Stormy

The station was large and grim and oppressive, squeezing at all sides with slime-slicked walls, dirty floors, worn smooth from the passage of a million million footsteps, and sagging ceilings, ablaze with electric iridescence from piteously humming lights.

Stormy squeezed the iron on her finger. Each step forward into the belly of the earth was hard, as if she was striding through treacle, her limbs growing more and more leaden, more resistant to her will. Once she was at the bottom she must have weighed a tonne and one, and life passed by in a dream-like lethargy. An unfelt sweat was beginning to bead upon her brow, and small hairs clung to her neck and nape. The whispering voices were harsh here, spitting venom and red-hot coals. Stormy’s eyebrows gathered in a tight knot. She watched herself carry on forward. Shadows danced in defiance of the lights, and deep crimson afterimages played across her vision. Brown mosses and dead leaves fought for space in cracks and crevices. Wasted grey shapes skittered in darkness. Everything here seemed ill.

There were others gathered in the station. It made sense. Grand events didn’t happen in isolation. Some of the faces she knew; Zoe, who she waved meekly at, Will, and Tristan. Others hid their names. Yet the gazes of all were like oil slicking across her. Brimming in their eyes she saw hatred and distrust. The whispers had risen to a grand crescendo now. Her heart was pounding. Her ribcage would burst. Sweat was a river, rushing down her face. Malice-tipped words sung into her flesh, as tangible as the world around her. Knees quivered. She fell onto a bench; cold steel and chipped paint.

And then she arrived. The world was silenced. Her presence was galvanising. Yet the whisperers teetered in crystalline hush. All but one. The voice that had been heard, even in the cacophony. The one that told her that this was where she needed to be.

"Greetings…
The train is coming, after all."

At any other time, this revelation might have spurred a degree of excitement. Now, however, it didn’t do so. Stormy had always suspected the pixies or elves to be responsible for the urban legend that had sprung up around the very tracks no more than ten feet away. The human form was somewhat… disappointing.

Not that Stormy cared much at that time. When the others spoke, it was as though they were trapped in a far-off cave, wrapped in cotton wool. She clutched her stomach. Tears gathered in bulbous droplets at the edges of her eyes. Breaths raked their way through her teeth, desperate to get into her lungs. The world spun. Everything seemed to shrink and grow, as if reality was made of rubber. Darkness encroached at the periphery of her vision, icy fingers reaching in…

Then it all went into a blinding white light.

There was a dim awareness that she was still in the station, or at least, seated. Her head lolled to one side as she through the floor with glassy eyes that had pinpricks for pupils.

"The train is coming, after all.... Allow ten minutes"
"You heard that Vlad ?" Oedipus talked to himself while stepping back ward, finding himself a place on the track and closed his eyes. In his head, an old man that is very similar to Plato or Aristotle appeared. " Old and wise huh?" Oedipus appeared before the old man, scanning through Vlad's new appearance. With his eyes directly on the old man face. "Always thinking yourself so wisely, Vlad."
Suddenly, Oedipus draw his attention of the old man, with his hand open wide. Without any notice, Oedipus grins, showing his house.
"You love this?" Oedipus says while spinning around on a few times. Then he stops, with his face directly in front of Vlad's. "Father?" Looking around, Vlad can only see imagining the place. It was dark, cold, and damp. Above his head, a small light, about the size of a pin, shed light on his location. But the light was weak, and the area that the light shines on is only about three meters radius. The light was so weak, that it makes impossible for himself to see the Oedipus' current appearance in this world.
Oedipus wait silently, giving time for Vlad to realize his current location before continue. But this time, instead of talking like he was before, Oedipus's started to shows his wrath.
"For 15 years, I have been lock up in this place. For 15 years, I have to live in this abyss. For straight up fifteen years." Oedipus shout, trying to stop the rage that he had been holding for too long. But it was not enough. Without breathing, Oedipus continue, but with his hand started to hold Vlad's neck and lifting him up.
"Do you know how painful it is to take a crime that was not mine? You are the one that killed our father, not me. I'm merely a result from your action. The fear of you getting caught that become alive. You were supposed to be responsible for your action, not me." Oedipus' voice broke into a scream of pain, not because of triumph to be free but because he endured too much. "And we were supposed to care for each other. Not locking me, your son into this place."
Oedipus throw the old man that is grasping for air in his hand across the place before kneel down, holding his hand to cover his face. Vlad's body flies for a few minute before hit the ground, making a loud thump. From their body come groaning and moaning because of pain. Just different kind of pain.
They groan and moan for a long time until they are unable to feel the pain. Standing up from the ground, Oedipus look at his Father's body, and left. It is cold and damp. Not a good place to bury a person. But it is a suitable place for him.
Opening his eyes, Oedipus started to thinking of his previous actions. Just like what he expected, Oedipus didn't feel any regret by doing so. He did not feel ashamed for killed his Father. Nor regret about doing so either. Now there is only one this left that is holding him back. The revenge for his life. And with each step toward the Ghost Girl, is a closer step to his goal. For the monster could almost taste its freedom.

"So we're dying and going to be reconstructed," Ascot said. "I hear the truth in your words and your voice, Ghost Girl. But I will not change my mind so easily; you are going to have to drag me onto the tracks yourself if you are capable of doing that." Which she might be; I underestimated her.

He looked around, recognizing that except for Zoe, he lacked support. Heck, the others might want to drag Smokey onto the tracks themselves. The boy looked at Tabitha, who had taken the initiative to step up and go to the tracks herself. He looked at Koda, as fascinated as ever. A glance was spared for Tristan and that odd fellow who was talking to himself. Strangely, despite the demands of sanity, none were willing to refuse the Ghost Girl, none were wiling to try and get away.

