“Better than nothing, I suppose,” he agreed with a stiff nod towards Dakota. He could have broken, cracked, or twisted something on top of everything. If that had happened, he would not even have had the option of contemplating escape.

When the jacket man had his breakdown, Caelum turned away with a grimace. Though unlike Vincent’s disdain, it was merely due to a discomfort of witnessing such a vulnerable moment. He did not try to help, mainly because the thought of doing so didn’t occur to him in the first place. He did check his phone for a signal, just in case, but as Dakota had said, there was none.

“A group hallucination?” he commented when Barney mentioned the possibility. The idea did get him thinking though – it wasn’t impossible, and actually less probable than this being real. Still very strange though. He watched horrified as the young man went and tried to jump into the sea, but was too paralyzed to move. Thankfully, he seemed to change his mind. “What–what were you thinking?” he asked, with an edge of panic to his voice. “Even if it’s a dream, dying could be dangerous,” Caelum said, shaken at what he perceived as a suicide attempt.

He brushed a hand through his hair, and exhaled tremulously, trying to calm himself. It wasn’t like him, trying to be helpful. This situation was messing him up, getting him to butt in other people’s business needlessly. He said nothing when Barney went towards the prison, choosing to stay where he was.

But then, the decision to move was made for him with the appearance of the humanoid though possibly not quite human guards. Caelum stared at them, bewildered, but immediately put up his hands, and followed obediently where they pointed.

He did his best not to look at the junkie-criminal who ran for it, hoping fervently the man’s idiotic behavior wouldn’t get the rest of them in trouble. He did not want to get beaten up or his legs broken, especially not on account of another’s insubordination. Who knew what these psycho guards were capable of doing to them? Though he did dread as to where they would be taken, and to whom, the fear of these psychos’ immediate retribution was greater.

^{? ? ? : ? ? hours}
People were talking. She could hear their muffled, discordant voices around her. She heard fear, anger, worry. Mostly she was hearing disbelief and panic, though. That did not bode well. Harriette was slow to rouse, unwilling to face... whatever was going on. Whatever had happened to them. She remembered a gathering at the gazebo, the realization that all of them could see those cracks in reality, and then—

After that... that couldn't have been real.

The cracks widening, completely breaking open, and the warm wind enveloping them and putting them to sleep. A falling sensation before total darkness, followed by waking with a soreness in her side where it felt like she'd landed on solid ground.

This can't really be happening... can it?

Harriette's thoughts were echoing what the others were saying aloud. Finally, she opened her eyes and sat up. The view brought cold dread seeping into her bones. It was like some horror film, twisted surreal imagery everywhere around them. Harriette dragged her gaze along the horizon, but everything looked... bad. Cursed and terrible. A mockery of the city they were just in. She looked to the building ahead of them, a large prison complex. It stood where the university would have been.

Despite everything, a quick burst of laughter bubbled out of Harriette. It was gone as quickly as it'd come. She pinched herself a couple of times, thinking it must be a dream. When she took that tumble on the staircase she must have been knocked unconscious. What else could explain this? But she didn't awaken.

Harriette stood up, dusting off her skirt. She was noting all the little details now, every little thing about whatever place they were all in. The more she considered it, the more she was convinced that this wasn't a dream, and the pit in her stomach grew all the colder.

"Mass hysteria..." she murmured in response to some of the students wondering about delusions and hallucinations. Even as she said it she shook her head though, then cleared her throat and spoke up a little louder. "...it wouldn't be like this. This is... something else."

She couldn't bring herself to say 'this is real' aloud. It felt real though. Sounded and looked real, even if her brain was fighting to find some evidence that it wasn't. Logically, it was impossible to fall through a crack in reality into a hellscape silhouette of your city. And yet.

Thinking about it that way though, that this was something actually happening to them right now that they needed to get out of, it brought some sick sense of comfort to Harriette. She could still feel that dread within her, but she could try and focus on getting them out of this situation. After all, most of the people gathered were students. Some dealing with this much worse than others. She turned to give these students her attention, gaze softening, but of course another curve ball came flying at them. Light, alarms, and men dressed in all black uniforms. It might have been a relief to see other people, but these men were faceless and aggressive. Were they even humans at all? They didn't look like the others that had been pulled in. Regardless of how they looked, Harriette raised her hands. In vain she tried reasoning with them.

"Right, we're - we're not inmates. We're lost and we need help," she said as she moved with the group, following the beings' instruction. Of course the faceless officers didn't acknowledge her words, just pressed her to keep walking. That was okay, maybe they could explain to the judge when they got there so long as they didn't stir up any trouble, like someone trying to make a break for it—

"Wait, stop!" Harriette had slowed to call out to the breakaway, a man she didn't recognize at all. He might be in danger for that move - or worse, endanger the rest of them. The guards he'd toppled were quickly getting to their feet and ushering the rest of them to keep going, a baton nudging Harriette in the back to pick up the pace. She bit her lip and ultimately complied.

When menaced by the pit-faced prison guards, their clear inhumanity and heavy black batons unnervingly suggestive of the wanton violence they threatened, the average tormented university-goer fell in line. Nobody, after the veritable electrocution that was the shock of finding oneself thrust into this urban netherworld, wanted to risk a savage beatdown courtesy of these freaky things’ truncheons--or so Barney thought.

While he and the others wilted under the guards’ eyeless gaze, silently cooperating in the hopes of keeping those fracture-inducing weapons at their sides, Vincent took action. A singular idea had possessed him: that falling into the hands of this place’s security meant death, and any chance for survival, no matter how risky or slight, was worth taking. A few guards close by had their attention on physically motivating Mila and Jin, who’d recovered less well than the others from the ordeal so far. Grunting “Get your asses in gear!” the nearest shoved the poor redhead into Jin hard enough to send both sprawling. It was then that Vincent threw himself into the guard, capsizing not just the aggressor but his closest compatriot as well, who took an unlucky blow from the fallen guard’s flailing arm. As they went to join the others on the ground, the criminal made a break for it.

Even as his subordinates struggled to get up, the captain moved quickly after the runner. “HEY!” Vincent took off with every ounce of speed his legs could muster, so fixated on his goal of the open guardhouse gate that he didn’t see the guard’s arm in motion. Instead he could feel the air pressure against his hair as the baton came down in a leaping overhead smash, narrowly missing both Vincent’s shoulder and leg. Not even a second later it struck the surface of the dock behind him, strong enough to crack the ground. Fragments flew amidst the big pink splash, but the criminal sped away, the adrenaline pumping through his veins from the near miss lending wings to his feet.

As he pulled away from the cluster of guards and students, however, Vincent became acutely aware of a single fact, one no less damning for its simplicity. The great yellow searchlight atop the courthouse, the eye whose eerily animal likeness could make one’s skin crawl, swiveled to follow him. No matter where he went, he would be bathed in its lambent flood. Suddenly, the feasibility of an already unlikely escape had dropped to rock bottom, but the beacon’s glare was hardly the extent of his worries. Behind him, the guard captain pulled his arm back with his baton held tight, and only after a moment did Barney realize that the fearsome sentry meant to throw it. A sudden, irrational urge flared in Barney’s mind, telling him to tackle the guard and give the runner a chance, but he couldn’t do it. His logic and instincts for self-preservation would not allow it. And though a million things told him he’d made the right decision, he still felt ashamed.

The next second the captain hurled his baton like someone throwing a stick for a dog. It sailed through the air and struck Vincent in his right tricep. Though it amounted to just a glancing blow, and neither broke bones nor prevented him running, it sent enough pain through his arm to make the impact with the dock feel like a stubbed toe. Wounded but tough enough to continue on, Vincent staggered for only a moment, and as he resumed his flight the guard captain straightened. “Hmph! He won’t get far.” Though lacking a face to sneer with, he conveyed the expression well enough with his voice alone. Barney could exactly see with the sentry’s back turned, but he thought he saw the guard reach to his chest and make a pulling motion. When he withdrew his hand, a liquid, shadowy mass formed into the shape of a new baton. Dumbfounded, Barney watched as the guard used the weapon to point at the fleeing criminal’s back, just before he passed through the gate between dock and prison. “What are you morons doing? After him!” With angry noises of affirmation, the two guards Vincent knocked over raced in his direction.

Then, the captain turned toward the rest of his captives, their progress halted by the unexpected escape attempt. No emotion could be gleaned from staring into his yawning pit, but his anger could be tangibly felt, and Barney knew in that instant that he and the rest were about to suffer the consequences of Vincent’s defiance. “Looks like your friend made the wrong choice,” the guardsman drawled. “Can’t have you gettin’ any ideas now, huh? Boys, hobble ‘em.”

Panic seized hold of Barney, but before he could even fight back the nearest guard lunged for him. The dark sentry grabbed him in a choke hold, the pit of its face so close that the bearded man could feel the warm humidity welling up from within. As struggled against a grip much stronger than it should be, the captain approached and with a swing of his baton struck Barney right on the bridge of the fit. “Augh! Gah!” Barney cried, any fight taken out of him. Though he couldn’t tell if it was broken, just setting it down hurt plenty, and that was enough for him. When the captain raised his arm again he pleaded, “Please, no! I won’t run, I swear!” The guard gave a stiff nod and moved on to the next person, held in place by his next crony. With teeth clenched both from pain and anger, as much at his own pathetic simpering as the cruel guardsmen, he watched the same fate befall the seven others, even the little girl. He silently begged the others to not fight back; if anyone tried to kick or bite, they’d surely receive as many blows as it took to beat them into submission, and probably a couple more after that. Once the captives’ collective ability to run had been hobbled, it was time to march.

