^{Barclay Waterfront University Campus : between 1000-1100 hours}
Harriette hadn't expected the student to startle as badly as he did. He must have been in a deeper sleep than she'd assumed. Though she tried to keep her features smooth and not embarrass the boy further, it was clear in Harriette's eyes that she felt bad about having spooked him like that. She would have gathered up the papers and left with an awkward apology, had she anywhere else to go. Since she didn't, that meant the both of them were stuck in an uncomfortable silence. Harriette murmured a 'thank you' to the student for giving her some more space. Just before settling in to get to work, and just after the room's other occupant had buried himself in his phone, they were joined by a third.

It was a female student, one that Harriette though she might have remembered the name of if her head had been in the right place. Then again, many students looked familiar to her. Even the young man in the room with them, when he'd raised his head Harriette had felt the tickling feeling of recognition in her brain. Harriette returned the girl's wave, and in response to her question Harriette nodded. After a moment of no response from the other student, the red head glanced over to find him still focused on the little screen in front of him.

"It's fine," Harriette said to the girl - Melly? Nyla? - speaking for both of them. "Long day already?"

While the room's new arrival curled up into her nap position, Harriette got started on her own plan. Essays were something she enjoyed reading usually. As far as the 'favors' she was usually asked for, this one was nothing. It wasn't too much work, nor was it degrading. In fact it was, literally, grading. She couldn't help but pity the poor students that had been assigned an essay over the break when they should have focused on spending time with their family. It was painfully obvious which ones were hastily written the night before. Dutifully Harriette marked spelling errors, grammatical issues, and questionable statements. At some point she thought about going easy on them. It would probably be a relief to most of the students, maybe even score their professor some points with them. Harriette spun her pen in her hand as she considered it. The work wasn't as good a distraction as she'd thought it would be. She was almost glad when someone cleared their throat. Harriette looked up to see the male student looking at her.

It was then that his name clicked in her head. Barney Rynsburger. He was part of the morning Principles of English Composition class she assisted with. The one they'd both been in just a little while ago. That explained his behavior earlier, and it must have been very embarrassing because in hindsight it did seem like he had been caught slacking off by staff. She cringed internally when Barney mentioned his performance in class, all but confirming what Harriette had suspected. She didn't interrupt him to correct the misunderstanding, letting Barney vent. He'd always seemed like a good guy, helpful and cooperative when his looks might have suggested otherwise. With other things on Harriette's mind that morning, it was safe to say she hadn't noticed any lack of motivation on Barney's part, but his genuine apology created a small pit of guilt in her stomach. She might not be a teacher quite yet, and they weren't far enough apart in age that Harriette could really say she felt any responsibility for Barney, but she hadn't even noticed that one of 'her' students was struggling.

"It's alright, I understand. No need to apologize." She remembered the struggles of being a Freshman quite well, and how she'd struggled to make ends meet before being able to afford college. She searched her still frazzled brain for anything she could say to encourage the young man, but he went on and pointed out something on her face.

"...of course I do," she sighed, hanging her head slightly. She'd been so flustered with one little incident after another this morning. How completely crazy she must have looked with her make-up smudged and a replacement top that didn't quite match her skirt, going from room to room looking for space.

"Thank you," she said, though she didn't sound particularly grateful. She pushed the essays in front of her into a neat pile out of the way and pulled a compact out of her bag. Third time's the charm, she thought, preparing to fix her face. At that point Barney was beginning to shuffle out, and Harriette was going to let him. She couldn't stand in the way of a student getting ready for their next class. After a moment's hesitated though she turned away from the small mirror in her hand and gave Barney her full attention.

"Barney, there are people and programs out there to help," she said, hoping it didn't sound too condescending. The guy wasn't an idiot, he might have already given everything a try. Harriette wasn't naive enough to think everything would work if someone just tried hard enough, but saying anything else felt like admitting defeat. She tried a smile on, but was sure it came out forced and more than a little lopsided, with half of her face cleaned and covered up and the other messy and tired. She swallowed a lump in her throat in preparation for the next thing she was about to say. "If you need anything, I'll do my best to help too. Otherwise what is my position even for?"

God, it felt a whole lot like lying. She had a lot on her plate already, all she'd be able to offer was disappointment if he ever asked and she couldn't come through. But if she couldn't even help one struggling student, what was she even studying for? Some teacher-to-be she was. Suddenly the last few years of her life felt heavier than ever. I can still do it. Just a little longer, and I'll move away. Start over, again.

She couldn't bare to look at the student any longer and so she didn't, going back to fixing her make-up. Every now and then though she would glance at the other student in the room, and eventually the girl's name came to her mind as well. Mila Ford. She was another of 'Harriette's' students, though in a different class. What were the odds?

"I hope we didn't keep you awake," she said softly to Mila, doing the finishing touches of her mascara.

With Harriette focused on fixing her cosmetics and Mila still trying, probably in vain, to get some much-needed rest, nobody stopped Barney as he collected himself to leave. Despite his worries it looked like the aide had no business with him, after all. In fact, rather than bring him down with reprimands or penalties she’d understood completely, and even offered some support of her own. Somewhat clinical, but appropriate to the nature of their acquaintance, so he couldn’t fault her even a little. As he shifted into gear and looked back Barney even felt a little guilty for passing such paranoid judgement. Harriette really just was that nice, or just that polite. Maybe both. It might not seem like much to her, but a little understanding went a long way.

“Right. I appreciate it. Take care, then.” He offered her his thanks in a manner neither mumbled nor rushed, hoping it wasn’t loud enough to bother Mila again, and went on his way. As it happened his schedule featured an empty period between Principles of English Composition and the last of today’s gen ed courses, University Physics. Normally he’d beeline it back to his dorm room and either spend the hour snoozing, scrolling, or watching videos, but the morning’s disquiet left him restless, so instead he strolled, aimless, through the crisp November air around campus.

No matter where his feet took him, however, his mind stayed back in that study room. It took refuge there, perhaps, to avoid the corrosion of failures, debts, and wild uncertainty. But no matter where it went, it found no joy. Barney did not by any means loathe Harriette’s simple advice, which amounted to ‘get help’, but she’d been right in guessing it wasn’t a novel concept to him. In the worst of times humans naturally reached out for help, extending a hand in hopes that someone, anyone, would save them. But though he wanted to, Barney knew that it would be a mistake.

To ask for real help, in the sense that he’d be relying on someone else, would be to go against his principles, his personal ethic. They might not be worth much in the greater scheme of things, but at the end of the day they were all he had. They were fundamental to his being. His peace of mind is the result of his inner strength, the ability to power through and overcome obstacles through effort and determination. That simply meant that needing help was a weakness. In this world the weak might survive, but they could never achieve a good life. Barney felt totally assured that the average person didn’t want anything to do with a man who was insecure or incompetent, and even those who did offer such men understanding, kindness, or charity could only be sneering in the back of their minds. A man needed to be strong and capable, able to stand on his own, without relying on other people.

The idea of asking help, of course, conjured an even worse image than receiving it and being looked down on. It was an awful, terrifying thought that Barney didn’t even want to consider.

What if he did? If he did send up his distress beacon, begging for aid from someone, anyone? And what if nobody reached down to pick him up?

What if he was completely and utterly alone?

Barney shook his head with sudden strength and pushed the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to risk finding out, period. Instead he could take solace in the probability that friends, family, classmates, and school staff would help him if he needed it, but he didn’t really need it. Come what may, he could weather the storm. Even if expelled from college, even if saddled by debts for years, Barney Rynsburger could make it through. Because he was strong. Glancing at his phone, he realized it was nearly time for class. He stepped over an enormous fissure in the sidewalk and set off with renewed determination. More cracks, he marvelled. All these students funneling money in, and this place is still going to hell.

---

University Physics actually went well. As well as could be hoped, anyway. Barney managed to stave off the anxieties that circled over him like vultures by actually applying himself to the class. Even if it was still a gen ed at the end of the day, this science course felt like it mattered a lot more than, say, English. Plus, he didn’t know anyone there, which allowed him to keep a comfortable distance. The professor did inform the class that a group project would begin in the near future, but in a way the announcement gave Barney’s imminent scholarly demise a silver lining. It always paid to look at the bright side.

Afterward he went to lunch, like normal. As miserable as choking anything down still sounded, Barney’s lack of breakfast was starting to make him feel uncomfortably hollow. Like it or not, he needed food to keep on trucking, if not for his student life, then for whatever came next in the real world. Unfortunately there wasn’t much good stuff. Plain ham sandwiches that some students tried to spice up using shredded cheese from the salad bar, the stuffed peppers that most found to be unpleasantly gluey, the highly interactive customizable wrap line where you could expect a couple minutes’ delay, and of course the desperation zone, where spaghetti and pizza probably sourced from the middle ages awaited anyone unwilling to try something else. Barney inserted himself into the wrap line, shuffling forward in silence until his turn came to specify what he wanted from the lunch lady.

He took his food straight past the dessert section and soda machines, pausing only to get water, and made for an isolated seat. Today was a bad day in the cafeteria. Normally things were better, although at the end of the day it was still the budget option. Most people opted for meal plans that included BwuBucks, allowing them to buy from the on-campus chain restaurants like Burger King and Chicken Express, even if it was a worse deal overall. With all the stresses in their lives the students couldn’t afford to eat well. Many wished they stopped at just the freshman fifteen, although to his credit Barney arrived at college this way. Even if he didn’t really put anything on, he couldn’t get it off, either. Right now he had other things to worry about. As he gnawed on his wrap, he absent-mindedly ran his knuckles over a crack in the table. These things are everywhere. How could so many different surfaces be cracked in the same way? And...what was that warmth, eking through the gap? Barney withdrew his hand and ignored it. No way he was going delirious right now. No way.

He stopped to grab a small donut on the way out.

---

The day’s remaining classes passed by without much issue, which to Barney came as a blessing given the swarm of issues already chewing on him. By the time Intro to Electrical Science came to an end, he felt more numb than anything. He felt like his doom was approaching, like storm clouds on the horizon, but he couldn’t see it, and as he flopped down in the student center by a window he could only sit there wondering when and how the hammer would fall. Or even if it would. It wasn’t like he’d stepped on a landmine and the consequences would blow up in his face, after all. More like he’d poisoned a well. If today he’s guaranteed he’d never be able to get his grade back up to passing, he would only know for certain at the end of the semester. Or maybe much later he’d find out his GPA was too low for something or another. If he actually got an email from an advisor or something telling him he’d screwed the pooch and could quit wasting his time, it would be a miracle. Barney scrunched up his nose as he massaged his face with both hands. Why can’t I ever know anything for damn certain!?

A few minutes passed of browsing on his phone. When you didn’t want to think much, social media really hit the spot. That also meant that when the notification of an incoming call popped up, he realized what was happening before his ringtone even went off. Barney hammered the ‘accept’ button to avoid getting anyone else’s attention, and after only missing it twice he brought his phone up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, is this Mr. Barney Rynsburger?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“I’m calling on behalf of Barclay General Hospital,” the woman on the line breezed onward, without further professional pleasantries. “In regards to the interest-free payment plan you’ve been pursuing in order to take care of Miss Rynsburger’s hospital bills, I regret to inform you that Cimarron Lifeline has declined us service.”

The color drained from Barney’s face. “...W-what? Why?”

A mild irritation entered the woman’s voice. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Mr. Rynsburger. You will have to contact them and review the nature of your insurance package.” After a few seconds of silence, she continued. “This unfortunately means that if you cannot find an organization that can assist you with these bills, you personally will owe the full amount once Miss Rynsburger’s stay at Barclay General concludes.”

Barney cut in with desperation in his voice. “Isn’t there anything you guys can do? I don’t have the money to pay for it all!”

“Sir, there are many people in the exact same situation,” the lady told him. “Rest assured we cannot kick Miss Rynsburger out. All I can do is give you the same advice we give the others. The hospital’s collection agency will contact you in the following month. It is not necessary to pay the full amount in bulk, but you can set up a recurring payment plan to pay what you owe over time. Many clients take out a loan for such purposes.” She paused for a moment. “It’s...well, not exactly recommended to pay via credit card, since charges like this can compromise your credit score.” After that less-than-official-sounding statement, she cleared her throat. “Ahem. Anyway, you’ll be receiving a letter soon with the full statement. I hope things will work out for you. Goodbye.”

The phone slid back into a pocket, and for a time, Barney sat in silence, his face frozen in an expression of abject anguish. His brain felt like a primordial swamp, a bubbling pit of foul mud. In the end all the stewing came to one coherent word. Why. Why was all this happening to him? To his family? What could they have possibly done? All they’d ever done was the best they could. They’d never broken any laws or hurt anyone. All poor Cassie had wanted was to get out of this rat race. And for daring to hope she’d been plunged even deeper into the darkness. It wasn’t fair. None of this would have happened if not for him--if not for Lucas. Barney gritted his teeth, anger welling up inside him along with the tears. That smarmy, oh-so-charming scumbag. Rich enough to drive sports cars and live in a mansion, but not enough to pay his girlfriend’s hospital bills! “Why not, damn it?! He’s the one who put her there!”

There was a loud slam as his hand hit something hard, bringing him back to his senses. At some point he’d gotten to his feet, and his fist was against the window. His rage faded, and he looked around in fear. Every eye was on him. Barney gulped and slowly looked back at the window. It was right there. Cracks surrounded the point of impact. As he watched they suddenly widened, and he withdrew his hand like a snake bit it. He shook, his legs on the verge of giving out. But as he balked, he realized something odd. The air on his face, eking in from outside, wasn’t cool. It was warm. Before he could process this a crack suddenly snaked downward. It went all the way to the floor, then continued onto the tile itself. Barney stared, taken utterly aback. That’s not possible. He watched it race along the floor, straight between two bystanders who didn’t react one bit to its presence, and through the door.

“What in God’s name,” Barney breathed. His confusion filled him with unease, and his unease jolted him into action. He took off running after the crack. The bystanders parted to let him through, and a money later he was outside. The fissure raced ahead of him, and like a dog he chased it. Why exactly, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was a morbid curiosity; with all else lost, he’d fixated on this bizarre anomaly. Maybe it was a sign, a way out of this mess. Or maybe he’d just cracked under pressure himself. Either way, he kept running.

How long he ran he didn’t know, but he slowed down when he reached the waterfront. Above him loomed the majestic Stoutland University Hall, named for BWU’s founder, and those in its classrooms and offices could seldom be blamed for staring out the window across the sparkling waters of the Gulf of Mexico. No doubt President Pondwater himself looked out across the sea quite often, and even in the depths of Barney’s turmoil the place’s beauty wasn’t lost on him. The crack crossed the waterfront road and onto Stoutland Pier, so he did, too. Thanks to the cold season the docks-turned-local-hotspot sported only a few people here and there, mostly around the Shanty Shack, the quaint beach-themed eatery housed therein, older even than the college itself. Although the warm light of the patio heaters looked enticing, Barney carried on by to the isolated gazebo at the end of the pier. There, his fissure terminated in a web of cracks. For a moment the young man just stood there, not knowing what he’d expected to find at the end. Then he sank into a bench, defeated but comfortable in the cracks’ heat, and was still.

