians he'd ever encountered were capable of doing that. He had always known somewhere in the back of his mind that people like this man must have existed, but he had never predicted running into one like this. Now he was telling them they would be unable to leave. Eric had no reason to doubt it. There was one thing he did doubt though, and that was the idea that the world could have any need for a person like him. He had a feeling something big was happening based off some of the rumors he had heard in his search, but he didn't have the ability or the character to be a hero.

Eric's attention was brought back to the conversation when the jarhead began his tirade. He had assumed the guy was just acting like he knew more than everyone else to keep some semblance of control in this situation, but now it seemed like he was the real deal. Could any of the others here be experts? This could be exactly what Eric had been waiting for, even if it didn't come in the way he had expected. He didn't understand most of what the older man said, but he did get one thing out of the rant. This thing he had been anticipating, that the oddly-dressed man had just warned them about, was real- real enough to have a name.

This was it. He would never get a better chance to get over his miserable self and turn his life around. There was a calamity on the horizon and he was being told that he could help. If it turned out to be true that he would be unable to back out then that was all the better. He would have to wait and see if the girl who had run away when the commotion started came back- that would be his confirmation.

"Well, I'm in," he said, "for what that's worth. You can call me Eric."

Eric thought about the question the strange man had asked before he issued his ultimatum- about whether they believed in goodness and God. He never had, but he supposed it may be time for that to change too. He would need to be able to believe in anything if he was going to do this.

Kiriakov listened silently to the explanation of the magician that had put the group in such a situation and when he mentioned that "the world needed them" he closed his eyes and raised his head in contempt. That's all he wanted to hear, the world needed him, and thus he was going to put all his hearth and might into such honorable duty, indeed it sounded absolutely delusional, too good to a certain degree, could it be that the retirement had afflicted him more than he had expected to a point of having lost part of his cold judgement? Upon realizing this he started to think more rationally, where is the catch? Surely, he mentioned a reward, and by the looks of this man, his cryptic way of speaking and form of appearance it was more than likely that it wasn't something physically material, like money, gold or diamonds, which, while technically good enough for fellas like the young man in the "semi casual" attire, they would amount to nothing over time for Maximilliam and the Russian was thinking of something that a magician of high caliber would appreciate as a better reward, and the conclusion he came to was one, power. That would be the reward he would ask for, to understand better his own powers and the why of its existence.

Once again, the prejudge of Kiriakov proved wrong when the blonde young man proved himself not to be naive by questioning the farmer guy, worst than that, he was impertinent. The farmer guy was the one who had called them all by all means, this guy had powers that surpassed the laws of causality by contacting each of the present members individually in different matters and then made the entirety of central park disappear. Questioning the authority, what a horrible mode. In any case the guy said that at eleven something would begin, which would be around two hours from then, or so Kiriakov though until he looked at his watch and without holding his surprised he saw that, not only it was marking ten and thirty one, but also the hands were moving quicker than they should be, dangerous, too dangerous, the "beginning" that the farmer guy was talking about was imminent.

The blonde giant was uttering no sense followed by even more no sense in the form of menaces that the Russian just decided to ignore.-"Bydlo"- He though while he rolled his eyes and sighed. Just then he saw how a girl from the group was sneaking away, the mission hadn't started and they already had deserters? Not a good sign, but if what they were told was true that girl was going to come back soon when things started to fall apart, and the clock kept on going at a fast pace, could it be broken? Preposterous, too much weird things were happening already to not attribute it to magic. He was getting nervous, no, impatient, every second was a torture and he was just sitting there without doing anything, then a sickly looking guy introduced himself as "Eric" and Maximilian though that he might as well do the same, if only as a way to handle the pressure of the situation

"I'm in too. My name is Maximilliam Kiriakov, but you can call me 'sir'"

After a few moments, the man dressed in overalls spoke up, his rich, kind voice seeming to resonate within Paige's mind. She thought that his claims as to saving the world were surprising, but not all that outlandish, as she couldn't argue that he had managed to get a hold of them all in a very strange way. Regardless, saving the world sounded kind of exciting to her, even if the others disagreed, though most of them seemed as willing to humor the man as she did.