The guards forced their newest prisoners to limp down the dock and into the prison. From there it was only a short walk to the courthouse, not even two minutes, but it was time enough for Barney to witness exactly what was going on inside the prison yards--the ground-level view denied to him by the walls along the shoreline. The sight filled him with such horror that it chilled him to the bone, and half-remembered words sprang, unbidden, into his mind. Your situation is not an enviable one, they whispered. I couldn’t blame you if you called it Hell

The prison yards were alive with convicts. Clapped in chains between their huge metal collars beneath iron helmets with human faces, and wearing striped uniforms in the distinctive white, black, and blue of Barclay Waterfront University, they were herded like livestock along the yards’ gravel paths by guards brandishing buzzing cattle prods. The sentries oversaw the endless procession going in and out of various pens, where the inmates sat in rows of desks. Once seated, pipes affixed to their helmets, and as a glowing yellowish fluid pumped into the back, what appeared to be money got vacuumed out through the mouth. Perhaps worst of all, the scene was silent except for the shuffle of feet, the clanking of chains, and the whir of the machines. Nobody wept or screamed. It was a grim march of inhumane utilization, one that made Barney’s early usage of the word ‘nightmare’ seem laughably, painfully premature. After only a few moments he averted his gaze, unable to stomach it. His eyes drifted to the searchlight, still locked onto Vincent as guards corralled him between the pens. His hopes that he might find refuge in the prison grounds had been in vain, and Barney didn’t want to see what became of him, either. Luckily, it didn’t take long to reach the courthouse.

Once the new arrivals were inside, the grand double doors shut with a massive slam, sealing the scene of barbarism outside. Barney forced himself to take deep breaths, trying to keep the gasping to a minimum as he fought to calm himself down. “This isn’t real,” he murmured once more. “It isn’t real. I’ll wake up any minute now, moan a little, and go to work…” As he labored to control himself, however, he couldn’t help but be distracted. If not what he’d just witnessed, in fact, he might have been stricken by admiration. The courthouse’s grand foyer made for an awesome spectacle, its rich red carpets and tapestries striking among marble-white pillars, arches, fancy railings, and curved stairways. In some ways it reminded Barney of a posh theater house more than a court of law, but the enormous, classical statues that littered the place, all glaring down imperiously with their swords and shields and scales at the ready, helped reaffirm the place’s identity. Here and there he spotted more security on patrol, the molded white decoration on their uniforms elevating them above the ordinary guards outside. After fanning out to make sure they had their guests surrounded, the arrival’s escort settled in to wait.

They did not wait long. Barney, kept alert and fidgeting by the lingering pain and his raw nerves, became aware of an intermittent tapping that grew steadily louder. By the time the source appeared, all eyes were on the left-hand staircase that swept down to the ground floor straight ahead, and everyone beheld him at once. It was a man, middle-aged, with brown hair starting to thin and gray, and a stocky frame. Gilded glasses over flinty eyes were sandwiched between broad shoulders and cheeks hardened by scowling wrinkles, and he sported a bushy but well-kept goatee. On closer inspection, the right lens of his glasses was dark, and its frame fanciful to the point of looking like a half-mask. He wore the tie, collar, and flowing black robes of a judge, but his attire aside, he seemed to Barney somewhat familiar. In fact, he looked like the spitting image of one Myron Pondwater, president of Barclay Waterfront University, if not for a few unusual traits. His long robes trailed behind him and seemed to curl upward toward the end, turning wispy, and they seemed to move of their own accord. In one hand he managed an oversized judge’s gavel, bigger even than a croquet mallet, whose head he held to use the tool like a cane. And his eye. Though Barney couldn’t say what color they ought to be, the one visible eye that sized up the young people before him was a shade of luminescent yellow that at this point felt disquietingly familiar.

He came to a stop and placed the butt of the gavel in front of him, with both hands rested upon it. “So, these are the folks who’ve thrown my prison into a fine state of uproar.” With a look of disdain he narrowed his eyes. “On closer inspection, they seem quite ordinary, although certainly not of my stock.”

The guard captain nodded. “Yes sir, we captured them before they could cause any trouble. Only one got away from us.”

“Not from me,” Pondwater corrected him. “He was detained moments ago by the pens and will be with us shortly, although with the state of his jaw he may not feel very talkative.” His gaze never left his guests, which meant that everyone could see his expression of mild amusement, the look of one in complete and utter control. Barney shivered, and Pondwater continued. “You all, however, seem quite capable, and I do have a few, simple questions. So let’s consider this the beginning of an impromptu trial. If we can treat one another fairly, we can come to an understanding, correct? So, who are you? How did you get into my prison, and for what purpose?”

Dakota's naive view became shattered faster than he could've imagined.

Eyes widening as a figure crossed in the corner of his eye, the commotion didn't escape him. He watched as Vincent made a run for it, something either a really brave or really stupid person would do. That being said, the boy recalled the tall man's comments about the cops from when they were in the gazebo. Whatever his case was, this hellscape sounded like a better option to them than complying over a huge misunderstanding.

In that sense, Dakota pitied him. Though he easily learned his place as the captain's baton essentially shattered the part of the heavy-duty dock it came into contact with. If his eyes widened any further, they would've potentially popped out of his skull. A drop of sweat slowly made it's way down his forehead, causing his eyes to squint to keep the liquid out of his eye without making movements to anger the guard behind him. They couldn't do anything about that guy, they just had to resolve this peacefully. All that commotion and he didn't move a muscle unless shoved: That was clear enough sign of his intent, right?

Wrong.

At the captain's words, Dakota felt himself go pale. "What?" was all he managed, an odd sense of betrayal coursing through him as he felt the baton of the guard behind him jab into his back. Audible pain escaped him through gritted teeth, though that wasn't even the worst of it. Feeling an odd tug, his eyes shot upward and quickly realized that his large head of hair came back to haunt him: His sheer difference in height with the menacing guards had him practically hoisted by it, a second hand gripping the back of his neck. His legs momentarily kicked as they left the ground, but that was quickly silenced by a crack of the baton against his torso. He almost vomited from the blow, a large stinging feeling overcoming the rest of the pain as his feet planted back on the ground. "Wh-What the hell? None of us tried anything--" As it wasn't a sign that he wasn't going to, Dakota earned himself a second swing directly into his scrawny center-mase, which did cause him to vomit.

Burning in his throat, he gasped out what words he could muster. "Okay! I'm not running, just stop!" His begging was enough to finally feel a release on his hair, but it unfortunately lead to him watching the others receive the same treatment as he tried to breathe. The awful taste in his mouth only made it worse, but the idea that they struck everybody, even that girl that looked like nothing more than a child, caused him to visibly shake. The guardsman could feel his anger, surely, and pressed a familiar baton in his back yet again, a slow spinning motion against his skin causing pain that was minor in comparison to everything else, but made him realize his place.

'Maybe that guy had the right idea.' Dakota thought to himself, coughing and spitting to try and get the vomit taste out of his mouth as he was forced to march onwards. He felt weak, but at the same time, that anger he felt kept burning inside him. He glared forward, eyes narrow but focused. Whatever peace he felt could be found in this situation was now shattered, and what he'd just gone through and witnessed made him want nothing more than to make these guards pay for the unnecessary cruelty. But with how he was now, there wasn't a way to do anything. If he tried, everyone would probably just get beat again. He didn't want to even risk that.

So he kept walking. Feet carrying him to the prison. The sight inside was somehow worse than outside, though with him being out of it after the strikes he'd taken, he only gave the situation as a whole a few glances. But that was enough to see people being funneled to desks, and seeming to have... Something injected into them, with money being sucked out of them. Dakota simply added to the discomforting silence, at an utter loss for words. The idea crossed his mind that it must've taken a lot to keep people quiet in a situation like this. Though with how he had just been manhandled he figured the actual prisoners probably received much worse on the regular. Was this really acceptable to them, in one way or another? This seemed to cross boundaries Dakota hadn't even thought about existing until now. There was an extent to cruelty in his mind, and this far crossed it.

The inside of the Courthouse didn't calm Dakota at all. The amazing condition of the place compared to the dark and ruined hell outside was notable, but the piling problems in his mind kept him from even finding a moment of peace. He would've keeled over, if a guard didn't grip him and force him to stand back up. A part of him wanted to understand why, and how, this was all happening. And another part wanted it all to disappear. His gaze shot around to everyone else, frowning as he tried to think of anything he could possibly say. His previous concerns were flipped now, everyone had gotten hurt. He was starting to feel as hollow inside as these guards' looked with their grotesque faces.

The appearance of 'his honor' was a sight, for sure. His face felt a bit familiar, but his whole attire was a bit over the top. And that was coming from the guy with orange highlights. Listening to the conversation yielded a bit of information: Vincent got caught. Not a surprise, but the idea of all that pain being for nothing was frustrating. Still, he was probably hurting worse for it. Which, especially for him, was unfortunate. Add onto that the prisoners outside being called 'stock' and this situation was slowly deteriorating more and more.

At least this man sounded more reasonable than his guards. Dakota weakly took a step forward, still shaking, but trying his best anyways. What more was there to do, then try to explain that this wasn't an intentional act? "Your honor," He found it slightly difficult to carry his words with the sickly taste in his mouth. He had no choice but to swallow it now, as he couldn't imagine the beating he'd get for spitting on these floors. "It's absurd, but... We kind of fell. From the sky." The void sky from before filled his mind, and while it sounded stupid, that naive part of Dakota still wanted to just be honest so he continued: "We were just gathered in a spot, following after these weird cracks in the ground. And before we knew it, they split open wide and we fell in." He used two fingers atop of his other hand like legs, splitting his fingers to show the legs plummeting. "We landed on that dock. A few of us ere injured, and really, all we want to do is get home. Sir." He brightened for a moment, noting he still had his phone. Of course! He wasn't a lawyer, or anything, but trials needed evidence, right? He had a huge piece of it!

"I-I even have proof it happened!" He said, raising his phone like a desperate offering after opening the video again. His eyes, clearly distressed from pain but also determined to attempt to get through this, kept focused on the man in front of them. They slightly twitched as he tried to contain any noise regarding his pain, but he stood as straight and readied as he could. God, there might've been a chance to get out of this yet! But after the reality check he'd received earlier, he was terrified that he was just about to be hurt again.

“Ugh.” After the world shattered, Jin found themself lying on the ground. It was dark, and cold, and… well, dark again. Hadn’t it just been the afternoon?

The scenery was beyond bizarre. Part of their brain recognized buildings and water, as if they were still at the dock. The other part was all but screaming in fear, not knowing where they were – and worse, who they were with. The other people who had been at the gazebo were all there. So Jin wasn’t going nuts, that was good. Before they could stop gaping and work up the idea to speak to anyone, there were uniformed people streaming from that prison structure. And that, despite the weirdness, was definitely a prison.