Ascot felt something in him break.

His shoulders slumped down, and the young man found himself taking out his cellphone, sending a text to his mother. Mom, I and Zoe will be gone for a while; we'll be back soon, I promise. Then, he slowly, deliberately walked to the tracks himself, saying, "I can't leave you guys alone to your deaths; can I? Better to be with you, even if it is the end..."

@Daft Monarch@Redward@MechonRaptor

It took a full minute for the information to sink in and the insistent shards of dread prickling the edges of his mind to be waved off. "Oh," he quietly said, mostly to himself. The single expression summed up the myriad of emotions the Ghost Girl's explanation provided; surprise, skepticism, curiosity, realization, worry... but then that was gone again and he was focused. Mind racing to put the new pieces of information together in his mind and investigate every detail for the answers he sought. The biggest question in his mind? Will this kill me? Short answer? Who knows. Long answer? The Girl wasn't normal, he believed that, and science hadn't been able to explain everything before, there were fields that explored spirituality and souls, and some of what was happening here was possible, in theory anyway... It would be just like that time mom suddenly took a year to study in Papua New Guinea and discovered a bacteria that ate cancer cells. Only in this case he'd be jumping in front of a train instead of remote jungle wilderness and instead of genetic engineering or molecular biology he'd be trusting... pseudoscience. Great.

Koda liked his body, he worked hard on getting it this way, he didn't want it destroyed. What if when it was reassembled, it wasn't like he wanted it anymore? What if it was...?

He looked at the tracks where the last girl to come, the salty one, had already jumped into place, then he looked to the mask. Something stirred in his mind as he stared at the empty glass, it was a feeling of... hunger. His skepticism and worry evaporated and he glanced around at the others with a gleam in his eye. There was power there, and this was a chance to- to know. He had to know.

The grin was unconscious, and as he looked around the dingy subway at the huddled group, Koda knew which side he had chosen. Risk and reward, a basic principle of economics. He hopped down onto the tracks, letting his smile fade and raising a challenging eyebrow at the girl already down there- Tabitha her name was. Let her judge him, let them all judge him, soon he'd have what he wanted or he'd be dead and it wouldn't matter, but for now... he would risk.

Anni had been calm. Seeing many strangers--and a few friends--gathered at this place had not been frightening. The Ghost Girl arriving wasn't scary in the slightest; it was rather exciting, in fact, to finally meet the rumor in person. She wasn't terribly bothered by the reactions of any of the other people; although Ascot's words had been enough to make her consider her actions, her determination to press on was unshaken.

Then a girl jumped onto the train tracks. Anni's anticipation wavered, confusion pushing against it and worry for the girl flowing in. The train was coming! She would die!

All of Anni's eagerness (had she been eager? Such an emotion felt so out of place now) shattered as the Ghost Girl's words made it plain that was exactly what she desired. There was no boarding a magic train to another world. There was no mystical gate to jump through. There was one horrible impact, then death. Yes, the Ghost Girl promised life on the other side of that death, and Anni wanted to put faith in that. She had great faith in a life after death; she just hadn't expected it to come in quite this manner. She had always imagined growing up, meeting a charming and handsome veterinarian, buying a ranch, raising a family--and somewhere far, far at the end would be death and an afterlife. Facing death now was, in a word, mortifying.

'No!' her mind cried out instinctively. Pictures of her mom, her pets, the animals at the zoo, the family she wanted to have in the future, even the stack of homework papers she had on her desk all swam through her thoughts. Her body gave her every reason she had to not die tonight. All of it tried to press upon her mind with savage ferocity, trying to fuel the survival instinct rooted deeply inside every living soul. Yet the entirety of it was inadequate to drown out one small thought--born of charity learned through a short lifetime of caring for others (even if most of them were animals).

'What did she lose?'

Anni looked back up at the Ghost Girl. Though she was looking at someone else, Anni watched her face intently. Truly there wasn't much to read; her face was as cold as death. But Anni thought--Anni wanted to believe--she could see something in the girl's eyes. A pain, a sadness, a loneliness and sorrow. Surely the girl understood loss, so she was here to protect others from it.

But... Death. Death. How many people had already died here, truly? Rumors said hundreds, though the actual body count wasn't that high. How many of those people had she made this same offer to? How many trusted in her promise of life after death in this subway station?

A warm hum in her hands jolted Anni out of her introspection and back to the situation. Two more stood between the rails--one of whom, to Anni's shock, was Ascot. The hum didn't allow her time to wonder why he had changed his position so completely; instead, her attention was pulled down to the mask in her hands. It wasn't making any noise; Anni didn't hear it humming so much as knew it was humming. And she knew, looking at that impossibly wide mouth, that it was grinning at her.

A strange memory raced through Anni's mind. She saw the first time she lost a pet--a hamster. Anni had been distraught--she was barely six--but Mom had explained how little Huey would become part of the soil, and then beautiful flowers would grow out of the soil. They buried Huey in the garden bed and went inside to watch The Lion King.

Such a memory seemed entirely out-of-place; nevertheless, Anni grabbed it and used it to pull herself back out of the shock and fear. Death seemed less frightening--less an end and more another step. Anni clenched her eyes shut, sent a silent plea to heaven, then opened her eyes and stepped forward.

"I'll help carry her!" Anni cried. Not giving herself time to back out, to reconsider or second-guess, the young girl quick-stepped to the woman collapsed on the bench. Sliding one arm under a shoulder and behind her back, Anni looked at her face with some concern. She knew she couldn't lift the woman by herself--the woman definitely weighed more than a tiger cub--so she waited for someone else to take the other side. "Hey," Anni said in a low voice, looking for a response to see if she was totally unconscious. Asking 'are you okay' in that situation would have been ridiculous, so instead Anni inquired, "What's your name? I'm Anni."

