The spot was at the corner of Riverside Dr. and West 89th Street. It was just by the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument, Upper West Side. This was the place that early arrivals of the group often gathered before the meeting. Sometimes the good Doctor would even step outside and invite them in whenever the documentation for the previous meeting was completed. Such was not the case on this bleak of nights. November had bred dark skies and harsh winds. The atmosphere was unkind yet filled with flurries of crystals in the wind. The last month of the year was rapidly approaching in the next two days. Christmas celebrations were supposed to make headway into the consciousness of the city’s citizens. However, such a phenomenon had failed to be victorious for years. Christmas did not feel anything like it did in the old days. The nostalgia continued to be ravenous and unfed.

Doctor Stanton’s offices were located inside a stylish building complex. The ground floor had a reception area complete with couches and authentic plants. The ceiling reached high and various engravings and ornaments clad the walls. All of it had a high brow and sophisticated aroma. A pair of elevators were clearly indicated further inside, past the reception desk. Many of the floors above were residential apartments for what could only be assumed to be well off middle class people, bordering the higher echelon. The therapist’s office was close to the top of the building, just two stories shy of the penthouse. He never disclosed where he lived, but one could suspect that one of the lavish apartments were his. A man of his experience and reputation would surely allow such a convenience — to live and work in the same building.

The group therapy session was the Doctor’s flagship. He had earned renown and praise within several academic circles for it. The current selection was a unique composition of individuals. Even if the Doctor had conducted private talks with each member, it was when they combated their demons together that they saw tangible progress. Bernard was one if not the oldest member of the group session. The two men had extensively discussed the various chapters of Bernard’s life, the intricacies of faith and divination, and paranoia and delusions. Among the younger and female members of the group were Alex. The Doctor’s discussions with her had been utmost confidential to the point that no recordings or notes were taken during their private sessions. The official record holds that she is being treated for anxiety. What the Doctor actually knows about her past remains unknown. There was no limit to Stanton’s methods. Some of his private sessions consisted purely of painting. It was a practice he indulged in with one of the other group members, Valerian. Many things could be discovered through abstractions of the mind revealing themselves in strokes and paint. Long sessions of either discussion or silence ensued. Such was also the case of Russell. Some days there was little or nothing the good Doctor could do about the man’s unique beliefs. Stanton was no stranger to personal tragedy and misfortune. Much of it was connected to the past, and the service for Russell. There was another cop in the group, Serena. The Doctor had spent long hours discussing aspects of guilt, fate, and misdeeds with her. Stanton had lost his only son to a tour in Iraq during the Bush administration. That experience, although harsh on his state of mind, had come to serve him positively when dealing with patients. One such patient was Cole. There were instances of guilt and night terrors in this man as well. Stanton only wished that some of his elderly wisdom in these matters had assisted Cole in his recovery.

Stanton had an assistant. Perhaps ‘secretary’ was the right word for it. However, it still did not do her justice. She was also trained in the arts of psychology. The only thing she lacked was the experience, the years of practice that the good Doctor had to his name. Maybe the word ‘apprentice’ would have been more suitable, although unconventional. She handled much of Stanton’s documentation, contacts with various hospitals and clinics, social media and digital relations, and new and old patients of his. Linda was her name. Doctor Stanton’s patients grew to know her just as well as they knew him. Sometimes she attended the meetings to observe, take notes, or offer additional support during especially taxing sessions. She was the good Doctor’s right hand. Probably the left one too.

This eerie night of November 28th had been unusual to begin with. Linda had taken care of a few contracts and legal matters with one of the hospitals in the city. She would normally already be at Doctor Stanton’s office, but not today. Given the situation and time, Linda figured that she would meet ‘the group’ by the monument, where they often gathered, and walk them inside. Perhaps it would strike some of them as odd or signs of omen. However, that was not her intention. She was a kind soul and nurturing by nature. If anything, meeting them at the spot was supposed to be a pleasant surprise. She was a bit early. The monument was brightly lit and all the street lamps were at full function. Even so, visibility on this night was slim. Between the darkness and misty white filter covering the entire world view, the somewhat playful but harsh snow in the wind made everything a blur. The creeping cold was almost unbearable.

N O T E S
The meeting starts at 8 P.M. and usually lasts two hours. It is Thursday night. Your post can entail anything prior to arriving outside the building, either before or after the assistant. Any character with +1 Sixth Sense or above will have a gut feeling that something if off. This is not a normal night at the group session. This feeling might have put them off the whole day or just recently.

---

Clean metal doors before Bernard clearly reflect his image. A man in his fifties, though rather dignified even in his casual utilitarian wardrobe, is wracked by bouts of paranoia and hardship. While he has had noticeable improvement over the last year, and more so with the group therapy as he no longer felt like an outcast, he can feel the looming wave of familiar anxiety about to crash down on him; personified by an early onset of sweat in his pits. With a quick sniff, he does his best to hide his demeanor by straightening himself up and pulling the front of his jacket center and downward. As far as nobody else in the elevator can tell he is unwell just from the ride, then he will get over it. _{But why is this all so familiar? The feeling is intense... How long have I been in here? Seconds... Days... Years...} The doors slide open--



Even before his eyes could open, the man recognized his bed instantly. Early traffic honking on the street outside; the old linens that, while clean, have been around far past their wear date; lingering musty smells from the small, wooden room. He opens his eyes wearily, a blurry nightstand greeting him first. A moment lulls as he considers getting up, and the damp sheets along his arms, back, and legs encourage him to try out the brisk air and allow himself to dry out. With a wide motion, the blankets are thrown aside and he pushes himself up, after which he reaches for the nearby spectacles.

A few blinks later, he raises a hand to his jaw. _{Tight. Was I clenching it all night?} He massages his cheeks with the same hand, focused on nothing else in particular for the time being. During the pause, however, he is visited by intrusive thoughts. _{The dream. What happened? Where was I?} Once his jaw is no longer tense, he stands and brushes a hand through his unkempt hair. It's long, and while it may not be a part of his religion, for some reason it feels as much a part of his faith as the symbolic cross. He steps heavily over to the small dresser with a mirror affixed to it, and he is hit with a flash of his dream. Staring back at himself. The mirror itself resonates, as if it's in motion. And the flash is gone. No more vibrating.

No use dwelling on the thoughts. Dr. Stanton has made some very cogent points with their brief times together, including how he should attempt to focus on immediate tasks at hand. But first, his book. Set neatly side-by-side are two books, one of which is his heavily worn leather-bound Bible and the other is a much newer notebook. The latter he uses for a little bit of everything. He isn't organized enough to have tabs or binders, not yet anyways. For now, everything will be written as they come. A dog-eared page brings him to the present and his careful handwriting. Thursday, Nov. 28: Clean up -- Wed night Youth Group. Weekend groceries (pasta?). 8PM Stanton Group Therapy. A rather uneventful day, but he can fill in the time with walks and some other exercise. He turns the page to detail as much as he can about his dream, as little as he can remember really. Feelings, if anything.

A prescription bottle sits in its usual place and he promptly takes care of himself with the morning routine, starting with a dry swallow and ending with his gray-brown attire. Eyeglasses have been replaced by prescription contacts, something he's done for the past two decades. Then he exits his bedroom for his first simple errand.

---

A small crowd of people ever dwindling in number fill out the area around the Soldiers' and Sailors' monument. Most are locals on their regular walks, some are visiting with friends, one or two that Bernard could identify easily as not being from around here like he was. Nonetheless, the sidewalks are quiet and void of foot traffic as he approaches the statues and structures from the rear. He really discovered the river walk just two weeks ago when he decided to explore the area before one of the meetings. Now he intends to make it a part of his ritual, to take in the open air before stuffing himself into a more populated room.

