---

It had happened again, another murder inside the walls of the GNYC. They were becoming more frequent, having started in early December of last year with a murder every few weeks and not reaching a culmination of a murder near every day. Some days, people were afraid to go anywhere alone and the curfew was tighter. Some men and women from Blackwatch were taken out of service to investigate some months back but they had gotten nowhere in their works. The killer was crafty, striking at night just before curfew but at a time when somebody was bound to be in the streets. Whoever was committing the murders covered their footprints and used simple, though effective, crime scene investigation skills to inhibit the investigation afterwards.

Many Blackwatch members have grown uneasy though at the idea of a killer whom they can’t catch, one who can kill effectively in silence. Were this killer able to strike at them when they were spread thin, Blackwatch could crumble and lose the power it has over the Colony. Some suggest the Railmen to be the source, others an insider of the Blackwatch, while some question if it is possible that the killer is one of them and simply is just hiding amongst the crowds. As if the paranoia of the murders was not enough, the last shipment from NAS had never arrived even with the knowledge that it would be late. They had been late before, but never by several weeks. People are afraid to go out during the day, even the scavengers are afraid to leave their homes.

Their fear only has been made worse after nearly a dozen guards were injured by a car bomb near one of the gates, the medical staff being forced to work almost over time to sew up the injured and remove the shrapnel as best they could. The Railmen were faring no better, what with the recent increase in Reborn which had appeared in the Subways. It was likely somebody was leading them down there or they were multiplying but tensions amongst the guards down there were running high. Men slept little, ate even less, and generally feared for their lives. The Purple line had it worse out of all of them, fewer guards willing to go down to protect as more of the Reborn seemingly threw themselves against the trains and spiked barricades. More of those they had once recognized from their lives in NYC appearing in the line, all of them Reborn.

The night before, a powerful storm rocked the entire area, waves surging over the banks by nearly ten feet and making the natural harbor of the area near impossible to navigate without running into something. If one were not prepared for a wave, they could easily be thrown off a boat and into the waters below. With the passing of the storm, Blackwatch decided to send out a ship this morning to look at the nearby lands in hopes of finding anything worth scavenging, knowing full well that it was unlikely but still possible that some survivors had lost supplies that night. They knew not what they would find, but the boat certainly would soon arrive at its first stop, Liberty Island. With tensions high in the GNYC, who knows what could happen. All it may need is one push for a block to come tumbling out of place and the precarious tower which it supports to come falling down.

---

Another meeting between the near hundreds of scavengers which inhabited the GNYC and another boring day of area assignment.

The young woman couldn’t help but seem anymore disinterested as she casually listened to her squad leader preach at her about the rules of scavenging safety. Don’t go alone, travel quietly and slowly, look where you are going. The same spiel that he had said for nigh some odd years since he was given the position. Though, there was something to be said about the kind and caring man who had taken over when the last squad leader committed suicide. He kept track of each of his members, often going out of his way to visit some of them after a mission or share his rations with them. He was, by far, Sonya’s most favorite squad leader amongst all of the scavengers. She felt like… he was a brother to her and, as much as that made her afraid, it also made her happy.

Long had been the days that Sonya had to live with being near alone, even with the small and near close knit family which she had in the apartment. She had grown distant from all of them at this point, her Father barely even being little more than an afterthought when she did anything. Though, she had to admit that sometimes she found herself drawing portraits of her brothers or her Mother. She remembered how they were… before. They had been so happy, so full of life at one time that she couldn’t help but feel the explosive burst of energy whenever she had been around them. Now, she was unsure if her other brother was even alive and her Dad was hardly ever the same since… that day.

”Sonya, you’ll be staying in the Colony for today. After your run in with a few Outsiders yesterday, we don’t want you going out else you may become a target for them. Lord knows that they are likely watching our movements by now.” His voice cut through Sonya’s daydreams, her eyes lowering from the overcast sky to his eyes. She grimaced slightly at being told that she was stay there for the day, knowing full well that she would have nothing to do but sit around or wander the streets. Yet, Sonya quickly shook her head and looked towards the sky again with a sigh. Hating the idea though she did, Sonya had to admit that it was for the best to stay inside after having nearly been shot upon meeting the Outsiders.

”Aye aye sir, can do. Shouldn’t be too hard to do nothing all day.” Her voice seemed cheery but her face gave off the near opposite feeling.

