After the second form blocked the doorway, Herbert dropped all pretence of hospitality and openly scowled. Why was peace and quiet seemingly now such a commodity? Then he took in the man’s appearance and had to subdue a wretch of convulsion. Burn scars covered half his face: rippling waves of glossy white tissue, giving the impression of wax, stretched across his skull, with rivulets of red, raw flesh meandering between. A lidless eye starred out, unnaturally wide-open, red and swelling with tears.

At the mention of Russia, Herbert felt an itching sensation behind his eye, but then it was gone. They must have been soldiers from the Russian front, injured and sent back home for rest and recuperation. It certainly explained the burn, and the missing knowledge of location. These men must have been part of an assault involving the castle mentioned. Quite what English were doing there was beyond Herbert, but he did not want to question the military.

However, the burnt man seemed to be under the impression that they were in a holding cell. Perhaps capture had been imminent before their timely rescue and transportation home.

Certainly, it would seem that way, for yet another person entered Herbert’s room, and he could not stop the groan escaping his lungs. This man was far shorter, and seemed to have a peculiar glass eye, and even more peculiar and garish slippers. He spoke with a familiarity to the room. Not surprising as men from the same village or town were often deployed together. They couldn’t live more than a stone’s throw from the hospital then.

Then the castle was mentioned once more, and the itch flared up fleetingly again. There was the suggestion to talk elsewhere, and to find the others that were with them at the castle. Herbert whole-heartedly agreed. He was about to voice so, when the short man seemed to have a breakdown, likely triggered by the mention of said castle. Herbert had no doubt it was awfully traumatic.

The confidence and semblance of composure was lost, and spittle and gibberish flew from his mouth in equal volumes. He even seemed to think they were underwater. Herbert found himself quite frightened, and wondered where the hospital staff was to sedate this man. He ended by introducing himself.

Herbert was quick to try to let this ticking time bomb explode far away from him. “Pleasure to meet you Mr Fitzgerald, however I am really rather tired, so would appreciate the chance to rest, by myself. Alone.” His ingratiating smile had slipped back on.

“I’m sure you understand.”

Somehow, Vata managed to endure John's mental breakdown without also losing it himself. He had seen people have mental breakdowns before, but usually it was after drinking a bit too much on a bad day, or spend a couple days straight working on an important project of theirs, or both. But never had he seen one quite as violent as this, and it was terrifying to be on the receiving end of it. Fortunately, John did not actually get violent, but he seemed awfully close to it.

Once John had finished his panicked rant, Vata left the room without saying a word, and waited outside in the hallway. Until John recovered from his breakdown, he did not want to be anywhere near him. Once he was outside, he leaned up against one of the walls and tried to appear less terrified than he just was a moment ago. It seemed like this world had no lack of things to terrify them, even if they weren't necessarily from it.

The sound of bells, three light chimes, middle C. Then a voice filled the air.

First, a sigh.

Then words:

"Hey guys. Do you want any coffee? Apparently 'communications officer' is a fancy word for 'coffee bitch'."

The bored and slightly annoyed tone would be recognized. Zesiro, from the MERCY team that had scooped up the ensemble.

"Look here, gramps, I know what you're doing, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped, especially seeing as you aren't any good at it. Seriously, where'd they teach you how to talk to people who you suspect are crazy? Ugh, whatever. I'm out."

John grumbled his way into the hallway and began to make his way back to "his" room to sulk, when suddenly unseen speakers chimed into life. John at once looked up in anger, eyes narrowing as he looked for the intercom he knew must be there. "Zesiro! Doesn't your chicken shit team know not to take away medication from someone who can't tell you what it's for? I mean, what the fuck, man? Did you even bother reading the label before taking my only means of not freaking out when locked up underg- wait." the anger quickly drains away, replaced by a look of extreme concentration, John staring off into the distance.

"Wait. According to the portholes... We... are underwater."

"If the structure collapses... I'd drown... not be buried alive." face meets palm in a loud smack "Ugh, what the fuck, brain?"

"Nevermind, I'm good!" John turns around, rubbing his neck sheepishly as he addresses Vata "Yeah, uh, sorry about before. You know- stress, illogical fear, unfamiliar surroundings, war flashbacks. Other excuses you'll inevitably not accept..."

"...uh, yeah. I'm, uh, gonna go kick myself in the head." he awkwardly finishes before walking off.

Zesiro did not say anything for several long moments after John was done talking. Then...

"Um... Right. I'll get you a decafe."

Herbert was slightly taken aback, but the desired result was achieved, and people began to leave his room.

It was not long after, perhaps mere minutes, that Herbert felt himself slipping, when another voice enquired about coffee. It seemed to fill the entire room. Herbert was annoyed that someone had come to bother him again, and grumbled a “no” in the hopes they would leave swiftly. He did not once open his eyes, so the lack of any corporeal form for the voice never struck him as odd.

He rolled over, trying to find a position where his bruises and scrapes hurt the least.

The short man was dangerous, that much Herbert had ascertained, but his outbreaks seemed to become even more aggressive; he could here the through the still-open door. Therefore, it was with genuine trepidation that Herbert closed his eyes after everyone had left his room, afraid of what could happen if he were to drift off to sleep. More specifically, what that midget would do to him. The others seemed more docile, if a little shell-shocked, but that man was terrifying in his questionable stability. The thought settled like a stone in the bucket of his mind, weighing heavy on him, so much that he doubted he could even sleep.