Jin watched as the large drifter took off immediately. Bold strategy, that. They always find it better to just move with the flow of things. Already, their mind was recognizing that this was reality – at least for now – and that they just had to accept it. That was the “beauty” of the foster care system. You learned to get used to new and strange things very quickly, for your own survival. As several guards took off after him, Jin was shoved into line with the rest of the poor souls around them. And then the guards cracked their left shin with their baton, hard.

“GAH!” Jin yelped, leg reflexively jerking away. “Asshole...” They muttered through gritted teeth as the guard went to the next person. They were going to have a nice chat from that drifting jerk who had gotten them all into trouble and pain. Jin felt their stomach knot as they were led on, as they saw the other “prisoners” that were part of this debacle. What the hell was that goop? What were those helmets? And… what would happen if a person had no money in this system?

As they were led forward into a far too cozy courthouse - the rich just couldn’t help themselves – Jin stumbled forward, nearly tripping over the small young woman who had been brought with them. “Sorry.” They apologized.

And then, there was a judge. Furrowing their brow, Jin felt as if they recognized this man somehow. Even with the strange costume, the mask and the novelty judge gavel, there was a vague familiarity. Like they had seen that person’s eyes somewhere before. When he asked what they were doing there, Jin stayed quiet. They didn’t trust the law, or cops, and despite their compliance, Jin would much rather be anywhere but here. All they remembered was not to tell the cops a damn thing, especially when they had no lawyer.

Unfortunately, someone else didn’t know that, or care. To Jin’s surprise, it was the same guy they had met that morning. Dakota, right? They had been so busy trying to not get hurt again that they had barely noticed that yellow streaked hair. Dakota, brave or stupid that he was, tried to plead their case with the truth.

“He’s telling the truth. There were these strange cracks everywhere, all over the school, er- the place where we were previously.” Jin was surprised to hear their own voice, backing Dakota’s words. Great – stupid impulsive brain! “I wrote down the locations of quite a few.” They raised both hands, making slow, sudden movements. “If you’ll allow me to reach into my pocket, I can show you the list.”

The first moments of a chase were the most critical.

There's the obvious reason, that if you were caught right at the start then it isn't much of a chase, but there's more to it than people think. How hard do you sprint? It needs to be enough to make a gap behind you but not so much that you'll run out of energy quickly. What's the right stride? You need to adapt your foot placement on the fly, so you don't trip over yourself or slip against the terrain. Your route was important too of course, needing to understand the right time to duck, weave, turn a corner, or keep straight. All of this under the pressure of being pursued, usually by someone who doesn't have your best interests in mind. It was the sort of thing you understood only with experience. An art, not a science.

It didn't matter if your pursuer was human, bear, or super-strong prison guard, once the flow of running was ingrained into your head it really helped. And Vincent sure did know about running.

Flecks of concrete from the guard's swing flew like shrapnel, cutting into his calves. Vincent grit his teeth but didn't let himself falter. If anything it spurred him even further. When he neared the prison gates, Vincent though he had a chance. Until one of the guard's batons clipped him on the arm. Pain shot up, down, all throughout his arm like the very nerves caught fire, and he let out an instinctual scream, but it hardly slowed him down. Vincent just clasped his hand over his bicep and kept running.

He made it a decent distance before he petered out to a stand. It wasn't the pain, or the exhaustion, that made him stop. It was the prison itself. Vincent's eyes gazed over it all, the throngs of chained prisoners marching by the dozens, getting into their desks and having tubes stuck onto their helmets. It was like the situation finally stuck in Vincent's mind, pushed away the dust and cobwebs and overridden his Flight-or-Fight. The pain and the sounds and the smells, it was all too real. It couldn't have been anything but.

Which meant that the two guards catching up to him weren't Barclay police, a thought that actually relieved Vincent. Who or whatever they were, he wouldn't be simply arrested. Being beaten, enslaved, possibly even killed was more preferable to Vincent than ordinary jailtime.

The two guards soon returned to the others who fell into this strange world, Vincent carried between them, all limp and ragged, before he was unceremoniously dumped somewhere between the others and the Pondwater lookalike. His limbs were covered in welts and bruises, his face swollen and his lips split. He was still breathing, at least. Vincent didn't try to stand back up, only lifting his head to hack up a small loogie of blood before collapsing again. Now that his fate was purely his own to worry about, his will to fight was gone.

---

What were all of these people doing here? Had every last one of them followed these strange cracks in the ground? Some of them were easily recognizable, like Barney. Others were a faint memory in the back of her mind, like Harriette. The rest were complete blanks in her mind, like Vincent. Did they all have some connection with one another? Well, besides the fact that they seemed like the only ones who paid any mind towards the warm fissures.

Curiosity got a deeper hold of her, pulling Mila towards the others to ask questions. That was soon not to be as she heard a strange cracking sound. Instinctively she prepared herself to move to possible safety but her attention was drawn to the cracks as they seemed to spread even more. That alone would have changed her course of action, but the odd light emanating from the ground put her in a state of confusion. Soon she felt her head begin to spin. Almost like her world was flipping upside down. Mila started to slump forward as everything went dark.

---

But in the very next moment, the young woman had fallen flat against the, well, it was the floor. However, something about it was different. The spinning of her head had completely stopped upon colliding with the floor though. When she realized she wasn't alone, Mila quickly got to her feet and observed the surroundings just like her supposed companions. Her mind was in such a tizzy at looking at their surroundings that she couldn't develop a proper thought about what she was seeing. As others panicked and some acted like things were not too out of the ordinary, Mila felt herself losing a grip on empty thoughts. The strange laugh from Harriette broke the young student out of her trance.

Her mind, which tended to lean towards the logical, quickly surmised that nothing she was seeing was fully real. She must be having one of those odd, lucid dreams. That would explain her awareness, along with the awe-inspiring that could only truly exist in the fantastical. But the question then came of the faces she saw. Dreams pulled from what a person has seen, and Mila was fairly certain she didn't recognize some of them. Especially the brute. They were also acting very oddly. Mila never had a lucid dream so maybe that's why the people here were acting somewhat realistic.

Maybe it was a weird part of her psyche trying to let all of her deep-seated emotions express themselves. The next question then was when she fell asleep. Maybe it was really if she had actually woken up. Yes, that had to be it. She was still asleep in that study room. Although the events leading from then to now had been so vivid. Then again, they were just as vivid as the scene around her. If this was a dream though, then why was she filled with so much dread? Pulling out her phone, she looked once again at the text. Oh, yeah. That's right. But wait, that happened just before she went to the dock so it wasn't real right?

But then where would she have gotten the idea that Jeremey and Oscar knew each other? These and many more questions ran through her mind but all would be left unanswered as Mila had to put her arm up to attempt blocking the bright spotlight. It didn't take long before the small group of people to be surrounded. Mila felt like her skin was crawling, both from the odd appearance of the guards and the fact that they were some sort of prison guards. A deep hatred started welling up from remembering those jerks from back then. If this was a dream she could not let herself trust these people. But what could she do about it?

Conditioning kicked in and Mila instantly became frightful but prepared to follow the orders given to them. Hands up, head down, forward march. Despite being certain this was a dream, she refused to cause a stir. Just follow the script, let this weird dream play out an- that hope of following the guard's words was suddenly dashed against the ground as she wasn't reacting quick enough to the guards' standards. One of them shoved her into another of the group sending them to the floor. Seemingly taking this as his clue, the brutish fella rushed forward knocking one of the guards into another and then bolting. Something in her wanted to run as well, but what point would there be in doing that?

Surely that brute wasn't some weird part of her subconscious. Running in this instance would be the worst choice. Especially with that eerie spotlight. Soon though something clicked in her mind. When she got sent to the floor it actually hurt. Studies showed that some people could indeed feel pain when dreaming, but Mila had never been one of them. This slight sting soon though was joined by the feeling that her hair would be ripped from her skull as one of the guards yanked her to her feet. Then came the words of the 'captain'. A mixture of fear and long since buried memories flooded Mila and she started to realize that somehow, someway this was real. Panic set in quickly. She couldn't go back to a place like that. The swift strike of the baton soon quelled her desire to run.

Quickly she yelled, "I'M COMPLIANT!" She then begged for them to stop their assault and stood on her feet ignoring the pain as best she could. After that, Mila followed the orders to a tee and was on cue. The prison guards she knew could be cruel, so keeping a low profile was best. Don't cause a stir. Her mind was running too frantic trying to piece it all together anyway. No time to formulate a plan.

But the scene around them as they walked to this 'courthouse' forced her to look. What was even going on here? It was like some surreal movie they were inside of. Then there were the extravagancies of the courthouse itself. Where on earth were they? The more and more she looked the more nothing really made sense. Then the 'judge' himself finally arrived. Almost like a caricature of the man, Mila vaguely recognized the president of BWU based on the images she remembers seeing. As if that wasn't enough to cause confusion, the man began speaking and his verbiage made almost as little sense as their surroundings.

One thing was for certain, Mila was terrified of this person. She didn't get the vibe that he was some unbiased, yet kindly judge. He reminded her more of those wretches at prison who acted like they owned the place. Acted all kind and understanding but only as long as you told them what they wanted to hear or did as they said. Thankfully, the first two who spoke up were answering this man's questions seriously. Hopefully, it would suffice, as she felt as much in the dark about those questions and wanted to know the answers herself.

Then the man who ran was dragged in. He looked beaten and bruised. Mila would be lying if she said she felt pity. It's common for the many to get punished for the mistakes of the few. Mila had grown a disdain for those who acted without care of consequences to others. She wanted to kick him, but that'd likely fall out of line with what the judge desired of them, and her foot was still in pain. As it seemed the others would be holding the man's attention, for now, Mila silently inched her way towards the ones who hadn't spoken up yet. In a hushed tone, "Is it just me, or does he look eerily like Pondwater?"

For a moment the nature of the questions posed to the group of captive intruders both took Barney aback and put him at a loss for words. The gavel-bearing doppelganger didn’t offer any earth-shattering revelations of course; what he asked really wasn’t anything special. Rather, Barney couldn’t for the life of him figure out what to say when faced, in such a surreal location under bizarre circumstances, with what seemed to be a mundane security concern.