Hood pulled up to brace against the turning winds, his eyes keep to the steps before him until he sees the figure waiting ahead. Although his pace doesn't slow, he does his best to not look up and make it obvious that he's looking at this person until finally noticing it's Stanton's assistant. Her name escapes him, but she's been friendly to him. _{I should write it down next time...} Not wanting to look like an intimidating sort by approaching her from the shadows, he offers a hand up in a wave and calls out.

"Evenin', ma'am! It's Bernard," at the same time, he pulls down his hood to show his face more clearly. When he pulls it aside and watches her silhouette against the nearby lights, his stomach tightens. For a moment his smile fades, though he gathers the strength to be polite. "I, uh, excuse me. Best be forward, I've forgotten your name."

Russell had just finished his report for a divorce case he and another P-I had been working on. The case took six-weeks but they finally nailed the husband, and Russell's boss Eric insisted he take a week off. Otherwise Eric threatened to revoke his key-card and change the password on his computer if he didn't. Russell was closing down his work-station when his Fitbit buzzed letting him know he had an hour and a half before his Stanton therapy sessions. Russell looked forward to this group in many ways. One he found Dr. Stanton to be effective at helping Russell, even though Russell didn't always admit it but Stanton at least gave something to think about that kept Russell moving towards a step in the right direction. Hearing the problems of others also made him feel like he wasn't alone in his pain. Russell did some quick calculations in his head and said, "Yeah I can do this."

With that Russell bolted from the offices of Calvin & Steele Investigations to his vintage Mustang, and sped off to the gym three blocks over. Russell found that jogging on the treadmill before each Stanton session helped him relax and be more forthcoming. Mainly because he was too tried to put up any real defenses. Russell scanned his pass-card into the gym and within 10 minutes Russell was on the treadmill putting one foot in-front of another as the music of Bruce Springsteen filled his ear-buds. After forty minutes Russell was done as he paced around the treadmill catching his breath. He looked at his Fitbit and said, "Well looks like dinner is gonna be a granola bar and water." Nodding Russell said, "Worth it though."

Grabbing a quick shower Russell then slipped back into the clothes that made him look like a P-I from the 1940's right down to the fedora hat and trench-coat. Russell prided himself on looking professional when it came to his job. Even if he did have to take the occasional fashion jab from Gloria the P-I he was usually paired with, but there was more than once Russell could tell Gloria was staring at him as he walked by. Russell took it as a boost to his ego that he could turn the head of a younger lady, but he wasn't looking for a relationship. Russell stopped at the vending machine in the lobby and bought himself a granola bar and a bottle of water and said, "A feast fit for a king." Russell ate on his way to his car and looked at his Fitbit being very conscious of the time.

Russell parked his car about half-a block from the Soldiers' and Sailors' monument and he chugged his water. Once he finished Russell checked his look in the rear view mirror and said with shoulder shrug, "Satisfactory." With that Russell exited the car and made his way over to the monument where he saw Bernard and Keandre with Stanton's assistant Linda. Russell liked Bernard because he had a pleasant nature about him, and also because it meant that Russell didn't feel like the old man in the group.

Once he arrived with the group he gave a slight bow to Bernard and Keandre and said, "Gentlemen." He turned to Linda, pulled on the front of his fedora and said, "Evening."

Mentions
@Lucky
@Prosaic

Valerian woke from a fitful slumber, hazy impressions of eerie dreams fading into a gradual alertness. They had a few recollections immediately upon rousing; drowning in toxic yellowish gas, scrambling for breath, bodies mingling close-by facing the same predicament, a mechanical being – contraption? – emerging in their vision, a susurration of voices offering advice, guiding, tempting with forbidden knowledge, deceiving with the unknowable…

Val shook out of it with a sigh, nighttime hauntings morphing into the jittery anxiety of what they already recognized as the start of a Bad Day. Scratching at their inner upper arms, shallowly marking the already irritated skin, Valerian stumbled out of the bed. Thankfully, it was the only one in the cramped bedroom/living room of the dorm, though the bathroom the student shambled to was shared with one other. However, it was early enough that they did not have to wait to have access, and so they did their morning ritual of toilet, shower, tooth brushing, and hair combing, all without ever looking into the mirror. The clear, artificial reflective surfaces gave them the creeps; they always got the feeling that something else was lurking on the other side. Besides, ever since they nearly disassociated from staring into the reflection of their own eyes, they had all the more reason to refrain from checking their image unless absolutely necessary.

The next step was to check their daily agenda – it was a Thursday, which meant Stanton in the evening, thank God – taking their meds (and making a note that they did so), and getting ready for the rest of the day. The routine was mindless, their focus fleeting, thoughts skittering from topic to topic, but keenly drawn to various paranoid musings. Fuck, is it surveillance? Human or non-? Will they get me today? God, I don’t wanna be disappeared like that…A tremulous exhale as Valerian did their best to come to grips with reality, but sneakily checked for shadows that might be too long or too deep, the glint of cameras (or eyes), misplaced sounds. It felt like something was there, observing, hiding, watching; waiting to strike. Val hunched into themselves as they picked their attire, firmly thinking different thoughts. It would soon be Christmas; they still had to get gifts for the family…a family lacking Vivi. With a shudder, they bit their lip; her death was still fucking devastating even three years later (and counting). Closing their eyes, they offered a silent, wordless prayer. Then, a comforting thought. Right, it’s Stanton day. Just get through all else, and you can see him, talk to him. And the others, yeah. It’ll help.

And then you’ll be fine. Just fine. Right. Fine.

It was finally evening, and when Valerian stepped off the bus at the station just by the monument, they had a pressing need to meet with Stanton face to face. All day long they’d been plagued by whispers, nearly inaudible voices whispering to them or about them, laughing or urging, driving them to distraction even when they’d plugged their ears with buds and tried to drown out the auditory hallucinations with music. Every person they’d seen today had seemed more suspicious than usual, and they hadn’t been able to shake off the notion that they were being followed even when no one but them was there.

Their black boots crunched on the fresh layer of snow swiftly melting into indistinguishable slush on the salted sidewalk. Valerian paced steadily towards the meeting spot, head tilted down. They drew the coat (black, faux leather) tighter to their body, its hood offering additional protection, and their backpack (carrying a wallet, water, folding umbrella, bandages, gauze, and scissors) slid slightly down their right shoulder. They were glad for all the layers they’d put on for the evening; leather gloves (black, studded), two shirts and a pullover underneath the coat, thick jeans (black) shredded very lightly at the knees which revealed the crimson nylons (very warm) underneath. The wine red knitted scarf was wrapped around their neck and half their face, and the clammy breath being blown back into their face didn’t bother them as much as the cold would. The exposed piercings (eyebrow studs and two pairs of rings, cuff and chain industrial, as well as a pair of crimson crosses for the ears) were cooling quicker than their skin, and the effect was a startlingly cold pinched feeling, almost as if someone had pressed ice cubes there.

Though uncomfortable, the cold was grounding. It was a matter of a couple or so minutes before Valerian was at the monument, though their steps faltered when they saw Linda, the assistant, waiting along those who’d already arrived. Val wasn’t sure why, but seeing her there felt wrong. Still, they walked the remaining few steps towards the group, nodding at the gathering. They recognized all of them without having to look at their faces; Valerian was more familiar with their figure, attire, and – though most of those were currently covered – their hands. He very rarely looked at other people’s faces, and almost never directly into their eyes.