@jdh97

As the others spoke up, Michael felt as though everyone was taking this way too seriously. Sure, he had acknowledged the girl was real, but why were they all jumping to the conclusion she was on the level? Why did nobody seem to come to the conclusion that this bitch was just flat out insane? Even the guy that counseled everyone to leave seemed to do so under the premise that she was actually going to drag them all off to another world. Even though Michael was plenty disturbed by the situation, nothing had occurred that would make it necessary to run away just yet. Not to mention he needed to make sure nothing untoward did in fact happen. It was his legal and moral duty to the city.

When one of the others fainted, he was going to make his way over to see to her. That was around the time the ghost girl started speaking again. At first, it was the same spiel about other worlds and related nonsense. It was when she mentioned the means of their "transportation" that Michael took exception. She effectively told them she expected them to die in order to be transported to this other world of hers. That was strike one. The woman might have been a harmless nutjob before, but now she was inciting people to commit suicide, and that was definitely a crime. It only got worse as she mentioned that people would need to drag the unconscious woman onto the tracks. Anyone going through with that would be committing murder, and she would be party to it. He noticed that some people were already getting on the tracks. Now he was really amazed. Were people seriously going along with this to the point of risking suicide for this insane loon's promises of another world? Worst of all, some girl from the crowd damn well volunteered to help drag the aforementioned unconscious woman onto the tracks. The people here had well and truly taken leave of their senses.

At this point, if Michael hadn't done a thing, it would have been a crying shame. Considering multiple crimes were effectively unfolding before his eyes, he was definitely obligated to do something, off duty or not. Frankly, even if Michael wasn't and never had been a police officer, he would have tried to do something about this insanity right now, the willingness of some of these people to seemingly get themselves killed be damned. "Okay, everyone can I have your attention please?" He called out loudly, determined to take everyone's notice. He took a central position on the platform, hoping he could get in the middle of everything. "I'm officer Michael Keahi, Lightbridge P.D." He held up his badge as he spoke, just so everyone knew he was on the level. "Now, I don't know what the ever loving fuck is going on here, but...." He slightly struggled to find his words here. If it had just been some nutcase woman advocating suicide, it would be simple, but people were going along with this. It was baffling he had to explain what was wrong here to begin with. "...this is insane. This woman is insane. She's prompting people to kill themselves to reach "another world". Don't you all see how crazy that is? There's no other world, people!" What was really insane, Michael thought, was that he had to say this at all.

"Frankly, I don't give a flying fuck in any of you believe her for whatever goddamn reason, because this show is over, folks. Move along, nothing to see here. Nobody stand on the tracks, and those on the tracks should get the FUCK off the tracks!" If all he had to deal with was people standing on the tracks, he would've been actively trying to get them off the tracks right now. But there was a crowd of people who were progressively demonstrating themselves gullible enough to fall for this bullshit to stop, and some people who seemed keen to help an unconscious woman die. Not to mention psycho ghosty was still here and in desperate need of an arrest. He really wished he could call for backup right now. "And you..." He gestured at the girl and whoever else might be rising to assist the woman onto the tracks. "...I don't know what your problem is, but dragging that woman to her death is murder, and I'm legally obligated..." He produced his pistol from within his coat. "...to stop a crime in progress." He wasn't pointing his gun at anybody yet, but it was right there for the world to see. He was absolutely going to start brandishing it menacingly, if not shooting, if somebody had the bright idea to carry on with this in his presence.

In spite of all his strong words and bluster, Michael was not at all confident about how this was going. Worst case scenario, these idiots could all swarm him in a psychotic rage, determined to follow through with this woman's dumbass idea. He really hoped there was some sane people left in that crowd. Of course, the biggest problem was there was already at least two people on the tracks, and he wasn't sure if he should try and get them off the tracks or keep an eye on everyone on the platform. All of this was so overwhelming, and he wasn't sure if he could bring the situation under control at all.

@Redward@Letter Bee@jdh97@MechonRaptor@TaroAndSelia@Scarescrow@2plus2isnot5@Ceta de Cloyes@Daft Monarch@Viatos

It took Oedipus a few minutes, maybe one or two, to reach back the group. Although the Ghost Girl had said she could only spare ten minutes, Oedipus didn't seem to care with him taking him time to reach the group. He is enjoying his few minutes in caged before having his freedom. Suddenly a shout coming from the group, with a man address himself as a cop from the Lightbridge P.D. "I'm officer Michael Keahi, Lightbridge P.D....". But maybe because there is still quite a distance, about twenty to thirty meters from Oedipus to Micheal that made his speech to blur at the end.

'If Vlad was here, he would probably come near to the police to ask if there is any assistance needed. But that was only for Vlad. For Vlad is weak. And this is my body now, Oedipus' body." Oedipus slows his movement to avoid making any sound, while still thinking. His body started to bent forward avoid any detection from the police. " Wait...." Oedipus continues his thought while still walking forward with his back bending forward. "If I kill this guy, then Vlad would forever be searching for killing a person. And if he is a criminal, then his life and his effort will be vain. Two birds with one stone."
" And besides, for my freedom. I should celebrate by doing what I want. Happy birthday to me" Delight for his madness plan, Oedipus creates a small chuckle while still bending forward, with four of his limbs touched the ground. On his way, Oedipus grab a small rock, about three centimeters long and quite sharp at one end. Although there is no handle for this primitive knife or his primitive plan but Oedipus doesn't care, for his thirst for blood had overcome his fear. He could not think of what will happen to the officer family or what will happen to him when being hunt by the government, all he can think of is the predator and the prey. He could feel his racing heartbeat, his veins that are almost burst out when you see, and adrenaline rushing to his head, and these things excite him.