It happened just the same as it had before.
The hair on the back of his neck stood in end, goosebumps riddled his body, a deep feeling in his gut rumbling its warning.
Wolfe never ignored his gut, his breathing picked up, he scanned the area around him.
'No bueno, something's bout to go down' he thought. He looked to his team and whistled, they looked back at Wolf, he took his index and middle finger of his left hand, pointed to his eyes, then waved a circle in the air with his index finger, 'keep your head on a swivel.' The squad was conducting a security patrol around some farmland in Kandahar Afghanistan. Their squad leader was busy with the interpreter, getting ready to talk to the owner of the farm, when a crack rang overhead, followed by bursts of gunfire.
"Contact right! Tree line 200 meters!" Hirsch yelled, Hirsch was Wolfes second in command, his SAW gunner, and his best friend. After yelling his ADRAC Hirsch rushed to the half wall that ran parallel to the dirt road, once there he propped the light machine gun on the wall and loosed a 20 round burst, during that time the rest of the squad was at the wall returning fire. Rounds from Terry(what coalition forces nicknamed the Taliban, Terry the Taliban) began impacting close to where the squad was post up.
Looking around Wolfe knew there was no way to maneuver across that open field, there is no cover until the tree line, buddy team rushing at this point would be suicide.
Staying low he moved to the other two team leads and his squad leader.
"Hey we need to pick up the rate and drop 40 mike mike in a volley!" Wolfe yelled. Sergeant Vice agreed. Jumping up in his loud voice he bellowed.
"RAPID FIRE, RAPID FIRE, PICK IT UP YOU FUCKS SHOW TERRY NOT TO FUCK WITH THE CORPS!"
The rest of the squad began firing faster, the SAW gunners gave extended bursts, the fire from the three SAW gunners became erratic, from the controlled steady stream of lead via talking guns to just trying to keep the enemy from poking their heads up.
Wolfe and the two other team leaders loaded their M203 grenade launcher attached to their M4's with a 40mm high explosive grenade.
With three audible THUNKs all three let their rounds fly, and all three impacted the Tree line.
Enemy fire slowed. One more volley and the fire ceased.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!" Sgt Vice yelled.
"Wolf pack, ACE report," Wolfe said to his teammates. Wolf Pack was the call sign for his fire team.
"Green across corporal," said private Heuly.
"Green as well," private Sanders said.
"Ya I'm good brokski," Said Hirsch.
"Team leaders report," Sergeant Vice commanded.
"Wolf pack is green."
"Reapers green."
"Black Death green,"
All the teams rogered up. Sgt. Vice sent Wolfes team to check out the enemy position. Team Reaper will follow in trace 50 meters, third team will stay static and be a base of fire if needed. Sanders, the point man was first on scene, the result was 9 bodies all dead.
"Echo 5 Victor, this is Wolf pack, on site of the ambush. 9 KIA." Wolf said into his radio. It took a few minutes but Sgt. Vice responded, "Roger that, head back, we are getting re-tasked."
"Roger that, Oscar Mike," Wolf said.
"Aight gents, pick up, and let's move back, Sanders your point," Wolf said heading back.

****

Three hours later the squad was in a V-22 Opsrey, a tilt rotor transport. Half plane, half helicopter. They were headed to a mountain side, villagers at the base of the hill said they have been seeing strange lights from the mountain, and last night eerie wails and screams came from the dark mountainside. The locals are superstitious, and refuse to investigate, fearing something will devour their soul.
In Wolfes mind it was probably just Terry that got a hold of flashbangs, stun grenades, and someone probably dropped a cigarette or something hot on something flammable, and boom, the flashbang went off.
However, that was not the case, when the vehicle landed, they got out and began searching around, within ten minutes they found, something.
Coming up to a de-elevated spot on the mountain side, it looked almost bowel shaped. On the other side of the bowl was a cave opening, small, could maybe fit one marine in gear. Before that cave entrance though, was something else, bodies.
Bodies everywhere, at least over 20. Some looked to be torn to shreds, others were whole. What hit the marines first was the smell. The sound of gagging and vomiting came from behind Wolfe, one of the newer marines, a private lost his lunch.
"Jesus, jumping, mother of Mary," Sgt Vice uttered.
"What the fuck? What the happened here?" asked another team leader.
Hirsch looked to wolf, "yep, looks like a smoking accident...damn cigarettes, they'll kill ya!" he said stepping up to a corpse, "Aint that right mister mussie?" Using the barrel of his weapon, he tapped the chin of the corpse, making it look as if it were talking and said in a high pitched voice "That's right Mr. Marine, we should have known better but we were to busy fucking our goa-"
"Stow that shit," said the squad leader who was talking to command on the radio.
"Check it out, almost all these guys are wearing robes," Wolf said kneeling down close to one of the corpses, he began to get that feeling again, but it quickly went away.
"Command wants these bagged and tagged, the Osprey has what we need, let's get to it." Sgt Vice came back with a pile of folded body bags.
It took two hours and three marines lost their breakfast, but all the bodies were loaded up onto the bird and carried away. Another helo this time a Chinook picked the marines up and returned them to their FOB.