Rather than strike up a conversation, as a few had chosen to do, Valerian lingered on the outer boundaries of the group; still a part of them, but not directly involved with anyone there. They weren’t much for small talk, especially not today. Their gaze darted around quickly, biting their lower lip. They felt antsy, keyed up, tense, and high-strung. If they could, they would be scratching at their skin; they had a brief longing for something sharper. Instead, they crossed their arms over their chest, practically hugging their torso, and a light shiver overtook them. They weren’t certain it was just due to the cold.

Emily Dawson

7:00 AM

"I let the beast in too soon
I don't know how to live without my hand on his throat
I fight him always and still
O darling, it's so sweet
You think you know how crazy
How crazy I am"

The radio alarm blared to life.

Emily's bunk bed was an absolute mess. Her pajama'd form had practically flipped the matress over as she tossed and turned in her actually quite restful sleep. Somehow her pillow had ended up on the ground and she had flipped poles, but, whatever. Her eyes cracked open. "Oh, wow, that was an interesting dream." She remarked immediately to herself.

"Oh, oops, I forgot it. Oh well. Isn't that weird how that works? I wonder why people can't remember their own dreams? Or only sometimes? Maybe I should look that up. I would love to be a vivid dreamer- that'd be so cool. I could do whatever I wanted and..." and so it began.

"Ooohhhh my God...seriously? Immediately?" Kayla bemoaned, her voice muffled by her pillow.

"Huh? What? Me?" Emily peaked her head over her top bunk and stared down at her dormmate. "Are you talking to me?"

"...No, obviously I'm talking to-"

"Hold on this is the good part Fast as you can baby run free yourself of me fast as yoooou can. Fast as you can baby scratch me and free yourself fast as yooou can WOOH, sing it, girl! Okay what?"

"You, dumbass! I'm talking to you! I just can't believe that you seriously start talking right as you wake up. That's...that's crazy." Kayla finally turned from her pillow, looking up at Emily. "Uh, no offense. That's not-"

Emily laughed. "Don't worry, it's fine. This time I just had a particularly interesting dream that I forgot." She rolled out of bed and landed shakily on her feet, almost falling over. Quickly she through on a baggy blue hoodie, skinny jeans and sneakers. "I like blue." She commented to herself.

"Come on, Kay, get outta bed! You're gonna be late for science class. Science class is super important. Breakfast is also super important- the most important meal of the day! Or so they say. Haha, that rhymed. But actually all three meals are equally important. American portion sizes are actually pretty screwed up compared to the rest of the world which is why most of us are so overweight hey have you seen my medicine anywhere?" Emily rambled as she got dressed and brushed her hair.

"Uh..." Kay said, not even close to out of bed yet. "I think it's in your purse." She indicated the cheap but effective bag sitting discarded under a pile of clothes.

"So it is! I remember now. Thanks a million billion kajillion, Kay." Emily rushed over and began digging through the pile she had inside.

"At this point you've singlehandedly inflated the gratitude market beyond repair." She replied.

Emily paused, turning over her shoulder. "You think so?"

"Yeah. You thank me so much. You should really consider just saying 'thank you' once instead of one million billion trillion times or whatever. Otherwise you're gonna have to keep upping it so much, your gratitude will never mean anything to anyone ever again."

"...Really?" Emily asked, her eyes widening.

Kayla just let her head fall back onto her pillow. "...No, Emily. Not really."

"Oh, cool! Thanks a zillion." Emily said. She gathered two bottles of pills in a zip lock back and shook them around a bit. Anti-pyschotics and anti-tremor medicine. A perfect way to start the day. "I definitely don't want to forget to take these today. Because gueeessss what that's right," Emily shot straight up.

"I'm going to my government-mandated therapist meeting again today!" She squeed in excitement. "Oh, the joys of being marked a potential danger to yourself or others! It's basically free!"

"...Right." Kay frowned. "You know, sometimes you're really creepy?"

"Am I? Sorry." Emily looked in the mirror, straightening out her wavy hair as best she could, wincing as she got caught on a particularly tight clump. "Oops. Haven't showered in a couple days. Gotta take care of that. Especially for the meeting."

"...Oh, but I already put all my clothes on." Emily whined.

"No, just do it. Just go down there and do it. It's not your therapist's fault your morning routine is all out of order."

"You're right, Kay. I don't know what I'd do without you. Probably have a different dormmate, actually." Emily reasoned. "Okay. I'm gonna go down, take a shower, and come back with poptarts. How does that sound? I think it sounds pretty good. Did you want cinammon poptarts? How about this, if you're not out of bed by the time I get back, I'm eating your poptarts infront of you. Sound good? Okay, here I go bye bye Kay see you in a little bye..." The door was open and closed behind her. Kay fell flat onto her back with a huff.

Not even ten seconds later the door opened. Kayla startled, gathering up her blanket to protect herself. "Forgot to take my pills, haha, oops." Emily re-entered the room and grabbed a water bottle from her purse. She removed the bottle from the plastic bag. Unscrewed the cap, took out two little red pills and placed them in her mouth. She chugged them down with a swig of water.

"Yummy. I wonder if this water really is from a mountain aquifer." That was the anti-tremors down. Now for the anti-pyschotics. Put the red ones back, take the blue ones out. Uncrew the cap and "Shake 'em all about." She put her hand on the top of the cap and rattled the bottle with a giggle.

She took them, and blinked. "Phoo. Y'know, I take these every day before the effects of the previous ones wear off. Makes sense, right? Obviously. But sometimes I feel like if I don't take them really fast, something really terrible will happen." She made eye contact with Kayla.

"But that feeling didn't go away just now. Something really bad is gonna happen today. Can you feel it, Kayla? Somewhere, a flower knows it's about to wilt, and it's having it's last chat with a little bumblebee." Emily rolled her shoulders, placed everything back in her purse.

The song had long since come to an end, and only commercials from the radio filled the silence. Or at least as close to silence as one could get- Emily's mouth silently outlined whatever it was she was talking to herself about now.

"Uh...huh..." Kayla said, slowly receding beneath her blanket.

"Speaking of flowers, the rose is the state flower of New York. That's like, the number one flower. It's also the official flower of the United States. Not sure if it fits, though. I agree with Everett Dirksen- I think the native marigold makes a much better national flower. Maybe they'll change it someday?" Emily said as she left the room and closed the door behind her.

---

That evening.

A baggy hoodie, all puffy and adorable and blue, was the first thing one would notice about Emily as she practically skipped down the street. A white scarf covered her mouth and nose, and a blue hat kept her frazzled hair a little close to her head, smooshing it down so it better framed her face. Besides that she was wearing a pair of jeans, boots, and gloves. A heavy purse was slung over her left shoulder.

"...tea made from hibiscus flowers has a lotta names around the world and is served both hot and cold. I like it, hot, though. People like it 'cause red colour, tart flavour, and vitamin C content. Vitamin C. I wonder how hard it is to not get all your vitamins just from eating normal food? That's called scurvy, right? Pirates are awesome." Emily mumbled quietly to herself. She saw the group gathering and waved over to everyone, briefly picking up into a jog.

"Hello Miss Hopkins!" She waved. "Hey Mister Bernard. Hey Keandre, hi Russel, hi Alex, hey Valerian. Hi. Hi hi hi." She turned and waved to everyone nearby in turn.

"Guess who brought cookies? It's me! Store bought, I dunno how to bake." She reached into her purse and tugged on a plastic container full of sugar cookies. "They were cheap and definitely an impulse buy and they're really bad for you. There's enough for everyone!" She let the plastic container fall back into her purse, where it clanked against something else. "Kinda hard to eat 'em out here, though. So we'll wait until we get inside. So, are we locked out, or what?" Emily turned and looked up at the building.

