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It's been at least a week and a half since the brutal storm occurred within the town of Brighton. Many people, even the reporters and meteorologists, were still talking about what had transpired that day and honestly, Savannah was sick and tired of hearing about it. She walked over towards the window of her flat and opened up the curtain, only to see that it was still raining and reporters were still out there, interviewing anyone that was willing to speak with them or just to get a scoop on how everyone felt. Savannah had let out a soft sigh and rolled her eyes as she heard her phone chime, signaling that it was a notification from the university she attended in Brighton. Classes were cancelled for the remainder of the week and she honestly felt a bit relieved because it gave her time to clean up around her flat and go grocery shopping.

Once she sat her phone down on her dining table, it started to ring and before she fully walked away, her eyes peered towards the device and saw that the screen read Madre with at least three hearts to follow the Spanish word for mom or mother. Answering the phone, Savannah didn't even have the chance to say the words hello, hey or hi before her mother went on a word rampage with her. Her mother was very concerned about Savannah after hearing the news about the storm and even offered for her to come home immediately. Savannah declined, of course, not wanting to leave her life within Brighton behind quite yet.

"Mother, mother! Please. This is like the thousandth time you've called within two days." She exaggerated as her mother seized talking for a moment, only to allow Savannah to finally get some words in. "I am fine. We're all fine here in Brighton, okay? If something comes up, I'll let you know, mother. You don't need to worry so much." Savannah said as her mother spoke the words okay and that she loved Savannah. "Love you, too. Bye." With that, she hung her phone up and sat it back down on the dining table then went and got dressed so that she can make a grocery run.

As she grabbed her phone and keys, she walked out of her flat and made sure the door was locked before she continued her trek towards the doors that lead towards the outside. She stood at the doors for a moment and it seemed as if the reporters were just waiting for her to come out so they can ram themselves towards her and bombard her with multiple questions about the storm. Savannah buttoned up her jacket and placed her hood upon her head then let out a soft sigh before she went out into the light rain weather that was falling onto the ground. Just as she suspected, the reporters came at her with a multitude of questions as she managed to not answer any of them but one question made her stop in her tracks and turn heel to face the female reporter that asked that question.

"What was that question you had asked again?" Savannah asked the reporter, who had put the tape recorder up to her own mouth and asked the question again. "Do you have any thoughts the people that are missing? Or any idea how many?" The reporter then placed the tape recorder out towards Savannah, who seemed to be frozen as he mouth was parted open slightly. "M..Missing? W..Wh..What do you mean by missing?" She stammered as she ran past the reporters and went back inside, removing her hood from the top of her head. Savannah honestly had no idea that people were missing and if people were truly missing, where are they? Where could they have gone?

She went back towards her flat and leaned her back against the door, her heart racing and her breath a little bit heavy. A knock came upon her door that caused her to jump slightly and let out a light shriek. She opened the door as it revealed a male behind it and she eyed him as he started to speak. "Hey there, sorry to bother you but me and some friends are having a Survivor of the Storm party alongside seaside tonight and we're inviting everyone within The Lights region to attend." The male said as he handed Savannah a flyer. "Well, hope to see you there and have a good evening." The male waved at Savannah, who somewhat smiled at the male, as he walked down the hall and went to the next door.

Savannah closed her door and looked down at the flyer before setting it down on the counter. She still couldn't believe that people were missing and wondered who else knew about the missing people. It was strange to her, honestly and now she was wondering, was any people that she knew missing? Were her any of her friends missing, too? With a sigh, she walked over towards her living area and sat down upon her couch, sending a text to her mother that people are actually missing after the storm. All she had to do now was wait for her mother to call her with another worried tone phone conversation and offer for her to come home once again. She honestly had no idea how to feel right about now.

The piece of notch key finally slid out of the lock, as Samir wiped his brow, feeling pleased with his work. The old man's key had broken off in the lock, and finding Samir's card which had been deposited in his letterbox a few days prior. The call had been made, and Samir had arrived in around 25 minutes. After a good bit of fiddling with the lock, he had finally managed to slide out the piece of key with little harm to the lock mechanism itself. He was thanked by the customer, and warned the man not to be rough with his keys in the future. He also gave him the number and address of a shop that could make a replacement key. He packed up his things afterwards, got in his car and started making the short walk back to the Lights. The rain made the journey irritable, and carrying a toolbox only made the walk seem more tedious. He could see the building in the distance now, and saw the reporters and groaned a little.