Should he tell the truth? Well, in a broader sense, yes, but right now the urge to not be killed, beaten, put in a money-sucking helmet, or otherwise made to suffer (more than usual, anyway) was conducting his train of thought. What did this austere, imperial judge, so calm and well-kept despite being the ‘boss’ of a facility that treated countless humans like livestock, want to hear? That a bunch of random people fell from the sky? In the real world a story like that wouldn’t fly, but considering everything unreal about this place maybe it would hold water. Then again, what exactly could Barney tell this guy instead? Even without the psychological battering ram that was this nightmare world pounding his head, he wasn’t creative enough to come up with a convincing fib. His mind raced for the right answer, but the wheels were spinning, going nowhere.

With Barney overthinking this it fell to the more impulsive individuals among his not-so-merry band. Dakota took his shot straightaway, and as a straight shooter he delivered the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The judge stroked his beard as he listened, stone-faced despite a tale that would be beyond incredulous by any conventional standards. When Dakota suddenly reached into a pocket for his phone Barney experienced a momentary jolt of terror, afraid that the trigger-happy guards might interpret the motion as going for a hidden weapon and jump on him, but the watchful sentries held their positions. Maybe they weren’t as quick to jump the gun as he thought--or maybe they just wanted to look professional in front of their boss. Either way, Dakota offered the judge the video recording from earlier as proof, which he deigned to watch for a few seconds to see for himself the truth in the former singer’s words.

Emboldened by what appeared to be a reasonable attitude on the judge’s part, Jin offered a few words as well. A very slight look of interest crossed Shadow Pondwater’s face when he heard the word ‘school’, but he ended up declining the janitor’s list of cracks. Something seemed to have dawned on him, and along with it came a certain assurance. “No need for that. I believe I understand. Given the circumstances I suspected something like this, in fact, but I’ll confess to being surprised at just how many of you there are. This is not an everyday occurrence, oh no. Quite the stroke of luck for the both of us.”

After seeing the way he talked, Barney found himself agreeing with Mila completely. "Yeah, one hundred percent," he whispered back. One thing in particular that the judge said took him off guard again. “Just a moment, if you don’t mind? You mentioned the circumstances. Has this happened before?”

“Oh, yes,” the yellow-eyed Pondwater said, wearing a pleased smile. “I wouldn’t even call it terribly rare.”

Barney couldn’t suppress a shudder. An irrepressible question surged up from within him. “...Why?”

With one hand on his gavel Pondwater raised the other to gesticulate artfully as he replied. “As you are all no doubt keenly aware...our reality is a cruel one. An existence of ceaseless competition. Everyone wants to succeed and be happy, but there are far too many people out there for that to happen, yes. Many will stumble, trip, and fall. And even those that don’t at first may fall later, if their success was not by their own merits. Simply put, there are those who have what it takes, and those who do not. Winners and losers. The worthy and the unworthy. The innocent and the guilty. To answer your question, this place is one where people, of their own free will, come to be tried. Where those who can withstand the crucible emerge radiant with success, welcomed among my anointed and bound for greatness...and where those guilty of failure are sentenced.” He gave an offhanded shrug. “Naturally, wherever there are failures, some are bound to fall through the cracks.”

Barney stood still, mouth slightly ajar, as he mulled over the alarming information. It was a lot to take in, and phrased in a way that made it difficult to parse, but the more connections he made the more horrified he felt. Suddenly the prison, the inmates, the machines, Pondwater, and the placement of it all made a freakish sort of sense. Fittingly enough for a dream, everything was suddenly starting to seem so disgustingly symbolic. Barney could only shake his head in resignation. What kind of drugs did I get slipped to have a fever dream like this!? “I need to wake up already,” he murmured to himself.

The motion and noise caused the judge’s brow to furrow. “Hm? You disagree?”

Barney’s own brows shot up. “Oh! Uh, no, sorry! Just, uh, thinking about...my job.” He looked warily at the menacing guards, into the dark pits where their faces should be. This time he didn’t dare move a muscle or mutter anything, feeling like he was going crazy.

Dakota's view shifted to look at Jin, glad to have some backing on this. A list of locations like that would surely be helpful to their case, as who would just have such a thing laying around, right? Though, Dakota's building enthusiasm was put into shambles as Vincent was tossed in among them. The man had caused them harm, and it was more than reasonable to be pissed with him. Hell, Dakota wouldn't mind calling him a damn dumbass for what he caused to everyone with his stunt. Yet there was a small amount of pity in his expression, with just how bad he'd been treated. His body was battered, and even if he had tried to run, he had to question if such treatment was necessary. The damage to their feet, and what he'd taken had been something, but this guy still wasn't a prisoner yet they put him through the ringer.

Pondwater's words pulled him from these thoughts, to an extent. The boy knew he couldn't confront these 'people' about it, or things would escalate. Though, things were escalating, just in a different manner. Slowly Dakota put his phone away, surprised by the man's willingness to accept their situation. "E-Eh?" He couldn't form an actual response, his brain pondering on how casual Pondwater seemed about this, and how it was an apparent 'stroke of luck' for everyone involved. He sure as hell didn't feel lucky right now.

Barney covered for where Dakota couldn't speak. The revelation that this wasn't much of an abnormal situation in Pondwater's eyes was a strange one, that caused Dakota to actually take a small step backwards out of a mixture of hesitation and concern for where this was all leading.

Pondwater's continued speech left Dakota's mind spinning, though to him it made sense in the worst of ways. He looked down in a moment of silent self-reflection, thinking about his own shortcomings. He'd failed, hadn't he? He proved faulty to a point where he lost his opportunity, losing what he'd strived for in life. The metaphorical line of 'Many will stumble, trip, and fall' felt right at home. In a path filled to the brim with competition, his own mishap lead to being left on the wayside and having no way to recover. Stranded, a failure, despite his own talent. Such cases weren't really considered in life, it was just too late. Despite this depressing acceptance in his mind, his blood boiled with a repressed anger. An irritation, a reflection of unfairness that screamed in his head. He was going to be successful by his own merits! He had the potential, but then fate dealt him a shitty card.

But if he had that much faith in himself, then why did he feel so down all the time? Why couldn't he progress towards anything else and feel better, despite the shortcoming? Why couldn't he just move on and figure out his own life? Was success in one area, now squandered, leaving him with nothing worthwhile? Was he just a loser? A failure? Unworthy of anything else out of life at this point? What the hell was the answer, here? And why couldn't he figure it out? The questions pounded in his head, and he fought between being reasonable and lashing out from his own emotions. Thankfully, for the fallen group, he kept himself relatively calm. But there was a clear mixture of emotions on his face.

"So," He managed to speak up, though he was feeling extremely off put by the situation now. The details outside weren't something he was piecing together outside of the initial horror, as he was more focused on what was being shoved in his face. An ultimatum of sorts, a judgement from this man. "We're going to be judged? To see if we're 'bound for greatness', or..." His gaze turned back towards the doors behind them, past the others. "Deserving to be labeled as failures?"

A part of Dakota still wasn't entirely believing all of this, from the sheer absurdity. How could a prison like this exist and operate, after all? Yet, Pondwater's lack of surprise about how they arrived was chilling, and Dakota couldn't have dreamt this all up even on the worst night of his life. Another part of him was angry; Feeling like something was scratching past his scalp, and directly etching claws into his skull. Anger that he was not a failure, and that he could prove otherwise. Not like they had much choice now, it seemed like Pondwater didn't exactly intend for them to leave. He said everything except that, after all. And in this moment of possible judgement, now having knowledge of it, Dakota felt an urge to not look weak.

He stood there, his foot placing back where it originally had been before. He kept his eyes forward, not wanting to associate with that sight behind those doors they came through. To say he wasn't scared was a damn lie, but in a sick way, something like this was what he wanted. An answer, one way or another, if he was a failure. Innocent, or guilty. If what Pondwater said was true, then maybe he really did end up falling here on purpose. He followed those cracks, after all. And he could've jumped from the gazebo if he really wanted to get away, now that hindsight was hitting him. Was he going crazy and trying to justify everything? Or was this just acceptance of Pondwater's words?

Dakota figured he'd know soon enough, and took to the assumption Pondwater was being truthful back to them. Regardless if this was a nightmare or reality, he had nothing going for him if he tried to run but another beating. And out of stupidity, his own pride banging around in his head, or a mixture of both, he was standing there. Deciding to see what exactly Pondwater planned to do in order to judge them, not leaving any side questions lingering in the air.

As it turned out, the guards were more than willing to punish the rest of the group for the escape attempt of that one man. In that moment, when the captain uttered his command, Caelum felt a true hatred for Vincent. He watched aghast as the guards dispersed amongst them, delivering the kind of beating that would definitely be news-worthy. But whether this was real, a dream, hallucination, or whatever else, Caelum knew that there would be no stopping these people – if they even were people.

When he was approached by two of them, he instinctively twitched away, though he was too frozen in fear to even contemplate running. Nonetheless, he couldn’t help but try to yank his arm to safety when one tried to grab him. He got a blow across the head with the baton for his trouble. As his head was thrown to the side from the force, and he nearly stumbled in the resultant daze, one of the guards secured both of his arms behind his back.

He blinked dizzily, going from seeing nothing but white to a blurry sight dotted with black. A tendril of blood ran down his temple, and he blinked at the heat of hit. He was only half-aware of the remaining guard approaching from the front, weapon extended. He barely slurred a “Don’t,” but wasn’t helped any. When he squirmed in the hold of the one behind him, an arm was put across his neck. Then, it squeezed, and his panting was forcibly brought to a short. All he managed were short wheezes, and his vision was losing clarity for another reason entirely.

In his weakness, Caelum became limp, ceasing his struggle. Taking it as his opportunity, the guard in front of him brought his baton down upon the young man several times. Caelum gurgled ineffectively, keening wordlessly as his legs were beaten black and blue. After a last blow to a knee, which had him shrieking, he was dropped to the ground. He fell gracelessly, like a sack of potatoes being dumped somewhere – frankly, that was likely all the worth these creatures saw in him.

