NationStates Jolt Archive

The OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=434554&page=1&pp=15)

.::.The Invite List.::.
Aegean Sea
Assington
Golden Simatar
Imitora
Quandary
Tanara
Tarlachia
Theao
Valient
Zatarack

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October 10, 2005

"My name is Michael Burke. To the majority of the world, I'm a nobody, just another face among billions of others. You're probably even wondering why you're looking at this videotape in the first place. Especially with all that's going on now.

When I was a kid, I dreamed of dinosaurs traversing the continent in their quest for food. Terrible creatures, terrible beasts of the ancient world, like the infamous Tyrannosaurus Rex, the long established 'King of the Dinosaurs', and the velociraptors, intelligent dinosaurs that had those dreadful curved claws on their big toes. I even loved the brachiosaurus and triceratops, docile creatures, and yet they held their own terror as they rumbled across the land.

By the time I was a teenager I was heavily into history. I studied everything from the stonework of the native peoples of many lands, up to modern day conflicts and wars. I fell in love with the leaders who stood proud and tall, their voices bringing courage, hope, and so much more to their boys out on the front. The captains of sloops, schooners, and buccaneers, fighting pirates in search of gold, spices, valuable goods, and of course women. I grew fond of the men of World War Two, bravely marching forth into hell on earth.

History was my favorite subject in all my school years, and it became a second major, along with physics. A strange combination you might think, but it’s what I chose. I graduated in the top twenty of my class, with full honors, the whole shebang. Now I am deeply progressing in my graduate studies, my internship at the Universal Physics Laboratory nestled away in a small corner of the University of Berkeley.

Lately, I had been working on a highly classified project, funded by the university, a project that seemed so ignoramus, and yet, so brilliant. I wanted to build a time machine, and I convinced the board that I had just the ticket to make it all work. It wasn't easy convincing them, mind you; it took at least two years before I got what I had built my whole life for.

It is now seven months since the board has approved our project and we began our work earnestly. I could go ahead and detail exactly how we started our project, but you would get lost in the mind-numbing scientific terminology and crap that geeks like me can speak while asleep.

I wish I were still sleeping. Then, I could dismiss this as one really crazy, outrageous dream to remain in the confines of my overactive mind.

I think I've made a mistake. A very big mistake..."

The last words drawled out to a halt as the battery in the portable video camera exhausted itself at last. Dirtied hands gripped the camera flip screen, as the young man shook his head in disbelief. He glanced down at his watch, a battered watch used by outdoors adventure seekers. He honestly didn't know if it was accurate anymore. All the clocks and time pieces he had come across in the last day had shown absolutely no sense of cooperation with one another, all giving quite different times, and in some cases, even dates. He closed the camera and slung it over his shoulder. If he didn't get out of this mess, or figure some way to fix it, and he died in this...hell, then he'd leave behind some attempt to inform other survivors of what he had done.

His fingers gripped the thick tree branches towering nearly three hundred feet upward in the middle of what was once San Francisco's People's Park. At least, that's what the broken sign not too far from his location had said. He looked northward, and instead of the city sprawling out in front of him, he saw an endless forest haphazardly reaching upward amidst the devastated ruins of San Francisco. There was no city anymore. It had vanished, save for a few ruins. It was as if Mother Nature herself had raised the terrain and swallowed the city whole.

Even the millions of people who used to call San Francisco home, were gone. Vanished. He hadn't laid eyes on any people since seventeen hours ago when he had pushed the red button. He couldn't understand it. Where had they gone? What in the seven hells had happened?

A deafening roar penetrated all thoughts of Michael Burke, causing him to widen his eyes in fear as he gripped the towering sequoia with both arms and watched as distant trees began to quake and rustle violently with the passing of a large unseen presence. The beast's footsteps thundered closer, heavier with each approaching thump. Before he knew it, the tyrannosaurus came into sight entering the small clearing. It halted, turning its massive head this way and that, sniffing the air, its great carnivorous teeth still holding the remnants of some man's arm.

"Oh God..." Michael started, before suddenly falling silent as the T-rex turned its head sharply in his direction. Obviously, it still thought he was on the ground, and so it approached, searching, hunting. The young man began to shake in fear, yet he dared not let out his breath nor let go of his death grip on the tree as he sat only several dozen feet above the rex. With a dissatisfied growl, the rex gave up its search and disappeared eastward, ever on the hunt for fresh meat.

Michael Burke chose to remain where he was, fear overriding his intellect. If the world had suddenly transformed-no, merged- with ancient history, why couldn’t he just simply sit there and try his best to not wet his pants? If primal beasts could return and dominate the area, surely primal instincts would be allowed to surface?

"God...if you're there...I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to do this..." he whimpered as he clutched the tree, tears slipping slowly down his dirtied face.

Tag for reading purposes...wish I didn't get drunk last night.

Heyatawin shivered a little as the setting of the day star stole the warmth from the breeze and threw long shadows amid the standing brothers. Putting her mostly completed quill work tidily away, she went to gather her sunktanka from where the long legged black grazed.

"Though with more wasicun about, perhaps I should run your rope under the tipi and tie it to my wrist as I sleep" She laughed inside her cheek at the thought of playing 'warrior in uncertain times' as she staked him near the tipi. Her camp dogs would warn her if any came close during the night.

With a Pta horn ladel she drew a bowl of the fragrant soup from the pouch where it simmered over the banked fire pit. Her cooking fire was no more than embers and nearly smokeless, the hard dry wood she used saw to that. Clean river stones, kept heating in the coals, would bring the soup back to a boil quickly, if needed for late arriving visitors. She would eat outside of the tipi she decided, and enjoy the arrival of the stars and nearly full moon. The Canapegi Wi, 'when leaves turn brown' moon, which the wasicun called September.

She pulled a tasina, a buffalo skin aged to great softness, about her for protection againt the chill. Savoring the taste of soup, the Dakotah Wapiya ate slowly, as the light continued to fade from the bowl of the heavens and the chill deepened. The moon herself had fallen from the heavens before Heyatawin stirred from her place by the cooking fires embers. They were all but ashes and she banked the remains carefully.

The quiet had brought the sound of her heart to herself most strongly, and she had fallen into a wakeing dream, spinning ever outward on the compelling rhythm. Now her familiar voice said 'sleep' and without stiffness she arose and entered the tipi. Time enough later to search her visions for deeper meanings.

Her robes; some of Pta skin, another the skin of the mahto she had slain, others rolled and woven rabbit skins, were piled thickly over a double handspan high layer of fragrant fir tips. The deep bed of coals in the rock lined central firepit had chased away any cold from the large sixteen Pta skin tipi. She did not bother to don a sleeping robe, and laying her gown aside, she spent some time languidly brushing out her heavy mass of ravenswing hair, that when released from braids, tumbled to mid thigh.

Sleep came on gentle wings to Heyatawin. However she woke to the first tenative songs of the wingeds at the shifting from night to day. She was refreshed, her spirit bouyant, despite the shortness of her sleep. Dashing along the verdant banks of the stream, she threw herself in to the bathing pool with a child's whoop of pleasure. The shock of the icy water cut the whoop short and left her gasping momentarily. Then she took a handfull of leaves of the stiff grass; the grass that made suds, and cleaned all manner of stains from skin and robes, from where it grew along the bank and scrubbed herself from head to toe.

Later, as the anpetuwi began to ascend openly, she sat before her cooking fire, now a leaping blaze as fresh wood caught flame. Heyatawin had a small journey to undertake this rising of the sun, and now was the time to decide what she would carry with her for the short trip.

As a Wapiya, a true seer and healer, she would need certain grasses, roots and bark, and of course a pipe, but she always carried such with her, they were small and no burden. Though the walk would not take long she would take her bow, in case she saw something to throw an arrow at. Small wingeds cooked quickly if rolled in mud and buried in the coals. The black runner would carry all the moccasins and other work she had completed and brought for gifting and trade. And if in today's visit to those that lingered at the now much smaller summer hoop she saw a likely young hunter she would gift the fine horse to him.

A good beginning for a promising young man and notice to others that the Wapiya's eyes were upon him. "And giving always brings more giving so the circle moves ever on." Heyatawin spoke aloud to the sunktanka as she tied the bundles onto his back. He had been a gift to her, an expression of thanks from one of the most renown akicita, one of those respected men who looked to the safety of the camps, after she had healed his legs, broken in an accident. The highly trained buffalo runner was far more than she needed, and the gifting would reflect well on all involved. Some one would come along and gift her with a replacement. That was the way the world worked...until the wasicun came, and set the world wrong.

Lieutenant Ryan Bergmann was young, only twenty-three years old. It was his first combat flight with his C-47 transport aircraft. The young man was confident that he could deliver his stick of 82nd Airborne paratroopers safely. He head heard horror stories of previous airborne drops; he prayed that this would not become a horror. Bergmann didn’t pray hard enough.