Oedipus approached the police with four of his limb on the ground, one of his hand holding the primitive dagger. Although the suit he wears cause some trouble for his current movement, it is a surprise for how long he can maintain to move like that or haven't cause any noise yet to alert other. Oedipus could see the police about ten meters away, standing in the middle of the track, facing forward to those in the group. He seems to hold something similar to a gun or a baton. But he left his back without a thick cover. The atmosphere between the police and the other seem to be very intense. But Oedipus didn't care. He remains in the dark, about ten meters behind the police, ready to strike. His vision started to blur, replace by a red smoke. He could feel the air around him started to move, heart racing, vein pumping. But his thought remains at a line in King Lear of Shakespear. Although unable to remember which act or scene it came from, he could remember everything from that line.

"I will have such revenge
That all the world shall-I will do such things-
What they are, yet I know nor; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth "

And with it, his final thought came to a pause, letting the blood thirst to consume his final piece of the conscious and intelligent.

@Etranger

First the signs, then the strange, falling from the sky mask-thing, and now this?

She hadn’t been sure what to expect earlier, walking through Lightbridge, feet aching as she walked past her usual stop, past the crowded bars packed tight into the city centre, past the boarded up shops plastered with graffiti and god-knows what else. It had been a blur of neon and darkness, and then she’d gone down the steps.

Hushed silence, anticipation, a sense of shear exhaustion. Saffron was there, so was Anni, alone. Kate wondered if her mom knew where her daughter was, her heart skipped a beat when she realised that no, she probably didn’t. There were other people too - that kid that stared at Saffron whenever he came in and looked downright disappointed if it was just Kate and Johnny working, he was with his sister, or the person Kate assumed was his his sister. A few other regulars, a few people she’d seen around Lightbridge, all just kinda… gathered round.

And then, the girl had arrived.

The crowd had seemingly exploded into life - question upon question fired at the girl standing in front of them. She’d just let them sink in, bounce off, whatever - unperturbed. The things she’d said were… off. Of course she’d heard things, fringe scientists in the back-end of nowhere, the slightly more stereotype-adhering of her lecturers talking animatedly but quietly to select groups of interested students as she walked past and pretended not to listen in, the rumours that poured out of the (in)famous Talos Building as a near-daily occurrence, but this? This was actually insane. Not one word out of that girl’s mouth was true, or even coherent.

What she said next was… well, worse.

And people were actually going along with it? What? Did they not realise that this… whoever she was, was obviously just some kind of… of…cult-person? Or something similar - persuasive, ethereal, apparently pretty good at special effects or whatever it was that had been going on earlier. She didn’t blame them, whoever this girl was, she was clearly very good at whatever she was trying to do. But still, did none of them realise that they were about to become a news story?

And then Anni - oh god, what was she doing? She should stop her, right? That’s what a sane person would do - try to stop the fifteen year old girl from dragging a possibly unconscious and definitely out-of-it woman in front of an oncoming train, but-

But-

Her feet were frozen to the floor, as if the gum-spotted concrete of the platform was reaching up, wrapping around her ankles, her legs, her throat, stilling her tongue into silence. She couldn’t really do anything but wait, stand there in her spot near the back of the small gathering, and watch the events unfold.

Which was when the police officer spoke. Finally, someone making sense. Officer Micheal Kaehi. Lightbridge PD. A lot of swearing. It was... a comfort. Maybe they’d all get to escape this relatively unscathed - perhaps a little worse for wear given the strange girl’s creepy-brain-washing tactics, but at least they’d get a good story out of it. Authority. Reason. If everything went according to plan, he would diffuse the situation, and they’d all get to go ho-

He pulled the gun out of his jacket.

"...to stop a crime in progress."

If he said anything after that, she didn’t hear it. He wasn’t pointing it, but - all she saw was a man, holding a gun, and threatening a teenaged girl.

Her feet were unstuck.

Her foot were moving.

Her feet were standing, directly between the man and Anni, and-

In the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow shift.

Hands up, eyes wide, she could feel the perspiration collecting at her hairline. God, this was stupid. So stupid. Why was she-? She probably looked like an idiot. She was an idiot. You didn’t run in front of people with guns, regardless of whether they were intending to use them or not, you certainly didn’t-

“Wait!” her tongue was ash in her mouth, “you can’t- you can’t shoot them! F-for christ’s sake, she’s fifteen!”

As everything went to hell, Tristan stood by with dull eyes, head throbbing. It wasn't really what he'd expected, but he couldn't have had what he'd expected instead. A unified response? Panic? Despair, like his? The Ghost Girl wasn't a ghost girl after all, he'd been right, she was something else from somewhere else. And to go there, all they had to do was kill themselves and become ghosts themselves. To sojourn in some other world. When Tabitha took to the tracks, the last of the hope in him for salvation died. I wonder if she's thinking it.

If we're the first ones to hear this song and dance.

People were revealing themselves, the way they did during a crisis. Guns out. Dragging an unconscious Stormy. Tristan felt a weird pang, imagining her parlor empty, the tracks painted bright with her blood. All of their blood. Yelling, disbelief, fear, rage. Commonplace things that hinted at the extraordinary and unique nature of the hearts manifesting them into the world. What am I revealing? The gun, he realized, it was in his hand, he was pointing it. It was ugly, chrome and carbon, oversized, a generation behind the aesthetic of today. Firearm, he thought suddenly. Prometheus stole fire from the gods, Moses on Mount Sinai, and this is what we did with it. Arms reaching out for each other, intent on the exact opposite of warmth and light and life.