As he lay there on the floor, Caelum focused on regaining his breathing. He wiped a palm across his face, which came away with traces of blood, sweat, snot, tears, and saliva. It truly brought home how helpless he was, how pathetic. He’d barely resisted, yet he’d been brought down so easily, very much akin to a doll being destroyed by a careless child. And now, he was being urged up by one of the guards, prodded by its baton. He stood up slowly, shakily, and stumbled after the others at the end of the line. Look at us, a procession of cattle led to its slaughter, he thought morbidly.

He took in the bizarre sight of the chained prisoner with barely a reaction, though he did feel a distant urge to laugh when he saw that these people were actually subjected to the use of cattle prods. The eerie silence of all the victims was the most striking, and Caelum wondered if they were actually human or not. However, he was too preoccupied by his own problems to pay them much mind, and so averted his gaze.

It was quite the ordeal for him to make his way to the courthouse, and he immediately slumped against the nearest pillar. When Pondwater appeared, Caelum recognized almost immediately, after he got over his distraction by the man’s unusual attire, that is. He did not answer the man’s questions, however. Firstly, because the burning resentment at his treatment would surely claw its way out of his belly into a vocalized outburst, and any such thing was sure to bring more injury upon him. Secondly, because there were some others more than willing to explain the whole situation, as wildly unimaginable as it was.

He did not react when the escapee was brought in beyond a brief glance in his direction, though he did feel a dark satisfaction at the state of the man. At least he’d suffered for what he’d brought upon them all.

Then, another student’s comment distracted him. She mentioned that the judge looked like Pondwater, but Caelum said, “It is him.” Of course, he was not entirely certain, but aside from the people who’d got here by accident, Pondwater was the only other person who was most like an actual human. Though whether it was or not was certainly in question, especially given some of his odd responses. For the judge, their experience was apparently a usual one, and nothing about this struck him as odd or unreal. In that, Pondwater different from the rest of them.

Pondwater’s speech about the nature of reality rang true, but there were some odd elements to it. The part about ‘his’ anointed, for one. Caelum also didn’t think that falling through the cracks in the metaphorical sense applied to him. Though, he was sure his father would agree with Pondwater regarding that. Now that he was calmer, though also weary from the pain, Caelum decided to speak up. “Quite sensible, your honor, but I am convinced that I am not a failure,” he stated respectfully.

Alina had been kind of out of it since getting cracked across the ankle, a couple of times even. She was aware that most of the others were appalled by the hobbling of all and sundry, and that it was the one homeless guy's fault for trying to escape, but she couldn't blame him for it. He was stronger willed than her, that was for sure; she hadn't even tried to resist. She couldn't do it. But the pain... she could feel something twinge sharply in her ankle every time she took a step. She hoped it was just a trapped nerve.

She returned to full awareness about as they reached their destination. In the end, it was President Myron Pondwater who proved to be the warden, and evidently the judge, of the prison - but some weird version of him, with one discomforting yellow eye peering out and all that garb. No... the outfit was the same as usual. Just warped. And enough people had questions, alongside the dumped and beaten form of the runner from before, that Alina couldn't say anything about the matter for a time. And... they were here of their own will? That- she-

'No.'

Why do that, Alina? Why did she say anything? What was "no" going to accomplish? This man, he didn't care about whether they lived or died, or anything even vaguely resembling justice, he just wanted to put them on trial and ruin them!

Now they were all going to die because of her. She should have just kept it shut and done as she was told. What came next was her fault.

When Vincent made his run for it, hell broke loose. Not quite all hell, because the rest of it was obviously right in front of them, waiting to reveal itself, but some hell definitely broke loose. The guard captain was furious, enough to toss his baton at the escaping fugitive, even landing a glancing blow on the man.

Furious enough to punish the rest of the group. Now, some snarky folks might like to pipe up about collective punishment being a war crime, but this wasn't a war, they weren't combatants under the protections of the Geneva Conventions, and he was still pretty sure this was some sort of Alphabet Agency Private Prison they were being shuffled off to, one where their rights would be ignored at best, and specifically violated at worst. Nick kept his mouth shut, only letting out a gasp as he was grabbed, and his body violently protested against his mind.

He needed to get away. They would hurt him. He knew they would hurt him, they just said it, but worse, he knew they would hurt him. It would be that horrible summer night all those years ago all over again. He knew what happened in prisons, he read about Abu Ghraib, and he couldn't do it again.

The fight went out of him when it sunk in just how utterly fucked he was. He'd pulled a bit, but a jab to the back while he was inwardly collapsing, again, had stopped his involuntary attempt at escape. As he pulled his captors' arms down a bit, they tugged him back up, and one of the bastards smashed their baton against his calves, causing the muscles to cramp up from the impact. They pulled up just a bit, forcing Nick's knees to bend and his legs under him, before giving a shove that resulted in him stumbling a few steps before falling.

"Get up." One ordered darkly, and Nick nodded shakily, putting his hands in front of him and pushing, muscles burning and crying out against being used so soon after being hit. Gritting his teeth and baring it, like he did so many other things, Nick stumbled forward, used to managing through a cramp thanks to his usual runs.

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur as he pushed past the pain and the worry and the anxiety, only paying enough attention to his surroundings to not accidentally leave the group and get attacked again. The inside of the prison was, simply put, existentially terrifying. If these people didn't want them to see the light of day again, they wouldn't, simple as. Their very hope of continued existence relied on the whims of these madmen. He refused to even contemplate the impossible machinery siphoning money from the inmates, again harkening back to his psychotic break theory. They could be getting tortured with gas, injected with all sorts of horrible drugs, you name it, and Nick wouldn't know. He couldn't tell you what was real right now and what wasn't. He vaguely recognized one or two of his fellow students, and had probably seen the faculty members here and there, but nobody stuck out in his mind as real except the two he'd had the misfortune of bumping into in the cafeteria, and that was hardly a reassurance. Meeting two people you'd already met earlier while having a psychotic break? Excellent evidence of sanity, indeed!

Trying to focus on his immediate surroundings again, Nick furrowed his brow at the sight of the judge, who looked suspiciously like their University's President. What that meant, Nick couldn't guess. If anything, it lead credence to the nightmare mirror world isekai theory as much as it did the psychotic break, but more so the former, somehow. Pondwater likely wouldn't let the University Police brutalize his students for the crime of gathering at a dock, right?

No, he had to focus. Their judge was asking about them. Who they were, how the got here, what they were doing? Nick automatically prepared the simple response he knew by heart, give your name, invoke the 5th, shut the fuck up, but he was beat to the punch by some of the others readily volunteering evidence on their behalf.

Part of Nick wanted to scream, but part of him was impressed at their composure. Sure, the man who represented himself had a fool for an attorney, but they seemed to be handling the insanity better than he was if they could think of something other than a polite "fuck you".

To Nick's surprise, as well, it actually worked! This evil mirror Pondwater believed them, and even said that it made sense! Which made no sense! He went on about some social darwinist theory (was that the right phrase? Nick always got those propaganda talking points confused) about winners and losers and life being a zero-sum game of success (which was bullshit in its own right, it didn't have to be), before declaring that they were here to be tried, judged, and evaluated. There was just one problem.

"Wait, of our own free will? I certainly don't recall choosing to come here, or to submitting myself to this bullshit alpha male crap you've convinced yourself runs the world." Nick just couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he? The world did not carefully sort people into failures and successes, winners and losers to be granted boons and banes accordingly. It fucked everybody as much as it good get away with, people fucked each other as much as they could get away with, and whoever got away with the most ended up on top. "And I refuse to let somebody else's terms of failure or success define me! I haven't gotten this far by relying on the praise or the support of others! I fought tooth and fucking nail to get to where I am! So don't lecture me about worthiness!"

Nick's face was warped into a snarl, his breath coming evenly but heavy, and his eyes betrayed the maelstrom of emotion swirling in his gut, the anger at being lectured by another idiotic authority figure who'd moralized the world into some arbitrator of their idea of fairness having taken control. It was like being lectured by his father all over again, the hypocritical bastard!

Like electricity the pronouncements of the yellow-eyed adjudicator crackled among his gathered captives, and though spoken evenly they charged the very air with tension. It left several of them numb, too overloaded by the brute force of heavy truncheons and inhumane exploitation to be shocked by Pondwater’s callous philosophies. Barney kept himself as still and harmless-seeming as possible, firmly convinced that despite this man’s reasonable, even affable exterior, he would not hesitate to visit terrible cruelty on anyone he branded ‘guilty’. That was the fate that had befallen the inmates outside, after all. The thought that he could be made to suffer so thoroughly and utterly that he lapsed into total silence terrified Barney to the very core, far more acutely than any dream or nightmare should be able to.

As he and a few others quivered, however, others got jolted into action. In what was becoming typical fashion Dakota found his voice first, and Barney marveled at the former singer’s courage. He spoke aloud the implication that the judge laid before them all--that they too would be judged, their innocence or guilty confirmed. Pondwater gave a stiff nod. “Precisely,” he replied, lifting an index finger off his gavel to tap his nose. “In this very room, I will preside over your trial. You all should count yourself fortunate, for not all receive the honor of my personal arbitration. The typical defendant is jailed for a period of their own choosing, between two and ten years. The greater the sacrifice, the greater potential gain, naturally. Like theirs, yours will be a trial of the spirit, determining your strength, endurance, and willpower, but it will be much faster. Lucrative, no?”

Wait, what?! In a judgement where the sentence was imprisonment, the trial itself was imprisonment? Not a matter of litigation or evidence, but a trial in the Herculean sense, where the court subjected the defendant to the same tortuous existence as the condemned? Barney reeled from the revelation, but the knowledge that ordeal in store for him would be something else reigned him in. Of course, that just left one question. What exactly would it be? At this point, the young man couldn’t even hazard a guess. Anything was possible. All bets were off.