*****

After a lengthy debrief the marines were freed up for a few hours. Some of the squad went back to the hooch to sleep, others went to the makeshift gym located in the center of the FOB. The forward observing base was really a mansion who's owner was killed by the Taliban.
The U.S. military took it over and placed 12 foot jersey barriers around the entire property line.
Marines joked around saying the layout of the base would be a great defense against a zombie invasion.
Wolfe was sitting with Hirsch in the smoke pit. Hirsch was smoking a cigarette, Wolfe was enjoying a cigar he was given by the battalion Sergeant Major.
"How much longer we got in this butthole of a country?" Hirsch asked trying to blow smoke rings, and failing.
"About 5 more months, if we aren't extended," Said Wolfe, who blew out his own smoke ring, far better than Hirsch.
"All I knows is when we rotate back to the world, gonna get me some ass, first thing," Said Hirsch nodding.
"You mean man ass right?" Wolfe said with a smirk.
"Man, fuck you." Hirsch said.
"No thanks bro, I like women... Not a man dressed like a woman."
"Dude fuck off, I was drunk, and she was really convincing, or he, or it, or fuck I dunno, and fuck you man!" Hirsch said getting red faced. Wolfe was laughing hard now.
"She, she....wait" he began between breathes and bout of laughter,"she said," and then he made his voice deeper, " My name's Karen, Hahhaah," Wolfe almost fell off the sand bag he was sitting.
"Whatever you're the one who talked to her the longest," Hirsch said.
"Yea well I had to apologize to her on your behalf you unclassy white trash bastard, you flipped out when you realized she had a dick. So I bought her a drink, and apologized, because my best friend is a transphobic, homophobic, alcohol syndrome baby."
"I'm gonna murder you in your sleep."
"That's the only chance your gonna be able to get, cause we all know your bitch ass can't do shit with me awake," as soon as Wolfe finished his statement he hopped to the side, he knew Hirsch was going to tackle him, which he did. The friendly scuffle lasted for about a minute, until Wolfe was on his back, Hirsch on top of him but his back facing Wolfe. Wolfe had his legs wrapped arou d Hirsch's legs, while Wolfe had him in a figure 4 choke. When Wolfe arched his back in, it caused Hirsch to bend back, causing him to choke and some pain as well, he tapped out.
"Corporal Wolfe!" someone called out. Wolfe stood up and waved. It was sergeant Wyatt, 2nd platoons platoon sergeant, he was currently acting as SOG, sergeant of the guard. It was 2nd platoons turn to stand post. While 3rd platoon, Wolfe's platoon, was on mission. 1st platoon was the QRF(Quick react force). The platoons switch every 2 weeks.
"Hey, someone is here to see you in the COC," Said Sgt Wyatt.
Wolfe, confused, stood up. "Roger that on my way," slinging his rifle he looked back at Hirsch, "Hey make sure our guys have clean weapons... And make sure they get some chow."
"Yea good to go man," Hirsch said. He picked up his SAW and headed back for the hooch(living space). Wolfe took off toward the COC. Once he got there Sgt. Wyatt told him to have a seat in the ready room, the room where they get briefed on missions. Wolfe walked in and there was man sitting at the foldable table on one of the metal chairs.
He looked to be in his late 40s. Tall, but thinner than Wolfe. He had short black hair shaved to a zero guard on the sides. Aside from the jet back hair was a white streak across the widows peak. The man had piercing blue eyes. His skin was tan, maybe of Indian decent, or maybe some sort of southwest asian. He reminded Wolfe of what Hollywood would depict Satan. Business suit, slicked back hair, and a serpent look on his face, the man's voice even come out as a gravel hiss.
"Ah, Corporal Wolfe, we meet at last." He said with no expression on his face.
"Yes sir, and you are?"
The man thought for a moment and smiled, a chilly smile.
"My name is not important corporal, but, if titles are important, you may call me....Mr. G."
Wolfe took a seat. "Ok, Mr. G, what can I do for you?" he asked.
"I have come to you Corporal with a once in a lifetime offer," the man said "An employment opportunity."
"Who do you work for?" Wolfe asked.
"Let's say I work for a special branch of the federal government."
"CIA? NSA?"
He chuckled "nothing that archaic or incompetent. No we operate off the grid if you will." he continued.
"We have been monitoring your abilities for some time now, and we have come to the conclusion that you, Corporal Wolfe, will be an important asset in our work."
"What do you mean asset? You conscripting for mercs?" asked Wolfe.
"I wouldn't say mercenary per say, but your skill will come in handy, especially that small ability you have?"
"What are you talking about? What ability?"
"Mosul, Iraq?" the man asked. That caught Wolfe off guard, he tried to not think about that day, one of the worst in his life.
"I don't want to talk about that," Wolfe said quietly.
"Yes, I bet, it was one of the worst attacks on U.S. personnel since the start of this war," he went on.
Wolfe began grinding his teeth.
"That day, you were just a private."
"Private first class," Wolfe corrected.
With a chuckle he continued, "Of course, my mistake, when your squad was nearing the main cross street in the city, you felt something, something that started in the back of your head and washed over your body, then you got chills. Did the hair on the back of your neck stand on end?"
"That doesn't mean anything, I was new, inexperienced, I was scared, adrenaline was pumping, when that happens you become hypersensitive to external stimuli, like sights, sounds, smell-"
"You were the only survivor..."
Wolfe closed his mouth and swallowed hard, that memory came flooding back to him.
He knew, he knew something bad was going to happen, but he didn't speak up and voice his concern, that cost the lives of 12 marines and a corpsman.
He should have said something. The memory still fresh in his mind. His squad leader was the first, shot in the head by a sniper. Before the marines could react to the sniper, they were hit by an ambush, three rpgs were fired along with medium machine guns. The fire fight lasted 2 hours. The marines fought hard. First team was completely KIA from the RPG fire. Second team was taken out from the machine gun fire.
His team leader called in an air strike along with reinforcements. They took the nearest house for cover. They fought hard, valiantly. It wasn't until the front of the house was hit by a rocket, Al-Quada came pouring in. His A gunner was the first to go, Wolfes SAW gunner was killed via a grenade. The team leader shielded Wolfe from another RPG. The act proved fatal for his team leader. Wolfe killed 3 insurgents with his bare hands, before he was sure he was dead, he heard the familiar pounding thudthudthud of a Cobra attack chopper. Hellfire missiles and a 30mm chain cannon made short work of the remaining terrorists. The damage done, Wolfe was alone.

He snapped back to reality and glared at the man in front of him.
"What do you want with me?"
"My employers would like to hire you," he said without missing a beat.
"If you agree we will leave now and you'll begin the application process."
"Application? Didn't you say you've been keeping tabs on me? Why bother with paperwork?"
"We may be an undisclosed portion of the federal government, bureaucracy has infested every facet of government."
"Well, look Gman, I dunno who you are, or who you work for, not that I give a damn," Wolfe said standing up.
"I am needed here. My team needs me, I swore oath and do not plan on breaking it, sorry man, gotta make my own fate," Wolfe began walking toward the door. His hands touched the handle.
"Oh, Corporal?" the man called.
Wolfe looked back.
"Sometimes, the universe will place you where it wants you, whether you like it or not."
Wolfe left the room. The man narrowed his eyes.
"Sometimes, the right man in the wrong place, can make all the difference."

***
"Hey sergeant, I'm done talking to that dude in the ready room." Wolfe said.
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"That fuckin Gman you told me was here for me," Wolfe said with a confused look on his face.
"Wolfe, I have no fucking clue what you are talking about, lay off the LSD kid." the sergeant said.
Wolfe shook his head, 'gotta be fucking with me.'
A few hours later the squad was called upon for another patrol, this time led by the LT himself.
Their gear staged and ready to go, the squad waited inside the ready room.
Lieutenant Miner walked in.
"Good afternoon.... Let's begin. This morning at 1130 you were retasked to hill 481 Bravo. From the reports given, and UAV flyover we found a structure," He paused and just stared blankly at the wall for a moment then continued
"We are going back, and are going to investigate, reports believe there is a training camp there," the LT said. Wolfe thought something was off about the LT, he looked pale, had really dark circles around his eyes, they looked sunk in. He moved slowly, and did he have a slight twitch?
"I will be with Wolfes team, the rest of the squad will remain in place any questions? Good. Now go." the marines made ready, loaded into the V-22, and headed for that mountain again.

The trip took an hour, it was quiet the whole way there, aside from the hum of the turbines, no one talked. Wolfe watched the LT, he coulda swore the man hadn't blinked in over 30 minutes.
"Hitting the LZ eta 20 seconds," the pilot said over the comm. The Osprey landed, the marines moved out. Within 3 minutes the bird was gone and the marines were moving back to the location they found earlier.
Once there, the LT had them single file through the small cave, once outside, they found themselves facing the remains of an old temple, or castle.
"Wolfe, your team," the LT said, then sniffed the air, "mmmmm yes, definitely your team with me," he began to head toward the building.
"Dude, something aint right, LT is acting strange, Sgt Vice has said less than three words since we landed," Hirsch said.
"I know, I got a really bad feeling man, make sure you're alert, I don't want any surprises."