It'd been a bit of a struggle to get through the rest of his day. A mix of back and forth messaging over Micki's request for money and Dakota channeling his annoyance by simply blowing most of it off by saying he had classes. Which he surprisingly focused on, perhaps his frustration fueling in a positive way, or he was just being spiteful towards the situation bubbling around him. Most of the time he'd enjoy eyes on him, but today had just been a bunch of people with their own demands or expectations. None of which he asked for, functioning better without other folks opinions. Not that they particularly cared, or maybe caring was the problem. His mind was racing, words bouncing around in his skull regarding other people's judgement. If he had the energy to sulk, he might've, but instead all he could do was hold his head, feeling a sharp and burning pain that seemed to thump away in his forehead.

If he could've been left to just that, it'd of maybe been fine. Instead, his phone began to ring again. He pulled it out, and sighed deeply at the familiar number. They'd bickered enough, he thought, but it seemed she wanted to get vocal about this whole business. His options were to ignore it, which would only make it bite him harder in the ass later, or answer it and deal with it now. Figuring he was out of classes for the day, getting it over with was probably the best call. So with a bit of reluctance and a swipe of his thumb, he answered. "What?"

He winced at the voice that came from the other side. "Don't you start with an attitude, when I'm the one having to deal with your friends!" His mother, while a secure and generally decent person, had a medium tolerance of his previous band work at best, figuring he'd turn out to be something akin to a guitar-strumming hobo. "Why's Micki asking me for money?"

"I guess he's in a bad financial spot?" Dakota responded plainly, wincing as a response quickly boomed from the other side of the phone. "Cause of that band, right? And who put 'em up to the idea?"

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dakota grew defensive. "I didn't tell him to do that, he called me after he called you." He corrected, adding: "But... Yeah. The band is having a few problems."

"Well they're not any problems of mine, or your father's." The woman was very clear, Dakota feeling himself almost physically shrinking from the tone she had. "He said to let you follow your dreams, and now look: Everything fell apart, and now you have nothing to fall back on! And to add onto it, these 'band buddies' of yours are trying to squeeze money out of us."

"Ma!" Dakota yelled. "You've known Mick since he was a kid, he was just askin' for help! He wouldn't try to take anything from us, he's an honest guy!"

"An honest guy that'll end up out of any sort of work soon," She replied, a hint of spite in her tone, explaining where Dakota himself got it from. "And unlike you, he won't have much of an opportunity to bounce back." A moment of silence began between the two, Dakota spending a moment standing there and thinking about the fact he was able to get into uni at all was a blessing, but... He was throwing it away, or at least ignoring it on occasion. And he swallowed as he was confronted about it. "And how have you been treating that second chance?"

"-- I-I've been trying to get a state job..." He muttered, slightly anxious at the confrontation. "Classes have been going... Okay."

"Okay?" He could feel the tiredness in her voice. "You have to focus on this, or else you'll be in a terrible situation. We gave you what we could, but after university, you have to figure out what you're going to do for yourself."

Dakota's heated pain in his forehead felt like it became replaced by a chill. A realization of his situation hitting him. "I'm gonna be on my own." He commented aloud, staring blankly forward. He could still hear her voice echoing as he attempted to process what he'd do for himself, the situation she was laying out being quite clear to him. If he didn't take this more seriously, he'd be in a terrible position. But would he be happy either way?

"Me and your father worked hard to make sure you had a secure life. You took your chance to run a life the way you wanted, now you have to do what we did and settle into something, even if it isn't particularly what you really wanted. A state job would be more than enough to support yourself, hon. It's a smart decision, but you have to work hard towards it or you'll end up worse than when you started. We're both tired, and ready to retire. You have to go out and live your own life, we've given you a push. You have to fly."

Dakota wasn't sure what to say. He stammered, trying to find his words, which took him a moment. "Even if I'm not happy?" He asked, tone growing more meek.

"Life's not about being happy all the time," She said in a factual tone. "You have to find your place in society and implant yourself for your survival. If you can't grasp that, you'll be worse off than I could've thought." Not giving him a chance to respond, she continued: "Now, focus. Life won't always be happy, especially with work. You need to accept it, and sort yourself while you have the chance. Pry yourself away from those barely skimming bandmates you had and become successful, so you can provide for your loved ones when you reach that part of your life."

Dakota tried to speak up, but his voice was utterly silenced again by a simple "Goodbye", leaving him with nothing but the beep of his phone that'd signify his call ended. What the fuck had just happened? Dakota felt confused, scared, and angry all at the same time. Where one might feel directed by the words he'd received, Dakota felt utterly weighed down and almost pinned. This metaphorical weight began cracking the ground beneath him, unsure of what to do with himself at all. There was a point he thought life could be joyful, and he tried to give that joy to people, but today he'd been kicked down and given one of his best friends a rejection for assistance which went against what he thought was right. What the hell was wrong with him? Was his idea of a good life really that absurd?

His phone slipped from his sweaty hands, gaze following it as he tried to quickly reach for it. Unfortunately, it smacked against the ground, though that wasn't the worst part. Rather, the ground cracking and sending a fissure under his legs, and down the path behind him. Picking up his phone in a panicked manner, he looked back with wide eyes uncertain of what the hell he was witnessing. "_{The hell?}" He spoke quietly to himself, in disbelief that his little phone caused that much damage. The fissure reminded him of those cracks from the bathroom, and the cafeteria. Maybe it was him feeling distressed and empty, but he felt prompted to follow after it to see where exactly it went and how far it'd take for it to stop.

It seemed like anyone he passed took no notice of the extending fissure, even those directly in it's path stood there idly causing Dakota to brush them aside as he continued to run, getting a few irritated responses that he didn't care about right now. He began to slow as he reached the pier, noticing not only his trailed fissure, but a second one as well. Panting, he had to progress slowly down the pier towards the gazebo to find the resting place of the fissure he was following, it's spread into an assortment of connected splits in the flooring arriving before he himself did. Breaths loud, he scanned the ground and it's damage with utter confusion, before scanning the gazebo and seeing a rather stocky man resting on a bench. Figuring he was no different from other people since he was just relaxing despite the gazebo having a bunch of cracks in the floor, Dakota did what any modern youth would do in this situation.

He pulled out his phone and tried to get some pictures, or record the weird sight. Kneeling down his free hand drifted the cracks, feeling more heat with their increased presence than before. But... This heat was strange. Comforting, in a way, but made no sense given the location. After a moment, his kneeling turned to simply sitting on the floor of the gazebo, partially embracing the heat while also trying to get more footage of this weird sight. His fingers trailing and picking at the cracks in the floor out of curiosity of what exactly the source of the warmth could be.

---

At least the woman, who Mila was close to putting a name to, wasn't going to get on her case about napping in a study room. Her classmate seemed more or less absorbed in his phone so she assumed it wouldn't bother him. She felt strange sitting there listening to the conversation of the two but sleep would claim her soon. When the woman addressed her, Mila absentmindedly responded, "You two are fine. I've gotten used to napping in loud places." The small bit of warmth from the crack in the table seemed to help in hastening her departure into sleep.

---

The grumbling of her stomach, along with the muffled sounds of chatting, slowly drew Mila from her rest. Upon opening her eyes, Mila saw that the crack was slightly larger. Well, there goes the theory that she was sleep-deprived. Hearing the voices more clearly, Mila looked over to see a group of students studying. Barney and the woman seemed to be long gone. With a nervous wave to the other students, Mila checked her phone to realize her nap had nearly become full-blown sleep. She had been laying on this table long past lunch and her stomach was sure to let her know it wasn't happy.

Unfortunately, she definitely wouldn't have the time to get an actual meal in. Mila gathered her things and began making her way to her apartment. Thankfully, her last class of the day was near the end. Mila at least wanted to have the appropriate textbook for that class. There was also the need to grab the paper for her English class.

The trek home was much less stressful than it had been earlier in the morning when she had to rush to campus. Entering her apartment, Mila really wanted to just lay back down on the couch but responsibilities would deny her desires. She quickly got her paper printing and put together a sandwich so she wouldn't be running fully on empty. There was a note on her coffee maker reminding her of her rushed morning. She hadn't even drunk the coffee she made this morning but at least Garcia seemed to have enjoyed the drink. Mila was about to head back to campus when her phone began ringing.

Without looking at the caller ID she answered instantly regretting that decision. "Hey, Mila. How've you been?" Mila had to fight the sigh that wanted to escape her lips. "I'm good, Leon. Just classes and work."

"Are you sure? I know you want time to yourself but you're always free to come home for help?"

"I said I'm fine. Look, I'm sorry I didn't come home for Thanksgiving. I was just tired from working." There was an uncomfortable pause from the siblings. A sigh came through the phone followed by, "Alright, just make sure to visit home soon. Everyone wants to see you again. We're even having a movie night Saturday. You could've picked the movie we watched if you came home last weekend. I have to get back to work. See you Saturday." Mila tried to cut him off but her brother ended the call to put a strong point on the message. "Fine! Home on Saturday. Whatever." The young woman let out a groan. She then felt tears threatening to fall. Ignoring her own thoughts Mila ate her sandwich, grabbed her paper, and rushed out the door.

---

Her final class of the day, Media Law and Ethics, was finally over and she was done for the day. She was thankfully able to get her paper in a few minutes before her English professor's office hours ran out. The awkwardness of today wasn't quite over though as Mila hurried to extricate herself from the classroom. All throughout the hour, she caught a few glimpses from Ricky, a coworker, and caught the vibe he had something to tell her.

But as today had shown to her, luck would not be on her side. Ricky easily kept pace with her and not too far outside of the building he was able to reach out and grab a hold of her. "Let me go Ricky. We agreed not to talk at school." The man took a look around and then gently guided Mila off to the side. In a hushed whisper, "I know. I'm sorry. But Oscar said he was going to contact you soon and I wanted to warn you." Mila kept a near-perfect poker face up as she looked at Ricky, but a slight ting of worry was there.

"Do you know what he wanted?"

"No, well- Uh, no. He just sounded kind of mad. I don't think he was mad at you. But that really doesn't mean much."

"Does it have anything to do with the job?" At that question, Ricky started to visibly sweat a bit. Mila crossed her arms and stared down at the man who was much taller than her. "Okay, I'll tell ya. But first, I did a bit of digging. Apparently, he's done a bit of work for the guy. Many times. He actually went to talk to Jeremy, which is when he came home very pissed."

Mila's calm facade was entirely gone now. She began pacing trying to understand what she had just been told. What did all of that even mean? Those two already knew each other? "Did he say anything else? Are they friends or something?" Ricky shook his head, and lightly put a hand on Mila's shoulder. "I doubt they're friends. Oscar just tends to keep in contact with clients. I doubt he told Jeremy anything about you since you've been paying on time. He might ask for more though. That's probably why he is gonna call you."

"He knows I barely have enough to pay him as is."

"He might try to pressure you to -"

"I KNOW, Ricky. *sigh* Thanks for the warning, but can you please go. I need to think." Mila then sat with her back against the building. The young man in front of her began leaving but then turned, "Uhm, please don't tell Oscar I talked to you. He'd beat the crap out of me." After a few moments of silence, Ricky took the hint and walked off.

Mila sat there for a bit with the occasional passerby giving her an odd look. It didn't take very long before her phone buzzed. Regretfully she pulled it from her pocket to see a text from a blocked number.

Hello Mila. No need to fret but we need to have a chat. For unforeseen reasons, money isn't gonna suffice anymore. Come by whenever or during your next shift so we can talk. Eric will let you in.

Mila brought her hands to her face. What was she getting herself into? Was it even worth it at this point? There was no way she'd get him to tell the truth. She was just digging her hole deeper now. The young woman slowly stood up and in a short flash of anger mixed with fear, Mila kicked over a nearby trashcan. With sudden clarity after her release of frustration, Mila looked up to see the few bystanders staring at her awkwardly. Looking at what she'd done, Mila quickly became flustered and began trying to clean the paltry mess. She soon paused upon lifting the trashcan to see another one of those odd cracks on the ground. This one, however, was much larger than the others.

Almost as soon as she saw it, the crack began spreading. Almost as if stretching out after a deep slumber. She looked at the people around her but none of them seemed to pay any mind to the crack forming. She didn't know why but she felt a desire to follow the growing fissure. Forgetting the mess behind her, Mila darted off in the direction of the pattern in the ground. She wasn't running for all too long, but it was enough that she was a tad short-breathed. The crack, which was giving off such a strange warmth, had lead her to the waterfront. Following it to the end she found herself just outside of a gazebo at the end of a pier.

As she climbed the stairs, Mila was surprised to see Barney there. She was confused to see another figure sitting near an odd collection of the cracks possibly filming them. Not really sure what was going on, or why she had even come here, Mila watched the two from the stairs trying to decide what to do.

Caelum ignored the lingering looks from the part of the student body occupying the cafeteria, and hurried outside. He avoided stepping on one or two cracks as he went – they were odd, and he couldn’t recall seeing such structural imperfections before, but he had greater things on his mind just then.

His foremost priority was getting back to his flat, change his clothes, and just…be alone for a while. Oh, and he supposed he’d have to pick up something to eat somewhere. His stomach was still twisting on itself, though he wasn’t sure the cramps were purely from the hunger; the shame, anger, and irritation likely had something to do with it too.

The flat was empty, as expected. Matt wouldn’t be coming over during lunch. Relieved, Caelum retreated into his bedroom, getting a change of clothes. He then flopped down onto the bed tiredly. Lying down, he dragged his phone out of a pocket, and checked for the nearest dry cleaner. Before he could properly map a path to the one he’d found, his phone vibrated. He carelessly tapped to unlock it. It was a message from his sister.

Dread pooling in his stomach, he opened it up. ‘Father’s upset,’ was all it said. Caelum exhaled harshly, thinking, when isn’t he?, but typed ‘What happened’ nonetheless. The reply was immediate, and short. ‘You.’ That stung, even though he had an inkling Vesper hadn’t meant it that way. Still, his immediate response was a sharp, bitter sense of rejection. Even Ves… He clenched his fists, and heaved himself into a sitting position.

Just in time too, as his phone vibrated once again, now because of a call. It was from his father. “Oh,” he uttered. He realized the meaning of his sister’s message just then – it’d been a warning. Choosing not to contemplate that, and accepted the call.