“Linda.” A kind smirk came towards the man. Bernard reminded her of the good Doctor in a sense, but others not. It was strange seeing him and the others like this. Linda had spent countless nights studying all of their psychological profiles and evaluations. In one way, they were as far removed from being human as one could get. Yet in another way, she had become accustomed to the group akin to regular people becoming accustomed to their idols in entertainment. It was a bizarre mixture of perception. The Doctor had explained this phenomenon to her on more than one occasion. He had explained the necessity of creating distance between yourself and the patient. Mia was one of the better examples for himself. Even if he wanted to see her as a daughter, such a perception would harm every process and progress they could possibly have. The doctor felt for that poor girl unlike any other. Another such example was Keandre. Much of that young man reminded the Stanton of his own flesh and blood, his own son that had perished. And not to mention Emily. The Doctor explained that such a girl and personality could easily creep underneath one’s own sense of direction and priority. Infatuation was the word, he explained. Or perhaps it was fascination? Linda could not remember at this moment.

“N.Y.C. winter is in its own league.” Linda chuckled in unison with Keandre’s comments about not being suited for this kind of weather. All the members of the group were stacking almost like clockwork. Even if Linda did recognize most of them up close with facial features at hand, those in the vicinity would have escaped her notice — Serena, for example, who was not far removed, but hidden by the eerie whirls of snow. Linda gave a kind and warm nod at Russell’s arrival. She had not given it much thought before, but there were two people in the group working in law enforcement. The good Doctor had never commented it in their private discussions. Linda made a mental note of having to ask if it carried any significance in relation to the others and progress in the group. With that in mind, Linda reminded herself to occasionally have a look around to see if any others had come. Some of them were not particularly adept in social matters, which had been unmistakably noted in their profiles — all things psychology was awfully concerned with social matters. Linda had managed to take note of Alex’s presence and thrown a smile her way, indicating for the young girl to keep close, as they began to slowly move.

Linda also noticed that Valerian had arrived. She gave a slight gesture for him to come closer as well, although it was overshadowed by Emily’s prompt entrance. The girl was certainly the balance this group needed. It was a determined and warm presence. “We’re heading in right now. I haven’t been able to get Richard on the phone, so he’s most likely busy with something.” Linda made sure to wait for everyone in the group to step inside before herself — perhaps it was a minor detail, but for these people it could be the difference of good and terrible night. Luckily, Serena had made herself visible just in time. Linda gave Serena a warm smile and indicated that it was good to see her again. A last look around outside on the street for any remaining members resulted in none. They were not all accounted for, but it was also not unusual.

The reception area was brightly lit and mellow. There was no receptionist in at this time. It was a bit peculiar, but Linda thought nothing of it as she briskly walked past the group towards the elevator. She used a special key to call the elevator to them much faster. Besides being able to take them to the penthouse level of the building, the key also forced the elevator to bypass all other stop and call requests. She did not want to keep the Doctor waiting, as the clock had struck 8 PM. The elevator itself was spacious. All of them could fit in there without touching each other too much. Linda was the last one to board. "Okay, hang on everyone." The ride was short and completed in less than half a minute. Everything up to this point had transgressed without any kind of suspicion in Linda’s mind, even if a creeping sensation had crawled along her spine ever since she arrived outside and met the group. It was not until the elevator doors slid open on the fifth floor out of the eight floors of the building that the strange feeling was validated. The hallway before them looked bizarrely misshaped. Bits of the walls were peeled and almost decayed. Many of the lights throughout the hallway had burned out. The light bulbs were sooty and nearly cracked. Whatever light that remained was dimmed or flickering. Something was clearly wrong here.

Linda remained within the elevator for a moment with the others. It took a good while before she stepped into the hallway. Each step made the floor crackle and squeak as if made out of aging wood even if such was clearly not the case. It was surreal and slightly off putting, which prompted Linda to hasten her pace towards the Doctor’s office. Perhaps it was unfair to call it an office. The space they worked out of was an apartment that had been redesigned as an office for the Doctor’s purposes. To Linda’s surprise, or maybe lack thereof, the front door was slightly open. There was no discernible sign of a break in. However, Linda was not a police officer, so she would not know what to look for. Luckily, they had two cops with them that could surely tell if the front door had been forced open. The first thing that one sees when entering is a wide, spacious room that is used as both reception and waiting area for patients. Linda did not know what to expect, so she called the Doctor’s name as she slowly pushed the front door open. “Richard?” Nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to see.

The therapist had become a God. He sat tranquil and serene on the floor of the wide room. A fine powder of dark quality had been evenly spread all around him. His legs were positioned in the lotus formation often seen in Eastern meditation. The spine had been set straight by being attached to slim, metal rods impaled in the floor. His left arm was folded — its elbow graced one of the legs, the wrist reached upwards, and two fingers and the thumb were erect with the remaining digits collapsed — it was the gesture of benediction. The right arm and hand rested in his lap. The man had been stripped completely naked and his eyes had been removed. Two, delicate streams of blood had trailed down his cheek, neck, and chest from where the eyes used to be. A ripped piece of paper with burnt edges lay before him. It had a note that read: Communion Ends. Disperse.

Linda stumbled backwards upon seeing the spectacle. A hand quickly covered her mouth to prevent unnecessary screaming or uncomfortable noises. Her heart raced and was audibly unsettling in her head. In that moment, a loud bang from a door closing down the hall towards the stairwell was heard. A dark figure could be momentarily seen moving out of another exit of the Doctor’s office. The figure moved towards the stairwell. Linda was in shock and backed against the wall opposite to the front door where she had just been. So many things rushed through her head. She forced herself to think about the others. They were the ones who were supposed to be fragile in this endeavor, not her. Linda had never seen a murder before except in films. However, this was unlike anything she had seen in fiction. This was awfully disturbing. Not to mention that the victim in question was her employer, mentor, and dear friend.



N O T E S
There are essentially four parts here: entering the building, elevator ride, walking down the hallway, and the discovery. Write things out and react as you think your character would. I will detail any complications in my next post based on your Actions in your character sheets. There is a suspect that is moving towards the stairwell at the other end of the hallway. It is moving quickly and the entrance to the stairwell is about 20 meters/65ft away. The rest of the Doctor’s office is unknown at this time. There are five additional rooms beyond the large reception/waiting area. The black powder spread on the floor around the Doctor is completely unknown and will remain as such despite any expertise in the group.

---

The good assistant answered him promptly, to which Bernard gives a grateful nod. "Nice to see you," the man only manages out so much before more members of the group arrive. The direction he was facing doesn't suit him well as the winds push against him awkwardly and aggressively, forcing him to pull his hood back up and turn away from the worst of the weather.