They made their way inside the building, it was desolate, fallen beams, caved in ceiling. The only open path was further down.
"Down...we must go," the LT said.
"Hey sir, maybe we should get the rest of the squad up here and... Sir?" Wolfe trailed off, the LT was already walking down the stairs.
"Mother fucker." Wolfe said through clenched teeth. They hurried to follow. The stairs down seemed to go on forever, and the temperature began for rise. Soon they began to pour with sweat, but the LT wasn't even damp.
A red glow was seen nearing the end of the stairwell. Once to the bottom they began to hear chanting, and then wailing. They quickened their pace, except for the LT. They entered into a small landing and took cover behind fallen pillar. What they saw would haunt them the rest of their lives. Wolfe's gut was going crazy, he felt like live wire.
Eight men, standing around a woman, who appeared crucified, were all chanting, the eighth man stood in front of the woman, he held a large two handed sword. The blade gleamed in the red light. Even in the low light, and with Wolfe having removed his sunglasses before entering the stairwell he can still see the intricate design on the hilt and pommel. For a moment there Wolfe was lost in a trancelike state staring at the bade, as if it were almost calling him. Behind the woman, was a huge red crystal that seemed to pulse with a blood red light. Using the sword the eighth man sliced the woman. from her sternum, to her pelvis, and stepped back, the chanting became louder, her screams became louder. The LT casually walked passed the marines toward the red glow mumbling to himself
"What the fuck is he doing?" Hirsch leapt to grab him, when he touched the LT, he turned, his eyes completely black, and hissed at Hirsch. He stumbled back and the LT turned to move back toward the group.
They didn't notice him, if they did, they did not seem to care. That's when the screams became frantic, and high pitched. The sound of breaking bone and flesh ripping drew their attention to the woman, who was now sputtering and gurgling on her own blood.
Her stomach bulged, blood and stomach acid sprayed out, then what looked like a large muscular arm with a clawed hand pushed out, then another one.
Next they saw horns pushing through.
Not making the same mistake twice Wolfe leapt over the pillar they had taken cover behind, flipped the safety off his M203 and fired a high explosive round at the group. The grenade impacted the woman. All 8 men were killed. The woman was blown apart, and that thing was gone. The sword clattered the floor next to Wolfe, again he felt some urge for the blade, he could tell this particular sword is very, very old. He reached down and picked up the weapon, though it was large, it felt light in his hand, and warm, however Wolfe did not have the time to admire the ancient weapon for his throughts were torn away by movement to his right.
The LT was alive, bloodied a bit but alive. He got up moved toward the crystal.
"SIR DON'T TOUCH-" it was too late. The lieutenant placed his hand on the crystal, it pulsed once and a large shockwave exploded from the crystal. The LT was vaporized. Wolfe and his team were knocked back. The structure began rumbling. The crystal turned white, and without warning exploded in a sea of white light. The team tried to get out but it was too late, they were engulfed.

Wolfe saw only black. He could hear breathing, and a heartbeat, only to realize it was his heart beat. A flash of light, and unconsciousness took over. Before he blacked out he heard a voice.
"Sometimes the universe will place you where it wants you, whether you like it or not."

Zesiro's voice was heard over the intercom one more time.

"Ah, I guess I'll just get you guys... Something..." He trailed off. There was a bleep and a click. The voice was gone.