---

They say that man's imagination is what can scare him the most, that it is the mind which translate every pitter-patter and every low, windy howl into foot steps and whispers from the darkness and man simply scares himself. There is nothing to fear but fear itself, fear which the human mind creates on its own from the most minute of sensory details. The things we see in the dark is nothing but our eyes playing tricks and the low moans we hear is nothing but our ears deceiving us. Some clam that ghosts aren't real others say they are. But Edward knew better.

There are things worse than ghosts roaming the lost Mythic Line with its purple-lined stations and something even worse than the reborn who clam it home as some say.

It had been well over a day since Edward and his team had slept, nearing the 36 hour mark although all of them had been awake for roughly 48 hours if you count the various catnaps and rests they took across the span of roughly two days. It only takes 3 days without sleep until you start hallucinating, knowing that the 4 man patrol longed for proper bedding but it was their duties as Sentinels to remove those thoughts from their heads until the mission was over. It was just a routine patrol and clean run, go in and take a look, stay a while and kill some locals and hope you aren't driven mad by fear. Simple stuff but when you see moving shadows in flickering lights and footsteps from all angles with no bodies to make them, things get a little hard for those without the strongest of wills.

Thankfully, Edward and his team had not to worry or care about that much longer, not that they did to begin with. It wasn't their first rodeo and it surely wouldn't be their last but they had long gotten used to the unique atmosphere of the lost Ghost Line. The walls of Gateway Charon welcomed the Sentinels, luring them in with the sweet scent of heated rations. Gateways were the special outpost-stations that sit on old transfer stations to the now lost line that once connect the great underground New York metro system; they were the only thing remotely "civilized" that would sit on the purple line.

"Braveheart!" one of the guards called down from the top of the subway train wall, "How's the ghosty line?"

"Lookin' just fine Travis," Edward heaved a wide grin as the powerful lights shone on him, "Some more reborn on the rails and stuff, nothin' big."

"How 'bout them ghosts and phantoms?" Travis the guard leaned on the barricade and gave a shit eating grin.

"They sure make a hell of lotta noise for being dead 'n all. You wanna come with me next time?" Edward shouldered his SMG and walked under the same train Travis was on as its doors where cranked open to let in the patrol.

"Nah man, I like it up here where I can see 'em ya know."

"'Fraid that ghosts don't care if you can see 'em though Travis, not to my knowledge." Edward chuckled at the banter between him and Travis. Travis was one of the newer kids, one of them "one week wonders" as some of the old guard called them, Rail Guards who got at best a week's worth of training instead of the former month that most of them went through; some old guards even only expected them to last a week too. Edward had nothing of the like seeing as he was never technically trained at all, he was one of the "founders", a title looked at with equal parts awe and snootiness from both the old guard and one week wonders.

"Edward, I need you for a second," Jacob the so called "Station Master" of Gateway Charon -those who acted as the overall head of each individual station- pulled the Sentinel over to the side, "Do you know where Chris's team is? Did you see them in the tunnels? They were suppose to check in a few hours ahead of you but they still haven't arrived."

"No sir." Edward took off and stowed his headlamp, "I haven't seen a trace of Chris or his team but I made contact with Twitch's and Alice's. You sure they didn't get off at 74th and Broadway or 34th and Penn?"

Jacob shook his head and leaned against a wall, "I've sent runners and radio messages to most of the Gateways, they say they haven't seen Chris's team either. Besides, he's also not stupid enough to go into the Times Square line so that's out of the picture, not like nobody goes there anyways."

Scratching his chin, Edward sat down next to a camp fire and thought, "Maybe he-"

"HELP! HELP! THEY'RE COMING! OH GOD HELP ME!", a voice shouted from down the long tunnel followed by frantic pistol shots. Station Master Jacob called everyone to arms with the tired Edward rushing to a spot along the wall. More screaming echoed down the walls as Edward felt his heart rate increase and adrenaline flowing through his veins once more. The Station Master pulled out his own revolver and paced along walls, "Steady men... steady..."

The calm, commanding tone of his voice contrasted sharply against the panicked screams and cries of the men running towards them, "I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY!" another one yelled as their pounding feet banged against the ground. The man suddenly came into view, his clothing all tattered and covered in blood and muck, his face plastered with dust and sweat as his flailing limbs hurtled him down the tracks into the doors.

There was a murmuring amongst some of the men as medics carried the violently twitch man back towards a makeshift medical center, his eyes darting like hunted prey. "Grab hold of yourself soldier!" Station Master Jacob roared before his backhand delivered some sense into the man, "What happened? Where's the rest of your team?" No one said anything, but Edward already knew that that man was part of Chris's team, or what was left of it."