The reporters had been badgering people in the area since the storm occurred. It was quite nice having them there at first, but after a few days Samir couldn't believe they were still there, badgering residents of the apartment building. Samir had as much questions as they did about the storm, probably. Hell, maybe the reporters knew a little more now, after harassing everyone within a mile radius about it for the smallest piece of newsworthy information. And of course, he was stopped by an eager looking middle aged man as he got close to the door. Many questions were thrown his way, and Samir answered with short one word answers. "Sir? Sir! What are your thoughts on the missing people after the storm?", to which Samir had answered: "It's a tragedy, and I, like everyone else, hope they're found soon. Now, could you leave me alone so I can go to my apartment?" He was aware of the missing people, and it puzzled him where the hell they had gone. Perhaps just swallowed up by the violent.

He looked over as he saw a girl leave the apartment, get badgered by reporters and dart back inside. These reporters were really taking no mercy with their questioning. He pushed past his interviewer and the crowd of reporters at the door, closing it behind him as he entered. Finally, peace at last. Although he could still hear the hum of voices from outside, and moved away from the door, before making the journey back to his flat. On the way, he encountered a guy in the hall with a bunch of flyers grasped in his arms. When the man walked over and began talking to Samir, he feared it was some kind of reporter who had got in. But to his pleasure, it was not. "Hey, good to catch you out here, me and some people are hosting a Survivor of the Storm party out on the beach tonight, and we're inviting people in the region to come.. Samir took a flyer graciously and thanked the man, promising his attendance at the event. The guy seemed happy with this and moved on. Samir would never pass up an event like this.

Finally reaching his flat, he opened the door (making sure not to break off his key in the lock) and entered, locking it behind him. He threw his toolbox down on the floor and collapsed on the couch, needing a relax. His mind drifted to thoughts of the storm, and therefore to his newly found powers. He cast a small flickering flame in his hand, and used it to incinerate a small piece of paper which he found in the cracks between the cushions of his sofa. This storm party could be a good event to show off his powers. Unlike some people, Samir had embraced his new abilities and, one could say he had been slightly abusing them. But he didn't care. Although, he did have to be careful he didn't accidentally burn the entire party. So he would keep it to a small flickering flame.

-

The day seemed to meticulously progress as Simon hummed in his small kitchen, cooking a light meal. People always assume blind people are totally inept and unable to even cook for themselves, but Simon was a living demonstration of why that belief was wrong! ...Or at least was after the first few years of his accident, when he became used to living blind. The barely audible, practically silent hum of his echolocation was nearly drowned out as he continued to mumble the lyrics to the song he had performed at "The Casalingo" only a day prior, and Simon was mainly cooking through the use of touch and feeling for the proper ingredients. Echolocation definitely was easier than feeling around looking for what he needed, but Simon was was far more comfortable using his sense of touch. He wasn't completely used to his echolocation yet, and while the sense of nausea was nearly nonexistent, he still preferred to have a little more time before using his echolocation constantly. The water soon began boil loudly, and Simon quickly began to stir the pot of noodles, realizing that he was busy lost in thought and wasn't paying attention.

Several minutes later, Simon was sitting in his living room with the television turned on, slowly eating the noodles with a delicate precision. Simon knew that it was kind of weird to have a television when you were blind, but he liked to have it for the guests that came over. He only ever listened to the news anyways, but the only thing that was on any of the channels were alerts and damage reports on the vicious storm that had struck a week ago. Simon listened carefully, wincing slightly at the damage costs, and even more when the dozens of missing citizens were reported. It seemed as if the number of missing was growing by the day... Simon quickly reached into his pocket as he his phone vibrate, before pulling out his cellphone - an older model with a braille keypad rather than the touch screen of newer phones. Answering it, he heard the unmistakable voice of a trainer from his local gym, someone who often helped him set the proper weights whenever he went. Simon instantly recognized it as Clyde Harvey.