Soon they would be back in the company of MERCY.

~~~

Wolfe was somewhere new. After waking up in a hospital bed. He examined briefly by a few people who seemed to be doctors. They had a short conversation to determined he was healthy and cognizant enough to walk around and non-violent. They escorted him to an interview room.

The room was small, sparse, a table, a light.

Inside was a girl. Nearly 5’7, with dark skin and long black hair in braids. She was wearing three-quarter sleeves, her forearms showed, both sporting tattoos: Intricate black flowers.

There was a cup of water and coffee waiting for Wolfe by his seat. The girl seemed to be in her mid twenties, and sipped a mug of loose-leaf tea as she looked the papers pinned to her clip board.

"Hello there. My name is Gemma! I'm here to interview you and provide you some answers... Try to keep an open mind... This situation is extremely unusual." She said it quickly, as if she had said this particular line several times today.

"Let us start with the basics. What is your name? Do you mind telling me your age?" She hesitated, this last questions seemed to carry the most weight, despite it being a very simple question. "Where are you from?

Winston readjusted his glasses and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sausage-fingers. Damp half-moons had formed by the armpits of his shirt. Across the table from him sat a girl with wavy ginger hair. She was looking around with arched brows and questions dancing in the fields of her eyes. At either shoulder stood two guards, the full-face visors of their helmets reflecting a distorted view of the room. It was a barren affair, with only one door, and, on the ceiling, a halogen light behind a frosted glass disk.

The girl had been brought from her holding cell after she was judged safe enough to transport without serious restraints. Still, after her outbreak in the infirmary, Winston was nervous. He wasn’t even supposed to be involved with debriefing or interviewing, but they had somehow roped him into it; apparently, the regular guy was too ill.

He cleared his throat and began flicking through the folder on the desk, about to speak, when she beat him to it.

“You’re so dark.” She said, with a genuine wonderment.

“I’m sorry?” Winston spluttered, caught quite off-guard.

“Your skin,” she clarified, “I’ve never seen anyone with skin so dark.”

“Well…” Winston paused, uncertain as to what he should say, “It’s quite common.”

“Really?” The girl nearly shrilled, evidently quite excited about this revelation.

Winston began to relax; she wasn’t so intimidating. “Oh yes. There are plenty of people just as ‘dark’ as me, or darker.”

The girl’s face formed an ‘O’. She took a deep breath, and then asked a question he could feel she had had behind her lips from the moment she arrived.

“Am I in Tír na nÓg?”

Winston, whilst he didn’t understand the question, could feel its gravity, and saw the hopeful fire burning in her eyes, and he knew what she wanted the answer to be. He could not bring himself to destroy that hope.

“Yes,” he said hesitantly, “but-”. The girl pounded her fist onto the table and screamed in delight. The guards and Winston recoiled, the guards reaching for their Tasers reflexively, but then she began laughing manically. The kindling fire in her eyes had exploded into electricity.

“I never thought I’d make it,” she was saying, “Part of me doubted this place even existed, but here I am. More fool me.” She sighed deeply and reclined, content, with a large grin splitting her face.

“Well, yes, as I was saying, most people call it ‘Earth’, and it has different regions and places within, so I doubt you’ll ever heard it called,” he couldn’t remember what words she had used, but added, quick enough to avoid suspicion, “that.”

“Ah, ‘Earth’,” she said, trying the word out. She figured it came from the daoine sídhe, the people of the mounds.

A crackle cut through the silence, followed by some fuzzy words came from the radio clipped to Winston’s breast pocket, “Winston, be back in the global surveillance department by nineteen hundred hours.”

He depressed the rubber button on the side and spoke back, “Roger.”

The girl starred with wide eyes. “Is that black box magic?”

He thought about telling her it wasn’t magic, and trying to explain how it worked, but he realised he didn’t even know, “Yes, there are many things that work with similar sort of magic on Earth.” Mallaidh was suitably awestruck.

A guard readjusted his gun, an apparent cue, for Winston straightened up, and the butterflies returned to his stomach. He began sorting through the folder, but couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for, as he kept backtracking.

“Can you help me?”

Winston paused and looked up at her over the rim of his glasses, which had slipped to the tip of his nose. There was something in her voice that tugged at his heartstrings. He closed the folder and rested both his hands over it.

“What’s your name?” He asked softly.

“Mallaidh.” She answered, her name almost sounding like “Molly”.

“My name is Winston, and I’m not very important here; I’m a smaller part of a larger whole. Nevertheless, there is a chance we might be able to help you. What is it you need?”

Mallaidh leaned forwards, consciously trying to supress the anxiousness she felt, knowing that she could still fall at this final hurdle of her journey, but it escaped, manifesting as rapid finger movements and the fidgeting in her chair.

“My mother is very ill, and I was told that the Tuatha Dé would have magic that could heal her.”

Winston’s breath caught. He took of his glasses and began cleaning them with a cuff as he considered his words. His eyes looked imploring into the mirrored visors of the guards, but then they started shooting resentful daggers when he realised he would find no trace of humanity behind them. It would not be necessary to break the charade yet, he realised, but that didn’t make it any easier to tell the girl she might not get to save her mother.

“It is possible that we might have a cure; you would have to describe the state of your mother to some special people.” He replaced his glasses, “The real problem is getting you back; you were brought here by a series of events that are, for the most part, a mystery to us.” Mallaidh was surprised at this; if something was beyond the eyes of the gods, then it must hide in the thickest of shadows.

“That brings me to my main point,” Winston went on, “Earth is probably very different from your home. There are other people like you ‘visitors’. My purpose is to try and make you familiar with the more different aspects of life here.”

The session lasted perhaps another hour; there were questions, starting of very basic and becoming a little more philosophical towards the tail end. Winston had shown her pictures of various contraptions, such as ‘cars’, ‘planes’ and ‘mobile phones’. As far as Mallaidh understood, they were metal beasts, tamed to perform as set purpose. A brief history was given, but didn’t go back more than a hundred years, and only touched on key events. Mallaidh was interested in this, as she had always wondered what the gods had been doing since the time of legend. Winston also explained how the corporation, which Mallaidh deciphered as ‘clan’, he was part of wanted to help her and the other ‘visitors’ to get back home, and elucidate the roots of their arrival.

At the end, Winston offered something called ‘coffee’, which Mallaidh accepted graciously, not wanting to offend. He spoke into his little, black box again, and got a crackling response of confirmation. She would get it once back in her room.

The two guards then blindfolded Mallaidh, which Winston stressed was just ‘standard procedure’, so she complied; again she was scared to offend the people who could heal her mother. Both guards escorted her, taking a twisting and turning path, far longer than she suspect was necessary. There was a whirring sound, and then they removed her blindfold. She turned just in time to see a polished metal panel slide shut, becoming seamless with the wall.

The new room was a clash of alien and familiar; metal panels made up the walls and ceilings, housing tubes of halogen lights, casting the room in bright white light, but the floor was oak boards, and much of it was covered in near-threadbare furniture, all facing inwards towards a central rug that really tied the room together. There were small lamp-tables next to each seat, and held either worn paperback Penguin Classics, or glossy magazines. There were two oil paintings of scenic fjords, presumably in Norway, that made up for the lack of any windows, or at least tried.

Mallaidh sat down in a floral armchair, sinking into the time-softened upholstery, and regarded the room, well aware she was quite alone. Her hands ached to grip the reassuring heft of Fragarach, but she had not woken up with it, and she had been too giddy with the thought of a cure to ask about it. It was likely it had been taken as sacrifice for her entry into Tír na nÓg, and she could invoke the anger of all the Tuatha Dé if she asked for it back.