"M-my name i-is... l-l-linemm-man Rivers... m-muh name iz l-lineman Ri-rivers-" River's survival mantra was interrupted by another backhand curtsey of the Station Master. Lineman was the designated term for the rank and file Rail Guardsman or so-called "one week wonders" referring to their station of posts on a certain line. All linemen were taught a survival mantra of their name and rank to keep their heads straight if they felt like they were breaking. Although what the hell a lineman was doing in the Ghost Line was beyond Edward's comprehension.

River's hyperventilation soon slowed as his speech was less and less slurred and could be properly understood, "I was o-on my n-normal patrol route on the R-red line with my squad. Th-then I felt something inside of me but I couldn't find it, I just felt like something was wrong you know? Like when there's a cold down your back in a warm room. So I told my squad leader but then everything went dark like boom! Nothing, couldn't see anything. I was out cold. When I woke up I saw that there was another like me and we were trapped in a room full of dead bodies. I t-think one of them was a Sentinel? Guy's name was... was... Jim... yeah, Jim. So me and Jim get the hell out of dodge b-but then a whole bunch of them came after us so we r-ran but then we saw something. Something... scary.. with those haunting yellow eye. Sa-saw nothing really but its big ol' shadow, an outline of something horrifying. I f-fired my gun but they got Jim. Oh god, Jim..."

Rivers started bawling as the nurses began to comfort him, Jacob immediately ordered a fresh team of Sentinels to probe the area, granting them additional members for added protection. Within tense 30 minutes they came back but according to them, they found nothing. No body, no blood, not even foot prints. It was like it didn't even happen. Rivers on the other hand was dead sure that it happened, urging them to look again but his request was denied and Jacob ordered him to be put on the next train back to the Orange Line for proper treatment.

Edward on the other hand just waited all of this out. Sure it unnerved him, but the Purple line was called the Ghost Line for a reason. Such events like this was all too common for his taste, he shuttered a few times during River's story as he pondered his own luck and existence here. Dangerous job this was, but it made him feel worth while, like he was doing something but at the end of the day, Edward knew he'd pay the price for it.

With his energy sapping, the adrenaline rush long gone, and his eyes droopier than ever, he lumbered his way to the stop and got on the first train that came. He barely got himself into a seat before his head dropped and he began snoring. The day had only technically begun but it felt like it should have ended a long time ago for Edward.

---

When people think about the end of the world, they tend to think of gray skies and angry weather ferociously pounding the world to its knees. Today was not one of those days. The breeze rolling off the sea was calm and whispered a soothing melody through the rusting metal and crumbling concrete of a dying world. Though the sea was calm and gently bubbling and rippling along the shore, the faint echo of the past night's storm still rang throughout the dying infrastructure. Nikolai Petronov had never been a sailor at heart; the ocean was no friend of his. As Nikolai began to return to consciousness, pain flooded throughout his body and as he gasped a deep breath, it got worse. Heaving up water at a furious pace was not Nikolai's plan for this morning, but after a few minutes, his lung finally emptied and managed to taste air again. This was going to be a rough day.

Pushing himself to his feet Nikolai stretched out the sore muscles and tested his bones for breaks. After a moment of breathing and recollection, Nikolai checked himself to make sure his gear was still attached and his ration pack was still sealed. Though he would need to clean his guns extensively, everything seemed to be in a good enough state to carry on. After a few steps he began to feel a sharp pain in his side and sat down hard wondering what it was. Grabbing a section of sheet metal that had been lodged in his side he suddenly understood why his socks were red. He layed back and breathed slowly trying to slow his heart rate and thus, his bleeding. He gazed out towards the city and then up to the sky where Lady Liberty stood mocking him. He started to blackout as he peered off towards the city again. He damned the ocean in his mind, damned the Lady standing above him, and damned the metal sticking out of his side. Pain turned to a cold numbness as his body grappled with death. Peering off into the city he waited for the end. As a boat entered view in the space between the city and the island, the world faded to the warm, welcoming darkness of sleep.

A call came in, static and broken. A bomb by the gate had gone off, the victims would be coming in soon. They needed all doctors and nurses ready to go, there was no time to spare. Not that was any before.