“Hello, Caelum.” The greeting was cool and calm, but with a hint of danger underlying it. Or maybe that was all in Caelum’s mind, because it’s not as if he were ever the endangered by the man. But his mouth was suddenly so dry, and his heart had started racing.
“Hello, father,” he tried to match the tone, but he was afraid some of his anxiety inadvertently leaked into his tone.

What followed was another uncomfortable lecture, though Caelum didn’t really follow it besides the occasional automatic and prompt reply of “Yes, father,” and “I understand,” and similar. When the call was ended, Caelum stared at the screen blankly. 9:08. That’s how long their talk had lasted, and Caelum barely remembered any of it. He had a general idea of what it’d been about, but none of the specifics.

As he sat there, dazed, the phone slipped from his loose grasp, and fell onto the floor. Slowly, he craned his head to look at it. He didn’t feel like doing anything, not even bending over to pick it up, but forced himself to move. The screen was broken. Of course.
A few more minutes passed as Caelum gathered his awareness, and he stood up slowly. He made himself return to classes, forgoing the dry cleaning and the lunch entirely. The classes were a welcome distraction, though his concentration was barely up to par. At some other time, these lessons would be engaging to him, but today…

At least he only had one more to go through for the day. It was just in line with what had happened so far, that Charlie intercepted him just then.

“I heard what you did to that poor girl today,” she looked up at him, expression scrunched up in angry confusion.

For one, Caelum resented the accusation. He had not done anything to her, he’d just lost his temper at her. Charlie's ambiguous wording certainly made him sound much more villainous. For another, her words reminded him eerily of what his father had told him – that he had heard of Caelum’s actions. He’d not thought to ask whom had told him, but he was curious now. To Charlie, though, all he said was, “So?”

“I thought–Last time, with me, I thought it was my fault. But it wasn’t; you’re just like that, aren’t you,” she stated.
Caelum stared at her blankly, and after an awkwardly long moment of silence, he asked, “What about it?”

Apparently, this frustrated Charlie. She scoffed sharply. “You–it’s people like you!” she cut herself off at the exclamation, recollecting herself. “Never mind,” she affected a thin veneer of neutrality, and turned around to leave. Not before muttering “Selfish scum,” though, just loud enough that she likely intended him to hear it.

Aware of the stare of a couple of students who’d likely seen the exchange, Caelum left for his last class, one that he thankfully didn’t share with Charlie.

It was over soon. Caelum was reminded that he’d not eaten much by the protest of his empty stomach, and once again stopped at a vending machine. It was the simplest option. He input the code and money for a croissant, and watched as it was slowly pushed, hinging just there…then it stopped, stuck.

“Oh, c’mon,” he complained, and pushed the machine. It knocked against the wall, and dislodged his item. As he bent down to retrieve it, however, he noticed a crack one the wall, at the corner of the vending machine. Shit. As he watched there paralyzed, thinking he’d damaged school property, the thing elongated. He blinked several times, but it continued spreading, all over the wall, to the floor, through the whole corridor, and even further. “What the fuck,” he swore quietly, astonished.

Mind boggling, croissant forgotten, he stood up and followed the phenomenon. He must be going crazy. Can lack of sleep do this?! He wondered, following the trail of broken surface. He was led to the pier looking out at the sea. There were several students there. The most notable one, however, seemed to be filming the cracks.

Caelum approached the young man, and asked quietly, “Are you filming the–this?” Rather than say anything outright about the unnatural sight, he simply scuffed the toe of his shoe along the floor, pointing at the congregation of fissures. If he wasn’t the only one who could see these…Well, it would be a relief, honestly, because so far, no one else had been paying them any attention at all.

There were more of those cracks.

Rather, the same crack kept showing up everywhere. She'd thought it was a weird coincidence when she saw one that looked like the one at the desk on the table she chose to sit at - but the realisation that the exact same crack, complete with uncomfortable warm wind, was on the desk for her second class of the day too, and on the wall leading into that lecture hall, started to get her... somewhat concerned. Which was quite a major feeling, considering.

Almost enough to distract her from the issue of Mary. Which, post-class, became very prominent very quickly, since she'd chosen to approach as they left the room.

'Hey, Alina,' she greeted, as awkwardly as they'd been at lunch. Although, this time, she was clearly puffing herself up for something. 'So, uh, about earlier, this morning rather, see... well,' Mary stalled with unusual shyness, 'I guess what you said was kind of, uh, a surprise, to hear you say it, you see, but I've been thinking since then, right? And I sort of, I uh, well, I just think you're really sweet and kind...'

No she wasn't. She was insular and pushed people away.

'And you always put others first, and you listen well, right?'

No she didn't. She followed the crowd because she had to, and had nothing interesting to say. Not like Mary.

'Plus, plus, you're really good at your subjects,' Mary added with a smile, 'I mean, I know for sure your work in Chemistry is great!'

Mary's work. Mary was basically a private tutor without knowing it.

'So, um... well, I guess I just figure, since you said it so bluntly anyway... wanna go on a date some time?' she asked. 'There's a thing going on on Saturday...'

She was too good. Mary couldn't really be interested in Alina that way.

'...which, you know, it'd be nice to see you at. Guy mentioned you weren't interested, but if we both went, as a... oh gosh, as a couple...!'

She'd see the real her. She'd see how lifeless she was.

'...so, are you interested? You can say no if you honestly aren't, I promise I won't take it personally.'

And what would her family think? Her family would oust her for sure.

'...uh, Alina?'

Her parents would probably be upset. Her mother's parents would complain that she hadn't gotten with a nice family boy.

'A-Alina? Are you there?'

And as for Granny Edith... she'd make them break up anyway. It wasn't worth it.

'I'm pouring my heart out here, is all, so...'

Alina wasn't worth the effort.

'...please say something?'

The trill of her phone snapped her back to reality. Blinking, she checked to see who it was. Home, so probably mom.

'Sorry. I need to take this.'

The visible frustration on Mary's features was regretful, but she simply said 'After that, then,' and stepped away to let Alina take the call.

'Hi, mom.'

'Hi, honey, oh it is lovely to hear back from you!' came her mother's voice. 'How has college been? Good?'

'Fine.'

'And your friend Mary, has she been treating you well?' she asked. She couldn't discuss the request for a date, not now.

'Yes.'

'Great, I'm so pleased to hear it! But hey, you'll never guess what news I have for you,' she exclaimed. The tone of voice was a smile, but the enunciation... it almost sounded wary? The sort she reserved for Jonas.

'What's that?'

'Well, sweetie,' she explained, with what seemed like unusual delicacy, 'we've had a talk in the family, you see, and between your dad and your grandparents, well... mom, dad, and Edith are going to be moving to a care home for the foreseeable future...'

'...okay.'

'...it's the Waterfront Hillside Home! Right up the street from Barclay Waterfront University! Won't that be great?'

Alina probably responded to most of what her mother was talking about after that point. Instead, she noted with utter detachment that the crack on the wall near her was lengthening rapidly. Did nobody else see that? That seemed like a really big structural fault.

'...and I know it's a fair distance for them to go, but dad and Edith insisted, it's not too costly, and honestly with a fairly loose schedule, they might just get the relaxation they need so late in life. Plus, you'll be able to see them whenever you like!'

They could see her whenever they liked.

They could take over her life again if they wanted. She hadn't actually responded to her mom yet. Weird.

'Sooo,' she concluded, 'do you want to talk about what's on your mind?'

...she did not.

She hung up before her mom could reply, pocketing her phone as she began following the crack.

'Alina? Are you okay?'

Oh. No, she never said that to her mom. Huh.

'Alina? Where are you going?'

She began to jog.

'I'll be back soon, Mary.'

'Wait, Alina! ALINA!'

She began to sprint. She had to go. She had to go. This was too crowded.

Just run. Run, run, go, run.

That crack was really long.

Everyone's eyes were on her.

No they weren't. She wasn't interesting enough for that.

Nobody paid attention as she hurtled through the campus toward the gazebo, where the crack converged with just a whole bunch of other cracks. That was a lot of cracks.

That was a lot of people. Shit. People didn't need to be there.

She stopped once she reached the gazebo, leaning against one of the pillars and gulping down air as her muscles caught up with her mind. She looked up, and oh it was him again. The guy she'd spilled food on.

'Hhhii.'

She kind of wanted to scream, but it probably wouldn't leave her throat even if she could breathe properly.

She was on fire from the effort of running. It wasn't her strong point.

She probably looked like a mess. Were her eyes wide? They probably had their own things to deal with.

Why here? Why bring her grandparents here? No. No no no no no no. Why.

Vincent's eyes peeled open, none of the urgency one usually had waking up from a nightmare. He had too many of them to be bothered anymore. A beige ceiling greeted him, perfectly matching the beige walls and the slightly-lighter beige carpet. The air was stale, circulated only by the dull turn of an old ceiling fan that could barely muster the strength to make a cool breeze. With a long inhale, Vincent sat up, the mattress creaking under him, and tossed his covers onto the floor, along with piles of clothes, scattered trash, and the odd book. The room was a pigsty, but Vincent didn't care.

It's not like he lived there by choice.

Picking through the dirty, forgotten clothes, Vincent pulled together a decent enough suit, the only issue being that the jacket and pants were different colors, black and blue. Everything else was stained, no good to go out in public with. He also fished out the pants he wore the day before and rifled through its pockets for his wallet. As ready as he ever is to face the world, Vincent opened the door leading out of his room and into... a parking lot.

The Right Rest Motel, that's what it was, a simple place close to the Gulf where Vincent was holed up for the past 7 years. Most of the people who'd rent a room here only did so for a day or two, making Vincent something of an anomaly. As he closed the door to his room, #4 on the ground floor, a stocky middle-aged woman poked her head from around the corner of the building.

"Oh, look who's awake!" She squeaked in her high-pitched void, knowing full well what time Vincent usually left his room. It was the manager, Paula, though that job title is used very loosely. She made her way towards him, making a show of taking off the thick rubber gloves she was wearing and stuffing them into the pocket of her apron. "You know, sir, I really do appreciate your patronage here, but, uhm..." She put on an obviously fake look of polite concern. "The rent for yesterday didn't come. And, and I know how important it is for you to stay here, in this room, right where you were put, sir, but rules are rules, and there is the, uh, the late fee..."

Vincent stared at her, blank as a board. Paula was a savvy, sneaky woman, who knew exactly how to squeeze her special clientele without ending up in hot water. There was nothing to be done. Vincent pulled his wallet out and took out a couple of bills. $200, twice the cost of a room and most of Vincent's money which Paula snapped up quick, almost just hiding her grin.

"Ah, yes, thank you sir! You have a wonderful day, and, and I do hope that your usual rent for will be sent, tomorrow." With that, Paula scampered off back to her office, not even in the same direction that she arrived from. No doubt at the corner just to wait for him.

Letting out the tiniest of sighs out of his nose, Vincent pocketed his wallet once more and crossed the parking lot, heading to his first stop of the day, every day.

---

The corner store two blocks down from the motel wasn't the best place to get groceries, but Vincent didn't have the means to buy or even store proper food. This place was cheap and not too far from where he called home.

In other words: it was his only option. Vincent came here every morning to buy what he could to eat for the day, and sometimes splurge on a magazine to pass the time. With Paula's shakedown for rent, though, he was working with only twenty bucks. No taxis or buses for him today.

“...indicate this incident to be just the latest in the string of so-called protests against alleged police corruption turning violent in recent...” The store's TV droned quietly as he picked out his goods, a simple box of granola bars and a six pack of vegetable juice. He brought them to the counter and tossed them on unceremoniously. The cashier, a pimply teen with curly hair, gave him a lopsided smile.

"Packin' light today, man?" While the teen scanned the items, Vincent reached to the right of the register, grabbing what he thought would be a burner phone, but instead only grabbing air. Vincent stared at the empty space for a full three seconds before the teen cleared his throat. "Yeah, man, last night my manager? He got rid of all those phones cuz nobody was buyin' them, 'cept you. I know ya liked them but I wasn't workin' to stop him. Sorry, man. Yuh know, maybe you should get a real phone, so you won't need to buy those crappy ones all the time?"

Vincent awkwardly brought his hand back to his side. With no burner phones to buy, that threw a wrench in his routine. A big one. As he was about to pay for his 'food', Vincent's eye caught something at the magazine rack. Sticking out from the side of a stack was a small, thin blue book; a Sudoku book. Vincent didn't have many whims these days, but the dark blue was strangely familiar to him. Something he couldn't place. Whatever the reason for it, he plucked the book free and passed it to the cashier.

"Alright man, that'd be..."

---

Once back at the motel, after tossing his bag into his room, Vincent was around the back of the building, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow and his arm stuck right in a trashcan. He was to call his boss every morning at 8, on the dot, but since he couldn't get a new phone to do so, he had to resort to something else. After a minute of rooting around, Vincent pulled his arm free, a small flip-phone in his fingers. He gave it a shake, dislodging a chunk of hair that had stuck to the antenna, and flipped it open. A few keystrokes later, and the dial tone began to ring. The thing really stunk, not helped by how close Vincent held it to his nose, and now his whole arm did too. If he was already going to dig around in the garbage, then he could've at least worn the dirty--

"Is this not the same number as yesterday, boy?"

Orland Oliva's voice was deep, overpowering even over the phone, and heavily accented. Vincent didn't say anything in response. He never had to.

"I would think by now, simple instructions would be easy for you," Orland continued, his tone calm, but his words steeped in venom. "Was yesterday's sloppiness not enough for you? Was the missing payment today not clear enough for you, boy? Do you want to be given up to the streets?" He let the questions linger. Vincent only breathed, silently, his eyes drilling holes into the wall in front of him. Eventually, Orland spoke again.

"No, of course not." His voice softened into that of a kind uncle's or a grandfather. "You're a good boy, I know this. You're not stupid. I will forgive this mistake for your sake, boy. Just this once." He cleared his throat, the sound of a chair scraping on the floor underneath. "Now, onto business, yes? I have a meeting later, a lunch with some friends. Come by early, if you will, boy, half past ten. Yuxley's Diner, Poling Avenue. I would feel much safer if you at my side." Orland paused again, but didn't hang up. "And, destroy that phone you're using, boy. I expect better from you."

The call ended then. Vincent was quick to take the phone in each hand and snap it right in half, tossing the pieces back into the garbage. He rubbed his head, staring into the sky as he walked back to the front of the motel. Poling was all the way across the city from where he was. He'd have to start walking in a few minutes to even make it in time.

He paused, eyes still skyward. It wasn't different from any other day, really, but already things were turning out messier than normal. Something in his stomach churned; he had a bad feeling, and he's been in enough bad situations to trust his gut like that. Still... what could he do? Go against Orland after all this time, after all the things Vincent was made to do? There wasn't a chance in hell for that to happen.