First that Bernard can see is Roux and he says something in his native tongue, and if memory serves correctly the man has a French upbringing. An expression to attempt to understand what he said is painted clearly on his face until he corrects himself and mentions the sea. _{Is this the first I've heard of it?} Russell. Fairly old-school in the way he dresses and acts sometimes, reminds him of those old noir films he was so fond of as a kid; even in the age of thrillers and the bizarre, there was something comfortably simple about those detective movies. _{All that to say, I think he's a fine man.} Next up was Alex. A talented young woman, pretty intuitive with technology in a way he could never personally comprehend. Well, perhaps that's every millenial now. _{Or is she Gen Z? Not that it matters, I suppose.}

There's the punk-clad Valerian. Years ago, Bernard would have been worse than skeptical of the young person, but they have their issues like anyone else, no more a saint or a sinner than he is. _{We actually may have something in common.} Impossible to forget Emily's name, as from time to time others may have to interrupt her if she goes on too much of a tangent. He goes out of his way to thank her, even if she retreated the treats before he could get his paws on them. _{She's very attentive to what's around her. Inquisitive. Reminds me of me.} And to Bernard's surprise is the one skulking around in the frigid shadows, Serena. _{Taken to the comforts of the world. Perhaps I can reach out to her...?}

Light chatter ensues for a few minutes between a few of them, though everyone seems more than ready to head inside and find some real warmth. Even with the knot in his stomach as tight as it is, he couldn't help but enthusiastically agree with finding refuge inside. Linda leads them along, Bernard carefully allowing the others, namely the women, to go ahead of him. At this point in his life he doesn't even think about it, it's what he was raised to do and has done his whole life. _{While God is first, everyone else comes before me.} Shortly they are inside and he takes the chance to remove his hood immediately, revealing the ponytail wrapped around the back of his neck. Linda allows everyone to board first, yet Bernard takes the rear so that he is closest to the doors beside the assistant. Once he is inside...

Clean metal doors before Bernard clearly reflect his image. A man in his fifties, though rather dignified even in his casual utilitarian wardrobe, is wracked by bouts of paranoia and hardship. While he has had noticeable improvement over the last year, and more so with the group therapy as he no longer felt like an outcast, he can feel the looming wave of familiar anxiety about to crash down on him; personified by an early onset of sweat in his pits. With a quick sniff, he does his best to hide his demeanor by straightening himself up and pulling the front of his jacket center and downward. As far as nobody else in the elevator can tell he is unwell just from the ride, then he will get over it. _{But why is this all so familiar? The feeling is intense... How long have I been in here? Seconds... Days... Years...} The doors slide open--

The silent dread was palpable. Even Linda, the spearhead of this mini venture, nearly seemed glued to the floor. Bernard could feel his own heart beat in his chest, thudding heavily enough to be all that he hears until Linda's foray into the vaguely familiar hallway snaps him out of it. The elevator ride was a precursor to _{something else oh God what is happening?} He does his best to slink around the doors first, ahead of anyone else in the group like a shepherd would navigate a new trail before their flock. The dim lights catch his attention first, one of the few that are functioning anyways. As he passes beneath them, he reaches out to one of the fixtures to take one of the broken bulbs. The fact some are working while others are broken is... irregular, to say the least. He is curious about their filaments, if they have burnt out or if they are simply broken in another way.

What breaks him from this focus is once again Linda, this time when she called out for the good doctor. The way she stumbled and tried to keep herself together worried him, and he intends to rush to her side. The scene is grisly, _{demonic even}. But this isn't a task he is immediately equipped to handle, even as his eyes are transfixed to what he sees before him. Nonetheless, he reaches out to Linda's shoulders to console her. His first thought is to keep everyone together. He almost misses the commotion of someone leaving the office from another exit. At this moment he instinctually turns to look at Russell and Serena, almost willing either one of them to give chase with his eyes alone, but chooses to say nothing. His expression is serious, yet at the same time horrified.

"Come, come Linda. Come. Look at me," Bernard will, if she is able and willing, turn her to look at his face. "We need to let someone else take care of this." He spends the coming moments simply trying to keep him and anyone around him safe, keeping an eye on the structure around them if others decide to explore.

Emily Dawson

"Richard?" She asked. Her eyes widened a little. "Oh, right, Doctor Stanton. Haha, duh." She palmed her forehead. "Yeah, he's probably just busy for once. This would be the first time and it seems out of character for him but I'm sure he's fine, really." Emily said quickly. But she was worried, and it was written on her face. She began thinking about Doctor Stanton clutching his chest and falling to the ground, suffering from a heart attack. A flower wilts.

Emily reassured herself with a smile to the group, pulling down her scarf. "I forgot he had a first name, haha. In eastern countries like Japan they put the last name first. So the last name is the first name and the first name is the last name. I guess this is why we evented the word 'surname' because last and first are only relative terms." Emily said. She didn't mind being talked over or ignored, and when she felt like she was going particularly off-topic she lowered her voice a considerable degree.

Emily rubbed her hands together as the door was finally opened. She appreciated how Linda let everyone go in first. Emily was happy to be let inside, since some people would probably make a big deal out of not going in before other people. Some guys really liked holding the door open. She thought it was sweet.

Once they were inside, Emily narrowed her eyes. "No receptionist. I guess they were also busy." Emily smiled unevenly, falsely. She removed her gloves and stuffed them into her purse, revealing her hands. Fingernails painted blue, some freckles. Emily began whispering the plot of a sci-fi novel.

Emily stepped into the elevator with her friends, her whispers turning into the quiet chorus of a pop song. "This- love- has- taken it's toll oh man, she said goodbye...too many times before." She kept one hand on the shoulder sling of her purse, rocking back and forth on the heel of her boots. If the elevator was mostly silent, then it was one of the only sources of sound in the moving room. Ding. The metal doors slid open.

The blonde girl scratched at her hat, shouldered her purse, and followed Ms. Linda out. "Richard?" Linda called out. She peered through the ajar door and...reacted. There was only so many things one could react too like that. Bernard took on a protective role immediately. He had a good heart.

Emily blinked her big blue eyes and well, she wasn't going to not look, was she? She had to see. Had to see what happened to Doctor Stanton. Emily stopped singing, stopped saying anything at all, when she saw the scene inside the room.

Tears began to fall down her face. She spotted the intruder fleeing the scene but she didn't want to go after them. Emily's eyes were glued to the gruesome scene. "Oh..." She stepped back off to the side, getting out of everyone's way before lowering herself to her knees. Her back was against the wall of the room, she was facing the elevator and everyone else.

"Oh, no...oh, poor Doctor Stanton." She said, lower limp trembling. Tragedy broke her heart.
"He's been killed." Emily succinctly surmised the situation. She covered her face with her hands. Her mind accepted the miserable implications. No more Thursday meetings. No more therapy. No more feeling like they could all be understood. Many of the others probably wouldn't come back after this. And worst of all, Doctor Stanton was murdered, and wouldn't get to do anything he wanted to do anymore.

"The world is lonelier now." She mourned eerily. "I miss him. He had so much left to give."

Russell wasn't exactly comfortable in large group settings in most cases. He felt like if he got close to someone they eventually would die in some horrible freak mishap, or they would die in some way that involved Russell. He felt that it would only be a matter of time before someone at the agency would suffer the same fate as anyone else Russell met and got close to. This group though, they all had issues that weren't exactly run of the mill. They all had their stories and they chose to share that part of their lives with one another. Russell had to admit that he admired that in a way about this group, and it was in that admiration that he felt a sense of comfort and hope with them. Each person standing within the group got either a "good evening" greeting or a slight tilt of the fedora towards them.

Bernard was someone who Russell felt like he could have beer with and just spill his guts to and it would be all right. Bernard was a man of the cloth and that earned Russell's respect. In spite of the misfortune that had followed Russell he had still had Faith. It was all he had left. He felt a certain kinship towards Serena. She was a police officer, and though Russell had been off of the force for sometime the credo was "once a cop, always a cop." That was of course if you didn't do something to disgrace the shield. Just going on first impressions Serena seemed like the kind of cop Russell wouldn't have an issue being a partner with. She was younger than him, but Serena had a presence about her that made Russell feel confident in her abilities. Emily bringing cookies to the group was a welcomed addition to the evening. The granola bar would only last so long, so the cookies would be just the thing to help Russell make it until he got home. He knew that Keandre's issues ran deep but he also recognized that Keandre was strong. Keandre was reaching out for help and that gained a large measure of respect from Russell. Every group had that one person who was a bit stand-offish and liked to keep to themselves and in this group that role was filled by Valerian Nico Alvarez-Knight. His life was one that Russell had dealt with on many occasions in the NYPD. Tragedies enhanced by personality disorders. Russell knew also every situation was different so trying to deal with Valerian like all the others could do more harm than good. So he let Stanton figure this one, and promised to support Valerian anyway he could. Alex was a puzzle though. Each time it seemed like she was getting ready to let Russell or anyone else in she would shut it down. Russell again would support where he could, but he knew there was something big going on with Alex.