The peaceful night sky exploded around him as tracers made their way up into the massive formation of transports before exploding. Bergmann’s eyes widened in terror as he saw a plane forward and down from him receive an 88mm shell in the left engine. A fireball consumed the engine before exploding, tearing off the left wing in one piece. Now with nothing to balance it, the transport banked hard right and plummeted towards the French soil below.

Bergmann yelled in terror as bullets from small arms bellow peppered his aircraft. Without thinking, he reached forward and opened the throttle completely. The two Pratt & Whitney R-1830s engines roar, unleashing the full might of their combined 2,400 horsepower. Grasping the yolk, Bergmann and his co-pilot tried to maintain a steady altitude, but as tracers and flack exploded and came closer, Bergmann began to put his plane into a descent.

Cries behind him from the paratroopers, yelling at him to give them the green light to jump to hopeful safety on the ground. Bergmann groped the instrument panel till he found the switch. Behind him, the red light flashed to green and his sweaty hands returned to the yolk.

Four paratroopers got out of his plane, just four. Down below, a German 88 crew set their shell and rammed it into the gun. The command was given and the barrel belched fire and death. The massive shell hurtled upwards and slammed into the tail section of Bergmann’s plane. There, it exploded.

Shards of metal from the shell and plane tore down the inside, making the Americans inside hamburger. Bergmann screamed as something hot entered and exited his right arm. Dark blood squirted from the wound and his hand tore right on the yolk. That, coupled with the lost of the tail section, the C-47 fell to earth like a stone.


On the ground, Corporal Kyle Schultz watched his aircraft greet the ground several hundred meters in front of him. He watched grimly as more aircraft took hits, but also took heart in seeing hundreds of parachutes in the sky. Quickly removing the last bits of his parachute harness and his reserve chute, he reached down and picked up his M1 Garand rifle. Like all paratroopers, he carried everything on his back and more. Two combat jumps before had taught him to carry as much ammunition as possible. Not only did he have his standard gear and ammunition load out, Kyle also filled every pocket on his body and carried extra pouches with clips and grenades. He also carried a carton of cigarettes, five chocolate bars, three packets of chewing gum, and other assorted things.

Kyle opened the receiver, removed an 8 shot clip from one of his belt pouches and rammed it in. The bolt shot forward and put a round into the barrel. He looked around, trying to figure out where if he had hit his drop zone or not. Knowing a squad of German soldiers could be closing in, the paratrooper decided to get a safe distance away and hopefully link up with other paratroopers.

Kyle turned and took off into the forest.

“Those scurvy bastards!” screamed a voice to his left, James didn’t even move. Slowly he took everything in. He was standing on his pride and joy, the twelve gun sloop HMS Tenacious, with a crew of a little over forty. It was just before three bells in the dog watch, the black of night. They were chasing a craft which had just started becoming popular with the French, the fire boat. Fire boats were simply that, boats which were set alight and sailed into an enemy port, into the docks full of ships, wooden ships. It was imperative that he stop that vessel from reaching port, otherwise it could spell the end for half the fleet taking shelter in the port.

“Taking her two points closer to the wind” ordered Commander James Richardson. He wasn’t going to let this little ship get away from him, especially not into Plymouth Harbour.

“Aye Aye, Captain” The helmsman responded. James now had time to think, he hand to stop the crew aboard that fire boat from getting near the harbour, but more importantly, not let them set fire to her. As the wind kicked up, the chase became more intense, the Tenacious, with her war hardened crew versus that of the obvious skeleton crew of the French fire boat. Each trim of the sails was mimicked by the other crew, each trying to get more out of the wind. James moved to take the helm, preferring to have the feel of the ship underneath him. A tad more starboard they went and a tad faster the Tenacious moved. Closer and closer they were getting to the harbour, the fireboat somehow not being picked up by the shore batteries, ‘typical Army’ thought James.

“Helmsman, take the wheel, I’m going to get ready” whispered James, in his usual hoarse fashion, why speak loudly if you can be understood with less effort. As he walked back and down to his cabin at the stern, he passed many of his men, each touching their hat to him, and for him it was not just respect of the rank, but their respect for Richardson as a man and as a captain.

His cabin was modest to say the least. A cot hung to his left, straight ahead was ceiling to floor window out the back, which is not saying much considering he barely had enough room to stand his five-foot-eleven-and-a-half inch frame. To his right was a sink and mirror, a bucket sitting below the sink. In the corner to his right was his compact, no, small writing desk. Behind the cot was a curtain, and behind that was his tiny dining room, barely enough room for four to eat comfortably, yet everyone seemed to have a good time in their.

Strolling over to his trunk next to the desk, he withdrew his two duelling pistols, given to him by his father. They were not your usual pistols though, for they did not have to be swabbed or anything, like a normal pistol. You simply put the compression cap, full of gun powder at one end, slide a ball down the barrel, and it is loaded, very neat. Grabbing both pistols, he slid a ball into each and put one each side of him in his belt. Also he took another few of the caps and balls, sticking them in his pocket, never knowing when he would need them, better to be safe than sorry. Next he attached his scabbard to his belt, and an interesting sword that it contained. It was not quite a rapier, not being a whippy, but yet nearly as light. It was as long as a long sword, and the metal was of such a quality that it would win hands down with a cutlass.

Closing his trunk and moving to leave, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his had worn horizontal, like the great Lord Nelson did, his blond hair hanging over one shoulder in a ponytail. His blue coat looked old and worn, for it was his oldest, no one wears their dress coat to battle. His shirt was rather dirty, and smelled of salt, everything smelled of salt.

Once back up on deck, he realised that the situation was becoming more pressing. They had gained on the fire boat, but he could see that they were getting ready to set alight to her. James took his first mate aside/

“I want boarders ready, armed with cutlasses. Four men with me at the stern, the rest leave by the bow.” Richardson told his first mate.

“Boarders with cutlasses, four with you at the stern. Aye Aye sir.” Responded the first mate. He didn’t repeat the order because he is slow or stupid, but because it is a way to check if he has understood everything, clever system that.

The Tenacious drew level with the French vessel, grappling hooks flying across the gap between the two boats. The boats began moving closer, the black of night only illuminated by fire. Fire, James just realised what this meant, the dirty French scum had just set their boat alight, therefore they must be in striking distance. James jumped for the burning ship, while the crew of the burning ship jumped off her.

He landed in a fiery hell, all around him was fire. * Thud*, a member of his crew had followed him, and shortly two more had arrived. They were at the bow of the fireboat, and slowly the swept back towards the stern. The fire was becoming hotter, more intense. Around them was nothing but fire, and then the whole world went black.

There was always another fight to be won, another war to be waged and more people to be conquered. Archilles didn't share this view on the world yet Agememnon and many others seemed to. They didn't care how much life was wasted or give any notice to the innocents that suffered as a consequence of these pointless wars, all to feed one man's girth of greed.

Archilles despised the ways of his king and yet foolish words as a young man had hom comitted to the man. One more year of fighting for the fool and he would be free of his life, free to lay down his sword and enjoy a quiet life, perhaps find a woman and take over the family farm. He could live that life happily, at least he thought so.

The ranks parted as sight of his gleaming armour spread throughout the men. Archilles wore a breast plate of polished bronze with the image of a proud lion etched into it, it's eyes narrowed upon any foe that would stand before him. Similar calf and wrist guards reflected sunlight as well, giving the figure of Greece's most honoured warrior an almost godly appearance of light around him.

The wind blew across his neck, causing the long grasses that weren't trampled by the opposing armies to sway gently, in harmony with the forces around them. It was a good sign. The gods gave him their favour. Not bothering to look at the men around him, Archilles emerged from the ranks of the Mycanaean forces and stepped foward into the field, drawing his finely crafted blade in preparation for the coming battle.

Not a cloud in the sky, the air was fresh with the scent of life. It was a good day. It was a crime that he would have to taint it with the foul odour of death. Yet such things were unavoidable at times. Of course that didn't stop Archilles from trying.

Agememnon hadn't even bothered to attend the battle, he merely resided in his lavish tent back at camp whilst the soldiers took care of things. The Mycanaean army was far greater than that of their enemy, it was no contest. And so he stood in the centre of the grassy field, awaiting the opposing representative.

Things were obviously quite serious, the king of these lands approached in his royal robes, eyeing the warrior before him. Archilles could see this man didn't want a war, he didn't want bloodshed, he merely wished to live in his own land without harrassment. Unfortunately this was not possible.

"Hail Archilles of Mycenae. Will you not reconsider this course of action?"

Archilles merely shook his head.

"If it were up to me, this army would be back at home. Yet it is not, and I must challenge your highest warrior. Unless you would prefer our armies to collide?"

He was devastated.

"I see. In that case, you shall meet Naru, our most fierce warrior."