...Hell...



Vincent shook his head. That dream was starting to come back to him, the plane, the man with the long nose, the woman, and the explosions. It felt almost real, and the man sounded so sincere. Thinking about it made the hair stand straight along his arms. Something about today was getting to him already. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, Vincent went back to his room, taking the briefest of moments to eat a granola and drink a juice before he set out once again, to the meeting place.

---

The walk across town was tricky. Vincent's line of work afforded him good enough exercise, but having to walk for nearly and hour and a half takes its toll on anyone. By the time he arrived in front of Yuxley's Diner - more of a back alley pub than a proper diner - Vincent was sweaty and tired. He managed to arrive before anyone else had, at least. With a few moments to himself, Vincent sat down on a short half-wall of a staircase leading to some basement club. Only for those few moments, of course, as no sooner had he gotten settled that a black car with tinted windows pulled up along the curb.

Vincent practically jumped to his feet, hurrying to open to rear door. A thin, old Hispanic man in a green suit stepped out onto the sidewalk. He stood nearly two heads shorter than Vincent, with a buzzed head of gray hair, friendly mutton chops, and harsh wrinkles. He clapped Vincent on the arm as the car pulled away from them again.

"I'm very happy to see you here, boy," he said, taking a small carton of cigarettes out of his breast pocket. "The others should be arriving soon." He passed the lighter to Vincent, who leaned forward and brought it up to Orland's mouth, lighting his cigarette. Orland gazed up at Vincent, his eyes trailing up and down the man as he smoked. Vincent kept his eyes on their surroundings, watching out for anyone eager to get at Orland, but his usual concentration found itself drifting. There was something very strange going on.

In the sidewalk just a few feet from himself, there was a crack. Obviously, a lot of sidewalks had cracks, but this one was different. It was tiny, narrow, almost as if the concrete had been stabbed with a knife. At first, Vincent didn't pay it any mind, it was probably a twig or a piece of trash, but as he kept glancing at it, it seemed to grow. Slightly, over time, but definitely getting steadily bigger all on its own. Soon enough Vincent was just staring directly at it, not even blinking. Was it the start of a sinkhole? An earthquake?

Eventually Vincent was snapped out of it when another car arrived and parked in front of the diner. Three men exited the car, nothing more than ordinary businessmen. Orland's face split into a wide smile. "Ahh, there you all are! Come on, now, let's move this inside. I'm a friend of the chef, you see, I have a special meal planned for us today."

Vincent stuck close to Orland, following the man inside and locking the doors to the diner behind them, thought not before taking one last look at the widening crack.

---

As it turned out, it was a strategy meeting. After exchanging pleasantries and idle chitchat for a while, the group of men got to business over their food. The three men all worked for the same company, in different departments, and Orland was discussing the possibility of a takeover. A secret one, of course, so that Orland would effectively steal the company under the CEO's nose, gaining all the assets while remaining in the shadows. Some of it went over Vincent's head - he never learned much about business before - but he was able to understand the gist. Standing watch over Orland's shoulder, Vincent could swear that more cracks were showing up, in the polished floors, the walls, even right under the table. It might've just been his mind playing tricks on itself...

The hours passed uneventfully, and once all was decided on and their stomachs were full, the men bid each other farewell. The three all left, though Orland remained seated, wiping his mouth with his napkin. He gestured sideways, to one of the unoccupied chairs at the table.

"Come on, boy, sit." Vincent sat, putting his hands in his lap. He kept his eyes on Orland, whose expression was hard to read. It seemed... pensive. Orland suddenly picked up his plate and put it in front of Vincent. "Eat."

Vincent glanced down at the food. Two strips of uneaten steak, a smattering of roasted vegetables, all stewing in a thin pool of cold gravy. It was table scraps, but also the only good food Vincent would be eating this week. With a slightly cautious look back to his boss, Vincent picked up a knife and a fork, and dug in. Only a few bites later did Orland begin to speak.

"It's been quite some time, hasn't it? Since I first took you in. Ten years..." Vincent's eating slowed to a crawl. The reminder of how much time passed, what landed him under Orland's heel in the first place, it weighed heavily on his mind. Orland knew that. "And in all that time you have been outstanding, boy. Truly one of my best. I thank you for that."

There was another pause. Then, with such suddenness that Vincent couldn't even see it happen, Orland reached out and grabbed a handful of Vincent's hair.

"AND JUST LOOK AT YOU!" His voice echoed in the empty diner, giving the loud scream even more of a punch. "I ask you for one, ONE thing today, and you show up like THIS?!" Vincent instinctively fought against it, straining to push against Orland's fist, a battle that was lost the moment he was grabbed. His head jerked forward, slamming into the plate, flinging gravy and bits of food everywhere.

"Absolutely disgusting!" Orland was standing now, yanking Vincent's head back just to . "SWEATY-" Wham! "Smelling like complete SHIT-" Wham!! "And you can't even DRESS YOURSELF?!" One final shove forward drove Vincent's face right through the plate, shattering it into pieces. A shard cut the bridge of his nose, immediately spraying blood over the table. He was pulled back, enough force to completely toss him from his chair, falling to the floor dazed, bruised, and bleeding.

Laying on the floor, Vincent had his eyes closed, focusing on the pain in an effort to drive it away. There was another feeling, though. His cheek felt warm, not because of the blood seeping from his nose but more like someone was blowing gently on his face. As Orland's assault subsided, Vincent opened his eyes, and looked down at the floor. He landed over one of the strange cracks in the floor, and the air came out of it. Was he going crazy? Had the attack given him brain damage?

Whatever thoughts went through his head were quickly snuffed out as Orland walked over to Vincent again. The man looked down at him, disapproving and infuriated. "If I did not know better, boy, I would think you have a death wish. You're becoming a liability." He reached into his jacket, and for a moment, Vincent was scared. Terrified, even. It was happening, after all this time. Orland was going to kill him.

Only, no, that's not happening. Instead of a gun, Orland produced a small folded note, and flicked it over his body. "One job. If you do this for me, boy, I will once again forget this has happened. A little weasel shirked on his dues. He's a student at the university, not far from the motel I'm keeping you. Get me my money."

Composing himself, Orland strode out of the diner, leaving Vincent alone on the floor. His mind was going blank. Cracks, dreams, Hell, none of it mattered now. Vincent didn't care about any of it. His place was shown to him once more, and now all that mattered was to do what he was told.

---

It was another long walk. It was already a trek back to where the motel was, and from there the university was another couple miles away, not to mention the added time for how awful Vincent felt. But he still did it. He trudged, no matter how much his feet burned or how woozy he got. He was on a mission. A job. It was all he was good for, the only thing he could do. By the time he made it onto the university's campus, Vincent was a wreck. His knees trembled, his breath hitched in his throat, his eyes bugged out of his head. More of those damn cracks formed as he walked, a sure sign that he finally lost his mind. Well, insanity was something to look forward to, at least.

Vincent lurched across the campus towards the dorms. The name on the note was Tyler Bennet, and what dorm he lived at too. Most of the students were in a class so nobody disturbed him on his way. It was like his luck was turning around.

When he got to Tyler's dorm, he found it empty. The kid was no doubt in class too. Barging into the dorm room, Vincent began searching around, through papers on his desk, notes on a corkboard, looking for any hint where Tyler was at this time. After a while, he found an old schedule buried under a mountain of discarded papers. He was about to leave when...

"Hey!" A shout from the door. The door Vincent left open. Another student peeked around it, eyes wide at the sight of Vincent. "What're you doing in Tyler's--" Vincent rushed the door, slamming it closed in the kid's face, not that it really mattered, he had already been seen. Already he could hear the kid on the other side calling the cops - "Hello, yeah, there's this creepy man breaking into our dorms! He's in a suit or something, and..." - so he had no time to lose now. Turning to the window, and grabbing the gym bag left on Tyler's bed as he went, Vincent opened it up and climbed out onto the campus grounds.

He moved as fast as he could without attracting too much attention, rushing to one of the main buildings in search of someplace private. By sheer luck he managed to enter one of the lecture halls and pass by a handicap bathroom. He ducked inside, locked the door, and upended the gym bag onto the floor. A towel and a pair of baggy clothes, noticeably unwashed, spilled out. They'll be looking for a man in a suit, so changing out of the suit would at least buy Vincent precious seconds if he gets seen. And as he changed, he saw more cracks, but these ones were different. They seemed to move.

The cracks started at the corners of the bathroom, extending out in jagged patterns before Vincent's eyes. He stopped midway through putting on the shirt to watch. He was transfixed. As the cracks met in the middle of the room, they connected, growing as a wide singular crack, out under the door. Vincent followed it, leaving his clothes and the bag behind where they lay.

Out of the bathroom, down the hall, out the front doors. Vincent wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew he had to be somewhere else. He couldn't wait for Tyler to finish classes, there'd be too many witnesses, not to mention the approaching threat of the police. He was pretty sure he could hear their sirens. Whatever the reason for this seemingly sentient crack's existence, Vincent continued to follow its path. It's not like he had any better ideas. Soon he saw where the crack was leading him, a dock just on the other side of the street, overlooking the water. It could work. It was out of the way of the public eye, afforded him a good view of the campus, and there already seemed to be people there to blend in with.

So Vincent wandered over to the dock, practically dragging his feet over the wooden planks. He walked right in the middle of the gathered students, a sweating, stinking, injured man, wearing gym clothes a size too short for himself and taking heavy, rasping breaths, sat right down among the rest of the people drawn to the gazebo. He braced his hands on his knees and, after taking a moment to collect himself, raised his head to stare at everyone individually - from Benny, to Alina, Caelum and Mila and Dakota - and said the first words out of his mouth that entire day, his voice weak and strained from its lack of use.

"If... the cops come around here... you tell them I'm a friend. Or else..." And with that, Vincent collapsed backwards and let loose the longest, loudest groan imaginable.

Around 2:00pm

Jin managed to find their way back to their beat-up vehicle and sat in the front seat, blank. Their head was pounding after crying so hard. Everything felt blurry and wrong. Despite not wanting to look at anyone, they noticed several more cracks around the school as they had traveled. Well, that was going to be someone else’s job, now, wasn’t it? And the only cracks Jin would have to deal with would be the ones on the sidewalk where they might be sleeping again…

A few cars passed by, pausing, but Jin waved them off. They were like parking lot vultures, desperate for a spot on the ever busy campus.

There had to be something they could do. Picking up the phone, they decided to dial a number they hadn’t dared to in a while.

“Barclay First Baptist, how may I direct your call?”

“Hello, um… may I speak to Pastor Northman please?”

“One moment.”

There was a brief silence on the line. Then someone new picked up.

“This is Pastor Northman, how may I help you?”

“Pastor, it’s me. It’s… it’s Jin. Ifriti?”

“Ah, hello Jin. How are you?”

“Not, aah… not great. You see-” The story came tumbling out. Jin had to hold back the tears that threatened to fall again.

There was a long silence at the end of the line, once the story was all told. “You could always stay here. We’ve discussed this before.”

“Yes. We have. But I-”

“All you have to do is renounce that ridiculous notion about not being a woman.”

Jin winced.

The pastor continued. “I’m sure the parishioners would love you. But you would have to be normal. We don’t tolerate this newfangled nonsense about a thousand genders and whatnot. Just come as you are, as God made you to be, and you will be fine.” Despite his demeaning words, there was a genuine cheer in his voice. The invitation was real. “Now come on. You come up here, we’ll find you a nice proper dress and work this thing out to find you some more suitable work for a young woman.”

Jin was trembling, though out of anger or fear, they weren’t sure. Now they remembered why they hadn’t called this man back. This is what it had come down to before, the reason they had preferred to live in their car rather than the church.

“I’m not a woman.” It slipped from their lips before they could stop it. And once that was out, the rest Jin had been holding back decided to follow. “I’m not pretending to be anything other than myself. It’s not ridiculous, it’s my life. I can show up, but it will only be as me.” Their voice was rising, anger spilling forth.

“What if someone made you decide between a hot meal and a roof over your head, or your belief in your precious God? How would you feel about that?!”

The pastor huffed, the noise staticky through the old flip phone. “There’s a difference between you and me, child. My beliefs are real.”

“Argh!” Jin screamed sharply into the phone, and slammed it shut, hanging up on the infuriating man. Unfortunately, that was about all the old piece of tech could take, as there was a distinct crunch and a fizzle. Dreading the consequences, Jin opened up the phone again to see the screen cracked to pieces, black and dead.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” No phone meant no way to communicate. Meant they couldn’t start digging for new work. Every application – every damn one – needed a phone number.

“Fucking dammit.” They slipped into the backseat of their car, removing a lockbox and opening it up. Inside was cash – Jin’s entire life savings, in fact. It wasn’t much. Jin gathered up as much as they dared, hid the lockbox again, and headed out.

Maybe they could afford something cheap at the school store?

3:30pm

They could not.

Everything at the school store was priced for students who could afford to go there and spend that kind of money. Jin didn’t need the latest tech, they just needed something that worked. Even the cheapest model there was about a hundred bucks past their limited price range. With sheer frustration, Jin stormed outside, stomping down the sidewalk and dodging cracks. No doubt looking like a crazy person, as no one else seemed to be taking note of them. Their feet followed a large, long crack that only seemed to be growing. There wouldn’t be enough concrete at the school to fix this.

After seemingly being led to a small gazebo, they entered and slumped against the wall, ignoring everyone around as they were sure they’d be ignored.

“What else can go wrong today…”

^{Barclay Waterfront University Campus : between 1100-1600 hours}
Glad that Mila wasn't upset about the delay in getting her sleep, Harriette focused on finishing up everything she needed to do at the moment. First she took the time to seal her make-up, letting the face paint set before she made any other moves. She turned her head back and forth, studying her reflection in the small compact mirror, and once satisfied she put pen back to paper. After hearing Barney's brief story, her grading noticeably leaned more on the forgiving side. The rest of the work wasn't quick, but it was smooth, thankfully.

After a while, more students were poking their heads in. Some claimed the little space left, spreading things out and doing some work themselves. Harriette was quick to complete her own task once that started happening. She collected the essays and tucked them safely in her bag. As she stood moved to the door, Harriette glanced back at Mila. She considered waking the girl, but the blonde hadn't so much as stirred even with the clamor of people dumping the contents of their backpacks on the table. If she was so deeply asleep, then she probably needed the rest. Harriette left her where she was and went out into the hall, considering if there was time to go out and grab something quick for lunch. She shuffled down the hallway until she found a clock mounted on the wall.

She frowned. It was later than she'd expected. There wasn't time enough to leave the campus and get back before her next class - instead she pivoted and changed direction, heading toward the cafeteria. The line there was particularly long. Harriette couldn't help but roll her eyes. Alright, I guess we'll skip lunch today. Another direction change saw her heading toward the next class she'd be assisting. With hardly any time to spare she entered the classroom.