In the movies you could hear a pin drop when someone clicked off a safety or pulled a hammer back, a sound that echoed, menace for days, but he'd done it without really thinking about it while someone else was talking. He thought for a moment, absurdly, that he was pointing the gun - the firearm - at the kid on the tracks, the one who'd tried to offer him comfort before taking the devil's deal they'd been given. Who thought he hadn't been forced here. Couldn't be forced further. But he wasn't aiming at the kid. Officer Keahi was one of the good ones, in other circumstances, on better days, but he was cracking now. Not that he was wrong. Not that they weren't all insane. Yet there was something that wasn't a ghost standing up in front of them, telling them awful things, incredible things, and they were each holding a mask - a face, his rousing subconscious whispered unbidden - that wasn't just a mask. The guy shouldn't have drawn his gun. Not that Tristan should have either.

But he wasn't aiming at the cop. Just in that general direction.

"Don't do it," he said, hearing his own voice like it belonged to a stranger. "Officer.

Behind you."

Stormy

Drowning was a painful sensation. The overriding panic. Water everywhere. Your lungs hurt, but it was your chest that exploded in pain, as if huge, invisible hands crushed it. Every neuron would fire. You would try to find escape. Random memories would flare into you brain. You would have to fight the very instinct to breathe. But, eventually, the sheer will to draw breath would overpower you, and then it would be over.

That was nothing like what Stormy experienced. She was floating in a warm ocean current, and thousands of tiny bubbles were massaging every inch of her skin, but there were none to be seen. Near-weightless, she drifted, slowly rolling on all her axes, breathing the water as easily as air. Sunbeams did their dappled dance upon the seafloor, and the sands sparkled and gleamed, uncountable tiny diamonds. Distant whale song called out, heard and felt in equal measure, and then, closer, it was answered. Apart from the slight, trundling flow of water in eardrums, that mournful bass was the only sound in the serene blue world. Stormy drifted at peace.

It was odd, but the octopus was heard before it was seen. After untold aeons, the sweet resonance, like a wet finger running around the rim of a champagne flute, pervaded Stormy’s mind. Then, wishing to be seen, it bobbed into her vision. Inquisitive eyes met her gaze, the horizontal-oval pupils dancing jovially over every feature, drinking them in deeply. Stormy smiled back. It was quite beautiful; a deep blue thing, flecked with black patches, which were encircled by thin rings of glowing gold. It bobbed up to her face, glowing brighter and brighter. Tentacles toyed with the edges of her face, at her chin and cheeks.

HELLO.

A bright cloud of marmalade ink spilled over her.

The world came back into focus, like an unwelcome dream.

"What's your name? I'm Anni."

Memories took their time to recollect, dusting themselves off and straightening their collars. Anni had an arm around Stormy, and her hair was bright orange, like a…

“Pumpkin,” Stormy smiled dreamily, “I’m Stormy Jeans. In the flesh.”

It was then she realised the whispers had vanished now, silenced or replaced, that remained uncertain, by the swishing of bubbling surf, the faint whistle of a buffeting breeze, and was that the occasional gull crying overhead?

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit a little longer,” she sighed in the barest of whispers, and Anni might feel her lean in slightly, tired. Eyelids drooped down until they were almost shut. Something warm and tingling was now in her grasp, so she glanced at her hands, resting in her lap, and saw a cephalopod visage staring blankly up at her. She frowned, those wrinkles unfamiliar to her face.

Then everything escalated quite dramatically, rending her attention from the mask and suddenly there were guns out, and a tension so thick and heavy that Stormy daren’t move, save for the deep sigh that escaped her lips. Quite why this all happened, Stormy was unsure, but the catalyst was not in question. This had been foolish, but now it was also dangerous.


Yet this was a night of halves, and so she hoped the hidden half would reveal itself soon.

Everything was in chaos; Zoe had seemingly frozen up. Ascot knew he can do nothing now, nothing except to go along with the will of the crowd. But what was said will? People have finally began to resist the Ghost Girl - he cursed himself for not having waited - but others were going to wait for the train to turn their bodies into pulp. Damnit all, with Zoe's lack of action, he was effectively alone. Was this his destiny, to go along with the flow?

You can always choose to go back to the platform; you have at least a minute. Ascot's mind spoke to him to him. But the boy casually refused; he wanted the possibility of power. Wait, what? He actually believed that he was going to be made more powerful from this?

It seems that he did. The feeling of powerlessness, the feeling of being beaten up for being smart, the feeling of being shoved in a locker (what a cliche!), all those were remembered now. He wanted to be special, to feel strange energies course through his body as he healed people and protected them from vague but horrifying enemies. He wanted to glow with bright light, yearned to finally save people instead of being the one being saved.

The train was coming. It was too late for him to back out. And so, Ascot bowed down his head, hoping that the pain would be brief...

@Redward@MechonRaptor@Etranger

Michael wasn't pleased to see someone rush to the girl's defense. Truthfully, he couldn't blame them for the reaction, but this was a little girl that had loudly announced her intention to help drag a woman onto the tracks of an oncoming train. Of course, Michael hadn't intended to shoot at all unless she'd tried to go ahead with it regardless of him, so the point was moot. He was about to try and explain himself when he heard someone call out "Behind you." He instinctively turned his head and was greeted by someone charging at him, with the glint of something metal flashing in his eyes.

Reacting swiftly, Michael raised his gun and fired. If this were playing out more favorably, he would have simply pointed and demanded whoever it was drop the knife, but he was already on edge, and his life was now directly in danger. Of all the things that could have happened, it turned out it was the worst thing he predicted; someone decided to charge him in a psychotic rage. The shot rang out, and Michael was sure he had struck true, at close range no less. But he had little time to process what had happened, as he felt a searing pain from his chest. He had been wounded. He wasn't even sure just how or when the man had gotten him. It may have even been simultaneous with his shot. It didn't really matter, because he had been slashed, and now pain was all that was on his mind. He stumbled back, clutching at his wounds, and soon lost his footing and tumbled onto the train tracks.

