Pierre was about to leave the remnants of the Roosevelt Lodge when he sensed the presence of someone in his general vicinity...well perhaps 'sensed' is not the right word as Pierre literally felt the emotional state of this person even though he could not see or hear them; the odd sensation washed over him and he felt rather ill as the longer he focused on this person's particular emotions the sicker he felt. Much to his amazement his mind was telling him that the emotions he was picking up correlated to anger; however, this emotional link evaporated as abruptly as it had appeared.  

[color=DarkCyan]"Hector?!"[/color] Pierre said in bemusement. 

[color=lightcoral]"Piers..."[/color] A weak voice answered from his left before trickling off. 

The lobbyist slowly walked towards the general location the voice emanated from firmly gripping the confiscated MP5 until he came across a human form lying prone on the wooden floor and there could be no denying that this was Hector Williams; the tacky suit and large form gave it away.  The gigantic man must have noticed him approaching as he began to speak once again. 

[color=lightcoral]"Piers...thanks be to merciful God you m...made it out in one piece...would not want you to filled with holes...like some damn Swiss cheese. You need to help m...I am pinned under this fucking shit."[/color]

Pierre briefly regarded the hope in his associates voice and the rubble pinning the man's right arm to what could be loosely called the ground before responding 

[color=DarkCyan]"That is quite a predicament you've gotten yourself in General, but I do not need to do anything."[/color]

[color=lightcoral]"You swine, after all my organization has done for you...you refuse to lift a finger to help me. Listen here Piers you cannot walk all over me like this is 2018; I have ensured that. Recall that millions now swear fidelity to my organiz..."[/color]

[color=DarkCyan]"Yet here you are trapped under a faux piece of timbering unable to free yourself. Spare me the rambling, and learn to face facts my frie...good fellow your power was merely an illusion perpetuated by myself. What you could never realize is that the public tires of sectarian violence perpetrated by both the left and right; they are ready for order and this recent wave of carnage unleashed by your thugs will have the bourgeoisie place the reigns of power in my hands as sometimes capitalism  requires a Bonaparte to be its savior. Trust me this new wave of Marxism will be repressed, but the counter-revolution now must be fought in congress no longer on the streets. As the old maximum goes, "The revolution eats it children.""[/color] With that Pierre turns to go, but refrains and quips in a sarcastic voice, [color=DarkCyan]"Au Revoir Hector"[/color] before leaving the gigantic buffoon for good; muffled insults and threats could be heard from behind him, but Pierre ignored them as he exited the lodge. 

The direct sunlight ravaged his eyes, but once the temporary blindness cleared the true horror unfolded itself, humongous cracks and crevices littered the landscape; cooled magma even still bubbled up from some of them. Countless bodies littered the what used to be the Lodge's grounds and the groans of the dying were carried by the breeze; it seemed whomever escaped the madness inside were greeted by an equally unpleasant death outside as evidenced by the dying man in the Brooks Brothers' suit whose flesh was being picked off the bone by crows or were those ravens. Pierre presumed there was some kind natural disaster, but he could never imagine one of this magnitude; well at least it was not him. 

The scenery suddenly shifted and Pierre found himself back in the hive from his dreams; however, this time he was not alone as he was surrounded by thousands  if not millions of quadrupedal insectoids that bore a striking resemblance to small horses. They all seemed transfixed on some central location and Pierre came to the realization that was were the voice from before was originating. He pushed his way through the crowd of odd creatures in an attempt to make his way to whomever the voice belonged to; it was less to with the questions he had for it, but more about letting go of the "I" and following the commands of the voice. A figure unlike the others began to take shape, but before Pierre could focus on the specifics he was once again whisked back to the real world. 

The remnants of a flare lingered above the treetops and it was just now Pierre realized the sun was out of place, he checked his Rolex in disbelief. It has an illusion caused by dust in the air or something; he tried to think back to a National Geographic program he saw on the Yellow Stone volcano a few months prior, but alas he couldn't mentally verify if his synopsis was correct and his cell phone was rendering no connections of any kind.  It did not matter much as the flare indicated some type of government agency was here to pick up the elites of society; why else would the flare be relatively close? He slung the MP5 over his back, fixed his hair, put on his best "I tried to save them" face and began to power walk towards the location the flare came from. No need to run mind you, he did not want to look too exhausted for when the inevitable photograph was taken of him emerging from the chaos. He chuckled he might allow Hollywood to make a movie of this ordeal;  provided that they begged him for the rights.