"So be it. I am sorry.... for what shall occur."

"Aye..."

With that, the king returned to his army and another man emerged from the enemy ranks. This man was a giant, his shoulders well over the tip of Archilles' head and his muscles larger than that of Archilles by two. He was an impressive figure, his black hair running down his back in a single braid, a massive long sword within his grasp.

Iron blade at the ready, Archilles ran forward at a reasonable pace, heading straight for the warrior before him. The massive soldier merely stood and waited for his enemy to come within range of his long blade.

Eventually he reached that point and the brute took a might swing with his blade, only to find it arced straight over the Mycanaean's head and almost caused the warrior to lose his balance. As this occured, Archilles could be seen sliding between the legs of his opponent and sending his blade through the crotch and deep into his enemy.

A startled gasp erupted from the wounded man's lungs as he fell forward, onto his face. He was dead. Retrieving his blade, Archilles wiped it clean upon the corpse of his fallen enemy before turning around to face his audience.

Before he could make another move, the world plunged into darkness.

Heyatawin slapped the runner on the rump and stood back to watch him pick his way down the roughly made trail. The kerotin in his hooves would provide a natural tackiness and enable him to make the path down and then back up safely - as long as she was not there to hinder him.

The steep sided ravine was many miles long and she chose to cross it here, at it's gentlest slopings, rather than take the extra distance to double around it. She sat on a boulder and pulled some dried meat from the pouch at her side, and chewed it slowly. Like the wasna her mother's sister had taught her to make it was flavored with the juice of shelter tree berries and smoked over smudge grass fires. Almost weightless, meat prepared so lasted many months and was apart of any travelling persons carry goods. She finished the flat with a mouthfull of water from her antelope bladder lined pouch. After checking her moccasins and leggings for tighness she stood. On the other side the back runner cleared the sloped and immediately dropped his head to graze.

From her vantage point, for this side was slightly higher than the other, Heyatawin was pleased to note that only one of her bundles had come loose. Sometimes they did when a horse was left on its own to navigate the crossing, the twisting and contortions of a horses barrel working to loosen the knots. She checked the small pack she carried, her bow, knives and the several pouches she carried at her waist. She started down the trail, carefull of the rolling brothers.

Lost bundle retrieved from where it had fallen, Heyatawin had just reached the bottom when around her the enduring stones shuddered, cried out in pain and everything went black

Edward had been tasked by the local lord to hunt down a group of brigands that had been terrorising travellers on the road between By and Cambridge. He had been assigned a squad of Men-at-Arms to aid him in the task of bringing the bandits to justice, to face justice at the hand of man or Almighty.

As he and the MaA entered a small wooded glen, they were set upon by the bandits. It seemed that the bandits had been concealing thier true numbers or had recruited many cut-throats and outlaws.

They attacked with a rain of arrows, cutting down a full half of the men before they even knew what was upon them. The rest of the bandits rushed the shocked MaA, slaying many more of the soldiers. The surviving men turned and fleed in a full out rout and were cut down as they ran. Edward, having been been ahorse, spun the horse around and began galloping away. With a yell the bandits made chase, if the man ahorse escaped they would be dealt with by a much large force, one they had no chance of defeating.

Edward had managed to open a good distance before an arrow took his horse. He was thrown to the ground and began running. He saw, or thought he saw a ripple, akin to that of staring at a distant surface on a hot day. As he shook his head he heard thunderous noises, akin to what the Wrath of God was like. The great and terrible weapons of the heavens smote the earth slaining and destroying the brigands. He fell to his knees and looked to the sky, there he saw the form of an angel as it travelled across the sky.

They say Japan was made by a sword. They say the old gods dipped a coral blade into the ocean, and when they pulled it out four perfect drops fell back into the sea, and those drops became the islands of Japan. I say, Japan was made by a handful of brave men. Warriors, willing to give their lives for what seems to have become a forgotten word: honor.

Matsudaira Kane kneeled solemnly as the sun crested the low mountains of the Koga region. His eyes closed, his mind reaching out to the gods, praying for the strength he needed to do what must be done, despite the dishonor of the situation. Of course, that is all that we do, isn't it? That what must be done? He thought nothing, only asking the gods for that what he needed. He heard the first sounds of activity in his village, not far below, the sound of a farmer looking about his field, checking to see if any damage had been done in the nigh by hooligans. Then the sound of hoofs impacting the ground, a few sea birds overhead, cawing as they made there way towards the ocean, some distant voices of the younger village boys practicing their iado. Matsudaira would soon come to hope his own iajutsu had been practiced well enough, that his training was complete to defeat his foe in the soon to come battle.

However, these sounds soon all fell back into the distance as Matsudaira focused back on his own blade sitting on his lap. He took hold of the weapon, and stood, setting it in his belt, with his wakizashi. The katana and wakizashi set, known as a daisho, would be either his rise to glory, or downfall from life. The coming moments would define him, and he knew this. He turned from the spot, and began walking down the small trail from the temple to the village, his feet falling softly on the summer ground. Below him in the small village, his father waited, armed only with a pistol, ready to prove to his son the value of these firearms. The elder Matsudaira hoped that his son’s death would not be needed to prove to him the lesson. However, should it come to that, it would.

The sun was slowly sliding towards its position in the late morning sky, fully cresting the mountains, and sitting, in a most awe inspiring way, at the back of Matsudaira. While this had the effect of a lone hero riding from the rising sun, ironically in the land of the rising sun, towards a battle with destiny. Of course, Matsudaira knew what time the sun would rise, and where it would be as he approached the village. He would deny that it had been planned, but he knew very well how to impose a feeling of awe in his foe.

Not ten yards down the path, his father stood, armed and waiting. His eyes fell on his son, then off to the side. He had little desired to fight, but honor, above all, forced him. He looked hard at his son, a frown on his face. “You dishonor me with this challenge, Kane. I have no qualm with you, but I will end your life if necessary.”

Matsudaira in turn said nothing. Instead, he continued to walk forward, and stopped, no more than ten feet from his father. A small crowd had gathered to watch their lord and his son battle. Matsudaira’s said nothing, and instead, in one swift, almost unnoticeable movement, drew both swords, and charged. His father moved quickly, the gun coming up, and firing off a single round. The metal slug drove into Matsudaira’s shoulder, yet he kept coming shrugging off the wound. His father moved to slow to reload, and instead, brought his own weapon up, the pistol blocking the side swipe from Matsudaira’s katana. His father lunged forward, but the wakizashi came across, knocking the pistol aside. As his father dove for it, but fell to the ground hard, dead as Matsudaira’s katana pierced his heart. In another swift, single movement, the Katana was out, and held stiff at his side. The small crowd was silent, and after a moments waiting, a farmer stepped forward, and kneeled at Matsudaira’s side. He held out his own bucket for field watering, and poured a gentle stream of water down the blade, washing away the blood. He stepped back, and Matsudaira sheathed the katana. The village was once again quiet.

The dual had taken place four years earlier, and Matsudaira was no longer in Japan. He was now meditating in his small room on The Falling Sky, a ship of some sort owned by someone whom Matsudaira had little care for. He was traveling, not to run, but to learn. He had one goal in mind, to learn a sword combat style to combat that most dishonorable of dishonorable weapons. The one known as the gun. The voyage had been long, but uneventful, and a loud bell announced their arrival.

Matsudaira gathered his small number of belongings, his katana, a bag of clothes, and his hat. He had sold his bow and wakizashi in order to pay for the trip. It was as if destiny, as his foot touched the ground, a shockwave ripped through the air. Before he could go for his katana, he found himself staring at an odd sort of rickshaw that belched flame and roared screaming at him. This too disappeared, and he saw men carrying rifles that spat thousands of rounds running around him, trying to yield some sort of strange beast. Another flash and suddenly, the world was loud, louder then the sound he would associate with the ending of time and space itself. A roar, vibrations, the world fluxating around him, things seeming to bend, winds yielding, the air burning. The violence stopped, and Matsudaira looked around. The port that he had once been at was now gone, he stood in what was similar to the forests of old. And with this, he knew, he was no longer in a world of his own.

Heyatawin found herself dazed, lieing on her side next to a muddy bank. A shallow stream gurgled as it swirled around grandfater stones. Nausea wracked her and she was barely able to make it to her hands and knees before her stomach voided itself all over the thin ground cover of short, unrecognisable, grasses. For a time she could only gasp and shiver in violent reaction to a mystery she could not comprehend.

Where was the dry ravine floor, with it's scattering of shelter tree and arrow wood? Where was the black runner?" Her thoughts were muddled, whirling like children bitten by the iktomi, wingeds chased by the flying mystery. She managed to crawl away from the spew and fall back to her side some dozen feet away. Wrapping her arms tighly about her she lay shivvering and lost to herself for time uncounted. Then her trained mind, her critical reasoning, reasserted itself and slowly she sat up to take in a fuller observation of the strange new world around her.