The panel slid open again, and through the entrance stepped a meagre girl, who offered a single word, “coffee”. She placed it on the table next to the armchair and left hurriedly, eyes always at the ground. The door slid shut, and Mallaidh was alone again.

The coffee was a creamy-brown liquid in a pleasingly corrugated cup, made of an indiscernible material. Even if she had missed the wisps of steam rising from its surface, she could still feel its dull heat in her fingertips when she picked it up. She took a small sip. It pinched her lips, and sent bitterness throughout her person. She spat it back into the cup and set it down, working her mouth to get rid of the foul taste. She did not like coffee.

The door slid open and Mallaidh was no longer alone.

Two entered, they were both chatting. One was cross, the other flippant.

"Just give it a few more days. You will get used to it! You might even like it!" The flippant one was an older man with scruffy sand-and-salt hair. He wore a black vest that had hundreds of pockets, though, perhaps Mallaidh would not recognize zippers and see only a vest with strange metallic lines patterned about it.

"I do not want to get used to it." This was a woman. Her look was a bit more striking... Usually it was only her fire red hair that attracted notice, but now it was burn marks and bandages wrapped around the right side of her torso and arm. Some of the skin was showing, looking wrinkled and dry and melted all at the same time. Most of it was covered up with linen bandages. Her right eye was even covered by a linen bandanna that crowned her head and was angled to cover the right eye. Her right arm was wrapped and in a sling. If she was experiencing pain from her wounds she hid it well. Mallaidh might recognize the grit and gait of a trained warrior.

"How many times have I told you..." She continued. "... That I would rather be dead than to be... be... an abomination!" She fumed.

"Your not an abomination!" The man smiled, but looked away from the woman when he said. "Just... Your arm..."

"And my eye."

"... And your eye! That's right. Say, you don't need to cover that up. It should be working by now..." He reached out to remove the bandage.

She slapped his hand away with her good-arm. And began speaking in a language that Mallaidh did not understand, however, even someone deaf would know that it was long planned and long deserved lecture full of expletives.

The man's next method of disengaging from the enraged woman, was to acknowledge Mallaidh.

"Heya, kid!" Twain waved in a friendly fashion. "I am Doc-Tor-Twain, and this is Rozalind! Winston told us so much about you! Come along with us now and we will get this show on the road!"

Vata sighed as John apologized for his outburst earlier. The man was quite clearly unstable, and also absolutely no good at apologizing for screaming in someone's face for no reason. He decided not to actually respond to John, seeing how he was most likely incapable of any coherent thought. However, the thought of coffee excited him. While it was incredibly expensive where he was from, he had admittedly become dependent on it for finishing whatever literary work he should have probably finished some days earlier. Seeing how Zesiro could hear them from wherever he was, he figured he might as well ask for some coffee.

Unfortunately, by the time he was going to do so, Zesiro's voice came out of nowhere again, and it seemed like he wasn't expecting any more responses.

"I suppose we should take a look around then? I, for one, would very much like some coffee right now."

The crystal exploded, the lieutenant had been vaporized. Wolf turned on his heels and darted for the entrance, he yelled for the rest of his team to bug out. Wolfe was clutching the sword when the shock wave had hit him. He blacked out, after what seemed hours being somewhere that wasn’t earth. He was weightless, in fact he could not feel anything at all, nor could he see. He could hear his breathing, and his heartbeat, nor could he move. He wasn’t really sure if he even lost consciousness or had just become numb to the overwhelming emptiness around him. Until a flash of red washed over him, pain raced throughout his body.
Now he could see, he could feel. He felt heat, extreme heat. As if he were in an oven. He couldn’t make sense of what was before him at first. A vast open landscape of molten rock and sand, plumes of volcanic eruptions spewed from various places around him, the sky was a dark red, soot and ash filled the sky. Wolfe began to sputter and choke as the volcanic air coursed through his lungs. What broke through all of that, what cut him to his very core was the screaming, he could hear millions of voices screaming in pain and terror. That’s when he saw them. Large yet lean humanoid forms began crawling over the rocks around him reaching for him, staring at him with heads that had eight yellow glowing eyes, a toothy grin rimmed with razor sharp teeth. They reached for him with jagged claws.
Another red flash and pain followed.
Wolfe was on his back, laying on something cold and hard, a stone floor perhaps. His vision was blurry and distorted. He fought to control it, to come to, but his body would not respond.
“Over here we got something,” A voice in the distance said.

“Amazing! Still alive too, better call it in. I can’t believe the temporal relo-“ The voice trailed off as Wolfe began to slip into unconsciousness again.

Wolfe awoke with a start. Inhaling sharply he attempted to sit up only to be restrained by an armed man in a black security uniform and what looked to a man in nurse scrubs. Wolfe brought his leg up and placed his foot center mass on the nursed and kicked him back. The male nurse flew back seven feet and collided with a cart full of medical utensils. The uniformed man had Wolfe in a headlock when two other security personnel came in and wrestled Wolfe down. The nurse came back and this time strapped Wolfe’s legs and arms down to the bed frame, when secure, one of the guards reached out and backhanded Wolfe across the face.

“Ease UP!” the man yelled at Wolfe.

Wolfe struggled against the restraints and said nothing, he wondered wear his gear and clothes were, and that sword. The nurse was cleaning up the mess when a man in a white coat walked in.

“My name is Doctor Mange,” He said “I am glad you are awake, although I do not think my nurse is.” He said nodding toward the nurse picking up the cart he was knocked into, the man had a sour look on his face.

“Who are you people, where am i?” Wolfe asked. He knew this wasn’t Frankfurt Germany where injured armed forces members went for treatment while on a combat deployment.

“Uh, sir, I am not qualified, or allowed to answer that question, all I can tell you is you are in no danger, you are not a prisoner, we are only here to help you. Someone will explain in due time sir, trust me,” he said with a genuine smile.

Wolfe laid back and took a deep breath and closed his eyes. What he saw, before that crystal, AFTER the crystal, and now only confused and scared him. Where was Hirsch and the rest of his team? Where is here anyway? What the hell was the thing in the cave? The only thing Wolfe has right now is his gut. He didn’t feel threatened here. When he visited that place, or was it a dream? It had felt real enough. When those things appeared, Wolfes gut went berserk, he felt true biblical fear, and that rattled him to the point where he hadn’t noticed until much later that he now had a white streak of hair along his hairline.
Wolfe agreed to the doctor’s terms, and calmed down. Wolfe was shaken up, but made great effort to come off as non-confrontational. He followed the doctors directions to a T. After checking his vitals, bloodwork, reflexes and such he was given a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt to wear, along with hospital slippers.
He was escorted to a room.

‘The room was small, sparse, a table, a light.

Inside was a girl. Nearly 5’7, with dark skin and long black hair in braids. She was wearing three-quarter sleeves, her forearms showed, both sporting tattoos: Intricate black flowers.

There was a cup of water and coffee waiting for Wolfe by his seat. The girl seemed to be in her mid twenties, and sipped a mug of loose-leaf tea as she looked the papers pinned to her clip board.

"Hello there. My name is Gemma! I'm here to interview you and provide you some answers... Try to keep an open mind... This situation is extremely unusual." She said it quickly, as if she had said this particular line several times today.

"Let us start with the basics. What is your name? Do you mind telling me your age?" She hesitated, this last questions seemed to carry the most weight, despite it being a very simple question. "Where are you from?’