He glanced over at Caelum when the formal youth asserted himself, as best he could, given the circumstances. When he spoke up the sentries’ eyeless faces stared right at him, like guard dogs ready to lunge, but they made no motion without their master’s say-so. Pondwater himself, wearing a curious expression, sized Caelum up. Though he’d managed to mentally compose himself somewhat, he could only look so dignified while smeared with his own fluids and disheveled by time spent on the ground. The judge angled his head and stroked his beard. “Are you sure? You have the look of a man who’s been beaten, and not just by my guards.” He drew closer and leaned toward Caelum’s face, challenging the bloodied teenager to look him in his eye. “Fine clothes, a noble bearing. Someone brushed by greatness..? Hm. Perhaps,” the shadow intoned, “You are indeed an accomplished, well-adjusted young man, your future bright, your ducks in a row. Or perhaps you are merely pretending. Failures are those who would rather cover up their shortcomings than get rid of them. Those who care only for appearances, wearing masks to hide the scars beneath. Is that you?” Pondwater shrugged as he retreated a few steps. “The truth, as they say, will out. For before you is a chance to absolve yourself of guilt. I want you to show me the truth of your words.”

At that point, a very small voice reached him, but in the tomblike silence of the courthouse’s grand foyer it could scarcely be missed. The judge’s eyes, one piercing bright yellow and one black behind the lens of his glasses, fixated on Alina. “...I beg your pardon?” Pondwater asked, his voice rock-hard. “Perhaps I didn’t quite hear you. Surely, that wasn’t a refusal.” He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. If you don’t take a test, you still fail, my dear. To be so far gone that you’d plead guilty straightaway, without so much reaching for the light...well, I’m afraid we don’t give points for honesty.” He nodded at a guard, who slouched forward to grab Alina like a child painfully tight around the middle and pick her up. As Pondwater approached, the guard held her at just the right height to whisper in his ear, which the judge held an expectant hand up to. “Now, what was that you said, again?”

Before Alina could reply, she was saved by a far less subtle outburst. Slowly Pondwater turned to face Nick, his luminescent gaze stony, as the crass boy repudiated him. If the guards looked irritated by Caelum, they practically fumed now, their batons held tight in clenched hands ready to crush bones into sawdust. When Nick finished, however, Pondwater stepped away from Alina with a wry smile, and the guard holding the girl put her down. “Where you are?” the judge repeated, bringing his gavel up onto one shoulder as the other slid into a pocket. He sauntered a few steps forward, drawling, “No wonder. It is clear you’ve clothed your naked guilt in the morality of the slave, dredging up enough self-esteem to live on by hurling pitiful defiances at your masters. But no matter how you self-aggrandize, it is still the masters who call the shots. In our world, you’ve gotten nowhere.”

In one fluid motion the judge swept the gavel from his shoulders and plunged it, head-first, into the ground at his feet. The sound of the impact filled the whole courthouse, and as one the guards moved to line up on either side of Pondwater. When the shadow spoke again, he did so with booming bass. “However, you chose a few of your other words far more fortuitously. For your trial is now in session, and fighting tooth and nail is precisely what I ask of you all.” He gestured to the rows of minions. “These guards mistreated you. Hurt your bodies and, worse, your pride. If you are not beyond hope, then surely, you burned against them. To strike them down and claim victory over those who dared to bring you down. Well, now is your chance to assert yourselves!” The judge smiled grimly, holding up a hand. “Lay them low and defend your innocence. Or die, and be proven guilty!”

He snapped his fingers, and in uniform the guards began to spasm. Their bodies twitched and swelled violently, as if they were possessed, their uniforms melting into shadow. With a final lurch their heads snapped backward, and one after another the pits in their faces discharged an explosive burst of inky, oily blackness. The murky, smoky geysers rose like mushroom clouds, dancing shapes forming and unforming within the haze. Then, just a second later, they came.

Barney recoiled as freakish things emerged from the dwindling clouds. The first thing he saw looked like a wretched, mutated bird, with a greenish, featherless body like a plucked chicken, gangly limbs, and a serpentine neck that coiled around itself. A blood-red face bearing a long, swordlike beak hid behind wings with gleaming, bloodshot eyes. After swooping down from their clouds the four Duplicitous Storks hovered in the air, limbs twitching fitfully as their loathsome necks wound and unwound.

Bizarre as they were, however, Barney ended up paying them little mind. Malformed cranes could still conceivably have a place in reality, but the next monsters to appear could not. They were gruesome, bodiless amalgamations, their leonine heads nestled in a ring of goat legs with too many joints, curled spider-like in all directions. Two pairs of bronze, glinting spider eyes stared out from regal faces with manes wreathed in fire. They also floated in the air, and as they turned like wheels the Lionhead Doctors half-snarled and half-bleated over the roar of their flames.

Most alarming of all, however, was the nightmare that sprang from the husk of the guard captain. It leaped down from the cloud and skidded to a halt, a three-headed beast with raven-black fur and plumage. A canine body and forepaws gave way to the dark feathers of flank wings, a tail, and rear talons, but all Barney could focus on was the violet inferno that surged from the monster’s three sets of horns. An object floated above each head in the blaze as if fuel for the fires, but they did not burn away, and the creature’s crimson eyes smouldered almost as brightly as the Night-howling Rhetorician pawed the ground, baying in a cacophony of sordid voices.

Through the chaos the judge’s voice resounded. “Hahaha! Magnificent, are they not? Shax, Buer, and my faithful Naberius! And though impressive they are but the least of the challenges my anointed must face. Destroy my servants, and you too may one day take your place at my side!”

At some point, Barney had hit the ground, though he couldn’t remember falling. Just the shadows called Shax would have been bad, although maybe he could have theoretically managed by grabbing and wringing their necks. The sight of the three Buers filled him with both terror and revulsion, but even then, with his life on the line, maybe he could have done something. But when Naberius appeared, it was all over. Standing as tall as a cow, the monstrosity loomed over him like the specter of death, more fearsome than any terrestrial predator on earth. All Barney wanted to do was run, but his legs, convinced that the hound would lunge the instant he turned tail, wouldn’t work. “W-what the hell!” he burst out, somewhere between a yell and a stuttering wheeze. “We’re just normal people! We can’t fight these monsters!”

The judge held up both hands, one curled around the shaft of his gavel. “In life-or-death circumstances, people are capable of incredible feats of courage and strength. They show you who they truly are!” He pointed the head of his gavel at Barney. “And since you’ve shown yourself to be a coward, we might as well start with you. Naberius....GAH!”

All of a sudden Pondwater’s shadow doubled over, clutching one eye. He held a palm to the side of his face with the mask-lens, leaning on his gavel with the other hand for support. As Barney watched, baffled, a terrific crash sounded out from above. He looked up to see a blue, humanoid blur plunging through a glass window, and just a moment after he scrambled out from beneath it the unknown intruder slammed down on Naberius with the force of the whole fall driving a long, silver sword through the monster’s central head.

Barney blinked, stunned, as the stranger looked up and toward his group of defendants. Instantly a lightbulb went off in his head, a surge of recognition and remembrance. That royal blue uniform, the glasses, that distinctive hat over black, scruffy hair. A black tie and shorts with a utility belt over dark leggings. Heavy-set to the point of being portly, but energetic and confident. It was the police girl from his dreams.

“You!” For a moment Barney couldn’t formulate any coherent thoughts, struck as he was by tonal whiplash. In just one moment he’d gone from certain death to irrepressible gratitude for this unlikely savior, and somehow that led him to one realization that he somehow couldn’t dispense with.

She’s so cute!

She grinned at the group. “Me!” Her expression then turned serious, and she told them, “You guys better run while his Vision is out! I’ll cover ya as best I can!”

“Feculent pig!” Pondwater’s bellowed insult echoed through the courthouse. He’d risen with clenched teeth, still clutching one eye, and extended his gavel toward the humans. “Kill them, you imbeciles!”

The Shadows started to move. Reaching down, the police girl seized the bottom of her sword where it protruded from the bottom of Naberius’ jaw. With a hearty pull she wrenched the middle head sideways, snapping its neck, before she executed a graceful flip in front of it. Her weapon, which Barney suddenly realized was a giant needle, flashed between the remaining heads, dealing both a painful slice before she kicked it right in the middle. As the oversized dog stepped back, whimpering, a fireball from a Buer on the left blazed within an inch of the girl’s face, but she managed to lean back in time.

A quick duck to the right saved her from a Buer that hurled itself at her like a buzz saw, and with remarkable speed her needle came up to clash twice with a Shax’s beak. Once put off-balance it fell victim to a well-placed slug from the police girl’s other arm, but a rain of bubbling curses forced her to dodge away. She rose from her roll and hurled her needle like a javelin into the face of the third Buer, and all the while she kept that ear-to-ear smile. “Yes!” A silvery gleam in the air revealed the presence of a silken thread, and when the girl gave it a yank the Buer went flying. “Yeeeeeehaw!” Whooping, the police girl spun the monster around like a giant yoyo, battering away the rest of the enemies. When the needle finally came loose, sending a pile of shadows tumbling toward Pondwater, she chucked something after them with her other hand. Only after it pinged off a Buer’s forehead did Barney realize that it was a grenade, and with another tug of her string the police girl pulled the pin.

A fiery explosion shook the courthouse. The monsters disappeared in the blast, and Barney, who’d been still as a statue while staring at the fight, jolted awake. Looking back at everyone yet to make a run for it, the police girl waved her hand in the universal get away motion. “What the heck’re y’all waitin’ for!? Get your sorry butts outta here!” Behind her, the smoke was clearing, and a quick headcount would reveal that she had yet to actually kill even a single enemy. As she turned back to face them, Barney turned tail. Though practically delirious with confusion at everything going on, this girl had given him a chance for survival, and thanks to it he pulled himself together enough to run with it. He was loath to leave this girl alone, but she could handle herself, and he would be a hindrance. Instead he did as he was told and began a mad dash for the front door.

In the way were two Shaxes that had managed to make their way around the main fight. Escaping meant getting around them and the dark magic they’d tried against the police girl, but this time Barney didn’t back down. He couldn’t--not now that the chips were down and he had a chance of survival. “Gang way!” he thundered, and with his head shielded by his arms he charged forward.