"Hey, what's up Simon? Remember that time you said you owed me one when I spotted you on bench? Well, the gang and I were thinking about throwing a party down by the beach, and it would be great if you came and performe-"

"Clyde, I kind of meant that figuratively, since you always spot me on bench. Besides, why are you throwing a party? And if it's down by the shore, how am I supposed to get a piano down there?

"It's a 'Survivor of the Storm' party! Everyone around the city seems depressed about all the people who went missing and all the property damage, so we thought it would lift everyone's spirits to let loose and have some fun! Besides, you can play guitar, can't you? I've seen you play at The Bus Stop, so I know you can! And Steve went through so much trouble making the flyers! ...Which just so happened to say that you were going to play at the party... hehe..."

Simon sighed loudly. He sure as hell couldn't be angry at the guys - they had helped him more times than he could count when he was at the gym, and they were throwing the party to make people feel safer in there own city. He was scheduled to play at The Bus Stop today, and he knew that Clyde sure as hell didn't have the money to pay him what he would normally receive for a showing...

"Alright, I'll show up and play a song or two. But next time, ask me before you make a bunch of fliers saying I'm gonna be there, alright?"

"You got it! Thanks again Simon, it means a lot!"

Simon ended the call soon after Clyde finished talking. Simon knew the Bus Stop's manager for years, and he was pretty sure that he would be able to call out today. The Bus Stop wasn't really a place that needed music to complete the atmosphere, and it could survive a day or two without Simon there. Slowly rising from the couch and turning off the television, Simon closed his eyes and focused, as Piano Concerto No. 1 in B-Flat Minor Op. 23 seemingly started playing from thin air. Simon smiled slightly, appreciating that his power could be used as a form of recreation. He enjoyed the ability to play whatever music he wished, without having to cycle through his countless CDs to find the right song for the situation. Making his way to his bedroom, he gently grabbed his guitar, before setting to work tuning it. Simon always enjoyed practicing before he performed, he felt it allowed him to focus easier, get in the zone. Simon strummed the guitar, mulling over the possible songs he could perform at the party as the sounds of Tchaikovsky's strings drummed in his ears. After several seconds, Simon smiled slightly. Yes, of course. That would be perfect.

A slight ringing could be heard across the room, before a clearly robotic voice chimed out. "2 PM." Simon briefly realized he had not asked for when the party started, and resolved to simply arrive around 6 PM. Simon immediately began to practice his chosen song, preparing himself to practice for an hour or two before he left for the other side of town, the place he had unlocked his abilities.

The Lights.

"Excuse me.....Excuse me!"
The annoyingly ditzy voice of the female reporter made Francesco cringe inwardly. Okay so not every blonde girl was ditzy and well dumb, but this one certainly wasn't trying too hard to break the stereotype. He gave her a good look over as she was practically running towards him the second he stuck one foot outside of the flat. She was wearing a pretty glamorous outfit for a reporter, completely color coordinated which he could definitely appreciate, if she wasn't as annoying.

"Wow, God they're like a bunch of piranhas, can you believe it?" She said, referring to the other reporters. They were acting like the storm had happened yesterday, harassing everyone for the latest piece of news. As if they knew better than everyone else what was going on........not. The reporter didn't wait for an answer, probably not realizing she was pretty much part of the paparazzi herself.

"Thanks for stopping, everyone is in such a rush today"

Like he had a choice, and obviously everyone was in a rush to get away from the press and go about their day, like normal people.

"Hi!" He put on his most cheerful smile which was nearly as annoyingly happy as the blonde girl.
"It's really no big deal, what did you want to know?"

His reluctance to be in this situation could be spotted by anyone with a bit of common sense. His body language was clearly saying he desperately wanted to be somewhere else, like the grocery store or something. His facial expression was the complete opposite, all fake smiles and feigned politeness. The reporter didn't notice at all, completely falling for his kindness. He was caught, stuck in a situation he sadly found himself in way too much. His friend had told him more than once that he should just learn to say no, be honest. Being fake would lead him into these kinds of situations over and over again, until he would finally learn.