It had gone much like the first. Harriette was in a funk, making little stupid mistakes and wishing she was anywhere else. The professor for that class wasn't as sympathetic, and his mounting irritation was just making things worse. Harriette had to excuse herself to get composed halfway through, and worked extra hard to make up for the first half of class. It was mentally tiring, and she was glad when it was over.

At this point Harriette was really wishing the day would end already. Unfortunately she still had an evening class to prepare for. While her mornings and afternoons were filled with work as teaching assistants, helping the college's professors with their lessons, she ended her days with classes in which she was the student, getting the last of her degree learning done. Usually it was a way to unwind, but today? She would rather go straight home then sit in the room spacing out while her mind wandered, as she knew it would.

She sighed, climbing the stairwell to the next floor where Rowen's office was located. She didn't expect the professor to be there at the moment, so she thought to drop off the essays and leave before anything else went wrong. Who knew, next the ceiling might collapse or something.

When she reached the dark wooden door Harriette paused, her hand frozen centimeters from the handle. There were voices inside the room. She stood there, staring at the clouded glass window, but it did it's job of completely obscuring everything inside. She hesitated, thoughts tumbling around her head. A few people passing by gave her odd looks, as she was standing still outside the door making no move. She should go, just leave and come back later. Or tomorrow even, that was the deadline the older woman had given her. If she left she could avoid any other contact with Rowen that day with luck... but luck hadn't exactly been on her side this accursed Monday.

And if there was someone else in there, what if...?

Harriette's hand finally met the metal door handle, her fingers closing around it and turning. The door was unlocked and it opened easily, revealing Rowen and a young brunette woman. The professor looked surprised that anyone interrupt her, but seeing it was Harriette her face melted into a wide smile. A bit too wide for the red head's liking. The girl on the other hand, her expression was almost wild with relief. She stood up so quickly that her chair nearly clattered to the ground.

"Since you're busy I'll just - I'll talk to you another time, Professor Rowen," the girl said. She made to dart out of the room, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder. Rowen smiled at the brunette, having stood and leaned over her desk, and for what seemed like a long time no one in the room breathed. Rowen tightened her grip, squeezing, but after a moment she let go.

"That would be fine. Come by later this week, alright? It's very important that you and I talk."

The girl nodded to zipped away, her eye's meeting Harriette's as she left. Behind Harriette the door clicked shut, and then she was alone with the professor. The two women looked at each other, and Rowen raised a brow when Harriette went right to fishing the graded essays from her bag. She placed the papers on the desk, and tried putting on a polite, placating smile. Apparently this was the wrong thing to do, because when Rowen returned the smile hers had a vicious edge to it.

"Thank you dear!" The professor said, her voice light. She came around the side of her desk, crossing her arms and casually putting herself between Harriette the door. "I didn't think you'd get them done so quickly. You have a lot of time on your hands I see."

No response.

"I'll have to give you some more things to do. Youth, so much energy. It would be a shame not to put it to use."

No response.

"...what's the matter, Harriette? You aren't very talkative today."

Harriette had taken to staring at the older woman's desk, working her jaw in frustration. At the inquiry she glanced up, noting that it wasn't a rhetorical question. Rowen expected any answer of some kind. Likely, she really did just want to talk, knowing how much it irritated Harriette to play pretend and act like everything was okay. Harriette clenched her fist, then loosened it. She continued meeting he professor's gaze.

"...what was with that girl?"

The question didn't catch Rowen off guard at all, and she answered swiftly with a practiced, neutral tone. "A county commissioner's daughter. Here at our little shcool! I was just having a chat about appropriate conduct before you interrupted us."

She's pissed, Harriette thought, drawing in a breath and closing her eyes.

There was a peculiar sound then, like water being poured, and Harriette's opened her eyes to find she wasn't far off. Professor Rowen was dumping the remaining contents of her mug over the essays Harriette had just placed on her desk.

"What are you doing?!" For once the absurdity of the situation didn't give Harriette paused - the red head moved, arms outstretched to try and save the papers before they were too damaged.

Crack.

Another sound startled Harriette, stopping her in her tracks. The harsh smack of a palm against her cheek was more surprising than the slap itself, and the pain didn't start blooming until seconds later. Her eyes were focused on a bookcase in the office's corner, in the direction where her head at snapped to. Slowly, Harriette came back to her senses, lifting a hand to her face and turning to stare at Rowen, aghast. She had never hit Harriette before. Even on the worst of days, when Rowen crowed that she would tell everyone about what Harriette had done, what she was, until satisfied with Harriette's begging that she not - she had never struck her. It was so shocking that Harriette just looked at the other woman with wide eyes, the essays melting away in the liquid.

"I can't believe what my clumsy assistant just did," Rowen said. Her voice was completely monotone, devoid of any of the false cheer it had previously. "Now my poor students will have to resubmit. I noticed a couple of those were hand written too... what a shame. Though I suppose if they didn't have a computer at home they should have found another way, then they wouldn't have to write the whole thing over again."

"You can't do that..." Harriette whispered. Rowen smiled again, stepping close to the younger woman and taking her face in both hands, despite Harriette attempting to flinch away.

"Come now, I can do whatever I want! You know that, you're not that stupid." Her smile widened, turning into a malicious grin. Her fingers curled, and the press of her nails against Harriette's face made the red head flinch again. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you, dear. First will be making an apology to our class for your spill."

Rowen released Harriette, going back over to her desk. She pushed the wad of wet papers into the trash bin nearby, then reached out to tug the teacher's assistant closer by the hem of her skirt. She pulled the garment up and used it as a makeshift cloth, wiping away the last traces of the liquid. Harriette barely reacted, still stunned - though now there was confusion too, which shown plainly on her face. Our? Harriette didn't help out in any of the professors classes, and hadn't for a little while now. Seeing that the other woman was perplexed, Rowen was happy to clarify.

"I told the scheduling office you wanted to come back to working with me. The change should go through soon, so I hope you'll make this up to our students."

"..."

There was nothing left to say. From today on, life was going to get even more miserable again. Harriette bit her lip, and gingerly thumbed over the wet spots on the bottom of her skirt. She'd learned not to argue with Rowen, because it just led to the same scene: herself on her hands and knees pleading the older woman not get her kicked from the college, not when she was so close to getting her degree. She nodded once, a quick motion, then ducked her head submissively. Pleased, Rowen made a shooing movement with her hand towards the office door.

"Great! I look forward to having you close by again. Go enjoy the rest of your day, okay?"

Rowen's voice was back to that sickeningly false cheer. Harriette wasted no time leaving, practically running out of the office and back down the hall where she came. She needed some air. Her feet carried her quickly through the school, and she barely took note of the dark cracks lining the walls. She was so rattled that her vision must be blurry, she reasoned. Why else would the whole school look like it was splintering?

Harriette burst out of the front doors for the second time that day. She ran down the steps—

Crack.

Suddenly she was on the ground, her arms a little scraped up from subconsciously catching herself. She looked over her shoulder to see what had possibly tripped her, and spotted the snapped off portion of her shoe a little ways away. A broken heel? Now? Of all times?! This was just the icing on the worst cake ever. A few people stopped to try and help her up, but Harriette barked at them all to stay away.

"Fuck!" She growled. It was uncharacteristic of her, but right now life sucked and that was the only way to sum it up. "I'm fine! Thanks, but I'm fine."

She pushed herself up and kicked off both of her heels. She scooped them up and shoved them into her bag, stalking away in a random direction. Just how many wardrobe malfunctions can someone have in one day, on top of everything else?

Her feet took her near the waterfront. The area was beautiful and normally Harriette could appreciate it. Often times she found herself walking along the water, thinking. Right now she had the urge to jump in, wash off the horrible feeling of the day - and then, clean, emerge like the subject of one of Jean-Léon Gérôme's paintings. Of course, she didn't. All she did was keep walking, barefoot, until she arrived at a pier. Most days she walked the waterfront Harriette avoided the pier, as it was a popular area for people and couples, especially with the gazebo at the end. Today, though, she walked along the wooden planks that stretched into the water. Here, there were several more of those cracks running along the pier toward the end of it. The fact that the pier itself didn't break apart was proof that the cracks weren't real, just in her mind. She recalled that morning thinking that the Psych department would have a field day with her, and the thought crossed her mind again. She found herself following the cracks, though when she reached the gazebo she stopped, finding a whole group of people already there. They were all fairly young, and some she even recognized. Others looked distinctly out of place, collapsed on the ground. What kind of gathering had she stumbled into? Initially Harriette had the mind to turn around and leave, but something was telling her not to.

As he finished his lunch and put in his headphones, Nick thanked the lucky stars that he'd taken a longer break period around lunch time. If he had to rush back to class right now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it. His foresight, however, had rewarded him with roughly another hour to fart around with. In this case, he'd have to hang up his jacket, put on the other jacket, figure out the best time to run to the dry cleaners with the dirty one, and then fart around. Putting on some motivational music to help stave off those pesky feelings, he returned to his dorm.

Grabbing a coat hanger for his jacket, Nick shrugged off the stained clothing and put the two together, reaching up to put it on the rack. Crack! With a loud noise that made him wince, the cheap, plastic coat hanger snapped, sending Nick's favorite (half-favorite?) garment to the floor.

SLAM. CRACK! Breathing heavily, Nick looked at the molding where the bottom of his fist slammed into it, and sighed. He hadn't quite consciously done that. Instinct had just...taken over, made him hit something. Just like Jason, his mind sneered. Shaking off the thought of his more violently-minded brother, Nick ignored his jacket for a moment before clicking his laptop and putting on a different song, this one much louder than the song he'd played through his headphones.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. "I'm one with the warrior inside, my dominance can't be denied..." Following along with the lyrics, Nick felt the adrenaline slowly lose its hold over him, and as the song ended, he slowly crumpled to the ground, hands pawing away at the tears falling. "I'm a fucking mess. God. If she saw me like this...hahahahahahahahahaha! 'I can't keep up with you, Nick! It's like one minute you feel one thing, and the next it's the opposite! Do you have any idea how draining it is to feel like I'm constantly walking on eggshells around you?!'" The sneering impression of Nick's ex lead him back into near-hysterical laughter as the waterworks kept flowing and he slumped onto the floor completely.

"Yeah, I know what it's like! It's every day! It's always!" Sobs racking his body as he lost control again, Nick curled into the fetal position, arms curling over his head as his hands ran through and clutched ineffectually at his shortly-cut hair.

He remained like that for a short while, not exactly bothering to attempt to measure how much time passed. The day had already taken its toll on him, and he was genuinely disappointed at how little it had taken to break him. Someone offering genuine help but unexpectedly touching him. Those weird cracks which had started appearing. Then getting a sandwich dropped on his jacket at lunch. Wow. Much difficult. Very hard day. So worth having a total mental collapse over, yep, definitely, nothing pathetic about this!

The absurdity of it almost made him laugh as he stretched back out, rolling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling with a sigh. His eyes followed the long, glowing crack for a few moments before he sat up. Quickly getting to his feet, he noticed there was also another crack where he'd sort-of maybe punched the molding around his closet. "What the fuck? I didn't hit it that hard." Moving over to touch the crack, Nick scrunched his face up in concentration as he felt the same warm, flowing breeze coming from it that he felt from the ones before. "Okay, that's...certainly not normal. What the fuuuuuuuckkkkkk."

Looking between the two cracks in his room, Nick sighed as he realized he was definitely gonna get charged for this. Sure, his scholarships and the money he'd withdrawn when he left home were more than enough to cover him without saddling down tens of thousands in debts (until Law School but HAHAHA let's not talk about that right now!), but he wasn't exactly keen on having to pay for spontaneously appearing magical cracks.

That was assuming, of course, that they weren't visual hallucinations and he wasn't actually just having a psychotic break. That would be its own problem, though.

Checking the clock and noticing that he had a few minutes to spare before his final class of the day, Nick sighed and grabbed his various belongings, hung his messy jacket up on a good hanger this time, and washed his face once again before making his way across campus and to his class. Environmental Law. Important, vital even, but boring. Much like Politics. Dumb but important.

Class went by mostly calmly, with Nick participating much less than usual, until somebody made the fatal mistake of mentioning the impact of global trade on environmental law, and how different countries with less strict laws regarding dumpage and hazardous waste gave them a competitive edge of countries with stricter environmental regulation, like America.

Unwilling to participate in the raging debate that started, and grew so far out of control that even the Professor lost the proverbial sauce, Nick tried to shut out the louder and more frustrating members of class who lacked the panache that Nick would humbly ascribe to himself. Despite a valiant effort, the ever-growing cacaphony of noise started drowning itself out into a metaphorical buzzing inside his head that Nick knew was the prelude to a panic attack or a violent meltdown. Today was feeling more violent, and Nick quickly started shoving his belongings into his backpack before the growing pit of unending fury in his stomach could get control again. He heard the Professor call his name, in what actually seemed like a worried tone, but Nick waved him off with a generic excuse about not feeling well, sorry, I'll e-mail you later, I have to go now bye before quickly making his way out of class, mind abuzz with thoughts not his own, responses he forced himself not to voice, insults left unspoken.

As he made his way outside with rapid footsteps, Nick was surprised to see even more cracks in the concrete, flowing almost like a river. With his higher thought processes sort of on the fritz, he contented himself with the distraction and simply followed them along mindlessly, not paying much attention to anything beyond avoiding other people. He vaguely recognized that he was being lead towards the Gulf of Mexico, but he paid that no mind as well. Right now, he just wanted to see where this crazy shit lead, because it would at least be interesting, even if it was miserable. Interesting miserable was better than boring miserable, right?

Soon enough, he came upon the gazebo and the others gathered around, some sitting, some leaning against supports, one guy even just lying down on the ground. He saw the other guy who'd gotten food spilled on him, asshole, the poor girl who'd done it, and even a teacher's assistant he'd seen around.

What a weird bunch of people to be in one place. They seemed a little out of it, much like he was sure he looked, and at least one of them was still looking at the cracks.

"Oh fucking thank God I'm not hallucinating." The words just spilled out of him, unbidden and unstoppable, and Nick sighed. He was doing that a lot today.

When Barney seated himself he scarcely felt the bench beneath him. Although it wasn’t especially cold out today, he still felt numb. It was hard to think straight. A buzz occupied his mind, not too unlike the sensation that followed a casual drink or two, but this numbness held no comfort. Rather than oblivious he felt painfully aware, but even though Barney knew that he ought to be getting himself together in order to think up a solution for this mess, like a rational adult, his every attempt got crowded out by that cruel, nagging buzz. “Calm down,” he whispered aloud. “Calm down. It’s not over. It’s…” He trailed off. The words rang laughably hollow. How wretched could he get, trying to console himself like this? That wasn’t something a strong person would do. Nobody could ever respect someone who needed to tell himself everything was okay. Barney looked around, although even as he checked for other people, he didn’t know what he wanted to see. Did he want to make sure nobody saw him being a loser? Did he want someone to see him and feel compelled to extend compassion? Why was he fixated on such stupid things to begin with!? Seething quietly, the young man shook his head to try and chance away his runaway thoughts. He needed to quit throwing himself a pity party and think about the future, already!