Things felt horrible, but simple in a way. Dakota wasn't about to become a prisoner, but also had kept silent. The confirmation didn't help things, as it was frightening to think of staying in a place like this forever. But if it was the case, he didn't want to be chained to a desk. Offering himself up as a prisoner... It wasn't the trial he'd have to endure, but what would such a thing prove, anyways? Giving up his life to be rotting away, not accomplishing anything. That sounded like failure, to him. A bait. Maybe that was the thought process of a less educated mind, but he genuinely did not offer it much thought beyond that.

This more lucrative method, he wasn't sure if he quite understood what Pondwater intended. He might've questioned it, but words of other individuals brought his silence. Dakota's eyes darted between the guards, noting their willingness to jump at a moment's notice to pounce upon them. What was the point of this cruelty? Obviously the judge had to have some sort of intent with all the violence, as it was what these guards jumped to at the mere thought of an issue like Caelum speaking up. Pondwater's brunt vocal assessment of the man left Dakota with his mouth slightly agape, eyes fixated on the interaction. Dakota looked down at himself, thinking about what he was hearing. Hiding the scars beneath, and covering up shortcomings... He'd done both, from a few people now. Just to try and get his way again, even if someone always came along with the facts to ruin it.

He tried to not gauge too much on this, though a small but resounding 'No' pretty much caught the room. Dakota's eyes drifted to the smallest figure in the room, realizing how overwhelming this was for himself, let alone for what he assumed was a kid. His body tensed as the guard picked her up, attempting to make himself move. At least they weren't going to swing at her, but still, this was about as uncomfortable as it got. What the hell did he expect from her, exactly? It wasn't like this was normal for them by any means, no matter how common it seemed to him.

Alina was spared, however, as Nick had a bit of an outburst. The exchange was valiant and vile at the same time, but Dakota barely got to recognize that as the gavel hit the ground. Not having much else, he tried to prepare himself mentally and physically for whatever their judge had to say. Fighting?

As the guards lined up, Dakota felt pain in his gut. Perhaps because of what happened before, but the thought of their test being one of violence wasn't something that sat right with him. So, what? They won, and took their place? The process of replacing the already applicable with more capable members, pushing them out of what comfort they potentially had. Raising the bar ever higher, expecting anyone they cross to meet that bar. And when they do, they boot out those set under the new bar. Absolute bullshit.

"This barely made sense to begin with, but now it's crazy." He murmured. As he looked forward, he knew he wasn't exactly going to have much of a choice. If they were willing to kill him, then what exactly could he do? There weren't options for peace now. "I don't get what you guys get out of trying to kill us," He spoke directly to the guards, unknowing of just how worthless that was. "But I'm not letting you kill me! Screw that!" Hands curling into (admittedly) pathetic fists, he braced himself for potentially another beating.

But what Pondwater had in store was much worse.

The spasming guards exploding into what could only be described as 'monsters' in Dakota's mind were now apparent. Their hollow appearances made sense, if they weren't human to begin with. But these... Things? They were far less believable than the previous forms, and looked much more dangerous. Dakota's will to fight instantly disappeared as he recoiled, unsure of what exactly to do against these things. He glanced about, not seeing much to use as a good weapon. What good would it do, anyways? These things looked vicious, and he wasn't confident at all in handling the previous fight, let alone this one. "Magnificent? These things look like cheap horror movie monsters!" He spat, a bit of an insult Pondwater's way. "You bastard. Even if we won, you'd just make us monsters like them!" No way. He wasn't very strong, but he wasn't about to let himself be a piece of entertainment for this guy. Barney was having a hard time with this, too. And Dakota shared his sentiment that they couldn't fight these things.

As if things weren't chaotic enough, Pondwater ended up being struck. Dakota's eyes darted about, trying to find the source momentarily until it appeared in front of them, piercing that dog-thing's skull with a weapon of sorts. There were so many questions, but Dakota was stuck on one particular thing: While Barney exclaimed remembrance of this girl, Dakota was awe-struck, gushing "What a badass entrance...!" As his fingers brushed through his hair, scratching at the scalp beneath. She was telling them to run? Dakota wasn't exactly going to say no, but he was still stuck in place.

A momentary dilemma passed over him as he eyed what was essentially Vincent's corpse on the ground. Breathing, yeah, but not in very good shape. He didn't focus on the girl's actions, instead he dove down to try and shake the terrifying man to his senses. "Hey! HEY! Get up!" He demanded, shaking him more furiously. "Don't know if you see that shit, but there's literal monsters, and we got one chance before they just frickin' eat us!" Vincent being an entire foot taller than Dakota did not help as the scrawny boy tried to pull the man up to get the hell out. Despite what happened, leaving him to die to those... Things, was not morally acceptable by any means. If only Dakota's arm muscles were as big as his heart, then this might seem a little more heroic.

Goddamn, this guy was heavy. Dakota let out a groan of frustration and effort as he brought Vincent up, and tried to get him moving towards the exit from whence they came. It was a struggle, and he could obviously use some help, but a mixture of worry about the others getting out and knowing the big lug caused them all strife made him just try to carry the burden on his own. 'First positive thing since you got here, Rhett! Gotta use it!' He scolded himself in his mind, a lot of his own stamina going into this ordeal. Not to mention, his feet were already injured, which only piled pain from what weight Vincent needed to lean on him.

The Shaxes in front of their exit caused Dakota to start panicking. He was moving forward, but unsure of how he'd do anything against them. Barney's charging would be helpful, maybe, if Dakota could do it himself. But no dice in that regard, and he had no sort of weapon, either. This lead him into perhaps the biggest panic he'd been in since arriving, quick mumblings coming off as perhaps obnoxious to his giant and mostly silent passenger as they continued forward. "T-There's no way out behind us, things are exploding, there's evil DEMON flamingo things that are gonna kill us, we'regonnaDIE!"

Obviously he was out of ideas. As great of a self-preservation tool as throwing Vincent to the evil birds would be, it's something that wouldn't even pass his mind. He'd be relying on someone else, or his giant physically-gifted three-legged race pal Vincent, for a way past. It was a bunch of them versus a few stupid birds! Surely they could get past some stupid birds. Right?

Lying on the floor throughout the back-and-forth between the other 'intruders' and Pondwater, Vincent had trouble getting his bearings, or even getting up. On top of the guards' incredible strength, they were brutal; just by shifting on the ground he could tell that he had at least two broken ribs and muscles too bruised to pull himself to his feet. For all intents and purposes he was down for the count. The conversation passed him by as he focused on recuperating, his head swimming in pain, dazed and confused.

Then monsters happened.

There wasn't a better way to describe it, at least for Vincent. One moment there were the guards, big and dark like living shadows pulled from the walls, and the next there were beasts, magnificent and terrifying in their form. It helped center Vincent's thoughts, at least. The shock and fear pushed through the pain-induced haze, snapping awareness back into him. But the surge of energy didn't help that much, since, well, he was still beaten half to death. He struggled to get back on his feet, slipping at the simple task of pushing off the ground as the rest started to run. His only hope was that these animal-looking monsters had the instincts to chase after prey instead of going for easy pickings.

To his surprise, though, Vincent wasn't abandoned to fend for himself. Not entirely, at least. One of the group, a punk-rock looking kid, stooped down and hoisted Vincent up onto his shoulders, to the best of his ability anyway. Their difference in height made it hard, Vincent's tall stature throwing Dakota off balance, but he sure as hell tried. Vincent's mind drifted again; so long kept to himself, sheltered away and never given a second thought. This one simple act of kindness, selflessness... connected to something, somewhere, deep in his heart.

As the two "ran" towards the entrance again, Vincent managed to sway himself onto his feet, the movement and adrenaline helping to mask the pain of it. The amalgamated cranes - the Shaxes, if Vincent heard Pondwater right - flocked to the gate, blocking their path. A thought crossed Vincent's mind, making him almost roll his eyes. Sure, he'd already hurled himself into a possible threat before, but now the 'possible' had turned into 'very much a'. But, again, something tugged at his brain. He wasn't just doing it for his own life, this time. Someone else had helped him. So, he had to help back.

Pushing himself off from Dakota, freeing the younger guy from his weight, Vincent leaned into the momentum of their wobbly stagger of an escape and charged at one of the Shaxes. It was a fight stacked against him, and when that happens, because it usually did happen, you fought dirty. A quick jab at the bird's red eye, two fingers out to really make it sting and, in the ensuing startle, toppling the thing off balance. He turned back to Dakota, Barney, and the others for a quick enough moment to shout.

"Run!"

Not that anyone needed the encouragement.

---

This whole experience was surreal. The speech by Judge-Pondwater nearly caused her to want to yell at him. Winners, losers, worthy, unworthy, innocent, and ... guilty. She began breathing a little irregularly. The last time she was in a courthouse, that was the word uttered that finally sent her down her path. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell, but what good would that do? Even if this man didn't get angry by the outburst it likely wouldn't help their situation. The same thoughts must've been there, but maybe a little different, in her companions. As one of them had a full outburst, the others had more subtle words to express.

However, it seemed Pondwater was most interested in the quiet response from the girl who seemed close to Mila's age. He soon used the triggering word again but Mila bit her tongue to avoid drawing attention to herself. When a guard was summoned to roughly grab regretted not saying anything but they were walking a fine line at this point. What was the snapping point? That answer would seemingly soon be answered as one of the guys added another tirade to the number. Mila felt a chill run up her spine at Pondwater's response which was soon followed by his gavel slamming upon the ground. The action caused her to jump letting out a slight yelp. Had they just gotten to the point which this judge would sentence them?

Her thought was soon confirmed but not in the way Mila expected. They were going to have to fight the guards who brought them here? How would that be even possible? They seemed to have inhuman levels of strength. Guaranteed, many things here seemed inhuman. She did have to admit that there was some desire to hurt them back just as they'd done to her. There were many times she'd wish to have the capability to lash out at the prison guards, but both then and now, there was no way it was possible. She was a tad stronger than her frame would lead to believe, but that didn't mean she'd stand a chance in a head-on fight. The situation soon got worse as the guards shed their facade revealing their 'true' forms.