The blonde man didn't seem to be too happy about it, however, and Paige didn't need to see his auric energy to determine that. He started talking about something called the “convergence,” which meant nothing to Paige, before slipping into what was clearly indecent language, even if most of the words were meaningless to her. She was content to ignore him straight up until he began threatening the man in overalls, and the rest of them from what it sounded like.

As her anger at the man surged, so too did her aura, a bright red, fire-like outline to her body that noticeably increased the temperature around her. This effect, however, was unintentional, as Paige had not quite gained enough experience with her magic to always stop things from happening whenever her rather volatile emotions flared. “Why do you have to be so nasty?” she said, fists balled at her hips. “He didn't make you do anything! You're the one who showed up here!”

While she was confronting the blonde man, she was only vaguely aware of the fact that two people, the dark-haired boy and the older gentleman, had introduced themselves to the man in overalls. One of the girls started running down the path, clearly desiring to have no part in any of this, while another girl just asked what the reward was. The other blonde guy seemed to agree with the mean one on principle, though he was a lot nicer about it, merely demanding proof instead of threatening to shoot people and what not, which meant that he was in no way the target of her anger.

Fortunately for the group as a whole, Paige did have enough experience dealing with her mood swings to prevent herself from doing something foolhardy or rash... most of the time. Sometimes her emotions did get the best of her, but this was not one of those times. The chance that he could be telling the truth about his weapon, which was admittedly low from Paige's experience dealing with liars, was a good deterrent to her acting in anger, though it was a very fine line.

~So this is it.~, Nia thought inside her mind. A thought both alien and comforting. She didn't fully realize what was happening until the words "magical community" reached her brain. For a second, nothing else mattered. This was it. The thing she secretly pursued for more than a year by now. The thing a fraction of her mind had secretly hoped for, when she read that mysterious note and decided not to ignore it. Finally, proof that she was indeed not the only one of her kind. It filled her heart with limitless joy for just a moment, which manifested in a smile she fought very hard so it wouldn't show on her face, making her look dumb and crazy. The moment was amazing enough so she forgot about the whole 'end of the world' part and just reveled in the truth that found her after she tried in vain to find it.

It was only now that she actually took in the sight of the others. Seeing them as random visitors of central park was vastly different from seeing them as magically gifted individuals. Knowing nothing about magic that went beyond her own limited capabilities, her assessment of the situation went a little different though. Suspecting the 'fade out' of the little group to be of magical nature by now, Nia essentially assumed everyone present would be able to achieve such a thing, seeing how nobody showed an awful lot of surprise or amazement on this realization. Assumption number two was that the previously threatened 'bullet to the head' ordeal would mean something equal to a nasty sting for the old-time-y guy, since again nobody seemed to be shocked at all. If one could remove a group of selected people from a random crowd to have a private talk, a thing as mundane as a bullet could hardly be noteworthy, right? Thus, her next train of thought went into a less joyful direction. ~It's a mistake. They got the wrong person, I can't possibly measure up to them...~ And so the girl entirely missed a great opportunity to think about rewards and religion. Her head spun from the sudden wave of amazement that quickly turned into awe, leaving her feeling uneasy, defenseless, out of place. After all her magical talent, under the current circumstances, was...nil. The 'groovy' looking guy couldn't possibly want to put the worlds fate into the hands of someone like her, that would be sheer insanity.

Nia went pale when realization hit her that she might just get kicked out of this group she had been looking for for so long once they notice her inherent lack of any usefulness whatsoever. Considering this, it didn't take long for her to decide which party she wanted to be part of.

"Nia Winters."

She managed to mutter the words somewhat audibly, but with a pretty obvious lack of confidence, as she finally closed the gap to the gathering and nodded towards Eric and Maximillian, implying that she too was in for the ride. Not that there was much of a choice.