The elevator ride was uneventful and it seemed like everyone was ready to get on with things once they got in the room. As they approached the open door Russell had a feeling of Deja-Vu creep over him. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something up. Just then the whole tenure of the evening changed as they saw the grizzly scene. Stanton was dead, and every cop instinct in Russell's body screamed, "murder!" Russell looked around and while he wanted to drop to his knees and scream, "Not again! No!" Russell knew that wouldn't do him or anyone else any good at that moment. He took a step back from the group and then heard a commotion. As though someone was leaving in a hurry. He turned to Linda and said, "Call this number..." He showed her a number from his phone and said, "It is my former partner tell him that I am on the scene. That we have a 10-14 and engaging in a 10-80. After that start taking inventory of anything unusual or missing or out of place." He took two steps towards the door and said, "No sign of forced entry." Russell then reached into his jacket and pulled out from a shoulder holster a 45 auto-mag. He turned quickly to Serena and said, "You up for this? I can't be the lead on this one, but I'll back you up. We need you Officer Gomez."

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DR Stanton's Building - 7:54PM

The group was ending it's formalities and greeting as Serena approached, her fingers clutching at the heat that resonated from the foam cup of coffee. She nodded and afforded them all the faintest of smiles or a nod to those that made eye contact or gave any gesture. She thought it was very strange that Dr. Hopkins was greeting them prior to the group session. She had only seen Linda a handful in her four months with the group, and it was usually only in passing or briefly during group. She took another sip of her coffee as she followed the group inside. She was quite eager to get out of the cold and she was welcomed with a dense blast of warm air all over her face from blowers above the entrance.
The building was fairly large and well maintained. The floors were nice, but not overly done, as was the rest of the aesthetic of the main lobby. It was a mix of classy modern design, fairly minimalistic, with a clean and open flow of traffic. The Lobby was extremely quiet tonight. Oddly so, she thought to herself, as she passed by the front desk that was void from any receptionist which she also noted, sipping her coffee as they passed. The group piled onto the elevator like it was a carnival ride, at least it seemed that way to her. She was never weirded out by elevators or anything like that, but riding one with a group of fundamentally fucked up individuals had given her perspective new dimensions. She piled on with the rest of them as they enjoyed the short but awkward ascent to the fifth floor.

---

:::The tone dings just before the doors open:::

Serena stepped out from the elevator and into the hallway. She gasps as her coffee falls to the ground. Something really fucked up was going on. It was either that or those oxycodone's weren't oxycodone, which wasn't completely out of the question but this... something strange was definitely going on. She walked the hallway with the others to the door which lay ajar. Russell drew his sidearm and prepared to breach the door.

"I'm with you Russell." she said in a firm, but edgy tone. She put her hand on Russell's shoulder as they stacked the door.

She also had a conceal carry in a slim holster on her belt but she refrained from pulling it. The incident had left her less keen on firearms than she had been before it happened, and she would only consider using it in a life or death situation. She followed Russell's lead as he opened the door to the Dr. Stanton's group room. Again, she could not believe her eyes. The horrendous sight was too much to take in all at once and it was extremely surreal. She stood motionless as Russell gave his phone to Linda, but her shock was broken by a rustling noise as she could see movement in the corner of her eye. A dark figure was briskly trying to flee from the room. Serena immediately sprang into action as her heels dug heavily into the flooring below. She bolted after them.

"Call the cops! I'm in Pursuit!.." she yelled vigorously as she began to pursue the figure. "and don't let anyone touch anything Russell!"

Her words fell audibly as she gained ground between herself and the group, her heavy footsteps pounded the hall floor as she approached the stairwell, just as the door was closing back on her, which she slammed into with her shoulder as she entered the stairwell. The sound of the door slamming open was deafening as it panged against the block walls. She looked over the railing and could see the figure a few floors down already and gaining. Her feet fell on the steps, just barely catching enough of them to keep herself upright and free from calamity. A loud booming noise bellowed in the stairwell as she jumps down to each landing, rounding the curve and onto the next flight below. She looked over the railing once more as she heard the door bursting open below. The sound in the stairwell made it sound as if the door had been liberated clean from it's hinges. She was still three flights up but moving as fast as she could.
She reached the bottom as the door is again closing on her. She slammed into it once more and straight out into the cold, snowy streets below. The snow was blowing wildly about and visibility was poor at best as Serena busted out into the streets. She could barely make out the figure as it was traveling southeast on West 89th Street. She bent and rested her hands on her knees she gasped for air, trying to catch her breath. It was abundantly clear that her excessive smoking had indeed taken a bit of a toll on her, and the shrillness of the night air wasn't helping either. She took a moment to gather herself before trying the door to the stairs to return to the group, which was able to auto-lock apparently...

---

"Fucking unbelievable." she said standing in the light of the floodlamp above the door.

She pulled her cell from her jacket and began dialing the police herself as she rounded the street corner to go in through the main entrance again. She knew that Russell had told Linda to do the same by now, but it certainly couldn't hurt for her to do so as well. She got off of the elevator and was just getting off the phone when she returned to the group.

"Yeah, I mean... that's all I got. Dark clothing going southeast on West 89th.... yep... mhmm.. you got it. Make sure you get forensics and the coroner here as soon as you can..." she said, looking over the group. "there's a group of um... witnesses here that are going to have a hard time not muddying up your scene... Alright... Mhmm.. The sooner the better. Yep, mhmm... thank you Sergeant." and with that she slid her phone to end the call and she placed it back inside her jacket pocket.

She blew on her fingers to warm them as she went to secure the crime scene. She could only hope that Emily hadn't fingered everything in the room before she could get back. Surely Russell would have done a decent enough job containing the rest of them while she was absent. She still couldn't believe that this was happening. The brutality of the scene was extreme and shouted occult, at least that's what Serena thought anyway. It was very ritualistic, full of symbolism. But why? Why would anyone have motive to kill the good Doctor? Besides the fanatical patient theory, there wasn't a lot to go on but this was so intricately staged that it would have taken a lot of planning and setting up to do. This was sophisticated in it's design. She looked to Linda and then to Russell, and then back to the statuesque Dr. Stanton.

"What... the actual... FUCK." was the only response she could muster, still panting from the run. "Is everyone... alright?"

Valerian was startled by the arrival of the ever-loud Emily, who greeted everyone as per usual. Val’s lips quirked up, and they turned into her direction, nodding once firmly. Her ramblings were preferable to uncomfortable silences, and the best thing was that she didn’t even expect anyone (except perhaps Stanton) to pay attention, so Val didn’t have to feel guilty about it if their attention strayed.

Of those gathered, she was one of those they felt an affinity towards; Bernard, who seemed to have issues similar to both Emily and themselves, was another. Keandre was an interesting man, one they felt mildly curious about. They had felt an initial wariness towards Russel and Serena simply due to their profession, though that caution had mainly been dispersed until now. Alex was an unknown, troubled by something less well defined, yet Valerian had no urge to pry where it was unwanted.