After a passage of time she was able to determine the directions by the movement of the day star, but that was a minor thing. There was so much more for her to wonder at.

Southward, back toward where her small encampment had been were strange shapes, rising hills with unnatural sharp angles among the rounded hills she expected. About them lay wide rivers of still black water...or perhaps lines of tears. She had heard of the black tears the grandfathers shed in some places, hot and strange smelling. There were abundant hot springs about...had something happened to poison them, send them overflowing? Her camp was that direction, it would be best to return to familiar ground. Picking up the things she had dropped when she crawled away she began to slowly make her way back the way she had come.

Akita mani yo...Observe all about you...

Being in the midst of thousands of German soldiers was nothing new to Kyle. He was a paratrooper, it was thier job to be surrounded, out numbered and out gunned. It had been more than a half an hour since he had dropped from his plane; German anti-aircraft gunners still had thier barrels pointed skyward in hopes of destroying more C-47 transports. With only himself, Kyle couldn't do much against them.

Kyle paused and knelt. He squinted in the dark and scanned the brush. He could not see anyone nor hear anyone. Moving behind a tree, he pulled out his compass. He began to try and remember the sand tables and maps command had made them memorize. Taking another look at his compass he turned himself east.

Already he heard heavy gunfire coming from Sainte-Mère-Église, he knew there should be more paratroopers there.

Picking up his M1 Kyle took two steps before his whole world turned black.

The weathered ship upon which a battle raged to save a harbor of sure destruction, shuddered violently as an offshoot fire balled outward to engulf the defending sailors. The skies turned crimson, then was swallowed in the depths of an onyx black. The flames once raging violently, now had disappeared with a sudden snap, as if the very hand of God had smothered the flames.

Commander Richardson's nearly lifeless body plunged into murky waters with a sickening thwap upon the surface, sending sprays of water upward. Then, gravity took hold and began to slowly pull the body downward into the depths of the swamplands of Florida, known best as the Everglades.

The impact startled the wildlife, also recovering from the world-wide phenomenon. However, nothing could deter the hunger that rumbled in the alligator's stomach just under two hundred feet away and sunning on the grassy island shore.

There was another splash as the gator slipped into the waters...

____________________________________________

"Get a fuckin' move on you bloody Yanks!"

"Fuck you asshole! You ain't in Britain no more! This is fuckin' New York!"

The sound of screeching tires and numerous horns suddenly blaring filled the air. Several cars began to slam into each other.

Most had their eyes fixated on the park itself, or rather, what hung in the air where the park was supposed to be. Now, the park seemed to become distorted, pulled in every direction.

"What the..." cried one woman as she gaped, frozen to the spot.

There was a sudden flare of mysterious origin and the woman disappeared, along with most of the city's population as well.

Silence filled the city as the phenomenon deposited the body of legend of Ancient Troy. The ancient blade of the ancient world clattered and lodged itself partially into a rain gutter running along the side of the street...

______________________________________________

The 'angel' was not what men would expect one to look like. This one, had ripples following in its wake as it rolled over the countryside like an oncoming tide. The 'angel' suddenly rent the earth of all life, save for a few survivors and a rushing wind came with the strength of unearthly proportions. Trees disintegrated, mountains sank and a sea of waist high grasses stretched in every direction. Overhead, massive clouds swarmed toward the vortex near the ground. It seemed that gravity had finally overcome the defiant clouds of the heavens and had suddenly yanked them down in a powerful move.

In the midst of the chaos of nature, nothing noted the small body deposited by a billboard alongside the gravel road. The billboard held a smiling cowboy tipping his hat to would-be passing motorists. Next to his image, the words 'Welcome to Kansas' could be seen with paint peeling from most of the lettering.

The world rumbled violently as a jet fighter suddenly roared forth from vortex, heading into the sun before it slowly turned with deathly intent and plummeted toward the earth. The aircraft screamed in its descent, before it nose-dived into the prairie with a thundering explosion of earth and fire...

________________________________________________

A low growl could be heard after several more minutes of silence as the Japanese swordsman spun in place, trying to get his bearings. Worlds had merged, collided, and warped in inconcievable directions as the man stood, and now he stood upon a slope of a moderate hill, surrounded by pines and maple behemoths of trees. Thick tropical foliage filled the forest floor like a blanket, only giving way to deep impressions made in the soil quite recently.

A ear-splitting screech was heard as a man-sized creature on two legs suddenly launched itself high into the air, dual razor sharp curved claws extended, preparing to cleave into the man's body...

_________________________________________________

As the native American carefully sought her path back, there was another human not too far away, suspended upside down from a tree by an ankle. Thick metal plates covered the body, chainmail seen in some places. Upon the man's head, a crown hung limply, threatening to plummet to the earth several feet below the body. However, the phenomenon had careless dropped his body to hang precariously over black asphalt roadway.

The body hung limply, yet if the woman listened carefully, she would be able to hear shallow breathing echoing inside the armor of the man of unfortunate circumstance.

____________________________________________________

The sound of breaking glass could be heard as a coffee pot crashed to the linoleum floor of the diner. Nearby, a waitress stood in fear as half the diner ripped in half and was replaced by the American paratrooper wielding his Garand.

As the man looked around, he saw that there were numerous tables with plates of food half eaten, and abandoned instantly. The sign on the window read backwards as "Las Vegas Dice N' Food Diner."

Outside, the infamous Las Vegas Skyline had been replaced with numerous mountains rising in the middle of the city. Parts of the famous Hollywood sign could be seen scattered on the slopes...

Time had taken its toll here as well...

______________________________________________________

Rain rushed the earth like suicidal warriors in their eternal war against Nature, torrents hammering into the ground with relentless force. Michael Burke looked through the rain, shielding his eyes and spied the motorbike fallen over next to a shopping mall. There were bits and pieces of cars scattered around the lot as well, mostly from trees suddenly sprouting in the middle of the parking lot, or having been crushed by an unknown physical force.

He glanced around, fear driving his adrenaline further. There was nothing nearby, at least not that he could see. He moved out from the underbrush, stumbling over tree roots and plants as he made his way to the motorcycle. Picking it up with some effort, he was pleased to find that there was no real damage. At least something had survived destruction here. A thundering roar rent the skies as a distant rex bellowed. He snapped his head in that direction, searching carefully.

He turned the key, once again granted good luck with the engine revving to life. After some practice runs with the bike around in a few circles, he got the hang of it, and soon rolled through the forest at a moderate pace. He didn't know where he was going, but rather, he left it to fate.

Another roar rent the air, this time closer. Michael stopped the bike, and turned in the direction of the cry, his eyes growing wide with fear as he felt the earth trembling with distinct footfalls.

The forest ahead him suddenly gave way to the massive T-rex, as it gave another fearsome roar as it spied the man on the motorbike. Michael screamed in fear as he peeled to his left, narrowly missing the thundering snap of massive jaws next to him. The motorbike whined in protest as he pushed it as fast as it would go away from the Rex.

The earth heaved as not one, but two sets of thundering footsteps gave chase to the man on the cycle...

A low growl could be heard after several more minutes of silence as the Japanese swordsman spun in place, trying to get his bearings. Worlds had merged, collided, and warped in inconcievable directions as the man stood, and now he stood upon a slope of a moderate hill, surrounded by pines and maple behemoths of trees. Thick tropical foliage filled the forest floor like a blanket, only giving way to deep impressions made in the soil quite recently.

A ear-splitting screech was heard as a man-sized creature on two legs suddenly launched itself high into the air, dual razor sharp curved claws extended, preparing to cleave into the man's body...


Matsudaira twisted around at the hips, leaving his feet firmly planted, and saw the leaping dinosaur. He had no idea it was called the Velicoraptor, or just Raptor for short, and, despite its size, was one of the deadlier creatures of its time. For the most part, they hunted in packs, but the time flux had seperated this one from its companions. Still, the dinosaur had only one thing in mind, food, and Matsudaira was just as good a meal as any.

Matsudaira went right into counter, his sword comming out in a lightning fast motion, the razor edged blade comming up to meet the dragon like foe. He adjusted his footing, and moved to the side, bringing the katana along in a shallow slash motion, the metal blade cutting the rough, leathery skin of the Raptor. The dinosaur fell in mid jump, bouncing and rolling along the hard ground, the blade having ledt a near foot long, several inch deep cut along its flank.

It hobbled towards Matsudaira, continuing its attack. "Not today, dragon," the swordsman said to no one in particular, and steped in towards the Raptor, blade to his side. He held, and as the creature approached, he waited, letting fear take no hold of him, and instead relied purely on his training. The katana came down, this time at a diagonal angle, and cut deep into the Raptor's neck. Side stepping one last time, he allowed the creature's body to fall lifelessly to the ground, thumping hard as it bled out.