"Any news of the missing people in your flat? Have you been in contact with them?"
"When was the last time you saw any of them?"

God.....
The floodgates had been opened. The reporter was bombarding him with questions, none of which he could answer and it was making him extremely uncomfortable. He started to feel his skin grow hot and his face was probably going pretty red. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, a nervous habit, trying to come up with some sort of sensible explanation.

"I...I uh......"
"I don't really live here so, I was just visiting my friend."
He sucked in his breath, waiting wide eyed, trying to find some sort of clue in the reporter's facial expression. It was a barely adequate answer, if he was a reporter he would definitely ask a ton more questions. But the question she asked came completely out of the blue.

"Hey.....do you smell that?"

Oh crap.....he was doing it again.

The first time it happened Francesco figured it must have been a one time freak incident. Whenever he was getting nervous he was creating some sort of perfume that messed with people. The night after the storm his friend Nadia who was usually allergic to displays of affection was giving him hugs none stop and that was after bringing him breakfast in bed. The behavior of Nadia had freaked him out but the idea of him having caused it freaked him out even more, especially because he didn't seem to be able to control it. He had a strong feeling the storm hadn't just been causing people to go missing, it had also messed with the people that "survived" for the lack of a better word.

"Yeah it's like...a kind of perfume..." The report looked a little out of it. She was trying to determine the source of the vaguely floral smell. It was so faint she could barely smell it, but the scent was intoxicating. Without realizing it and to Francesco's dismay she was edging closer and closer until she was practically sniffing his neck. He visibly cringed when she accidentally touched his skin. When they made eye contact he could see her eyes were glazed over slightly, like she was daydreaming, it was quite disturbing.

Okay time to get out of here.

"It was really nice to meet you.." He realized he hadn't caught her name. It wasn't really important he just had to get out of here. The grocery store was as good an excuse as any.

"I've got to run by the grocery store real quick and I'm kind of in a rush, sorry.."

He attempted to turn away but before he could take another step the blonde caught his arm. She was smiling at him, gesturing towards her car.
"I can take you to the store if you like, no need to be hauling all those heavy groceries by foot." Francesco pried himself loose with many uncomfortable smiles and a stammering of words and sentences that didn't make much sense.

"No I'm all good, I really got to run!"

And he definitely ran, all the way down the street. He didn't stop until the grocery store was in sight. He stopped on the parking lot for a second to catch his breath and fix his hair. This was really starting to become a problem.

The past week has been quite something. Different from what usually goes on around here, it has been an interesting time when the storm had hit earlier that made it almost impossible to get out. His commute throughout the town had been very entertaining, with him being soaked to the bone as at times without transportation to move around the place. Despite the weather, he liked the presence of the rain as for the past week resulted in his drenched appearance just like right now as he walked down the street in the simple outfit he had. With black compression pants with white decorations on the ankle underneath the black shorts and the red sleeveless shirt that he was wearing, they were all soaked by the time he came back around.

Shaking the water off his hair as he came around the bend, his luck so far held off the barrage of reporters that slowly increased during the week after the coming of the tremendous storm. Taking a glance to his surroundings as he continued, being close to the beach as it was for the most part empty from the drizzling of water from the sky. He continued off the street and onto the sand that stuck to his feet as he continued closer to the shifting tides of the ocean, rippling with raindrops falling upon them along with the waves traveling and falling to the shore. Waiting as the wave flowed through his already wet feet into the water as the gloomy skies were scenically peaceful, he was surprised to see somebody else here on a gloomy day. A couple who were walking down the beach on their own little thing who probably saw Elijah from miles away as he approached the water.

"Good evening" Elijah politely said to them as he gave them an affirming nod to their presence, it would be awkward otherwise to ignore them which they responded in kind. "What a wonderful day it is today." The female said as she looked at him"Are you out here for the weather?" Her partner, the male also responded who whimsically looking into the sky in the distance "No doubt, there hasn't been a good storm like that in a long while..." Making Elijah look at the two with a more careful eye as to who these two were.