Since they were turned towards the group, they noticed Linda beckoning them closer, and they abided, approaching. Then, the doctor’s assistant led them inside, and Val noted that it must be time to do so. Though it was not at all unusual that not every patient had chosen to come today, they couldn’t help but be uncharacteristically worried. Hope they’re alright, they inhaled sharply, sucking both cheeks between their teeth and biting once.

They trailed behind the others, though Linda insisted to go last for some reason. Upon entering the reception area, they removed their hood and shook it off. Valerian also loosened their scarf, pushing it below their chin, though they did not remove it yet. Instinctively, their palms clasped each other, and they looked down at them, pondering whether to remove the gloves or not. Before the decision could be made, Linda progressed towards the elevator, and they focused on following.

Honestly, they might prefer taking the stairs, but it’d take longer, and it would probably just make them more anxious on top. So, they went into the metal contraption, and stuck to one of the side walls, neither in front nor to the back. They ignored the presence of other people’s bodies so close to or intruding upon their personal space, which they were well-practiced at doing.

When the elevator doors opened, their head snapped up, and their breath stuttered. It was as if the scent of death invaded from the corridor, and there was a collective stillness; a deer-in-the-headlights look of startled prey. They…didn’t have much choice but to exit, Valerian supposed, even if the notion had their heart beating wildly. They could see what the hall was like; all damaged, and torn apart, as if something had clawed its way out. It was one of their most fearful delusions realized; blatant signs of shadowy creatures manifested, Eaters of light and people and everything one might hold dear.

With Linda in the lead, the group eventually spilled out, though Valerian still felt terribly reluctant. They had the brief thought of, Safety in numbers? but also, Easier to target…Every motion forward deepened their unease, the ominous creaking of the floor grating on their nerves. When they entered the office, and their gaze alighted on Stanton’s contorted form, all their suspicions were confirmed. “No,” the moan left their lips unbidden, a quiet whine of utter despair. “No, no, no, no,” they whispered, a feeble denial.

Their sight was blurring, and Valerian absently realized they were tearing up, crying near-silently. Under the utter horror, a fascination for the cor… – the piece emerged. It was set into one of the standard buddha poses. Left hand raised – shouldn’t it be right? Those fingers…pose odd? Fault of---of age? Artistic freedom? Purposeful? Stanton's eyes had been torn out, stolen. That fact left such a conflicting feeling of right-wrong that their stomach roiled in revulsion. Valerian closed their eyes, thinking better thoughts. May his soul be safe and let him rest in peace. A moment as they tried to collect their breathing, then they once again gazed at the human installation project, taking in further details.

Enlightenment, but perverted; forced by outside intervention; the subject did not have the opportunity to reach it on their own; a warning, punishment for seeking what one might not be prepared for? They walked slowly around the deceased, observing the body, noting a dark powder had been spread around. Metal rods to affix the spine; clever. Cause of death? They did not want to consider that notion too deeply. They did notice that the left arm did not need to be affixed in any way. Muscles locked in; rigor mortis?

Finally, they noticed the piece of paper, which had remained out of their awareness until then. The message…the message, oh god, the message. “They-they’re onto us,” Valerian whispered hoarsely, voice heavily affected by the swirl of negative emotions attempting to overtake their senses. They walked away from the soulless shell, stopping at the threshold they'd crossed not long ago, lingering by the office's door. Their inspection of Stanton was completed, and now they were turning their head left and right as they tried to take note of where everyone was. “We,” they coughed to clear their voice. “We should get out of here,” they advised; they attempted to sound firm, but though they were loud enough for those closest by to hear them, Val’s fear was likely evident.

Late, I am going to be late! That was the worrying thought that was going through Cole's head as he moved his way to Doctor Stanton’s building. Waiting eagerly for his cab to reach his destination as he looked at his watch. 7:53 PM, "Frick, I am going to be late," Cole said under his breath. This would be the first time him being late, and right now, it would be nice to have someone to talk to about his problem. Though all he can do is wait and reflect on what caused this situation until the cab stops.

It was another nightmare, and this one was different from the rest. Not what he experiences in that nightmare that was the cause for worry. Despite seeing her again, it was the length that troubled him. The nightmare seemed to go on longer than normal. Or what seemed to be normal for him after years of having them. This time f it felt like it went on forever before he finally woke up in a nervous sweat. All the while, she was watching him, of course. She always watched him during those nightmares. Even somethings say something that he now can understand. But, this time, she was just quiet with an oddly big smile on her face.

She and that smile, that frickin smile. Cole does not understand. What does she even mean or represent, and these accurse nightmares mean as well? Some underlying unknown element of his psyche, and all he wants is these nightmares to end and her gone. Yes, getting help combined with fighting it his way did lessen the nightmares. They still haunt him, and this latest one made it rather difficult to fall back to sleep. Good thing he did not have work today, or that would have been miserable. So he had that going for him, at least.

Though he should not have gone boxing today, yeah, it felt nice to start going at a punching bag and let loose but, his lack of sleep combined with his regular bout of boxing just made him more tired. Which after getting back to his apartment. Cole was just going to lay in bed for a bit and rest his eyes. This short rest that was meant for ten or thirty minutes turned into a four-hour nap. Cole had no problems sleeping then, and when he woke up feeling a little refreshed. Did he realized that how late it was and that the therapy session was going to start soon. So he quickly made his way out of his apartment, making sure to lock the door and flagged down a cab.

"Finally," Cole said softly as the cab finally arrived at the building. Making sure to pay the cab driver before leaving and power-walked towards the building. Not bothering to check his watch as he made his way forward. Stepping inside and went to press the button for the elevator. Waiting for the elevator to arrive, and took the time to check his watch. 7:58, "uh, I am actually going to make it." Sounding surprised, he thought for sure he was going to be late. Guess things worked out despite the bad feeling he has. Cole started to relaxed a bit, Taking the time to crack his neck before the elevator arrived. Getting in and punch in the level for Doctor Stanton’s office. Leaning back at the wall of the elevator as he waited for it to reach the office.

Once he arrived, Cole stepped out and noticed that only Mia. Is she late too, and where is everyone? Then that bad feeling he felt became more prevalent and but, he tried his best to ignore it. For what could be so wrong to warrant such a feeling? Walking to Mia, "Hey Mia, and do you know where everyone is?" Then he heard voices coming from Stanton's office. Curious, Cole elected to investigate before Mia could respond and what he saw stunned him.

What remained of poor Doctor Stanton and just stood in place as soon as he saw the remains. Like a statue with a look of fear on his face. Then through the shock, he tried to force himself to think and wonder. Who or why in god's name would anyone not just kill the doctor but also arranged him like this. Cole moved forward in order to see what message was left behind. What in god's name does that mean, and what is the point of this?!! Is this whole display a message, and to whom? Nothing makes sense.

Cole, at this point, decided to look away and lean against a wall. It was clear he was scared. His breathing was tense, and after a moment of silence, he spoke up. "We...we got to report this to the cops. They need to know about this and find whoever did....this." Then he remembered that Mia was still in the hallway and probably unaware of what has happened. Shaking his head to focus and he forced himself to walk back to Mia. With a scared expression on his face, "Mia... it's Stanton, he is dead, and I am pretty sure you do not want to see the body."

Emily Dawson

The police officers, Selena and Russel, switched into cop mode. They looked very brave, and she felt safer with them around. "Brave because they're police, or police because they're brave?" She murmered to herself, lowering her hands from her face and dropping her palms to the floor. She breathed in, out, in, out. She felt better. Tears were still falling down her face. She sniffed, shutting her eyes tight.