Matsudaira sheathed the sword quickly, and looked around. Off in the distance, he heard a loud, screaching roar. There was, in his imidiate sight, no more of the dragon creatures, but he wasn't going to wait for more to arrive. He checked to make sure the katana was firmly attached to his side, and began to run.

Heyatawin walked slowly, her senses taking in every thing around her, the mysterious changes, the wrongness that set each of those senses alert.

There was so much to investigate. Plants she had never seen before grew head high in some places. Sweet sap trees, that had not been there before now grew by some mystery to grandfather stature, their trunks bigger around than her arms could span. And here before her was a trail - a double hand full of small prints as something fourfooted ran then vanished, leaving that small stretch prints as its only evidence. There some distance away hung something odd, caught in the branches, a mystery wearing man shape. It hung precariously over the closest of the flows of earth tears.

Heyatawin approached the mystery cautiously. The thick black tears she had seen in pools had been dangerously hot under a firm upper layer, but the heat could be felt above. Slowly she knelt and held a hand some spans above the dark layer. When she felt no heat she lowered her hand slightly. Eventually her hand was all but touching the ebon surface, and still no heat could be discerned. Daringly she poked at the board flows surface. "Nothing...ece..Is this the blood of the earth, as stone forms Grandmother's bones?" She wondered aloud, awed at this new mystery that the Wakantanka had laid before her.

Satisfied that it was safe she moved out on to the hardened blood of the earth and now could see what held the mystery shaped like a man in the tree. A nearly broken through branch had claimed it's foot. Heyatawin circled the hanging figure several times, wondering if it was sent by the Grandfathers or by the Iktomi, the spider folk as a trick or a trap.

Heat. An unfathomable, irritating and unbearable heat seared through Archille's body, yanking him from the darkness and back into the world of the conscious. Eyes wide open, the ancient warrior found himself staring up at the blaring sun, its bright strength almost burning the flesh of his face with its intensity. Not only was his flesh exposed to the sun hot, he could feel heat through his leather pants, burning the flesh of his legs.

Placing a hand upon the ground to steady himself, Archilles immediately retracted it as the heat seared his hand. He looked down to find an obsidian surface, black like ash yet hard as rock. It was very hot, too hot for his liking. Getting to his feet, Archilles took his first glance of the world around him. He wasn't in that grassy field anymore.

All the soldiers were gone. The body of his fallen foe had disappeared, the grass was gone and so was that cool breeze. Now there was heat, odd trees, this hot black rock path and other various things Archilles had no name for. Taking a few steps forward, the warrior retrieved his blade yet didn't sheathe it, he figured he would probably need it in this place.

Taking a few more steps onto the grass, Archilles had to place his blade into the earth to prevent himself from falling over. Everything around him was so radical, so different and completely confusing. He couldn't be sure if the gods were playing a cruel trick upon him or if he was merely dreaming.

Looking up at the sky once again, Archilles was relieved to see the sun was dimming yet disturbed to find the sky had become black. Soon enough, it was so dark he could only see before himself. At that point one of the infamous bolts of Zeus soared out of the sky and struck a tree several feet before, causing the warrior to jump.

And so Archilles of Mycanae found himself in a new world of disturbing nature and foul acts of the gods. He had a depressing feeling he would never be able to return home and lay down his blade.

Jered Chartrand had some fairly eclectic tastes in music. A look through his iPod is a testament to that. Dionne Warwick with Boy George. Spandeau Ballet with Sum 41.

Spice Girls?

But as Chartrand woke up, in that cold, damp field outside of Vancouver (or was it really Vancouver?) only one song ran through his head.

"I'm lying next to you...
In silent lucidity."

You know - lucidity. The moments between your slumber and your waking life where you aren't quite sure which is which. Not unlike standing in front of your mirror, and wondering who was the reflection.

What was real.

This... this could not be real.

"What the bloody..."

Chartrand rolled neatly into a kneeling position, his automatic pistol in his hand, cold steel clammy in his vice-grip.

He was out in the open, in that field, but that didn't seem to matter. Mo - the only other people around seemed to be quite oblivious.

No, oblivious was the wrong word. They were dead.

Chartrand got up and jaunted over to the line - row - of seven bodies. He shook his head and wiped his brow. It was surprisingly warm for a morning.

Could it be more sword-related deaths? Perhaps more competitors perhaps in the WSA?

But no. Upon closer inspection, he could see that there wasn't any sword wounds at all. Not any sort of bladed weapon did that to the group.

Each lay perfectly still, and had a single hole drilled into their throats. The red had gone from their faces. It was like walking into a morgue (and heaven knew that Chartrand had been inside his fair share).

"Please..."

Chartrand jumped and turned around, a pirouette that would have made Baryshnikov proud. The foremost body had gurgled. He hurried over and placed a hand on the person's shoulder.

The throat wound didn't bleed. It was just.

"Who are you? What happened here?" demanded Chartrand, feeling his authority voice come back to him as the realization of a bigger mystery began to dawn on him.

"I... we... all we wanted was Silverchair tickets... and then... it was... dark... so dark... so..."

So.

So what?

So alone? Chartrand grasped for words to fill the gap, as the man (boy really) couldn't do so anymore. He too joined the rest of his unwilling group.

Chartrand had only one question on his mind that demanded to be answered immediately: Who was Silverchair...



"If you open your mind for me
You won't rely on open eyes to see
The walls you built within
Come tumblng down, and a new world will begin
Living twice at once you learn
You're safe from pain in the dream domain
A soul set free to fly..."

Queensryche - Silent Lucidity

Slowly, James came round. The first thing his subconscious recognised was something he had never smelt before, a wonderfully foreign scent. He could feel a slime around him, not sure at all what it was. Luckly the Commander had washed up onto one of the muddy swampy banks.

Opening his eyes, he was confronted with the harsh afternoon sun, his eyes taking a while to adjust to the sun. Rolling over, he got the scare of his life. Twenty foot away from him he saw a giant looking reptile, absolutely unknown to him, and moving towards him with great speed. When faced with the unknown, some react with violence, others try to talk their way out of it, but Richardson did nothing, with the blind hope that this animal may miss him.

Time slowed, closer and closer this reptile was coming. He could see every individual bump on its back and tail, the soft white looking flesh of its underbelly. Its jaw grew wide open, hundreds of white teeth like many little razers willing to piece his body whenever the opportunity arose. Suddenly he realised that this was probably not a good situation to be in.

The commander drew the pistol out of the back of his trousers with lightning reflexes, not even pausing to steady, and shot at the head of the ugly green thing (for lack of a better description). He fired, but the powder was damp, a real problem, for with damp powder the pistol cannot be fired.

Then time sped up again. The green monster crunched into him, the shear momentum enough to knock a grown man over. Then the jaws snapped, over his right leg. The pain shot through his body, so many teeth jamming its way into his leg, his flesh. Without thinking, James swung widely at the monster, lucky pistol still in hand. The butt of the pistol rammed into the top of the reptile’s head, both a good and bad thing. Yes it caused the monster to go away, but not before driving its teeth deeper into his leg. Away scampered the reptile, after removing its teeth from his leg, a trail of blood in the direction it had left.

As soon as the monster came it had gone. The pain was overwhelming. For the second time that day, Commander James Richardson blacked out, pistol in hand, his body slowly sinking into the mud.

Kyle spun around several times, his mind was racing. One second he was in the dark Normandy countryside, the next he appeared to be in Nevada. Where the hell am I? Am I dreaming all of this? Kyle pinched himself, he felt the pain, he didn't wake up into the cool French night.

The now sweaty Kyle turned his attention to the woman, gawking at him. Now in panic, the paratrooper kept his rifle aimed at her. "Where am I?"

"You...uh..I..." The woman continued to stammer as she took steps back from the man.

Kyle's eyes continued to roam. Parts of buildings were now scattered throughout the new terrain. Few structures remained in one piece. Kyle moved forward, moving slowly towards the woman. "Just, where am I?"

The woman, turned and ran from the paratrooper. Kyle cursed and chased after her. Being weighted down with gear made it harder for him and the waiteress got a good head start. She ran towards what appeared to be the vine and crumbled remains of the Luxor Hotel. She prayed for safety from the maniac following her.

She rounded a corner and screamed.

Kyle skidded to a halt as a large two legged animal bent down and bit into her. The paratrooper began to shake violent as he watched the creature devour the woman. Kyle didn't know what the creature was, but he was smart enough to know it wasn't nice.

He ran for his life and entered the crumbled, vine infested building. The roar from outside drew his attention as the creature headed off. As his breath came back to him, Kyle began to realise that the creature outside was a dinosaur. Like something out of King Kong.

Not knowing what to do, he took off some of his gear, sat against the wall, and lit a ciggarette.