The future. His future. Idiot that he was, he thought he might be able to control it. In the end, all he’d managed to do was sink himself further into hell. The existence that lay before him could scarcely be called a life. How many years, how many decades would it take to repay everyone he owed? How could he last all that time without family, friends, or love? Where do I go from here?

Barney expected no answer, and received none. But in the end, he did know what came next. Just rotting here sounded pretty good, but it was never really an option. Tonight’s shift at the deli, Best Wurst, began at six. Less than two hours from now. He needed to do some homework, clean up, get dressed, eat something, and go. Of course he didn’t want to, but there was no good reason not to. No actual sickness ailed him and no emergency matters occupied him. In fact, he needed money now more than ever. To slack off now would be tantamount to giving up on his life. And even if he didn’t go, sooner or later hunger or thirst or something would force him back to reality. It was just a matter of time.

Better, he thought, not to let himself get into such a sorry state. Things were hard enough without him gimping himself like this. ”All in my head,” he murmured. Everyone had their troubles, just like everyone had their responsibilities. He wasn’t special. In fact, the only difference was how much of a baby he was being. It’s not a big deal. As long as he could still do what he needed to, he could make it through. Come what may, he would survive. I can handle it. Just buck up and get it done. Barney took deep breaths, working the brisk November air through his system. With each heave of his chest the muscles knotted by nerves and exercise could release a little of their tension. He sagged limply down across his bench until he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling as the cracks’ heat warmed him from below. The knots in the wood above stared back down at him, taking in his listless expression as he considered the other matter at hand. No matter how he teased his brain trying to explain the cracks away, he could arrive at only one conclusion. “I’m losing my doggone mind,” he moaned. “Ugh. It’s all in my head. All in my…?”

Someone was here. Barney looked over, startled from his reverie for the second time that day. Did someone follow him from the student center after he made a scene? He studied his visitor’s appearance, noting the long black hair with orange dyed strips. Mostly black clothes too. A goth? After just a moment he felt sure that he didn’t recognize this guy, either from the student center or from the university at large. That didn’t exactly surprise him, with BWU being a big school and all. What did surprise him was that Dakota seemed to be recording, not the bearded layabout, but the cracks in the floor. The realization jerked Barney fully awake. “Wait a second,” he blurted out, swinging his legs onto the floor as he rose into a sitting position on his bench. “You can see those too?! I thought I was seein’ things!”

The two didn’t get long to ponder the revelation. Barney’s eyes drifted to another incoming person, and this one he did recognize. That girl again! How bizarre that he would run into her outside of class twice in one day. Then again, judging by the way the redhead stared at the cracks, maybe this wasn’t coincidence. She hung back from the two dudes already inside the gazebo, indecisive, but as Mila considered her options yet another student showed up. His tailored appearance and severe bearing gave Barney the instant impression of someone from a totally different walk of life, but here he was, all the same. It took just a moment for Caelum to arrive at the same conclusion that Barney did a few moments ago, and the rich boy made a beeline for Dakota to make sure that he was, in fact, recording the cracks. With his head spinning, Barney only half-listened to the exchange that followed. Other people could see the impossible cracks. A bunch of them! They could feel their heat, too. He wasn’t crazy after all!

That, of course, begged a different question. If these cracks weren’t figments of his imagination...what were they?

For now he couldn’t fathom. He could only watch as a girl with long black hair arrived exhausted from running, small and skinny enough that Barney mistook her for a middle schooler. When she felt a few sets of eyes on her she looked like she wanted to melt through the floor, a true shrinking violet. Not even a minute later another stranger appeared behind her, albeit one a lot more attention-grabbing. Tall, scrappy-looking, and recently wounded, he cut a bizarre figure in undersized athletic wear. He ended up seeming more filthy than fearsome, however, and even if he opted to stagger toward a bench rather than start punching people, his odor hit Barney like a haymaker. He sat, released an nigh-unintelligible whine, and went limp.

Barney offered him a look of empathy. “Poor guy. The homeless really have it rough.” As a result of the spectacle he nearly missed another arrival, another shortie, but this one in janitorial attire. The slouching stranger seemed oddly familiar, like someone Barney had seen before but not committed to memory. Either way, he couldn’t get much of a read, and his attention quickly shifted. Next to wander into the impromptu pier-bound pow-wow was none other than Harriette, seemingly by accident, but at this point Barney was having his doubts. “This is too weird,” he muttered, thinking aloud. When his acquaintance’s russet eyes turned his way he shot her a look saying he was just as confused as she was, shrugging as he did so. “Did we all follow the cracks…?”

Another guy, a fairly normal-looking fellow with a youthful bent to him, but as he gave vent to a fragment of his pent-up stress Barney found himself otherwise engaged. Since he first arrived the cracks had remained totally static, bafflingly anomalous but otherwise not that concerning. Out of nowhere there came a loud snapping sound, so sudden that Barney jumped a third time, as the entire web of cracks widened. With his annoyance at getting scared again buried by acute alarm Barney jumped to his feet, only to sway dangerously. The ground felt unstable beneath his feet, as if the pier were about to collapse, but it wasn’t just that. Where before the narrow cracks held only darkness, now there seemed to be some kind of light, a fiery orange glow. In that dull light he could see movement, like clouds of tumbling smoke. Barney noticed black particles drifting upward from the cracks, and as he reached out dumbly to touch one he realized his vision was swimming. He felt dizzy...woozy...he fought to steady himself. But in the end, he fell.

---

When Barney hit the ground it knocked both the wind and the wooziness right out of him. “Huuhh!” he gasped, curling up as he rolled onto his back. “Oww, jeez…” he held himself still for a few moments until the diaphragm spasm cleared. Only then did he finally open his eyes, but the clear sight of a dark, cloudy sky brought him confusion rather than relief. “It’s...night?” After all those cracks he could believe that the gazebo fell apart, and attribute the rest to stress, but he didn’t feel like he lost consciousness for even a moment, let alone a few hours. Yet that shadowy sky extended as far as the eye could see, a tumultuous black-gray swirl whose underbelly shone a smoldering orange. A storm must have rolled in, he decided after a moment. With brows furrowed in bafflement he rose, first into a sitting position, then to hit feet. At that point it took him about a picosecond to realize that the sky was the least of his concerns.

He wasn’t at Barclay Waterfront University anymore. Hell, after looking around for a minute, he might not even be on earth. He stood not on Stoutland Pier but on what appeared to be a heavy-duty dock, and when he looked down to where the ocean should be he found only a bubbling, shifting, oil-dark mass that extended from the shore all the way to the horizon. Though at first glance pitch black, it shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, like motor oil on a highway after a rain, as its surface constantly changed. As he watched Barney thought he caught glimpses of limbs and faces, human and inhuman, forming and unforming, a limitless and amorphous expanse that boggled the imagination. Afraid, not of drowning but of what might lurk in that sea of souls, Barney backed away from the edge. When he turned in the direction that the college should be, however, he found a sight still more fantastic.

It was like something out of the movie. The dock connected directly to what looked like a gargantuan jail, shaped like an angular magnet against the waterfront. Immense citadel walls, topped with coils of barbed wire the size of subway tunnels, boxed in a prison compound at least as big as the university itself, if Barney had to guess. Octagonally roofed guard towers interspersed the walls at relative citadels, shining down two harsh spotlights apiece across the entire complex, no doubt searching for escapees and intruders. The jailhouse itself shared the walls’ magnet shape, a single curved building with at least five stories. Even from here Barney could see the light eking out from the cells’ barred windows. Also like the walls the jailhouse bore a needlessly brutal, almost demonic appearance, with rows of spikes and even what looked like gargoyles. Closer toward the middle stood a similarly arrayed curve of smaller buildings throughout what could only be the prison yard, and though things moved through those yards Barney could not tell what, and he shuddered. There were a couple other more miscellaneous structures tucked into corners here and there, and Barney’s eyes lingered on what looked like a cathedral for a few moments. In the center of it all, however, stood a courthouse of immaculate beauty. Its pristine white pillars and domed roof stood tall above its frightful surroundings, but beneath the dome of its central tower the glassless windows revealed the biggest, brightest searchlight of them all. Like a giant, lemon-yellow eye it roved around the jail, nothing escaping its gaze.

And if that prison wasn’t terrifying and awesome by itself, a glance beyond the prison’s walls would provide the barest, smoke-veiled peek at a smoky metropolitan cityscape ravaged by war. Into the sky rose the hazy suggestions of streams of wreckage and debris, dreamlike in their surrealism, before they dove back to the earth in unfathomably huge loops of constant motion.



Barney staggered, mouth agape, barely standing. When he took a step his footfall created a pinkish splash on the ground, as if he’d stepped in a phantom puddle, but the stain disappeared just as quickly. In disbelief he looked between the others scattered around the dock, clinging to the only stuff that made any sense. “What is this?!” he breathed, his panic only kept at bay by his certainty that this couldn’t possibly, under any circumstance, be real. “Some kind of nightmare?” He stamped his foot a couple times, watching the splashes appear and disappear, and only barely managed to suppress a crazed giggle. “Ohhh, man. I better not be stuck here. I’ve gotta get to work...I’ve gotta be there on time, or the boss is gonna freak…” Shaking his head, he looked again, trying to find a way out.

For a moment, Dakota simply picked at the cracked wood out of curiosity. Black nails brought small wooden chips up, figuring with all the cracks it'd have to be repaired anyways, so a little prodding wasn't exactly going to cause enough harm to be more devastating. His mind wandered on multiple questions, regarding the warm from below to the fact that the cracks went from solid ground to the dock above the water somehow. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the crayon box, but even he knew there was a lack of sense to that!

It was a similar warmth he'd felt in the bathroom, at the sinks. Which at least put his mind at ease that he hadn't done any damage before, but it really made him think about the damage he'd seen around the place. The cafeteria had some damages, too. Wasn't Jin in there doing repairs? Maybe those cracks were unrelated, as it didn't seem the stocky man looming on one of the benches was taking much note of the damage. Maybe a more sane person would be running off the dock before the cracks got worse, or something. Yet here Dakota was, picking at them like a child.

His dismissal of that man soon came to correct him, the man's voice catching the younger boy's ears. He perked up, phone almost slipping from his hand from being startled, but it was kept in place with a firmer grip. He didn't exactly think to stop filming, instead his phone tilted slightly, not catching much more than Barney's feet, but it made the source of the voice obvious nonetheless. A meek "Eh?" escaped him as an initial reaction, but soon turned to him noting what Barney said, and joining in the enthusiastic reaction to possibly not being insane. "Yeah, man!" His view trailed back towards land, as he pointed with his free hand he'd been using to pick at the wood. "One sec I'm just on the phone, next the ground starts cracking! And instead of just going forward, it's turning like a path down walkways an' crap for me to follow all the way down here!"

His momentary explanation was cut there, as he fell quiet. His hand fell to his side as he noticed other figures showing up, first of all being a girl he couldn't identify by any means. A momentary awkward stare in her direction lead to him looking back at Barney, then the cracks below him. Not sure if he should make assumptions about why she was there, just in case him and Barney were both just crazy, so he left her distanced and quiet self to stare at the odd sight of the other two sitting in the gazebo's odd warmth.

That silence didn't last long. Probably from him trying to look away from the gatherers, he failed to notice Caelum's approach. But the quiet question caused his head to turn, both surprised he was being asked about the cracks again, and kind of relieved. Once again, Dakota's phone camera tilted it's view and caught Caelum's lower half, and Mila slightly for simply being in the same direction. "Think it's a weird enough sight, yeah?" His hand drifted over the cracks, camera pointing down as he noted; "That warm air coming out of them is so weird. Shouldn't be anything below this spot but water, right...?" Of course, if there was, how did that explain everywhere else? It'd be just his luck if there was an actual answer and he looked dumb. But he felt confident about this.

Might've said something else, but a voice caught his attention. Strained breathes and a meek greeting. If not purely out of curiosity, Dakota's eyes fell on the source for a moment. She looked like a kid, and his eyes darted up to Caelum, being the only other one near him he could suspect of knowing the girl. He wasn't sure if he should voice concern in case something happened to the gazebo or not, but things seemed stable and safe. Just... Weird. So there probably wasn't any issue with her being here. Of course, a shifting Dakota meant a shifting camera, which yet again caught a new individual. Along with a second one approaching from behind, who's form was much, much larger. In comparison to the little girl, this guy was a legitimate giant.

Dakota, being on the shorter side, felt like he might've visibly compressed at the man's arrival. His clothes not quite looking correctly sized and seeming hurt, this popped him out of his fear a bit and into concern. However, this concern shifted a bit from being about the man to the wellbeing of everyone in the general vicinity at the man's threat. With a conflicted "Uh," He pondered how to respond to Vincent's words, but as the giant collapsed, Dakota decided to just leave it at Barney's empathy. That man wasn't one he wanted a problem with, for sure.

After such a barrage of weirdness, Dakota finally found a little relief. Jin's arrival, though perhaps unnoteworthy to those around, was the only familiar face for him. "Oh!" Pushing himself out of his sitting position, he didn't pick up on their mumblings but did approach with plenty of energy. "Jin! It was Jin, right? Yeah?" Dakota didn't give a chance to answer, instead his free hand landed on Jin's shoulder and the phone swayed as he gestured back towards all the cracks. "You can see all those cracks too, right? Ain't it weird?" Maybe it was sudden and a little awkward, but Dakota found it better than being enclosed slowly by total strangers. Not that they were much better than strangers, but still!

A swear catching Dakota's ear caused his and his camera's view to turn a final time, catching the last few unsuspecting gazebo dwellers as some dude was really glad to not be going nuts with this. But really, with all of them gathered here like this, it was possibly weirder than hallucinating the whole thing that brought them here. Well, that meant it probably wasn't as special as he thought. Or his own mind playing tricks on him. So the excitement could die down a little, and maybe he'd hear about the cause on the news later. Nothin' to worry about--

Dakota's eyes widened as he heard a snap.

His generally calm demeanor began to drift as the cracks split open, the light drawing the boy's view and putting a bit of fear into his heart. Instinctively, he recoiled as far as he could, hand slipping off Jin's shoulder to instead press against the wall. "What the hell is that?!" He knew there wasn't an answer, but he couldn't help but let it out in a yelp as things quickly escalated. Perhaps idiotically, he pointed his phone towards the light in an attempt to get a recording of it, not having a much safer space to evacuate to. The view from the camera was already shaking because Dakota was growing more and more worried, but as a dizziness began to overtake him, the camera's view quickly took a dive towards the ground as it's owner slumped forward into the opening abyss.