"Oh, I don't know, Keandre. I don't know." She rose shakily to her feet, keeping her purse on tight. "This is the first time where in a long time where I wished I was suffering from a delusion. But I took my pills this morning. We're experiencing this hallucination together, so it's the closest thing to real we're going to get." Emily said. She wiped tears out of her eyes.

"Doctor Stanton wouldn't want this for us. I hope you guys will be okay." Emily glanced over her shoulder, wincing once again at the sight of Doctor Stanton's sorry state. Valerian had done some kind of examination of the corpse. They circled Doctor Stanton nervously.

"We should wait until the real police arrive, I think. Because...they're going to want to ask us questions we can't answer. We have to be there to say we don't know anything, otherwise they might think we do know something." Emily said to them.

"Does anyone want a cookie?" Emily asked suddenly. She removed them from her purse and set the box of cookies down on the ground. She popped open the lid and removed a sugar cookie, sandy and tan, and took a small bite. Now there were eleven cookies remaining. She left them there for the others to eat, should they so choose. "It's good."


Chewing, Emily pondered something quietly. "You're clever, Valerian, very smart and noticing and perceptive type of person, I wonder what you noticed and should I notice the same things?" Emily whispered to herself. She finally fully entered the room as the two police officers sped off to locate the suspect.

"They won't find anything; it doesn't feel right. Nothing feels right. It's like I'm looking at the treeline, a dark treeline with something tall shifting between the trunks and peering back at her- back at me. Waiting, and watching, and I want to see it, and dare it to destroy me. A forgotten feeling, a lost feeling, one that was supposed to go away with the medicine but here it is, and here I am." The girl whispered under her breath. She'd described this feeling before in therapy. It would be familiar to the others. When spoke of it her eyes appeared as if they were looking somewhere else, as they did in this moment.

Cookie in her hand, Emily creeped towards Doctor Stanton. "If everyone showed up, there wouldn't have been a cookie for you." Emily said aloud, sadly.

"I don't think you suffered. This all happened after you were dead, didn't it? Can't paint art on a moving canvas..." She kneeled down, closer than most people would be comfortable with to the body. She saw the note, read it. "Communion ends. Disperse. No...I don't..." Her eyes were cast downward to the powder. "What's that?" She quirked her head to the side.

Without even thinking, Emily reached down, dusted her cookie with the dark powder on the floor, and took a bite.

She coughed, awkwardly. "Oh, oops." She turned and looked to the people behind and around her with wide eyes, dark dust and sugar crumbs on her lips. Like she was a child and they'd just discovered her with her hand in the cookie jar.

<sup>The priest was an ever helpful presence. One could indulge in disbelief and mockery an entire life only to turn in an instant during moments of distress. Linda was able to muster eye contact with the man. She nodded at his sound advice of letting someone else take care of this mess. Linda extended kindness to Emily, who had a harsh moment as well upon seeing the scene, and sat down at her side on the floor. “He didn’t have any issues with anyone.” Linda commented on Keandre’s question regarding who would want to hurt the Doctor. In that moment, nearly cutting Linda’s voice and train of thought in half, Russell’s trained instincts kicked in. He seemed to react to the noise down the hall, which Linda heard herself, but was too distracted to care about. The battle hardened cop handed Linda a cellphone and urged her to call his partner. Her eyes intently followed the man’s during the instructions. When the guns came out swinging, Linda decided it was time to focus on the call. Both of the officers in the group were fired up and lucky so for all of them — it was a comfort before everything else, Linda thought. Whatever perpetrator that attempted to leave the scene would have to deal with Serena breathing down its neck.

Linda made the call to Russell’s former partner. She conveyed the instructed message and the man on the other end was already out the door. The conversation was rather short. Emily and Valerian kept busy with the scene. Everything that everyone did had to be delicate at this time. Linda kept reminding herself of all the training and education she had enjoyed up until this point. She was a psychologists after all and perhaps they were lucky she was there as well. It was at this moment that familiar voices could be heard down the hall from the direction of the elevator. Mia and Cole had arrived. Something that Valerian mumbled distracted Linda for a split second while stepping into the hallway. Linda’s attention was or tried to be on all of them. “Yes, Val, please come outside. You too, Emily. Keandre, Alex, come.” Her voice increasingly took a motherly authority. “Bernard, can you help Emily there, she seems distracted by something.” Her comment fell just moments shy of the cookie and the powder being eaten. With that said, Linda’s attention was back to the new arrivals. Cole had taken an investigative approach, but Mia was more hesitant in her movements. “Mia, something’s happened to Richard. I’m not sure if you should see it. We’re waiting for the police.” The somewhat lighter or censored version of the truth came undone by Cole, who was able to be more direct than Linda. She glanced at the man and nodded at the statement that Richard was dead.

Serena made herself known again. She seemed slightly out of breath. “I think there are varying degrees of alright here — what happened?” The question was aimed at whatever law enforcement work that had transgressed within the last five minutes or less. Linda remained in the hallway, a few steps away from the door to the Doctor’s office and his corpse. There was not much else she could do in terms of forcing anyone to do anything. As she glanced into the office again, she saw Emily experimenting with whatever that black stuff on the floor was. Linda flinched a bit at it — “Emily, don’t do that. You don’t know what that is.” Even if Bernard could handle the girl, Linda was scattered in her attentions to say the least. However, most of it remained on Serena and whatever information on the situation that could be devised from the woman’s pursuit. Sirens could be heard from outside during these exchanges of words, far off. They were close and getting closer by the second.</sup>

@SilverPaw@Zoey Boey

^{A slight instant passed before it happened. The dark powder vanished along with the pastry into Emily’s being. By some unknown measure, through whatever connection they had to all that slumbers beyond the veil, both Valerian and Emily experienced what transpired next. A strange, metallic scent fell over both of them. It had a distinct origin within the wide room of the Doctor’s remains. In one of the corners just to the left of the entrance into the apartment was a mirror. There were hooks and storing contraptions nailed to the wall for hanging of clothes and other apparel. The frame of the mirror was at least two meters tall. The scent that could clearly be felt came from inside the reflective glass, which no longer reflected the reality around itself. The glass displayed an uncanny void with great depth. A distant sound could also be heard coming from inside. The sound was dull, muffled, as if filtered by something. It was akin to what a dream could be. It was the banging of something against thick glass, far away. There was a sense of duress in this mysterious calling, as if whatever made the noise was trapped. Peering into the mirror would defy any conceptions of reality or the surreal. A great distance away into the reflective glass was a window with what appeared to be a person behind it. One could not see the features of this individual, only a shadowy silhouette. The thing moved as if slowed by time and its hands hitting the window expelled visible waves of vibration. Ripples of distortion surrounded the mirror itself, clearly noticeable to some of the group members. However, the void and the person inside it could only be perceived by Emily and Valerian. Yet another sound came from it, which would resemble that of a voice and words. It would be difficult to make out what it said, but the closest interpretation would be: don’t go. A typical sensation of dread at this encounter would never receive scrutiny or judgement. However, the being attempted no such communication. If anything, it wanted to convey serenity and calm. The world beyond this reality was more than unjustified terror.}

N O T E S

^{The police is close. The cop characters controlled by @Arkitekt and @MST3K 4ever can bring them to the scene in their next post. The mirror scene is for two characters: Emily & Valerian. This is based on GM-rolls. However, any character with +2 Sixth Sense or higher can feel the scent from the mirror, hear everything from it, and see the distortion surrounding it, but they can't see the void — it will look normal, reflective.}