If Michael had been of a mind for thinking right now, he would have noted the irony that in trying so desperately to keep people off the tracks, he had ended up on the tracks himself. Naturally, all he could really think about was the pain, and the sudden realisation that he was most definitely right on the path of an oncoming train. Michael Keahi was going to die. He was going to die here, having tried to stick his neck out for a bunch of people that the bulk of which may not have even appreciated the effort. One of them had even tried to kill him, and had technically succeeded. Now he was really hoping there was another world on the other side of death, but he didn't plan on holding his breath, seeing as he wouldn't have long to do so before he was well and truly dead.

Taking one last glance up at the platform, he could see the ghost girl, standing there spewing some nonsense yet again. "Fucking bitch..." He muttered, his voice as low as it could get short of a whisper with his dwindling strength. It accomplished nothing, but it felt good to say it.

“Pumpkin,” the woman answered Anni with a sleepy smile, “I’m Stormy Jeans. In the flesh. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit a little longer,” she finished, nearly asleep in her seat.

Anni may have mentioned that she did mind, just a little, because of a rapidly approaching deadline. But the chance to say it departed before she could choose. A police officer, Officer Keahi he said, stepped forward to put a stop to the, well, the dying. Anni would think that to be all well and good--officers were supposed to save people!--but a small voice at the back of her mind was... resenting? Yes--resenting the man's attempt to prevent her--them, all of them--from taking part in this.

That stream of thought dried up when he spoke several choice words directly at Anni, accompanied by the flash of a handgun. Her mind fumbled and dropped the words as soon as the pistol caught her eye, but whatever he had said she knew he wasn't happy. Time slowed as her eyes remained fixed on that small piece of metal. It wasn't aimed right at her, but she certainly felt it projecting her way.

Then someone--Kate?--ran in front of her, breaking her line of sight and the enchantment the appearance of a weapon had had.



Stormy's words floated into Anni's thoughts like a dream. Everything about the moment was surreal.

The crack of gunfire cut through her thoughts like a blade. Reality--or what was left of it--turned to a nightmare.

Anni jumped out of her seat and watched, wide-eyed, as the officer tumbled off the platform and onto the tracks. She took two steps before whirling around to face Stormy. "There's no time! If you're going to come, it has to be now!" Anni cried. She reached for the woman's hand to tug her to her feet, but she couldn't stop and wait for her. Sitting or standing, Anni left Stormy and sprinted to the platform's edge. She didn't even notice the other body, the person who had attacked the officer. She didn't notice any of the other people anymore. Her gaze was fixed on the place she had seen Officer Keahi fall from.

In a moment she was at the edge; there she only slowed enough to plant one hand on the ledge and push off from the wall. Landing with a soft thud nearby the officer, Anni dropped to her knees and stared at the blood on the man's chest. Her hands began searching her person for anything she could use to stop the bleeding: a bandage, a jacket, even a handkerchief. All they could find were the loose folds of her skirt. Without even waiting to think on it, Anni pulled herself right up against the officer's side and draped as much of her red skirt over his torso as she could, then pressed it down over the gash.

As crimson blood soaked into the fabric, Anni felt small vibrations through her knees. She looked at the officer, panic evident on her face. "You have to get up!" Anni told him. "The train is almost here!"

"Ya sound pretty ballsy, kid. Smart thing would be gettin' back on the platform," Koda huffed at the girl’s words, was he missing something else now? Were they all going or not? Was the train the important bit or the dying? Or was there really an option to leave? Not that he’d take it but, it just seemed… unlikely anyone was escaping this mess, "but that's ya call to make. Just like s'mine and, uh, whoever this dude is. Who are ya, anyways?"

”I’m Koda, nobody is really getting out of this are they?” He asked skeptically, he certainly didn’t think that was in the cards anymore.

Koda’s attention had split once he’d clambered down onto the tracks, but it wasn’t the platform he was watching closest, rather the direction the train would come from when it- well, this really was a terrible idea, really he should just go home and get a bunch of equipment and take a fuck ton of readings all over this place then go sit safe and sound in his lab back at Talos. He wasn’t going to do that though, even if his nerves and indecision were bleeding through in the way his eyes flickered just a bit too quickly and his fingers tapped along his crossed arms anxiously. Tabitha’s question pulled his eyes back to the platform though; what was going on up there? ”Er I’m thinking a lot of things, but it wasn’t really about them- is that a gun?” How did he not consider the police officer in their midst- how did he not consider there might be other armed loonies in the station, this was totally a situation loonies would be drawn to- and he would know, he was pretty sure he was one of them now.

That said, he wasn’t the kind of loony who wandered around with weapons on his person, he was actually rather anti-violence so the whole… thing, that went down in very short, very violent, order, was not helping his nerves in the least- the fact that someone- or a couple someones, might actually be dead over… this, whatever this was. “Dude,” he muttered, wincing in sympathy at the cop who fell onto the tracks. He wasn’t the only one to approach the downed man, a red headed girl hurry to help him too, even going so far as to mess up her skirt and press it against the wound. In comparison to her usefulness Koda simply hovered nearby a little concerned over what to do.

"You have to get up!" The girl said, frantic, "The train is almost here!" Like that was going to help, no way were either of them getting off the tracks in time now.

”Here,” he cut in, ”let me,” he offered, kneeling down next to the cop. He didn’t really know what to do, but he had some training with treating injuries, though usually those were chemical related, or minor cuts, not something so serious, and he didn’t have a med-kit on him or anything but at least he was stronger than the girl and could put more pressure on the wound, maybe that would be enough to keep him alive until the train came and the Ghost Girl did her thing.