Having fell forward, Dakota had a stomach-down landing with his forehead smacking against the ground, a hiss and exclaim of the curse "Shit!" being about all he could manage as he rolled onto his back and clutched his forehead, accidentally smacking himself in the face with his own phone, causing him to roll on his side instead as he tried to cope with his own stupidity. It took a minute for him to realize the extent of what was going on, sitting up while rubbing his forehead (Without the phone contact this time).

Barney's confusion caused Dakota to take a good look around. It wasn't difficult to realize that they weren't in Texas anymore, and though he peeked over the dock at the color-filled black mass below, he was quick to scuttle away, not wanting anything to do with it. Deep breathes marking fear, he slowly pulled himself to his feet, staggering for a moment as the dizziness faded away. The cracks were weird, the warmth and light were weird, but this was horrible. And it only got worse as his gaze followed Barney's, looking at the horrifying but also immensely huge prison that replaced the visage of the university he'd seen only minutes ago, when people started walking up to the gazebo.

Speaking of walking, his steps were cautious as he observed the odd bubble-gum colored substance that splashed every time he took a step. Nervously he looked at his phone, attempting to make use of it, but like some sort of damned movie, of course there was no service. "Of course." He muttered, slipping the phone into his pocket due to it's uselessness. He instead gazed at the sight beyond the prison, momentarily trying to bask in that orange light which felt familiar yet so immensely foreign.

"Man, I'll just be glad to be out of this at all." He responded, not trying to make light of Barney's way to cope, but more so just speaking the honest truth of how he felt. He lifted his leg to try and avoid the stocky man's splashes but once he realized they weren't making a mess he chose to ignore it. Instead, he looked up. Trying to find any source of where they came from, to no avail. It was just a messy sky with no answers. "There's nothing even up there, where the heck did we fall from?" He squinted his eyes, hand over his brow as he tried to see anything up there.

Unfortunately, the squinting just made his headache build a little faster. He held back a groan of annoyance and pain, looking forward at the prison. It wasn't the most welcoming place, but it was also where the only path lead. A nervous laugh escaped him at the thought of getting closer, instead trying to avoid that by turning and looking at everyone else. There wasn't a person unaccounted for, at least from what he could tell. "Everyone's okay, right?" He voiced, glancing about to see what answers he'd get. He felt like smacking himself. What exactly counted as 'okay' in a situation like this? The best he could do is display concern. If someone needed help, he was in decent enough condition. Being the only familiar things left in this place, he'd like to stick together.

Can't take it no more~

Dakota's head turned to the sprawling buildings again. What was that?

I'm goin' crazy~

His foot tapped, wondering if he was actually going insane. He swore he could hear a familiar tune, it was comforting and almost drew him in. He simply looked nervous to the others, the sound only reaching his ears, unknowing to him. But he turned back to the group as a whole, focusing on the task at hand. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him? Regardless of it being his imagination or not, his foot kept tapping to that beat. It was helping him a little bit, but he couldn't shake a chill. This place was beyond a nightmare, people didn't just share nightmares. But could he really claim it was real, either? With how outrageous it was?

Nightmares. Dreams.

Glancing out into the horizon, this sky almost felt familiar. Unable to pinpoint it, however, he simply shook his head weakly as he couldn't piece anything together.

More people started showing up on the dock, a few too many for Vincent's liking. If the group got too big then it'd become more eye-catching, and he came here to lie low. Or that's what he told himself, at least. Some instinct tugged at the back of his mind, something that pushed him to follow the formed cracks this way. Was it curiosity? It might've been a concussion. Or he could be going crazy. Though that whole idea fell flat once all the kids around Vincent started talking about the same cracks. Vincent didn't join in the conversation, but he did listen. Seemed like a lot of them were having a rough a day as he was... well, as rough as could be when you're not in his line of work.

Vincent kept his head back, staring up at the gazebo's roof. One of the mysterious cracks started to snake its way up a support beam, stretching to a stop right over him. He watched it, entranced, even as the ground began to shake. So while the rest of them got to their feet and tried to deal with the situation, when Vincent fell, he did it face-up.

---

It wasn't a graceful landing.

Vincent hit hard, cracking his head against the pavement, his elbows, and his ass - you'd be surprised how much it hurt there. He let out a sharp yell, leaning up and cradling the back of his head in his hands. Looking around at the warped landscape and the ominous prison-like building they ended up, Vincent almost though that he was hallucinating it all, that the shock to the head so many times knocked something loose. But, again, the others reacting the same way proved him wrong.

"Ghnnhn," Vincent groaned, his voice, now being properly used, being very deep for a man so stretched out. "What the fuck... happened?"

The guy with the phone answered with some enthusiasm, and Caelum was struck by how effortless such meaningless conversation with a stranger could be. Probably because he hadn’t gone and screwed up that initial good will people tended to have towards those they didn’t know yet. “Yes, very strange,” he replied quietly, with his mind half elsewhere. He didn’t know what else to say about the warm air – he honestly hadn’t noticed it, but didn’t want to kneel down beside the other student to check. It’d be too awkward for one, and he didn’t want to chance his clean trousers getting muddy, or something.

Just as he had that thought, the person who’d ruined his previous set of clothing – which he hadn’t even yet taken to the dry cleaners, damn him – appeared behind him. He turned towards her when she issued something between a greeting and a mousy squeak of fear. Caelum blinked, bewildered, but carefully returned the greeting with an, “Afternoon.” He had no idea why out of all times, the girl was afraid now, when she’d been so apathetic and calm earlier.

Perhaps, the reason for her fear was the man who appeared next. He was large, obviously on the run from something based on his threatening words. Whether he was just some crazed junky or a genuine criminal, Caelum couldn’t tell, but he was spooked in either case. He considered departing and calling the police, but then, what if the man prevented any witnesses from leaving? He didn’t look in the state to do so, given that he’d collapsed, but…Caelum shifted, uncomfortable and hesitant. He eyed the others, to see what they did, but whether they stayed because they’d taken him seriously or because they hadn’t done so at all, he couldn’t tell. So, he remained as well, throwing the occasional wary glance at the fallen man.

Several others arrived as well, though Caelum recognized only a couple. A teaching assistant from university, and the jacket-man he’d encountered earlier. He noticed that the youth had a jacket that looked exactly as his previous one did, though this one was clean. He had to have had two of the same model in his possession, because there was no way he’d gotten the one from before cleaned so quickly. Frowning, Caelum turned away from him, not keen to chance further interaction. It didn’t matter that he too could see the cracks and that he’d been worried for his sanity; they were two strangers who had already formed a mutual dislike for each other, and whatever else happened, that was unlikely to change.

Of course, he couldn’t have possibly known that ‘whatever else’ would just so happen to be a disaster. As the cracks begun widening with ominous creaking and snapping, Caelum had the brief thought that he’d foolishly tempted fate, and he would now pay for it. Though he turned to run away, a sudden fatigue overtook him. His mind was hazy, and his body would not obey him. Then, the world shifted, and he fell alongside the others.

---

---

When he came to, he was lying on his side, bruised, and night had fallen. Confused, he stood up, clutching at his sore ribs, looked around – and this was when the terror set in. The surroundings were vaguely reminiscent of earth; the docks, nearby buildings, and the cityscape were familiar if you squinted, but the absurdist details all over truly made it an alien sight. The sea was a writhing mass of iridescent tar, the distant buildings were crumbling and being sucked into vortexes of debris which then rushed back to another part of the city in arcs of unimaginable destruction – and perhaps re-construction, for all he knew.

He tore his gaze away from the scenery, because he had the feeling if he stood staring at it, his sanity might start to unravel – if it hadn’t already. Instead, he studied the large jail which stood where the university building should have been. Inexplicably there were also a cathedral and a courthouse among the other buildings on the prison yard.

Caelum didn’t know what to make of that, either, so examined the people who’d been transported here. All of them had gathered at the pier, so presumably those were the people who’d seen the cracks…But no, why was he thinking of this as if made sense, as if there was some logical sequence of events to follow? How could he possibly claim that this was real? It was much more likely that he was delusional, and had imagined this all…But why then, did it feel as real as anything else?

He shifted on his feet, noticing the pink splashed – but they disappeared as soon as he’d made them without consequence. Maybe he’d go like that too. Here one moment, gone the next. Maybe he was already gone, yet unaware of it. Locked up in some psych ward, mumbling incomprehensibly as he wandered the figments of his own imagination. Didn’t they say though that those delusional weren’t aware of it in the middle of an episode? If so, then what did his realization that this didn’t match the reality he knew mean?

Frustrated, Caelum scrubbed at his eyes. “This can’t be real,” he murmured, but he wasn’t convinced. Maybe that’s what he should be afraid of – that he was starting to have an inkling of belief? But then, he knew that if he doubted the existence of whatever this was, he wouldn’t nor couldn’t act. Just like two others had said, he wanted out of here, but it didn’t look like just thinking would get him anywhere.

When the guy who’d filmed the cracks asked if everyone was alright, Caelum couldn’t help but laugh, and it was a hysterical sound. “Okay?” he questioned, in disbelief. “Physically fine, I think, but otherwise…” he trailed off, shaking his head as he smiled wryly. He’d not been entirely truthful, as the ache in his side reminded him, but considering everything, that was decidedly inconsequential.

Nick spent another moment looking at all the fellow unfortunate souls who'd gathered here, all brought, unbeknownst to him, by the same cracks he'd followed, before shaking his head and focusing back on the cracks. "I...have no logical explanation for this." He mumbled. It's not like this makes any logical sense, no it's totally normal for magic glowing air vents to open up all over the place yep definitely normal. Narrowing and widening his eyes as if the miniscule change in perspective would show him the secrets of the cracks, Nick shook his head in confusion. He was still a little overwhelmed by everything, and trying to figure this out was not helping.

One hand came to run through his hair, the action barely serving to stifle his nerves from acting up. He wasn't really paying attention to the others and their interactions. He frankly didn't give much of a damn. Too much mental energy was going into holding his already-fragile state of mind together, and he felt that anger coming back, building in his stomach like the need to vomit. In a way, the two were similar. Expelling something poisonous from the body, although in his situation the poison was metaphorical. The same anger that infected his family, that had pervaded his life for as long as he could remember, started taking root in his mind even as his body started to prepare for a fight.

Why the FUCK does this shit always happen to me?! It's like every time something bad happens, a dozen more things happen just to pile it all on! It's not fucking fair! I just want to be left alo-

SNAP!

Already frustrated, already angry, already more than a little unstable, the sudden loud noise tipped Nick over the edge. He couldn't take it. His vision flashed, his mind reeled, and he fell, lost to a memory for a moment.



Tears were dripping from his face when Nick finally managed to force himself to look up, ignoring the stinging in his knees and his arms, which had once again caught his fall. Oh. Oh what the fuck. Scrambling to his feet, Nick looked around, his breaths coming in rapidly and shallow, his eyes dilated, and his heart pounding in his chest. To the others, he likely looked like a wild animal the way his head whipped around in abject terror to the sudden change of environment.

He was having a psychotic break. That was definitely what was happening. Something on the gazebo broke, and once he was free of the flashback, his mind couldn't handle the stress and came up with something to explain to his body why he was reacting this way. That giant prison-looking place with the menacing walls and gargoyles and barbed wire was just the school, just his brain making it seems like a prison because of the fact that even though he would genuinely prefer to be here than at home, he was still essentially forced to go to classes to prepare for his designed future.

Why the specifics of the scenery, he couldn't even think to rationalize, but it probably had something to do with his personal feelings on the prison industrial complex. Setting aside that political tangent, Nick finally managed to force into words his feelings. "I'm having a psychotic episode. Okay. Okay, this is...not good, but not too bad. At least I can tell it's happening. Yeah. Yeah that's good." Looking at the others, finally remembering that there were, in fact others around, Nick tried and failed to give a reassuring smile. "Uh...I guess I don't know if you guys are real or not, but uh...yeah can somebody call an ambulance or something?"

After a moment, Nick's moment of rationality ended almost as suddenly as it came, and he started hyperventilating again. "Oh god I'm psychotic they're gonna put me in a hospital and they're gonna call my family or just leave me there nobody else really knows me or even cares they're not gonna let me out I'll just be a patient there forever just like in all those stories you hear about like when they go in as an experiment but the doctors think they're crazy even though they aren't but I actually am crazy but if I get better they still won't let me out oh god oh my god oh my god oh my god...."

As he kept talking, Nick slowly lowered himself to the ground, hands over his face to try and ground him, until he was sufficiently far down enough to plop onto his rear end. Sitting there, crying, mumbling and rambling to himself. A small part of his mind, the self-sabotaging part, the cruel, evil part that held him back in the self-fulfilling prophecy of his broken self-esteem, rejoiced at this. He was always a fuckup, so of course it would all come crashing down. He could only escape the inevitability of his failure for so long. And the more he resisted, the harder it would come.

And come it had.

"Ambulance?" Barney distracted himself from his search for a moment to take out his phone. In a frustrating turn it looked like he had no signal. He shot Nick an apologetic look, worried about the other guy's agitation but unable to do anything about it. He wasn't equipped to help other people out with their panick attacks; for now he had his own problems to worry about.

No matter how hard Barney looked, of course, there appeared to be no way out. As the seconds ticked by his heart rate slowed, since despite these extraordinary circumstances, no further revelations presented themselves. The others, disoriented both by their collective fall and their phantasmagorical surroundings, also labored to collect themselves, and though the ghastly prison loomed in front of him, neither personnel nor tower spotlights came his way. As his initial panic subsided, and Barney worked to steady his breathing, he watched the massive arcs of city parts lazily arcing over the orange-hued cityscape beneath a smoky sky and a distant, dusky horizon. He even began to feel a sense of calm--a tranquility borne of the realization and subsequent certainty that none of this could possibly be real.

Well, duh, Barney sighed, rubbing at his eyes. In every dream there came a point where the suspension of disbelief shattered, and one gained awareness that one was, in fact, asleep. Finding out this soon put him ahead of the curve, in fact, although he still felt quite idiotic. Unfortunately the discovery didn’t grant him any semblance of control, but it did take the weight off his shoulders. At that point, though Barney stood just a few feet away from a roiling phantom sea of tar and in front of a massive, villainous-looking prison in a burning city, his train of thought turned to practical concerns. “This is just some...stress-fueled delusion,” he reasoned aloud. “Maybe the cafeteria food made me hallucinate. Hah.” A wry chuckle escaped him, though he wasn’t totally joking. “I guess its fine if I’m just conked out somewhere, but I really can’t miss work. Just gotta find some way to jolt myself awake.” His eyes shifted between the other students, and the elements of his surreal scenery. Other people he’d seen around the school being in his dream perturbed him not at all, although he did spend a moment wondering exactly when he’d gone under. Back in the student center, maybe? Details notwithstanding, he needed to wake up. “How’d they do it in Inception…?”