Several minutes later, Kyle, a vetran of several engadments; now in the midst of something alien, began to cry.

As she studied the mystery, memory talked to her. Five winters ago she had visited with a pezuta-wicasa of the Sinagleglega, a healer of the striped robe poeple. She had lived in their hogans for five months and late one night the oldest of them had brough forth a strangely shaped peice of metal. He told of how his grandfathers grandfather had met strange people, the first wasicun those long ago Sinagleglega had met. Wasicun that wore the metal pieces as if they were shell people.

As she stood remembering this, she was startled by a loose piece falling to the ground with a clatter. Heyatawin screamed, and jumped, running a dozen strides before she could control herself. "And I the only sister among the Cante Tinza" She scolded herselfas she truned back. The warrior lodge had honored her by asking her to join, not only for her bravery in facing down the mahto but in the calm wisdom she offered to any who came seeking advice. They had made sure that she had had basic command of all a warriors skills, a benefit to a woman who lives alone and often far from the tiyospaye's of the Dakotah.

Other things had happened that she had not seen. On the head which had been blank, now there was a face inside the metal, part of the shell hanging down. It ws a face of a wasicun, the hair on face making that clear.

Heyatawin shuddered, and approached no closer. The Iktomi and wasicun, a combination that meant nothing good. She would have nothing to do with this portent. Singing her stone song, calling out the compelling vocables, demanding that the Grand Fathers attend her, that they seal the dread mystery away, protect the people and the land from the malicious effects of the hmunga Heyatawin determinedly strode away, never once looking back.

She knew she should return in a more prepared state of mind to smudge and purify the manshape, but that would have to wait. The anpetuwi was past over head and the sweep sap trees, brough from far away by the mystery, were beginning to cast long shadows. The dried earth blood made a fine surface for walking, though her feet moved far slower than her familiar voice counciled. There were so many things to make the mind whirl.

Matsudaira walked now, is breath ragged from the run. He had moved quickly to get away from the dead creature, sure that more of the dragon animals would arrive shortly. He was quiet as he walked, making no noise, save for the sound of his boots crunching on the leaves and grass beneath his feet. He strained himself to hear the sounds of the forest, to listen for more dragons.

Matsudaira wasn't affraid, no, but he was tense. He had been in a number of battles and duals, but now, he was in far more a deadly situation. He was out of his element. It was one thing to have another samurai, or even a ninja, swing his sword at your neck. It was a totally different feeling when a dragon, a creature of legend, was leaping towards your throat, looking for food. With that last thought, he tightend the grip on his katana, and let his eyes play about the forest, looking for a potential foe.

Edward fell to his knees at the sight of the surroundings.
"I must be dead." He thought as he began praying. "I believe that I am in purgatory, as I stand not before the gates of Heaven, yet an not roasting in the bowls of hell. I died before I could have last rites and thus been sent here.
He'd prayed for a good many hours, covering his family, friends, his 'enemies', God, Jesus and the Holy Ghost, and all others that he'd known. He then set out toward the odd 'thing'(billboard) and away from the smoking crater.

Heyatawin neared the closest of what from a distance she had called 'straight hills' and knew that she had been wrong. She had seen wasicun dwellings, what in their language they called a 'town', at a distance and these were similar she now saw.Different though, partially sunk into the earth, and broken, uncared for...then her mind suppied anothe memory.

During her visit with the Sinagleglega, her healer friend had shown her a curious thing. The dwellings of a long gone people, dwellings built on ledges and open caves one atop another, dwellings reached by ladders and tiny precarious trails. People who had left behind mazie, and baskets, and othe things that none of the Sinagleglega would touch, but looked upon with either reverence or suspicion.

"Perhaps this is the work of those people, more heaped one upon another, and then left again...a traveling mystery people..." Her voice trailed off into silence as she pondered a moment more

"Iho! Wakanya hibu yelo! Heyatawin,wakanhca, wapiya, cunksi Wakantanka! Cokata hiyupo!"

Her trained voice rang out, carrying a great distance - sounding through the jumble of stone tipis without becomeing a shout. Heyatawin spoke clearly in the manner of one come as a formal visitor. Announcing herself, name and station, and demanding a reply, a reaction, in return

Nothing answered save the wind and distant cries of wingeds.

Kyle slowly walked through the foliage and rubble infested building. Shattered tables and rows of metal crates were tightly in the green clutches. Reaching out, he gingerly grasped a handle on one of the boxes and pulled down. There was a whirling noise and Kyle jumped back in suprise. The whirling ceased several seconds later, then nothing.

The paratrooper sighed. He adjusted the pack on his back and his helmet and continued to make a slow walk through the building. Kyle's mouth was wide open and his eyes had grown immensly as he stared at his surroundings. He neared a door and peered outside. The massive animal that had devoured the woman was gone, so Kyle deemed it slightly safer.

The paratrooper walked outside as he did he became aware of a large object behidn him. He slowly turned.

"Holy fuck."

He stared high up and a gigantic dirty pyramid. Am I in Egypt?

As Kyle gawked, he didn't notice something coming from the Luxor Hotel's massive pool area...

[Tanara]

There was a clatter of steel and iron as the knight at last came to and struggled to free his foot from the branch. His body collapsed heavily, causing him to groan aloud as the metal slapped hard against his flesh, even through the clothing underneath the armor. Rising to his feet, he looked down the black road in either direction, pushing his face mask up to get a better view.

"Where in bloody Hades am I?" he wondered aloud as he failed to recognize the surrounding area. It was definitely not Gaul either, for the trees here were far different than he had ever seen before. He spied a figure, far down the road, walking toward strange stone structures that rose like towers of castles, yet without the keeps.

"Halt traveler!" he called out. The figure did not respond, nor turn around. He was too far away.

And so, he took up his sword which had fallen beside him, and sheathed it. He took off at a brisk pace after the walking figure. As he drew closer, more so because the figure had halted and had called out in a foreign language,

"Iho! Wakanya hibu yelo! Heyatawin,wakanhca, wapiya, cunksi Wakantanka! Cokata hiyupo!"

It was a woman, and from the tone of her voice, she was looking for someone. Who, he didn't know, so he approached with caution.

"Mi'lady, is there a problem?"

He however, couldn't keep his eyes off the rather square towers, some covered in vines, others crumbled to the earth. They were not structures of civilizations he had visited in any part of Europe. It didn't fit some of the descriptions of Middle Eastern structures as well, descriptions he had heard from traders. He returned his gaze to the lady, whom he noted was dressed in animal skins, and had a bronze tan to her skin. Her hair was black and straight. He wondered if she was one of the Scandanavians, perhaps even Viking, for they dressed similarly, but not in the same fashion.

Little did either of them realize they were not alone...
_____________________________________________

[Assington]

"Yo, muthafuka!"

A gun pressed into Achilles backside as a young teenager came up and held a gun to his back.

"Yous gonna gimme all yer fukin' valuables muthafuka, or yous gonna feel some hot lead up yer fukin' asscrack."

The teen, dressed in gangsta clothing, with a bling hanging around his neck and a beanie pulled low over his head, then looked at the other man's clothing.

"Yo, dawg, why ya prancin' 'bout like yer fukin' Hercules?"

____________________________________________

[Aegean Sea]

A weathered hand reached into the water and gripped the sodden clothing of James, hauling him upward with surprising strength and into the airboat. An old white man, with skin so burned by the sun that made even some black people lighter in contrast, and long salt and pepper frazzled hair hanging loosely around his shoulders.

"Yuh must be either a brave sonofabitch, or one dumb asshole if you're gonna be picking a fight with Gloria."

He gave a thumb-jerk toward the gator that had surfaced fifty feet away, watching them. "Gloria ain't gonna be friendly to yuh if yuh are fixin' to be snatchin' some of her eggs."

Giving a laugh, he looked down at the man now sitting in the fore of his airboat. "Yuh a mighty strange fellow, dressed in such clothing as that. I wonder how in the hell yuh got out here in thuh first place."

Glancing around he tried to spot another airboat, canoe, anything. There was nothing for miles around. He returned his gaze to the man.

"Talkative fella, ain't ya? Well, whoever you are mista, welcome to thuh Floiduh Everglades. Mah name's Brody."

The airboat rumbled to life, the giant fan-like engine lurching the shallow boat forward, away from Gloria, away from the area known to the locals as Dead Man's Dive.

______________________________________________

[The Golden Simatar]

The Egyptian, a brute of a man nearly seven feet in height was charging toward Kyle, a murderous look in his eye. At he neared, the Egyptian released a thundering war cry, raising his spear and pulling it back sharply before launching it forward toward the man.

The spear buried into the pack on the man's back, and a metallic noise rang out, while the paratrooper was thrust to the ground by the impact. He rolled over, to watch in bewilderment as the massive man charged...