A young couple they were as he nodded at their statements "Yeah, you don't see this every day. What are you two doing down by the beach?" He asked them curiously as they both looked at each other before the girl pulled a pamphlet out of her pocket "We're just looking where the party is going to be at, I heard everyone in the Lights Section received it. There is going to be a 'Survivor of the Storm' party by the shore later today if you want the address" She informatively before offering the paper to him, taking it out of her hand as he looked at it "Thanks, this looks interesting, I'll be there. See you two around?" He said before the couple nodded with a confirming smile before they left and continued their walk.

Looking around, he decided to rest for a little bit more as the rain continued to drench Elijah in wetness. He'd have to clean himself up later and freshen up for later but it would be something to worry about when it comes up. For now, he was enjoying the salt in the air as he continued to enjoy the beach for just a while longer.

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A perfect white line.

Thin, and precise-- no powder strayed from the meticulous journey from point A to B. As if a machine had crushed up a little white pearl, and laid the dust of it's being a perfect, glowing, silver-white 'I' that contrasted poorly with the spearmint green Formica table it called home. For now.

A woman sits before the line, bill in a recently manicured hand, folding it into a straw, as quickly, as immaculately, and with the same precision she laid the line with. She bends over the table, and inhales. Point A to point B. Just like that, the perfect white line is.

The woman, Adah, reels back, stars in her eyes. Leaning back in the chair, she feels relief. Stars are always a good sign, she thinks, that's the body adjusting. She stares up at a ceiling, beige-white to match with the coffee brown carpet, a dim yellow light greets her, the ever glowing eye of a three pronged fan spinning slowly. That's not environmentally friendly, is it? That light? The room comes into focus.

Pale Christmas lights that have been a staple of this kitchen since at least three holiday seasons ago glitter at the edge of her periphery. A cage of light surrounds the edge of the ceiling, though some dandelion bulbs flicker out of existence while their brother's burn on. Make a note of that. Yeah.

Adah jerks her head downward, feeling the kick sufficiently coursing through her system, enough to revoke the puffiness of her tired eyes of their power. The sickly green walls match the table she sits at, littered with pictures o animals and people alike, interrupted only by a monolith. A flat, black rectangle amidst the chlorine green and baby pictures. Save for two doorways and a pastel blue fridge, she feels enclosed by the tacky yellow counter tops, preserved from their birthplace in the 60's, all crowded with more manner of appliances and sinkware than her schooling led her to believe existed. The kick is good-- she sniffs again, rubbing the underside of her nose.

Adah blinked, and like that, a moment had passed. She knew she needed more sleep, but for now she had to settle for coffee and some blow. She gave an almost invisible nod to herself, feeling her thoughts catch up with her material being. How had she been up since 6? Slapping her face a little, she gets up to get herself a cuppa.

Or rather, she had started to get up-- when from behind her, a familiar 'tsk' bounced off the asbestos and carpeting. "You know I don't like that shit in my house."

Adah sighed, settling back into her position, only turning slightly to acknowledge the woman entering the room, hair obscuring her eye for her effort as she did so. "That's why I do it when you aren't around." She gave small grin to the elderly brown woman as she rounded the corner, "Wotcha, Nan."

"Yeah, yeah." The old woman, larger than Adah by half, and dressed in a blindingly floral Hawaiian shirt and a skirt as sickeningly green as the Formica and walls, yanked open the fridge, pulling out a freshly prepared tupperware container, "Made you some breakfast-- it'll take a minute to heat it up."

"That's fine," Adah rested her head against her arms as she sat, watching the woman work, even if it was just simple reheating, "Got any coffee on?"

Wordlessly, soundlessly, as if she was already performing the action before it was even mentioned, she handed Adah a freshly poured mu. As if from nowhere, responding only with her own query, cigarette in mouth, "Gotta light?"

"Yeah." Adah didn't move from her bored position as she pulled out matchbook-- from Blackie's-- prompting her grandmother to strike the match on her own. "Thanks." Adah mumbled, sipping on the black concoction, feeling life return to her two-fold, along with the white horses running through her body, now they had all been given coffee.

Her Grandmother blew the smoke upward, into that fan with the environmentally unfriendly yellow light. "So." She took a drag, "My little monkey seems down."

Adah gave a mirthless laugh, "Down is for the romantics. I'm fine, just tired." Sip.