“Corporal Matthew Wolfe, USMC 0311, 1st battalion 7th marines, Baker Company, 3rd platoon, first squad, team leader, 115 78 90009,” He added, ““I think we are only hitting the tip of the ice berg on the unusual scale here Gemma.”

((Sourced section from Eyeris))

Dimitri and Dzel Then

The tunnels were dark, a series of corners and cross sections. It was an elaborate escape route for anyone that knew the way. That of course excluded Dzel and Dimitri. The rumbling protests of the avalanche outside echoed eerily within the tunnels making it seem like a thousand creatures were growling with discontent.

Dimitri stopped short suddenly as he felt a strange, unnatural energy ripple far above them and was soon met with Dzel’s solid body as she slammed into his back forcing the two of them to the tunnel floor in a tangled heap. He rolled over underneath her with a smile and they were nose to nose for a moment as her armored chest met his solid frame. “My my Dzel, is now really an appropriate time for this?” he queried with a grin before pivoting his head to the right. and nodded “Let's go that way? or we could just stay like this, it’s your call! Though I must admit, this armour of yours is far from comfortable!”

The sliding chainmail was the only sound for a moment as the avalanche above finally hushed. Dzel imagined the thick blanket of snow settling over the ruins, tucked in like a child before bed.
She stared down at Dimitri with her bright green eyes, curiously. She wasn't quite sure what he meant, but was quite sure he meant no harm, and even quite certain that she didn't mind.
“I don't know the way” she admitted.

Resisting the urge to continue laying there and perhaps a little reluctantly Dimiri spared a long glance into her green eyes then shuffled himself into a sitting position as she lay across his stomach, not entirely sure of what Dzel was thinking at that moment.
“Seems I don’t know the way either, but let's head down this way and hopefully we’ll find something or someone.” He glanced around the tunnel and listened for sounds of any footsteps but could hear nothing. “I guess the avalanche has subsided for now.”

He gently guided her body to the side of him and dragged himself to his feet extending a hand to help Dzel up she paused for a moment then reluctantly took hold of his hand. If it was not so dark in there Dimitri would have given her a smile, but instead, he lifted her to her feet somewhat effortlessly despite the added weight of her armor.

There were many pathways to chose in the depths of these tunnels all darkened now as what remained of the avalanche had filled the exits. Something was urging Dimitri to head down a steep sloping tunnel to the right for now and for lack of a better sense of direction, he followed his instincts. After a long seemingly eternal walk, which Dimitri figured had been about an hour or two he muttered into the darkness “It seems like we’ve been wandering through this darkness for hours” he spoke, a little weary of the darkness.
“Yes but It seems as though the tunnel is growing warmer though” Dzel offered rather distantly. In the brief conversations the two had engaged in thus far, Dimitri had gathered that although Dzel was physically there, her mind seemed as though it was elsewhere. He had grown accustomed to their long periods of silence, but he did manage a smile in the darkness upon hearing her voice once more. “Yeah it does”

At last the darkness of the tunnel began to lift and the monk could see the opening, sighing in relief that it had not been blocked during the avalanche. It was still dark outside and there were signs of a light snow falling outside, but it was nothing compared to before. He looked back at Dzel and chuckled “Seems Lady Luck has finally found us a way out my dear, let us not keep her waiting.”
Dzel furrowed her brows “ Who, or what is Lady Luck?”
“Uhh nevermind!” he answered, gesturing towards the exit of the tunnel.

They emerged on a reasonably flat plateau, a good distance below what was left of the backside of the looming castle. The two treaded lightly at first for fear of being swallowed up by the blankets of snow but soon realized the ground was firm enough and the snow only crunched in protest under the weight of the two warriors, but held its own.

Dimitri stirred his chi, surging it with enough strength that a faint green glow erupted around his body in hopes of reconnecting with the catalysts inset into his one handed mace. He missed it dearly, and suspected that right now he might even miss it more than his flask, but after a moment's thought he shook that thought out of his mind. If he could only connect with the weapon,. It would light up like a beacon that he could track for miles.
************************************************************************************************************************************************

Now

A violent surge of chi then suddenly Dimitri bolted upright! He looked around slightly confused as things slowly began to come into focus once more. The first thing he realized was that he was no longer cold! Infact he was quite cozy, and apparently completely nude under the covers of a bed in a room that reeked of medicinal herbs. There was no feeling of death looming around, no snow gathering about his eyelashes and much to his dismay, there was no Dzel. Yet to make things worse, he was completely sober! “Damn it! where am I, how long have I been out?” he queried out loud. He swung his feet to the floor and threw the covers off of himself, completely unashamed of his nude form then moved cautiously towards the mirrored glass and rapped heavily on it, whilst squinting to see if it was simply just a glass window, or something else.

IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM

"I suppose we should take a look around then? I, for one, would very much like some coffee right now."

"Yeah Yeah Yeah..."

In the room with the long table at the end of the hall there was only one door.

There was a hiss behind that door. A few clanks. Then a second later the door opened. Zesiro walked through carrying a large tray full of blue cups. Some were topped with whipped cream, others flat. He carried the tray of blue cups to the long table and began to set them out. "Hey guys." He called out down the hall, but didn't go looking for 'the crew' "I got your decaf and... Some other stuff..."

WOLFE

Gemma looked puzzled, she knit her brows. He seemed like an eartling unlike many of thus she had spoken to before. She would be relieved to finally talk to someone from earth. Yet, this man was different in his own way, and if he was from earth why was he in the ruins?"

"This might sound like a weird question but... Uh... What years is it? I'm also need you to tell me why you were in Russian at the castle."

As the smell of coffee drifted into the hallway, Vata grew excited. Not only would there be coffee, there would likely be food as well, and he was starving. It had been far too long since the last meal that he could remember, and the thought of it and the coffee drew him towards the door. As he started walking towards the room, he called out to Zesiro.

"Whatever it is you have, I cannot wait to try it. Is there any food in there as well?"

"This might sound like a weird question but... Uh... What years is it? I'm also need you to tell me why you were in Russian at the castle."

This time it was Wolfes turn to knit his eyebrows together. 'year? Why would she want to know what year it is? She think I have amneisia? And a castle...?' his thoughts raced. He focused, and retraced his steps, the mountain in Afghanistan, the ruined temple, LT acting up, that crystal... And where he went after. The thought of that place of fire and monsters sent a chill down his spine.

He looked and Gemma and answered. He wasn't sure what her angle was, but he decided to be blunt, even if he is a POW of some sort, Wolfe doesn't have any relevant Intel enemy forces need.

"It's 2012, I was stationed in Kandahar Afghanistan." he said before swilling down the entire cup of coffee next to him. Weak, but not bad.

"As far as being in some castle in Russia, I have no idea, you see, as hard as it is going to be to believe, my team and I were in some ruined temple on the side of a mountain-in Afghanistan," he stressed, "there was a crystal, and some people in robes, they had some woman crucified and they cut her down the stomach with a blade, a sword, and something came out! My LT went batshit, and approached the group like he was back on the block, I decided to fire a grenade and neutralize the threat.... After my LT touched that crystal... He... Evaporated. I got caught up in a wave of red light, and that was it... Here I am."

Wolfe left out the part about his visit to hell, as he is now refering to it as. He figured his story was unbelievable as it was, as well as the sword.