The young woman watched on in horror as the creatures twisted and contorted into their disgusting forms. It was over. These things weren't human. They weren't even the animals they vaguely resembled. The beings were monsters. What chance did a small group of humans stand against monsters? But suddenly, something unexpected happened. Pondwater began acting as if in pain. Not long after their likely savior appeared. Mila was stunned. Who was this woman? Mila felt like she was supposed to recognize her but what was most striking was how she was dealing with the monsters. The woman told them to run, and that jogged Mila to quickly gather herself. Looking at the others she saw that they weren't in much of a state to run. The obvious issue was the brute on his back. Then there was some of their number fascinated by the battle. Worse was that, no matter how skilled, that woman wasn't going to be capable of handling all of them.

She didn't have anything that could be useful in a fight. Nothing around them would be all that helpful either. But soon she realized that maybe her jacket was useful. It was quality material and sturdy. She hated the idea of ruining her family's gift but dying here would be worse. As everyone prepared to run, Mila pulled off her jacket and began running towards one of the flamingo creatures blocking their way. She saw the brute launching himself off the phone guy to attack one of the Shaxes. Mila took his lead lurching towards the second, swinging her jacket to block the vision of the creature and hit it at the same time. She heard a slight rip as she blocked its path, following that up with a kick to try and topple it. Without looking, "Hurry!"

Oh, Nick was gonna murder this guy. He actually even took a step towards Pondwater as he talked down to him, called him a slave of all things, claimed he was the master and that Nick was the self-aggrandizing prick here. Then he went on his little rant, calling on them to fight for their so-called freedom. "Listen here, you slim-"

Before he could continue, though, the freak slammed his gavel, and the real freak show began. The guards, faceless monsters that they were, began morphing into actual, literal monsters. Some were freaky twisty stork-looking things, while some transformed into some kind of wheel of legs with a lion head, and the captain became a god damn cerberus!

Nick was so angry, however, that this only gave him a moment's pause as he looked over the grotesque creatures in front of him. Fists clenched, body practically vibrating with energy, Nick managed to get out a "You're fucking on," before being interrupted again. This time, however, the interruption was a welcome surprise. While Pondwater was practically doubled over, the busty police girl from his dream that morning appeared and skewered one of the cerberus' heads. Honestly, if he wasn't so emotionally exhausted and letting a metaphysical monkey powered by holy fury pilot his body, Nick probably would have found that hot. As it was, however, he could only appreciate the opening she'd created while the others started moving. The guy who'd showed Nick his phone was running to the lunatic who'd already tried to fight these guys, and one of the girls was charging the creepy bird things while using her jacket as a makeshift shield and weapon alongside the bigger guy who was also charging for the exit.

Well, far be it from him to ruin a perfectly good escape plan. Nick followed after Barney and Mila, rolling his shoulder so that his arm came up a bit in his jacket to protect it from a jab of those things' beaks, and turned to watch the others. "Let's get the hell outta here!" he yelled to those that were yet to near the exit, some of the edge from earlier gone from his voice, but agitation still present. "Dunno about you guys, but I choose life!" Resorting to snarky, nihilistic humor in a literal fight for their lives was probably not the wisest move, but it was the least angry thing he could come up with, and it's not like he was angry with them. Well, maybe Vincent, not that he actually knew the guy's name, but the poor bastard had gotten punished more than enough for his earlier actions.

Once the others started moving past, Nick got going himself, not willing to rely on their miraculously-timed savior to cover them forever.

Sometimes, every so often, Jin wished they did drugs. If only to have an escape. This day had been far too much already, and Jin was reaching the breaking point.

During Pondwater’s little villain speech, Jin felt themselves getting angrier and angrier, to the point where they were clenching their jaw and fists in an attempt to not speak. How dare this man speak about what he didn’t know? Some lofty position like a president knew nothing about what it was like on the ground. People who fell through the cracks were often shoved there, stomped down by everyone else trying to get ahead and above. How dare he assumed it was some kind of moral failing on their part? But Jin kept their mouth shut. Somehow, they knew that if they spoke out, it would make things worse.

Unfortunately, they were quickly proven correct, as the largest of their group had an unwise outburst. It seemed Jin wasn’t the only one who found this man’s attitude absolutely disgusting. This seemed to trigger something in the man, and before Jin knew what was what, there were… things… in front of them. To call them animals was too generous. These, Jin hesitated to think, could only be referred to as monsters. Admittedly Jin hated to use the word. Similar epithets had been thrown at them for various reasons during their life. But until they had time to think of a proper name for these creatures, monsters was it.

Then things got stranger. As they were surrounded, some vaguely familiar blue haired chick (with absolutely terrifying knockers) showed up ready to fight. She told them all to run, and Jin needed little prompting. They started booking it as fast as their short legs would carry them. Which was actually quite fast; a speed borne of absolute terror of the unknown behind them.

“What the actual hell is going on!” They knew no answers would be readily available yet, which made them want to live all the more. If only to figure out what fresh and new hell this was.

Caelum stared at Pondwater with narrowed eyes, the frown twisting his face soon twisting into a snarl when the judge continued with his patronizing criticisms. “Pretending?” he scoffed, and dearly wanted to ask the man if he wasn’t mistaking Caelum for himself. This self-deluded maniac certainly had scars of a very specific nature.

The more he listened, the more aghast he was that he’d agreed with even part of what Pondwater had said, about winning and losing. That, at least, had been simple enough to be agreeable. But all his ideas of how he, personally, was to judge a myriad of people by subjecting them to some absurd trials? No one could possibly stomach it.

Thus, when Pondwater first lined up the guards for them to fight, Caelum inspected thoroughly, trying to think of ways how to take one of them one. Surely, even if they were trained, it should be possible to defeat one with an unexpected or underhanded attack, at the very least? After all, this wasn’t like before, when they’d ganged up on them. However, just as he’d steeled himself to physically confront one of the guards, those questionably human beings revealed their true monstrous nature.

Caelum’s mouth dropped, and he shifted his stance into an evasive one as those things appeared. Deformed storks, tangled balls of limbs with a lion’s head atop each, and even a Cerberus of all things. “No fucking way,” he whispered, taking a subtle step back, ready to flee. No way he could fight these monsters; any of them was liable to kill him with one strike from a maliciously sharp appendage.

Exactly when Pondwater started to give out an order for the dog to maul a student to death, a shape crashed through one of the windows, and skewered the Cerberus’ middle head into the ground. Now, that she was still for a moment, Caelum recognized her as the police woman from his dream. His mind boggled as to how and if he’d transited from reality to dream – but perhaps, it was the other way around. His neurons were still firing up in response to his previously suffered pain and the danger he was currently facing, after all.

However, he had better things to do then ponder upon the strangeness of this situation. The police woman had it right – they should use this opportunity to escape. Unfortunately, two Shaxes stood in their way. While Caelums studied the surroundings for a way past that did not involve meeting them head on, there were several students who did just that – charged straight into danger.

“Ah hell,” he muttered. He raised both hands above his head for a meagre measure of protection against those beaks, and ran after the others. Honestly, Caelum was mostly hoping the duo of monsters would be too preoccupied by several charging people to pay any attention to someone who merely followed the pack. He supposed he could try punching them in the neck, if he had to, but he’d rather not risk getting an arm taken off, or something. So, he focused mostly on evasion as he made his escape.

^{? ? ? : ? ? hours}
Harriette had been quiet for a while now. When the faceless guards hobbled them, snatching herself and the others up and beating at their feet, she sucked in a harsh breathe and whimpered but otherwise remained silent. While the marched she kept her eyes pointed forward, her gaze cold and muted. Even while they were brought before the judge she was stunned into silence, the face of the university's president the very last thing she expected to see. Earlier she'd thought that this situation was too terribly real to be anything but that - real. But now her thoughts were whirling around in her head like a storm, throwing doubt on that. After all, Pondwater couldn't be moonlighting as... as some kind of evil, other-dimensional judge? And he'd said that this kind of thing happened before, but she'd been in Barclay for years and never heard of anything like this happening. Harriette's face was pinched in thought, in worry, as the students tried to explain things to Pondwater. The Pondwater-doppleganger. The man seemed to believe he was being gracious, something Harriette recognized immediately. Whatever was going on, and whatever was going to happen to them... it was apparently the most normal thing in this man's world, and something he reveled in. And now he was doing them a favor, in his mind.

What a joke. They weren't being put on trial to decide if they were failures or not. They had already been judged, judgement being that they were already failures. Now they had to be put through some horrible test to overturn the verdict? Harriette's hands were fisted at her sides, clenched so tightly that her nails were beginning to draw blood.

Until then she'd been quiet, yes. Compliant, just taking whatever was thrown at her like she'd always done. That's how she'd lived for the past few years. But it came to a point where she just couldn't be silent any longer. When a girl was picked up by one of those guards Harriette stepped forward with the intent to argue or even try and snatch her back, anything - "!"

But an ornery young man cut her off, clearly not afraid to speak his mind. It was kind of admirable. And it did the trick. The guardsman put the girl down. But then the situation, as insane as it already was, as completely unbelievable, and totally horrible - got even worse.

Finally Harriette's silence was actually broken, but it was with a shrill scream. The guards mutated into monsters, and they were expected to kill them?!

"Stop this!" She cried, futile. The judge looked back with glee, preparing to sic his beasts on Barney, but once again something seemingly impossible happened. Harriette thought she would have to start getting used to that. A vaguely familiar woman burst onto the scene. She was... on their side? She got right to work battling the creatures and bade them all to run. With everything going on, Harriette took her advice.

She backed away from the monsters and turned to follow the others as they made their escape, but ended up doing a 360 and going back to grab Alina's hand and pull her along too. She'd already been grabbed by those things once, no need to go through it again. Harriette rushed toward the exit then, dragging herself and the girl forward after the others. Her heart was pounding, and it felt like her brain was beating against her skull too. She was scared out of her mind, but there was no time to register that fear. Her only thoughts now were how to get out how to get out how to get out

The men made to crash right through. Not wanting to split up Harriette went after them. Her bag was still strapped across her chest, and she reached into it with her free hand and pulled out a shoe. She chucked it at the crane monster, not caring if it was a stupid move - it was all she could think to do. What else could she do? The other shoe came flying after it, as she threw anything she thought would be even remotely annoying at the things to make some kind of opening to get by.