She blew the smoke away from Adah. "Busy week?" She took a pull. Another drag.

Another sip of the coffee. "You don't know the half." Another sip. She felt her throat tingle.

"It's always a busy week, month year-- life! The smoked flared form her nose as she spoke, "Whatever."

Adah finished the cup of coffee, "It's different. That storm shook everyone up from under their rocks, we haven't been this busy since the Olympics." Running her finger along the rim of the mug, "And I don't even want to get into those damn reporters-- half of my guys got heads so big now they can hardly work...." Motioning her fingers, she silently requested her grandmother move further away with her cigarette, while she fumbled in her purse for her inhaler, she took as long a pull on her medicine as her grandmother, "Good grief."

Her grandmother chucked the mostly smoked parliament out an open window, giving an exaggerated frown she turned back to Adah. "Awww, pobrecita." She shrugged, "What can you do? You know-- I heard on the news, they're closer to finding those missing people than ever."

They haven't even identified the missing people, Nan. Adah scoffed-- though it went unnoticed, as she did so, her phone began to ring from in her purse. Her grandmother nodded, retrieved the breakfast plate from the oven, and left it on the table for Adah, as she left the room, leaving a final kiss on her forehead as Adah answered, knowing full well what this call was about.

Adah flipped open the burner. "Wotcha."

"W-wotcher, boss..."

There was a pause. Not particularly heavy, or, for Adah's part, anyway, awkward-- she took advantage of the man's own nervousness to ge tot the point to begin scarfing down her meal. She hadn't had a thing to eat at all today and she was famished. It was a simple meal-- one of eggs, toast, and beans-- but still one she could feel her grandmother's love and skill infused in. Being hungry made the simplest of meals delicacies-- following that logic; Adah, perhaps, ate better than most kings.

"Boss...?" The voice chimed, even more mousy and unsure after a near minute of silence.

Adah continued to eat. She wanted to put off the stress of this conversation for just a little bit longer. For an instant-- a fraction of a fraction of a second eve--

_{"B-boss......?"}

Adah sighed. Dropping her fork, she moved to grip the bridge of her nose with her index and thumb.

_{"Are you--"}

Adah spoke up. "New missing?"

"Y-yeah... At least 6 of our dancers are confirmed gone without a trace. A couple bouncers."

Adah was silent.

"And um... 4 runners."

"... Fuck."

"Y-yeah."

"Thank you for this, Johnny. This is important to know... moving forward."

"Y-yeah!" The stuttering youth sounded genuinely encouraged by the perceived optimism. "Of course! So what's the plan?"

She gave a sigh. "Let's close Don Juan for now. Put a memorandum out on the website, the Facebook-- all our social media-- that this is in respect of those missing, and that we won't open until further notice. We can concentrate sales in Blackie's for now." She thought for a moment, "For Blackie's... we'll keep the club open. Anyone who works at the club can take shifts at the bar. We're offering drinks half-price until... and... write this down Johnny, I want this on social media, and as a press release-- this is what we tell reporters, 'Until the victims are found, all drinks are half-price, and family of victims drink free." Adah coughed into her hand, "Did you get all that, Johnny?"

"Yes, mum."

"Good." Adah stood, nodding to herself, "We need public opinion on our side now more than ever, if someone even accidentally says 'drugs' to the wrong person, the pigs will come right for us."

"Got it, boss."

"Right now, we're in damage control mode while we figure out what the hell is going on. I'll brief everyone else later."

"Okay."

"Until then, no one but you and I are to even be in the same room as a reporter." She grabbed her hoodie, waving a silent goodbye to her grandmother as she exited the apartment. "Otherwise we have a full head count."

"Yes, mum."

"Great. I'll need their names."

"Oh! It was--"

"Not over the phone." Adah paced herself, walking brisk in the fog of the afternoon to her car. "Text me the missing Don Juan people. Give me the runners in person."

"O-okay."

"Get the word out. Don Juan's is closed for now, Blackie's is offering liquid therapy for Brighton's grieving. I'll see you in a bit."

"You aren't coming down right away?"