__________________________________________

[Imitora]

The life of a samurai often called for one to be constantly aware, constantly alert to their surroundings for enemies could be everywhere. It was almost a given fact that wherever there was a hero, there would be an anti-hero nearing to defeat them once and for all.

However, since the universe had literally gone berserk, no one knew what to expect anymore.

"Iho! Wakanya hibu yelo! Heyatawin,wakanhca, wapiya, cunksi Wakantanka! Cokata hiyupo!"

He then watched from the shadows of a set of trees as another man approached a woman. The man was dressed in armor like him, but it was one of the western cultures. He waited, watching, listening.

"Mi'lady, is there a problem?" the knight asked, stopping several feet away from the woman.

____________________________________________________

[Theao]

As Edward neared the billboard, he could see in the distance, a rising dustcloud along the dirt road that ran nearly parallel to his walking path.

As he stood in the shadow of the billboard, the only relief from the mid-afternoon sunlight in an environment that was dry, hot and dusty.

The plume of cloud continued to move down the road, and it wasn't until it was nearly at the billboard that Edward could see the old Ford pickup rolling up. It slowed down to allow the driver to holler out, "Ya need a lift cowboy?"

As the dust began to settle, Edward could see that it was a young brunette, dressed in overalls and a dirty grey teeshirt, and sporting a weathered cowboy hat. She smiled, her eyes twinkling as she beheld the man. "What's the matter, cowboy? Havin' a hard time respondin' to a pretty gal askin' ya a question?"

_____________________________________________

The motorbike whined in protest as it was pushed to its limits along the freeway running near San Francisco, or rather, what was left of it. One Rex had kept up the chase, but it was tiring. The second Rex had diverted its course, deciding to attack a fuel tanker that sat haphazardly on the side of the road.

That Rex should have been a little more careful with its bites, for in a single gnashing of its teeth along the metal, easily puncturing the steel, it created a spark.

The resulting explosion rained fire and flesh in every direction, causing part of the highway to collapse in turn.

At last, the first Rex gave up the chase, allowing Michael Burke to slow down, yet still keep moving away. He wanted nothing of the ancient beast of the ancient world.

He rather look at them, dead, and only bones. Only then were they harmless, as they were held up by metal rods in museums.

The motorcycle revved again as he neared another suburb of the City of San Francisco. He moved toward the first gas station he saw, turning into the lot and going inside. No one was here, and so he jumped across the countertop and unlocked a pump. While he was back there, he spied the shotgun hanging on two hooks below the counter. He took that with him as he deposited a $20 bill on the countertop.

He went back outside, glancing around nervously as he returned to the bike and fueled the tank to its maximum capacity.

The rift...it was strange. Unstable. Will it attempt to fix itself, or will it continue to destroy itself?

He honestly couldn't answer that question truthfully. He was far from his lab, his calculations.

"The goddamn calculations were wrong anyway. If they had been correct, none of this would've happened!" he cried aloud to himself as he realized the futility of looking over such work.

Little did he know there was someone not too far away, just in the patch of woods nearby...

((Cue to Valient))

Edward gazed at women and realized that she was St. Catherine of Siena and had been sent by God to test both his piety and to see whether he could resist the sexual temptation of her.

"Singala seað, ne mihte snotor hæleð, St. Catherine Siena." He said as he fell to his knees where he began praying again, asking God for strength to stand up to the temptations.

ooc: It's old english, no idea what it say exactly, but for purposes it says
I am honoured at your visit, and shall withstand the tests before me, St. Catherine (of) Siena

Heyatawin heard the approach of the hmunga. It was noisey with creaks and rubbing of metal on metal. However she refused to turn around, to acknowledge the bad medicines presence. That would give the Iktomi power over one, clouding ones mind, makeing one see that which was not there. She regretted ever approaching the hmunga at all. Obviously she had come to close and was now partially under the influence of the spider people

She spoke enough of the mouth fouling language of the wasicun to understand that he asked if there was dificulty, and resentment flashed over her. How dare he act so innocent. How dare this hair -on- face approach her with his questions.

Determined not to give the hmunga any further power over her she kept her face resolutely away, ingoring his presence. When no real response came to her call, her heart fell, though she refused to let her shoulders slump. Making sure that the bundle she carried under her arm was securely held she strode off in the direction she was sure the hot springs were. The terrain was very different, but the wind bore the familiar scents of the mineral laden springs to her.

As Kyle fell, red smoke issued from his pack. The spear had gone into a protective pouch carrying several smoke grenades. Thankfully, Kyle had decided before the jump not to carry phosphours. He turned and as he struggled to get his pack off him, he saw the massive man charging him, now with a short sword in hand. Sweat now pouring from his forehead, the paratrooper was able to free himself, but unable to get his rifle in time.

The man raised the sword above him and plunged downward, Kyle rolled out of the way, grabbed his helmet, and got to his feet. The American was dumbfounded by the aggersivness, so he pulled out his combat knife, it appeared to a be a liferaft to the Titanic. He knew he had to get his Garand.

When the man charged, Kyle moved to the right, but the giant swung and the sword greeted Kyle's helmet. The helmet went flying and Kyle, though slightly dazed, ran to his rifle and grabbed it. Kyle spun and leveled.

"Freeze! Stop!" The man didn't listen as he charged again. Kyle fired all of his eight shots into the man. By the fourth round, the man was now stumbling, but still moving to him. The eight shot hit him through the skull and he crumpled right in front of Kyle.

With his foe dead, Kyle's heart was racing. He ran to his pack and got ride of the spear and smoke grenades. A roar made him turn. The same animal that killed the woman was moving towards him.

Kyle turned and ran for cover...

Chartrand slid his 9mm back into his shoulder holster and pulled his black trenchcoat closer to him (his fellow officers had always ribbed him about how the ensemble of black trench on black service pants and shirt made him look like a Matrix-wannabe. Truth is, he always fancied being swept up in the intrigue.)

He made no move to cover up the bodies or handle them in any other form. That would be a job for the coroner and the investigators to handle. That much he knew.

The rest of it... was confusing. Looking around, Chartrand could see no distinguishing landmarks. Canada Place was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in Surrey, because he couldn't see Central City.

So where was he? And why did his cell phone refuse to work.

Beep-Beep-Beep-Beep...

"Hmmmm."

Suddenly, a waft of gasoline hit his nostrils, like a slap in the face or a pailful of water to the groin. Why did it hit so clearly?

Perhaps it was because except for the gasoline, there was few other smells. The detective had not smelled air so fresh since... ever.

After a short jaunt, Chartrand came upon the source of the gasoline - a Gas station (duh!). A man was filling up a type of motorbike... and he had a shotgun.

Hey - this is Canada. No right to bear arms.

With practiced ease, Chartrand approached with his gun drawn and leveled at the man.

"Hey... if you're thinking of not paying for that gas, I'd not recommend it, sir..."

The voice called out in a language Matsudaira had never heard before. Of course, he himself had only heard three languages in his life: Japanese, Chinese, and English. He spoke the former, obviously, and the later clear enough to be understood. He spoke no Chinese.

But the languages he spoke were of no matter right now as he watched the girl off in the distance. From what he could tell, her skin was a near similar shade as his, but the similarities ended there. She was dressed in an odd get up, one that, from the distance, looked like animal skins. He moved forward slowly, hand falling to his katana. There was another person, the sun cathing his skin like a bright mirror.

He stepped out from the forest, and walked slowly towards the two. He soon realised that the other figure was obvisouly a man in armor, yet he didn't know yet who the woman was. His hand slowly pulled his Katana partially from the sheath, and eyed the two. He didn't know if he was visable to them yet, but was ready to move at less than a moment's notice should one move on him. "You there! What is going on," he called out in Japanese, eyeing up, from a short distance, the man in the armor.

Archilles stood completely still as he felt the cold metal press into his back. It wasn't sharp, yet the warrior wasn't about to rule out the potential danger he was in. At first he'd scorned himself for not noticing the approaching boy by the sounds of it, yet he wasn't about to dwell upon it now.

He remained silent as a foreign tongue assaulted his ears, not communicating any meaning to his ancient Greek brain. Only one thing was clear, this boy seemed to be hostile and he was obviously holding some sort of weapon. Thankfully his blade was already drawn and within his hand, the boy apparently not noticing it. He would end this situation quickly.

With a speed that left many blinking in surprise, Archilles lowered himself and moved to the right, pivoting upon his heel as he swung around and used the flat of his blade to clear the young man's feet off the ground, causing him to land with a thud upon the ground.

Weapon still in hand, the boy grunted in fury. Before he could attack in return, Archilles clamped a large boot upon the boy's wrist, holding it and the weapon in place. Levelling his blade at the young man's throat, Archilles spoke and questioned the boy in the only language he knew how to speak, ancient Mycanaean.