… he really had no idea what he was doing did he? His mom was going to freak, and Kenan’s birthday- oh right, pressure on the wound, try not to think about infectious diseases he could be getting from the blood on his fingers. Too bad he wasn’t working on that Mo-Fern project anymore, then he’d probably be walking around with morphine in his bag, enough to ease this man’s pain. Ugh, how stupid was this, why had the officer come if he wasn’t going to go along? Why start something that could end like this? He glanced over to Tabitha, concerned and looking for answers, and that one seemed to be the most sane, if bitter, of them, she was one who knew more than the rest of them did, and wasn’t useless like the Ghost Girl was proving to be. ””what do we do?” he asked her, forcing his voice to not give away the vulnerability he felt.

Oedipus is lying in a dark corner with his head lies on the bag, not far from the group. His location although is not far from them. But the place was dark, easily blocking other lines of sight. He remembers everything that happened a few minutes ago. But he bore no remorse of his action. Touching his wound, Oedipus could feel something metallic inside. It seems like he had been injured by the cop. The pain signal from the stomach area was sent straight into his brain, increasing in duration and amount as he tried to remove the bullet. But even then, Oedipus does not mind of his pain, for he is thinking of something else. He was thinking about his reason for his past doing. Killing Vlad was a necessary move, but is it necessary to kill the cop and getting shot by it? His brain scan to see if there is any reason to justify his action.

"But is it necessary? Sooner or later, I will be dead like my beloved father. Die in the lonely place, without any formal burial. " Moving his head to see his surrounding, Oedipus see maybe two or three people are trying to save the cop. The police may or may not die. But even if he died, then he dies in other efforts of saving him. But for Oedipus, or for Vlad, only silence will be their friend, the only one to hear their last word, and the only one to see them died. Realizing he is going to die in lonely, Oedipus let out a deep sigh. A few tears coming out from the monster that had killed his own father, and attempt to continue his crime by killing a police. But tears coming out from Oedipus was not tear of remorse or regret, those were filled with hatred. As those tears rolling down from his face, Oedipus whisper his reason of killing in a hatred tone. "My reason for killing others was simple, I do it to feel. I wanted to hear other cries, scream, and suffer for what they have and I don't. A life with love and freedom. And when I cause pain and suffer, I felt being alive."

Touching his wound, Oedipus applied a medium amount of pressure to stop the bleed, while continuing to say his motive. "And maybe when I cause enough pain and suffer, I myself will not die alone. "With his final word still echoing in his mind, Oedipus pulled out the bag to take all the paper he can to attach to the wound, forming a temporary layer. The layer was quickly soaked with blood, but Oedipus knew that he is temporarily safe.

Slowly but surely, Oedipus started to stand up and walk to the group. The pain was overcrowding his mind. Some sweat from his forehead rolls down into his eyes, increasing his uncomfortable. But nothing is going to stop him from his freedom that the Ghost Girl had promised, even the Ghost Girl herself.

Tristan stood stunned, struck senseless by the sudden surge of savage intention. The gun was in his hands - shaking hands - and leveled at the cop-killer's chest, but he hadn't fired. Not during the rush and not now, as the other approached the group.

He couldn't pull the trigger.

I have told you all that it is inevitable. You have made your stance clear, in response. That will delay several important events, for you. Events which would prove beneficial to your understanding. Her thoughts in his mind, whirling around his own, strong and dark and strange by contrast. The gun - the gun? My gun - swung towards her, the way he imagined his ancestors might have held knives of stone out towards Smilodon fatalis. Well, maybe not his ancestors. The people who felt the way he felt now, Tristan thought maybe they didn't do a lot of surviving and reproducing, as a rule. Would he? He tightened his grip. Fire if you wish. What did he wish for?

He couldn't pull the trigger.

Tristan's hand fell limp to his side. He looked around, eyes wild, lost, at faces familiar and otherwise. At Officer Keahi, bleeding out on the tracks, just like the Ghost Girl wanted. Just like she wanted, more people were down there now. Just let death take you, and you'll be given something extraordinary. If there's anything in the world I wish for, it's not to understand. Loneliness, hunger, frustration, rage, a loss...he looked at Tabitha, waiting for the train. Faithful. Fateful.

That broke and scattered him, and for a moment he was ten years old again, the first time he'd seen a miracle. It was his baptism. His father had taken him by the head and shoved him under the water of the huge ceremonial tub, the trembling sweetness of the hymn they'd sang for him still echoing in his ears. His father's eyes on his, so powerful, so knowing, detached from the flow of things. The Ghost Girl's eyes are the same. He remembered one of the women from the choir - not his mother, no, that little lamb would not bray or kick then or at world's end - had started forward, into his field of vision, and he remembered that her face had been changing. He hadn't seen what it had changed into, because right about then he'd run out of air and started to move, when his father simply moved his hand down and wrapped it around Tristan's throat.

At this point Tristan began to panic and to fight.

The woman was gesturing, maybe shouting. He couldn't hear and his thrashing made the water an opaque chaos, affording glimpses only when his desperate struggle brought him near - never through - to the surface. He'd struggled and shoved at his father's arm, which was immobile, impossible, a pillar of the temple descended to crush the life from him according to some higher ordination. And the woman had rushed forward, screaming - he heard a little of that - and without ever taking his eyes from Tristan's the older man had simply reached out with his other arm and taken her throat as well, and then it was she and Tristan together, two wild beasts strangling in the grip of divine judgment. She was clawing ruby slivers from his forearm and Tristan had his whole being set against that one limb, but his father never flinched or shifted. No human force could have altered him in any way. The black had closed in, a killing circle, and he'd felt his life slipping out of him like sand from a broken hourglass, taking his mind with it, perhaps his soul. But it was there in that moment of deepest despair that Tristan realized what his father was looking at, that it wasn't a judgment, that in fact Tristan didn't matter at all. The self-made messiah of the Way of Light was not looking at him but through him, to something only he could see. The end of his path, upon which every act of love and violence, every moment that passed at all, was another thundering and inevitable step. Tristan was merely a window looking in upon that end. Something was waiting there, something his father never took his eyes off of.