Brynn snapped off the end of the thread, sealing the long gash she'd been working on. When the idea of turning part of the land into a farm was proposed it seemed like nothing could go wrong. Then again things can be more like that one movie quote, 'give a kid a toy gun and they'll shoot their own eye out'. It was something like that, she didn't remember though, it'd been more than a decade since she'd even had time to think about movies. It wasn't really the teens fault she got hit with one of the plows anyway, things just happen sometimes. Brynn just had to find a way to cope with that sort of mystery. "Alright kiddo off you go. Keep that clean."

and just like that she was onto the next injury.


Brynn wiped the sweat from her brow, it was a cool 68 degrees Fahrenheit but the stress of a long week to come was heavy. The car bomb had injured so many, and for all the people in the GNYC there were just not enough doctors to cover everything. She would be pulling bits of metal from flesh for the next few days, just like all the other doctors. It wouldn't be pretty either; the morphine was already low and the shipment was far later than usual. Booze, that was what they had to ease the pain, it was like the 1860s all over again.

A scream hit Brynn like the car, ironically the thing that hit her patients. It took a moment for her to realize it was the man she was operating on. Fresh blood dripped from his side where she'd just pulled out a shard of metal. Tender fat and muscle oozed like glue. It was the part of the job that Brynn found utterly disgusting; Peoples' insides never did stay in place. With a frown she poked around the wound, looking for anything that could be left behind. A garbled sound came from the man before he slid into unconsciousness. Better that than waste good alcohol. Yes, it was going to be a long day indeed.

Hava woke with a start to her small wind-up alarm clock and sat straight up in her bed. Her mousy brown hair was tangled in frizzy loops that framed her thin, pale face. She scratched her long nose, blinking the sleep out of her brown eyes as she struggled to remember why she’d set her alarm so early. Glancing at the small chalkboard she’d hung on the wall next to her bed, she frowned. It read, “Don’t forget to turn off the alarm clock”. Hava sighed, reached over to the chair she used as a nightstand, and switched off the clock. She had meant to give herself a break and sleep in today. The mail business was busier than ever these days; no one wanted to go outside for anything less than necessities, and that meant that letters were being sent more and more frequently. Sundays were the only days Hava allowed to herself.

Resigned to being awake, Hava threw her mismatched bedcovers off and swung her twiggy legs out of the bed. She dressed in yesterday’s jeans, an oversized t-shirt, and a man’s brown leather jacket. It dwarfed her petite frame and aged her even younger than she normally looked, but she’d found out long ago that large, baggy clothing was much warmer. She had even modified the sleeves to hang just over her knuckles and cut holes for her thumbs to slip through. Hava dutifully remade her bed and set the alarm clock on her pillow. Dragging the chair behind her, she sat herself before a cheap plastic mirror hanging on the wall and began finger-combing her hair into submission. After tying it back in a loose ponytail, she retrieved her jug of water, toothpaste, and toothbrush and quickly cleaned her teeth, staring at her reflection and wondering what on earth she’d do with herself today. By the time she’d finished she still hadn’t decided, so she sat on her bed and listened to the rest of the inhabitants of the Wax Apartments stir awake through the thin walls of her bedroom.

Madame Tussaud’s had been hastily renovated into crude apartments when GNYC’s population began to swell. The area’s existing residence buildings had simply run out of room when news of the settlement spread, and many former points of attraction had been commandeered to house the massive influx of people seeking refuge from the Reborn. Pieces of plywood, cheap drywall, even old doors were used to cordon off hundreds of small rooms within the wax museum, and Hava had managed to secure her own shortly after arriving in GNYC. Each room was furnished with a twin bed and one chair, and each resident was given a gallon of water that they could refill each morning at one of the settlement’s wells, since the indoor plumbing was no longer working. Hava looked around at her few belongings. Her bike leaned up against a wall, her messenger bag hanging from one handlebar. A waist-high chest of drawers sat across from her bed and doubled as a work table. A small wicker basket sat upon it, holding her collection of wood that she whittled into animals or abstract shapes and sold. She hadn’t been able to sell many in the past few months, now that so few people went out and about. Normally, Hava took her basket to Times Square and peddled her carvings to the people on the street. But no one wanted to waste time looking at useless trinkets--they ventured out only for necessities and rushed back home.

Hava was restless. She knew it wasn’t safe, but she longed to go outside. She debated, chewing her lower lip. At last she hopped off her bed, slipped into her beat-up sneakers, looped her messenger bag over one shoulder, grabbed her basket of carvings, and made off for Times Square. Perhaps she’d sell at least one trinket today.