"No Johnny..." Adah entered her car, a used up Camry, and the only thing grayer than the morning fog for about a thousand miles in any direction. "Something tells me our swine may have a few pearls for us in this matter." She slammed the door shut and she clicked the phone shut. And like clockwork, eight names appeared from an unlisted number, sent to her personal phone.

---

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As Adah starts up the engine-- her phone rings, not her burner, but her personal phone rings. She runs over the possibilities in her head-- the number is unlisted-- there's no number to recognize on the screen at all. Her finger hovers over the 'answer' button on the touch screen, before, as she sits there, in the driveway to this apartment complex for the elderly, she lets the phone rings for several minutes, before panic sets in-- it eventually rings out. No second call. No message.

Adah pulls out of the driveway.

---

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She still could not wrap her head around the people that were reported missing from around the are. Her mother wanted her to be safe and trust no one right now but she wondered if anyone else knew about the missing people. Well, of course they did since it has been broadcasted on the news for a few days now. Savannah sighed as she tried to take her mind off of the situations that surrounded her but every channel she flipped to was broadcasting either about the storm that had taken place or about the missing people. Not even her newfound soap opera show was on the television.

With a sigh, she turned off her television and softly threw the remote control off to her side. She stood up and walked over towards her curtain once more, moving it to the side and still seeing the reporters out there but the rain had finally stopped. Savannah rolled her eyes again at the shameless reporters as she closed her curtain now and looked at the time. She had at least a few more hours before the party so she decided to go shopping for her own flat and since her fridge was empty. She slipped on her heels and grabbed her clutch purse, walking out of her flat but making sure it was indeed locked before continuing on her pursuit towards the outside.

The reporters had finally stopped interrogating and pushing people to answer their questions as they were all packed up and ready to leave. She let out a sigh of relief as she knew that no one would come her way with questions concerning the storm, missing people or god only knows what else happened after the storm. With a gentle push of the lobby door, she was now outside again and hurried past the reporters as she managed to do so. Savannah did not live that far away from the supermarket so getting there by foot was a piece of cake.

Upon her entrance through the supermarket's doors, she saw a flier for the party tonight. She had considered going but she had considered not going, as well. After a week and a half of solitude, she did need to have a little bit of fun within her life so the party and everyone present was definitely going to be graced with her presence tonight and she definitely could not wait to see her neighbors. When Savannah turned the corner towards the produce section, she seen certain items floating from shelf to shelf and saw a male behind the manner but once he saw Savannah looking, the male gasped and ran away.

Sighing and lowering her head, Savannah turned heel and went back to shopping then went and stood in line. Her gaze went over towards the magazine stand beside her as she grabbed it and skimmed through it but something caught her attention within one of the stories. Brighton has not suffered a brutal storm within decades and the last time a brutal storm occurred, a doctor named Dr. Owens were creating certain mutated people with a device he had created but the first brutal storm struck and corrupted everything. People had somehow gained supernatural like abilities but the ones that did not get abilities were killed. Gasping at the story, Savannah closed the magazine and jumped slightly when the cashier called for her to come forth. She placed the magazine back in the proper place and went ahead in the line.

"Was there something that interesting there in the magazine?" The cashier asked, seemingly trying to make conversation as she scanned the desired items of Savannah. "Uhm, yeah actually. But it's nothing more than your usual celebrity drama." Savannah couldn't help but lie as she waved her hand dismissively in the air. The cashier scoffed as she gave Savannah the total. She handed the cashier money and told her to keep the change as she grabbed her own paper grocery bags then proceeded to walk out of the market and back towards her flat.

Upon entering the lobby and making her way towards her flat, everyone that resided in Brighton Lights had fliers on their doors, insisting that they come to the party since they managed to survive the storm. With a confused look plastered upon her face now, she went inside of her flat, sat her groceries down then went to snatch the flier off of her door. 'Why is the party host really pushing this party?' She thought to herself while shaking her head because it did not make any sense as she closed her door. She laid the flier aside then went to put up her groceries.

When that was done, she saved the bags and stashed them underneath the counter then waltzed into her room then opened her closet doors, tapping her chin with her index finger, wondering what she was going to wear to the 'Survival of the Storm Party' that was to take place just in mere hours from now.