His gaze naturally fell back on the oily ocean-substitute, their fascinatingly transient and suggestive colors and shapes all too irresistible for a wandering attention. A lightbulb went off over Barney’s head, and he snapped his fingers. “Falling! That’s right, okay…” Ignoring the others, he jogged over to the edge of the dock and tensed his muscles to leap in.

Instead, he froze solid. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to go no further. Suddenly wary, he stared down again into the oil’s fluctuating surface. It was dazzling, enchanting even, and by his logic a leap into it would give him the escape he longed for, but at the same time he could not deny that there was something terrifying about it. Some raw, primal aspect to the stuff made him suddenly unsure of his plan, and after a moment he stepped back from the ledge.

Although annoyed by the failure of his plan, Barney couldn’t help but feel it was for the better, somehow. It wasn’t often that self-preservation instincts kicked in like that, and even in a dream, there were some things that just weren’t smart to mess with. Dreams were the product of one’s own mind, after all, and pain could be easily imagined.

Of course, that left him right back at his original question, the same one that troubled him before all this foolishness got started. Where do I go from here? He had to wake up some way or another. Barney regarded the prison once more, noting its tall buildings and the precipitous walls. Even the guardhouse at the base of the dock fit the bill. Might as well, he figured, give it a shot.

With a deep breath, he started off in the direction of the guardhouse, but he could not avoid glancing at the others as he stepped by them, and the sight of them gave him pause. Some, lacking his constitution, looked pretty hurt by the fall. It even seemed to shock the older guy into a different, much more intimidatingly gravelly voice. He knew this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be, but still. While the area defied belief, the other people looked so uncannily normal. Barney knew he couldn’t possibly have looked at any of these people, even Mila or Harriette, enough to accurately recreate them. And was he really creative enough to conjure up all these details? Barney shook the questions from his head. How could he possibly look at that prison, that sea, and second-guess what all this was?

After a moment he managed to focus, and return his attention to the task at hand. Yet the next second he got distracted again anyway, this time by the courthouse. For a little while it just sank into the backdrop, as fantastical as the rest of it, but now Barney’s eyes fell on the gigantic beacon beneath its dome. Its light was turning his way, toward the dock. And though he should have known better than to think twice about it, he couldn’t suppress a sudden surge of disquiet. On impulse he broke out into a jog, but his action came far too late. A second later the spotlight hit the dock and stopped in its tracks, the humans from Barclay Waterfront University awash in its golden light. Likewise Barney froze, a deer in the headlights, as in the center of the beacon a black bar, like a horizontal slitted pupil, expanded.

Then the alarms blared forth. A multitude of unseen klaxons started up a shrieking wail, hideously animal-like in nature. The prison filled with spinning lights, and multiple guard towers swiveled their own beacons to join that of the courthouse, fixated on the dock. A few moments passed before the guard house burst open, discharging a squad of frenzied prison guards. Barney could only watch, horrified, as they raced down the docks with batons in hand. “Stop right where you are!” the biggest one hollered. “Put your hands in the air!”

Barney obeyed immediately and without question. He moved by instinct; in his terror, all his self-assurances of this being a dream no longer mattered. That he did nothing wrong did not matter, either. He just needed to cooperate, not present a threat or problem of any kind, and it would be okay. That was what he’d been taught. As the guards fanned out around their targets, though, Barney couldn’t help but sneak a look at the main one, and what he saw puzzled him. At a quick glance it appeared to be an ordinary security guard, with black pants, a white collared shirt, a dark body armor vest, and a wide-brimmed hat, kind of like a drill sergeant’s. But there was something off. He spotted no trace of skin, only what must be a pitch-black bodysuit where it should be, and toward the extremities he was baffled to find angular patterns of color that shifted, kaleidoscopic, across the guards’ limbs. Most striking, however, were their faces. The black suits extended up there, suggesting a ski mask, but instead of an eyehole he could see only a pit that sank into the head, with only blackness within.

“Hmm?” The captain stepped forward, fixing his pit on one person after another. “You aren’t inmates! His Honor will want to see this.” As the other guards brandished their batons, those menacingly inhuman heads watching like hawks, the captain pointed toward the courthouse. “Now, march! Run for it and we’ll drag you there with broken legs!”

Completely overwhelmed, Barney could do nothing but follow along. As a guard pushed him he began to walk, wondering just what kind of nightmare he’d brought upon himself.

Caelum's response wasn't exactly an unexpected one, to an extent Dakota knew he was going to receive such an answer. But if they were going to get out of here, physical assessment seemed like a good idea. But, even if everyone was okay, where were they really supposed to go? That prison in the horizon was menacing, and seemed like the only real option, but just the sight of the place sent a shiver down the boy's spine. His hands curled into fists, nails lightly digging into his palms as he thought on it.

"Well, that's a start." He responded, not questioning Caelum's physical condition further. "Can't expect anything past that, considering..." One of his fists loosened, palm lightly pressing against his forehead as he took in the area again in a slow scan. The landing hadn't been pretty, he figured there was some pain amongst the group even if they were overall physically fine. But even then, physical condition was only a part of a bigger whole. There was a good example of that going on right now.

Nick's breakdown caught his full attention, the ambulance request being one he knew couldn't be met, even as Barney checked to see if there was a signal himself. The situation was, admittedly, a bit overwhelming for Dakota, but he wasn't sure if he could wander about and put it aside like the stockier man had. He had some empathy, but it wasn't like he was probably any more prepared to try and deal with it than anyone else. Possibly less so, but that didn't stop him from making a frontal approach on the man who was now on the ground, practically whimpering to himself about issues that surely went way deeper than Dakota could possibly understand.

Knees bending, he squatted down beside the man, lightly putting a hand on his back. Although he knew they were far from the same, he used to use words to try and bring people joy through good vocals. So maybe he could do something here with his words, too. "Hey, man. Nobody's putting ya anywhere." He tried to assure, though a lack of knowing Nick made him uncertain if he had experiences that'd make him assume he'd be put into such a situation. Probably, was the assumption on Dakota's part. Regardless, nobody was putting him away today.

A thought came to mind, perhaps not a great one, but it would help him grasp onto reality a bit, himself. Pulling his phone out, signal or no, he could still look at that recording he made! "Don't have any signal, but..." He lowered the phone in front of them, playing the video. It's audio played out, first with Barney and Dakota's short interaction, and carrying on from there. Though there were no full views, really, there were enough identifiers for the folks who approached the gazebo. "I don't know what the hell this place is, but I don't think you're going crazy, man. I don't think any of us are." What was worse? Thinking you were crazy, and that none of this was real and just a hellish nightmare you couldn't escape? Or that it was real, and you were trapped in some horror-world lookin' place? Probably varied, but Dakota wished he could just wake up. Even this video was questionable in his own mind, but maybe that was him rejecting whatever this was.

His own phone recording made him feel like waking up wouldn't happen anytime soon. He bit his lower lip, perhaps damaging himself a little in the process of trying to help Nick in the slightest. 'If this is real, then I'll really have to go over to the prison to try and figure things out, huh...' Thoughts bringing his gaze back up to the building in question, his hands shook at the idea of approaching the nightmare. Or, confronting the reality of the situation. But that wasn't stopping Barney, who seemed to already be ready to head out. He seemed to realize they weren't exactly drowning in options here, either.

Not that he'd have time to do so. The bright spotlight caused Dakota to squint, falling back onto his arse and causing another one of those pink splashes. He figured they were going to have to confront the prison anyways, so maybe getting spotted out here was for the best. With how dangerous it looked, Dakota had been a bit worried about being attacked for existing anywhere near it, so perhaps having people come out to them was a better outcome.

He pushed himself to his feet as the figures approached. His head tilted at the sight of them, human in shape but in appearance they were much more eerie than he could describe while being partially blinded. Not having a reason to particularly want to resist, mixed with the fact their aggressiveness startled him, his hands went up in a clearly visible manner. He was far from the type to be an inmate! He'd never even had a police officer question him before, let alone go to prison!

Now that they were closer, he could get some details on those faces. If the strange colors across the 'human' limbs of the individual wasn't weird enough, then the hollow looking faces sealed the deal. However, ugly to look at or not, they didn't particularly seem to be individuals that were beyond comprehension personality-wise. Their rough demeanors seemed to mentally match what he'd imagine people working at a prison would be like, however the threat towards their legs if they didn't get walking was alarming.

A baton pressed into his back, which while painful, wasn't at least being swung at him. "I'm goin'!" He exclaimed, though that only got him shoved forward a bit more. He didn't want to press his luck, so he didn't start asking questions to these guards who seemed eager to put harm on them at the slightest notice. He'd save the questions for 'His Honor', whoever that was. They at least were identified as not being prisoners, right? Dakota's more naive side told him maybe they'd get to talk this out and go home! This place was obviously high security, so the aggressiveness made a bit of sense, maybe. Wouldn't you be on edge if a bunch of unidentified individuals ended up on a dock, with no clear sign of how they arrived?

This was all just a huge misunderstanding. He silently kept trying to convince himself it'd all end soon.

As he stood up from his near-fetal position, still holding the back of his head, Vincent watched as the students all dealt with the situation in their own unique ways. Most of them freaked out, obviously. One thought it was a dream and that jumping in the tar-like oceans around them was the best idea. Idiot. The fall wouldn't have hurt if it was a dream. Another of them couldn't handle the stress and practically crumpled onto the concrete, blubbering like a kid. Vincent sneered before turning his gaze around. The apocalyptic landscape, the roiling waters, the massive and bizarrely-shaped prison, none of it concerned Vincent. His spirit, maybe, was too sanded down to react to such outrageous circumstances.

He stared down, grinding his toes into the ground and kicking up dust, watching the pink particles pulse and splash around. It wasn't a hallucination, at least, Vincent wasn't creative enough to conjure up something so vivid, so specific. Drugs? Looking around at the rest of them again, Vincent was sure it couldn't be that either. He was sure he hadn't ingested anything these kids also did. The only connection between them was the cracks. Maybe that was it? Cracks in the ground... a gas leak?

Before he could ponder any more, the prison guards approached, waving their batons and barking orders as prison guards are wont to do. Their appearance brought out the only tangible reaction from Vincent. His eyes widened, his shoulders tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Whatever explanation there was to what was happening, cops were still cops, no matter what his addled mind saw them as. Being arrested right now would be a death-sentence either way it went - if he surrendered and his connection was traced back to Orland, he'd be dead in his cell by the end of the day. If he came out of things without suspicion, one of the officers working for the man would bring the news to Orland, and Vincent would be executed for slipping up so bad.

Acting on pure survival instinct, Vincent didn't even pretend to follow the orders to march. He slammed into the nearest guard like a linebacker, toppling the shadowy figure over and into some of his compatriots, capitalizing on the surprise by sprint as fast as his legs could take him through the gap he made. The only way to go was into the prison itself, but running free from the guards gave him much better odds.

More people. Shit. Shit, shit shit shit.

Why, why in hell would they come to Texas? Why were all these people here? What were they here for-

Oh. The cracks. Yeah. Weird that they all came together in the same spot. Did somebody say something about being able to see them-

CRACK

What. What, what was happening. Why was the ground breaking apart. Were they all about to die? Probably. Maybe that was for the best.

Fumes were making her feel dizzy...

---

She landed on her side, the wind getting knocked out of her on impact. She needed another few moments to get back up, she was still exhausted from her sprint earlier... where the... where were they?

Some nightmare soul ocean on one side. What looked like a prison complex on the other, with... a city, on the other side? Not a chance. There were loops of debris coming over it, like the plasma hoops on the Sun's surface. Was she dreaming? No, couldn't be. She'd barely gotten a look at the others before collapsing, how could they be this detailed now? Unless her brain was just coming up with something in lieu of that.

Fuck. The more she came back to her prior education, the more she remembered how she wanted to do something else entirely. If this was real, it'd probably be a goldmine of historical data... probably because there was no logical explanation to how they'd shown up here.

Or a really cool album cover, ooh.

But no, no way it was a dream. All of them were talking about it, at least everybody who had a mind to. One of them was having a total breakdown. Her dreams almost never included that. It was... yeah, one of the people she'd managed to get her lunch over earlier. She never got their names, but this was surreal. If they'd all shown up here, and then they'd all gotten...

There was no reasonable explanation. No wonder he was kind of freaking out. Maybe she should do something about that.

'You aren't-'

Then the alarms started, and if everything had gone to Hell before, now they were in whatever hole was below Hell. Prison guards, furious with them, and they were being told to... to... when had she raised her arms.

What was wrong with the guards.

Oh. Maybe it was a nightmare.

No. No, that couldn't be it. What the hell were those things?

'I'm sorry.'

She hadn't done anything. She still had to say it. She did something. Otherwise they wouldn't be here.

They wanted them to move. She followed the guy leading. Somebody else didn't.

Noooo. That homeless guy was going to get them all in trouble.

No signal? Hah, what was this, some kind of horror movie?

The things Nick's mind latched onto at some points were an absolute mystery that even the world's top scientists and cryptologists hadn't cracked, but at this moment, it was the sheer asinine coincidence that really made it seem like they were in some kind of messed up horror movie alternate world.

It was a few moments before Nick was able to actually really pay attention to the video Dakota was showing him, though the pervasive sense of wrongness the other boy's contact was giving him started to grow at the same time. He ignored it out of some kind of twisted sense of politeness, not wanting to jerk the hand off of him, and unwilling to back away and be forced to take his eyes off the only real evidence that he was not, in fact, losing his absolute goddamn mind.

Kind of important, that.

Hearing Dakota and Barney talk about the cracks in the video, and seeing them in the video itself, Nick started to come back to himself. His breathing started to stabilize, and he managed to start standing just in time for the spotlight to nearly send him back to the ground. Forcing himself up, Nick sighed in exasperation as the doors to the prison exploded open and the guards came running out, demanding they halt where they were.

If these were normal-looking cops, without the borderline psychopathic attitude these were showing, what with the threats about their legs and all that, Nick might have tried being difficult and asking why they were being detained. But these were not normal-looking cops, they were wearing some sort of identity-concealing gear, like some kind of stereotype of evil shadow government agents in a spy movie. Thus, Nick went to the final stage of 'the script': Shut the Fuck Up.

His hands went up in the air, and even as that disheveled guy tried to fight, Nick kept his head forward and walked. He enjoyed having working legs, thank you.