Salvatore Kiernen King. He was a man of loose muscle and sharp features, with thin black hair that came to a crisp flip at the bangs, and delicate light eyebrows that he swore he didn't pluck. Sal was a handsome man; the kind of handsome that started fights between highschool girls and made them argue over whose hidden passionate love would transcend more boundaries than the other's. He'd been fired countless times for this, and legally he couldn't do anything about it. Was it wrongful termination to discharge him for being too handsome? Perhaps. Was it wrongful termination to discharge him for being the cause of an infinite amount of broken noses and collapsed teenage egos and angry mothers? Perhaps it still was. He couldn't afford a good enough lawyer to argue it for him, however. So Salvatore Kiernen King became jobless.

Sal didn't have much else to do besides teach. He was an unnaturally gifted athlete with good hair and strong genes, but he was not into sports. He was intelligent, too-- beyond simple arithmetic and general education. He could've easily been hired by one of his friends or gone back to college for another degree, but unfortunately those things did not fit Sal either. He knew he'd have to keep looking for a job doing what he loved, but it would have to be something out of the ordinary. Something perhaps as strange as he was.

---

It was eleven, now. Perhaps anticlimactic, but no bells sounded with this stroking of the hour. In fact, everything seemed silent. Strange's magic popped like a bubble, letting the city overwhelm him and the group in a sudden gush of noise and emotion. He watched Clarissa suddenly sprint away, adamant on maintaining her independence, but the Hour of Unluck gave her no favors. Strange hoped the crash wouldn't be painful, for when his magic crumpled, the city reappeared in full with its inhabitants-- including an intimidatingly large man who stood suddenly in front of Clarissa as her momentum peaked.

The rest of the group, to Strange's brief relief, exchanged names and introductions. That was a start; hopefully it would be enough.

Strange turned toward Smith, acknowledging him with a smile from the heavens. The man's comments had initially put Strange on edge, but instead they warmed his broken heart and left the strange man with the straw hat hopeful for long enough to matter. "You are a good man, Smith. Just like the rest of them. I am putting you in charge of this operation. Find Kresnik, he will guide you."

Walking forward, Strange found his way toward a glittering fountain that was actually the landmark that drew the group together. Atop it stood the famous Angel of the Waters, proud and erect. Strange slid his fingers up and down a small stretch of hieroglyphics at its base, spitting at it and rubbing thick red rust away in miniature gratings. He turned toward Smith and the group, who he assumed now would be hearing a painful thumping in their ears, which would progressively get worse as they waited in the city.

"You must enter the fountain. You will come out the other side, wet but safe. Find Kresnick from there. As I've said, I am deeply sorry for this. But you all do not have a choice."

The thumping intensified to a point where thinking became a cruel torture for them. Strange, hoping to expedite the process, grabbed the nearest of the group and shoved them hard toward the fountain. Or into it.

Her escape was suddenly impeded by a huge burly looking man. Not surprisingly, he looked rather annoyed at the sudden impact of her small frame upon his.

"Oy, watch where your fucking going!"

The sound... the sound of the city had returned, she realized. Clarissa immediately decided to make for the hotel, make some sort of emergency and get off this place forever. Even the harsh, bleak environs of the Poles would be better than here. At least those places made sense.

"S-sorry. I'm sorry! I wasn't wa-NNGHK!"

A dull throb suddenly hit her, pounding against the back of her head rhythmically. A headache? At this time? She was about to give her best apologetic smile and excuse herself from that buff man before realizing the pain was growing stronger. A moment later she was on her knees, clutching both hands to her head as if trying to contain the pain. She could faintly feel the man shaking her, his words faint and barely intelligible through the pain.

"...aah...aaaagggghh...nnngghh.."

Her moans began at a slow crescendo before finally breaking fortissimo with an ear splitting shriek. She fell to the ground, writhing as she tried to escape the bone grinding pain in her head, her shoes clattering on the pavement erratically. Pain filled her every senses as her vision turned white. There was nothing in her life that could have even prepared her for so much pain.