"Wait! My team, where are my guys?" Wolfe began to sound a bit worried.

IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM

"Yeah, I got some snacks." Zesiro placed the tray down on the table, then, tossed a bag that had been pinned between his triceps and his torso. The contents included various pastries, breakfast sandwiches, cookies, and bagels accompanied by various spreads. Zesiro didn't know what the other-worldly crew might like. So, he asked the flustered barista for "One of each."

WOLFE

Gemma frowned shifting through papers.

Gemma held out her hands reassuringly. "We have one other guy so far who's story matches yours. He was with you on your team. Name is Hirsch." Gamma frowned and shuffled her papers. "I'm not sure what happened to everyone else, not everyone is awake yet, we still have a lot of... People... To interview." It was an implication that more of his friends may yet be found, but, far from a promise.

"It is not 2012 and we did not find you in Afghanistan. There was an event. It is something like a... Rift in the fabric of time and space and... We are not sure of it's nature. It is gone. You, Hersh, and many others were brought to Russia by it." She left a space for Wolfe to absorb and react to the new information, but not too long, she had more interviews to do.

"You and Hirshe seem to have been brought through a bit of time and space. The others... Some of them are from much further away or a more distant time, perhaps even other dimensions. It is hard to say at this point."

Gemma would ask Wolfe a few other questions. Mostly things about historical events, major sporting events he may have been paying attention to or betting upon, in order to determine that he and Hirsch were from the same where-and-when, and to be able to conclude that Wolfe was only from another time and not from an alternate dimension of some sort.

Gemma finished their conversation by inviting him to a meeting. "We want to get you and some of the other survivors together to talk. It might help with the investigation... And help everyone cope and adjust to what is happening..."

Winston had been true to his word then, and was trying to help; that much at least reassured Mallaidh that she might not be quite as adrift as she feared. Leaving the plumpness of near threadbare seat, she stood before them.

The more than cursory glance Mallaidh gave Rozalind put the halted conversation into perspective. The bandages largely hid flesh that was mottled and reminiscent of dried plums. It seemed as though this woman wanted death over disfigurement, which made Mallaidh, who wore each scar as a badge and a sign of adversity not only survived, but also conquered, form all manner of disrespectful preconceptions. The man reminded Mallaidh somewhat of a wolf, and if she had ever seen a snake, she would have drew better comparison from that. His smile was too easy, and his mannerisms too offhand; she suspected it was all superficial, that his humour was misdirection, and wondered what lay beneath, when the smiling mask cracked. Suddenly, she was very aware quite how far gone from realm of her comprehension she was; with the giddiness of reaching Tír na nÓg, or what she believed to be so, fading ever so slightly, the notion that something more sinister was afoot rooted itself in the back of her mind. It made her hairs stand on end and her heart beat just that little bit faster.

Nevertheless, that seed would not sprout and bear fruit yet, and, in hope-blinded folly, she put her trust in these two strangers.

“I am no child, Doc Tur Twayne,” she said, her chin tilting ever so slightly skywards. Her heart was racing, despite her outwards calm, beating against her ribcage, calling her a fool for caring about an affronted pride. Mallaidh felt more strongly, though, in her spirit, that she must show that she was worth helping, that she was not some fireless lass. Fragarach, the hefty sword, would have comforted her with its solid touch, but alas, she was alone, yet her gaze held steady and intent at Twain.

“But I shall come.”

Dimitri had been hastily tossed a robe to cover himself, but not before drawing a few nervous, shifty eyed glances from the female staff member who had walked in on him as he stared into the only mirror in the quaint hospital like room he had awoken in.

she cleared her throat as he drew the robe tight around his waist
"Uh sir"
he threw up his hand top stop her mid sentence
"Please, sir makes me feel terribly old dear, Dimitri is fine" he interjected with a smile.
"Well OK then Dimitri, As I was saying, this is an infirmary. The search team found you close to a thousand feet below the ruins.
"What of the girl I was with? green eyes, red hair, solid build, littered with chain-mail. She should have been with me!"

She shifted nervously from side to side "I'm sorry...But I'm just a nurse. I have no information about the girl right now. There's a meeting in the conference room though. I could take you there if your up for a little walk. Perhaps they will have more information for you."
The monk's eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment as he considered her carefully before letting out a long sigh.
"So no one's coming to interrogate me? Torture me for information?"
She shook her head, a bit unsure if the towering monk was serious or not. "At least, Not that I know of anyway"
"How disappointing!" he commented, with a smile in his voice.

Dimitri tapped his chin thoughtfully then continued after a long pause.
"Very well then! I'm not going to twist your arm for more information. Please lead the way to this meeting." He finished, air quoting the last words.

The nurse quickly exited the room without further words and Dimitri had to almost jog to catch up with her.
The facility was a labyrinth of hallways and corridors but after a while they reached the heavy double doors that lead to the conference room in which the meeting was being held.
the nurse pointed to the doors and with a slight smile as her eyes ran over Dimitri's body one last time, she made her escape.

All eyes seemed to fall on the towering monk and his hospital robe as he quietly slipped into the room then found himself a seat.

Mallaidh

"My apologies... Lady...... Lady-zzzz!" He took a step back, opening one palm toward each woman with a sparkle in his eye.

Rozalind looked over Mallaidh carefully with her good eye. She said nothing, then followed Twain.

Twain would lead them through a strange door. Well, two sets of doors. Twain had to get the three of them past the first door, and it seemed important to close the first door before opening the second. There were other buttons and levers to be pressed, strange noises and metallic bleeps, shifting metals on the other side of the wall.

Behind the second door was a small room with large windows...

Outside the windows was the deep deep ocean.

It was dark, save for the lights that seemed to be lining the outside of the windows. One might think it was simply night, until a strange fish would pass by. There were also some barnacles growing on the windows, a starfish stuck to the port side, kelp trailing from the seams of the starboard windows like dark green hair blowing in a gentle wind.

There were a few seats around the edge of this very small room by the window. One seat was facing the opposite way, and was occupied by a woman wearing a strange helmet. Once the door was closed, she and Twain talked briefly.

Then the room moved.

Rozalind sat down as far away from Twain as possible. Twain kept catting with the helmeted woman who steered the craft.

Through the windows they could see themselves gently float away from the door they had just walked through.

Anyone who was, unlike Mallaidh, from earth would recognize that this was a submarine of some sort. And that the trio were passengers in a smaller submarine or pod.

It wasn't long before the craft pulled up beside a second submarine. There was a similar door on it's starboard side. The captain easily aligned the door of the pod to the door of the larger submarine.

Twain thanked the captain with a charming wink. Then, opened the first door, waited for the two women to step inside and the door shut tight behind them, then he flipped leavers and buttons, then opened the second door.

THE MEETING ROOM

Twain, Mallaidh, and Rozalind stepped into the conference room (through the same door that Zesiro had used minutes before). There were a few windows peering out into the deep ocean that surrounded them. Inside the room was Zesiro, passing out coffee and pastries with a frown. And everyone else who had gathered into the meeting room.

Twain threw a glance back toward Mallaidh. "Coffee? Tea?" he picked up two of the blue cups from the table and offered her the choice.

"I don't think everyone is here yet, but, I think we can start getting comfortable." He spoke to those assembled. "Where is that old guy? Is he still sleeping or something?"