Tristan couldn't be sure, but later he thought it maybe looked like a throne.

And that was the miracle. Revelation at death's door. He'd been rebellious and cynical and worldly because his father was a man and the church was his world, but he'd been wrong. A man could not hold two beasts of the world and break them in his hands, could not deny them all their aims and remain untouched by their terror and need. His father really was God, or God was in him, or some other immaterial transposition of human and divine. In that moment he'd understood that the power of life and death was held over him, the power that separated Heaven from Earth, and so too was his father separate from him and from all of them. Tristan's lungs screamed with far-off, fading pain, but his father had never felt pain, could not feel teeth or fingernails now. He had only ever felt his own power, and was invincible in it. He was the Way of Light, and life and breath and all other things were through him and him alone.

It had taken nine hard battering years to break the faith Tristan found there, that had been crushed down into the core of him by those calloused unbreakable hands.

And now God had found him again, astray and afraid, and brought him to this place to show him, once more, the power of life and death. The dying officer, the bleeding killer, the unconscious artist, the scientist and the believer, the uncertain, the strong, they were all...the tableau took on mythic dimensions for Tristan, a painting of the Last Supper, and at the center was the Ghost Girl with her otherworldly eyes. He had run so far to make it to this place, to close this killing circle. One more game, one more test of faith. I don't want to understand. Events which would prove beneficial to your understanding. 'For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.' Such a gift does not come without expectations. What kind of story is this? The train is coming, after all. He looked down at the - at his gun. The power of life and death. Beyond pain, beyond reach. Faithful. Fateful. Fire if you wish.

He couldn't pull the trigger.

The truth is invariable.

He couldn't pull the trigger?

"Fuck that," Tristan said. He looked towards the Ghost Girl. Maybe she didn't see him, maybe she only saw the end of her path, but that was alright - he didn't see her either. It was something else he spoke to. "Fuck you," he said, and put his gun in his mouth, and was gone.

It was almost as if everything was happening within the blink of an eye, and yet it felt like an eternity sitting down, staring at the bag that held the mask beside him. Why? Why couldn't he do anything? His mind pleaded for him to move, to leave this accursed place once the option was given, and yet his body refused to find the will to take a chance. All he could do is stare at the bag, wide eyed and oblivious to the current circumstances as thoughts flooded his head. He didn't want to make a decision, he didn't want to take a chance, he didn't want to die for something that could be nothing but an illusion.

But it was then, staring at that mask, that he heard something resonate inside him; a voice that held a familiarity, and yet he knew for a fact he had never heard it before. It was like a punch in the gut, a solid strike in his mind that soon flooded his very thoughts and overshadowed them, and it kept getting louder. Another side of him repressed finally unleashing it's fury.

How long are you going to be this indecisive?! Don't you have the strength to carry yourself onward? Don't you want the strength to be able to help your father?! Pain is but a temporary psyche out that nullifies one's heart and mind, and the longer you wait the greater the chance you'll miss that train and never attain the strength to carry yourself forward!!

W...What do you mean... I-I'm fine...

Bullshit! You're pathetic, acting like you're sacrificing so much for your father, and yet you can even find that strength to visit him because you tell yourself this is all for his sake. You hate not going to school anymore, but you can't find it in yourself to think you could have managed school and work while making payments. You don't have the strength to fight back and take hold of your life. You're content with a hopeless situation and don't have any sort of strength to try and find a new angle. Well, here is the climb to strengthen your resolve.

But I... I don't really want to die...

If I could smash your doubt to pieces I would!! Find confidence that this will work out and tank through the pain like you think you're doing. You'll appreciate your sorry life if you step on the tracks now!! You'll find the strength to carry on with your life when you return, perhaps even find the strength to help your father more than you realize. But, you must first endure what lies ahead before you become as strong as the Earth itself. You'll be able to find a foundation that's as sturdy as a mountain, and have the fire of a volcano burn inside your soul to persist!!

Strength... I... I need to become stronger... To endure and persist... To find solutions... You're right...

It was as if Saffron's eyes had been opened, like a spark ignited something within his soul to face any obstacle steadfast, regardless of the obvious outcome. He didn't know what would lie ahead, nor did he care for the others around him. This was about finding his own way again, and he wasn't going to let anyone take that core ideal away.

Though as he began to get up, it was a horror show around him. A police officer stabbed... Another man shot, and another committing his own suicide. They all made a decision to come here regardless, and they all were going to die one way or another. Whether that is of their own volition and will or not, Saffron didn't think it would matter anyway.

This wasn't going to be the end, it was a new beginning. Even if it was the end, he felt confident enough that things would be better on the other side if this all was a ruse.

He remembered his feet landing on the tracks as he reached for his phone, barely able to hold onto it as the vibrations grew stronger with each passing second. A quick couple calls to his boss, informing him that he was more than likely not coming into work due to unexpected trouble, and finishing it with how he wanted to thank Johnny for taking him in when he needed help.

He placed it back in his pocket, standing firm on the tracks, eyes closed, as he awaited his demise.

Maybe someone would appreciate the fake flowers left on the bench, inside his bag.