"You are a fool boy. Why do you attack me?"
______________

There was no telling how long the darkness had reigned. One moment he'd been admiring his newly crafted blade, the next he'd plunged into an oblivion of nothingness. Of course darkness never lasted forever and was abruptly disturbed by a ear shattering roar.

Immediately Archilles started awake, sitting upright with his shining blade in hand. The twenty year old face of Archilles gazed upon the world around him, it was not right. He'd passed out within the confines of the stable back on his parent's farm, now he was in a world of grey. The walls were grey, the soft rug creating the floor was grey and many strange objects within the room were varying colours of grey or something similar.

Getting to his feet, the unscarred face of such a prominent warrior actually appeared to be worried. He couldn't see any people around him, none of the horses, even the smells of the stable were gone. Another roar...

The sky was dark outside, the bolts of Zeus striking the earth on many occassions. Taking a few more steps, Archilles was able to gaze upon the ground far below him. It almost made him dizzy, being so high off the ground. A few more steps resulted in a light thud. Archilles rubbed his head cursed in his native tongue, placing a hand upon the invisible force before him.

Upon closer inspection he found it wasn't invisible, yet close to it. Light passed through it as if nothing were there. At that point Archilles noticed a man upon the ground, dressed in some sort of uniform and carrying a large pack, accompanied by some kind of stick. What followed next caused the warrior's jaw to drop. A massive beast was chasing the uniformed man.

Here he was, Archilles, the greatest warrior ever in his own eye, shaking with fear at the sight before him, in a foreign world. The gods must have gone mad...

"You there! What is going on," he called out in Japanese

Heyatawin had not heard another arrive, she had too determinedly closed her ears, and as she strode away gave a small start, but she did not stop walking. She did not know the language the new comer spoke in, and did not want to reply...'but he one should be warned' her familiar voice counciled. 'He may not know what the hmunga can do'. She pulled a handfull of smudge grass, the protective grass from one of her pouches and clasped it firmly as she turned, being carefull not to look directly at the wasicun hmunga. She studied the stranger for several minutes. She could see obvious similarities in their faces, but differences too. He was not wasicun, but he was not one of the black wasicun. She would speak to him, warn him... His clothes she had never seen before...and was the long slender object some sort of smoke stick, some sort of 'gun'?

Sorry folks my conversational Lakota is faily limited so... but it is all in Lakota unless I specifically state otherwise)

"That one is hmunga, created by the Iktomi to trick and destroy all that attend to his words. Pay him no attention, give him no power over you. His words are lies."

Matsudaira looked at the strange woman, not undertstanding the language she spoke. His eyes went back to the man in armor, and then to her. His instinct told him to stay out of it, it was none of his buisness, that he should leave well enough alone, but his beliefs told him otherwise. Instead of staying back, he moved towards Heyatawin, his katana now sheathed, but hand still on the blade, and put himself inbetween the man in armor and the Lakotan.

He looked back at her, and decided that she obviously didn't understand Japanese, so he tried a bit of English, a language tought to him by a priest in his village, who had learned from one of the Western missionaries. "What is going on here?" he asked, turning so that he faced her, but most of his body still stood facing towards the knight. Should the man in armor move, he wanted to be able to move quickly in counter.

He looked back at the man in armor, then Heyatawin, full not of fear, but mental preperation should he need to fight the man, or subdue the woman. His hand slightly tightend its grip on the katana, ready to draw the weapon at a moments notice.

"What is going on here?"

Heyatawin's shoulders drooped. Wasicun tongue...had they infected the entirey of the lands with their foulness? Slowly, using what english she had been taught, carefully, with many pauses as she searched memory for the proper words.She had to find a understanding. Long ago falsehood never came to the lips of the people, then generations ago knowing falshood was punished by death. Now, with the invasion of the wasicun, any one who would speak his deeds, their fitness, their daring and prowess needed two 'witnesses' to speak for them.

"Wasicun...Evil brought him to... trick and harm. His words are lies. he is hmunga...bad medicine, false in...heart, like all his people. Liar."

She could see that the long stick was not a 'gun' but was perhaps some sort of coup stick, and he acted protective, moving in between her and the hmunga. He acted like the Cante Tinza, the Brave Hearts who undertook to protect those who were not warriors.

"Do not get to near. He can entrap you, his spirit over come your spirit and take you from you....Thank you..I go now...thank you warrior"

Heyatawin backed slowly away, keeping the corner of her eye on the wasicun, hoping that her warning of the warrior would break the power and send the hmunga elsewhere. She wanted little more than to try and find her tipi, though her familiar voice warned her that that was a foolish hope. 'Every thing I know is gone, Why has this happened to me. Are the Grandfathers testing me as they have tested others in generations past?' she wondered, a sense of dispair falling over her.

Kyle's breathing was ragged. The building he had been in was no longer safe. He had been hearing strange noises and spotted several creatures that looked like furry men walking around. Whatever the hell they were, they looked like monkeys walking on two legs. Clutching his M1, he brought it up to his shoulder and brought the first of six of the furry animals into his sights.

Kyle licked his lips. Everything had collapsed around him and nothing else mattered. Kill anything that didn't appear to be human or anyone who seemed threatening. After nearly being eaten twice and nearly impaled, the paratrooper wasn't anxious to see what these things were capable of.

He gently squeezed on the trigger, the back of the ape-man's head exploded in a flurry of crimson and fur. The others began a strange hooting and slamming thier fists and feet on the ground. They moved to the dead one and began to poke at it. Dumb little fuckers they are. Smiling, Kyle took a grenade from his pouch and tossed it at them, without pulling the pin. One picked it up and the others turned and began to study.

Seeing his chance, Kyle moved slowly through the numerous halls, exhibits and rooms in the destroyed casino. An explosion behind him gave him another smile. He might just survive. But as he moved towards the sunlight, he heard something, hooves.

The paratrooper moved outside and discovered a riderless horse, looking behind the animal, he saw the reason. A large lion was feating on the man's flesh.

Calmly as possibly, sweaty hands pulled a sweat drenched body onto the back of the animal.

Kyle kicked the horse and started it at a slow trot, not caring where he would end up, as long as he was away from this place.

[Theao]
The brunette looked at Edward with a quizzical look on her face.

"Come again, cowboy?"

The man didn't reply, as if he were awaiting something, or rather for her to say something else. She shook her head with a slight laugh. "Y'all gonna get heat stroke if yer sittin' out here like that. Come on, I'll give ya a lift to the next town if ya want."

With that, she opened the passenger door and looked back to the man. She cocked her head as if to imply he should get in. The blank look on his face as he looked at the truck was puzzling her. It was almost as if the man had never seen a truck before.

At last, after some gentle urging from the brunette, the man was in the cab and the door was closed. The truck rumbled to life as it was fed gas. The man clutched the seat and the armrest in his apparent panic, but the calm look on her face and her slight laughter eased his anxiety somewhat.

"My name's Brittany. If ya don't mind me askin', what in tarnation were ya speaking back there?"

The man wasn't given the chance to respond as the world suddenly rumbled again, and all the lights became distorted. The truck lurched sideways, it's tires grinding on the dirt road.

"This isn't a damn twister?!" cried the woman as she looked sideways in fear at the rip. Her words became clearly understood by Edward...

Then, there was nothing but dust settling into black oblivion...

________________________________________

[Tanara] & [Imitora]

The knight watched as another warrior, dressed in strange clothing and armor, stepped into sight and took a defensive position. He looked to the woman, who seemed to favor talking to the newcomer more than himself. He couldn't understand it. Why was she ignoring him?

Yet, that other warrior was raising red flags in his mind. And so, he drew his longsword.

"I warn you, stranger to sheathe your sword or you shall be run through!" he declared, a slight hint of authority in his voice. "For I am here for the woman's safety!"

The samurai noticeably heard the tone in his voice and reacted by bringing his own weapon up to position. The knight took a step closer, but no more. He looked past the warrior, a look of horror locked on his face behind his facemask.

The world surrounding the three became warped, the earth trembling as if in fear.

A tree uprooted from behind the knight and crushed him to the earth as it tumbled to a black void that pulled the woman and the samurai along. Screams of panic were drowned in the chaotic noise that had grown to a deafening roar...

"Help me!" the knight cried out softly as his life slipped away. Yet his words rang clearly in all understanding to both the Sioux woman and the samurai.
_______________________________________________

[Assington]

The elder Archilles watched as the young man's face turned from one of bravado and haughtiness, to one of fear and realization. The man spoke in a language undiscernable to him.

"Dude! I don't know what the fuck ya jus' said, but it was a joke man! A joke!"

The young man winced as Archille's foot added more pressure to the wrist. He looked up in pain, before his eyes suddenly shot wide open, looking past Archilles.

Behind him, and on the second floor of a shimmering office building that didn't seem to actually be there, was a younger man that looked much like the one that had him pinned to the ground.

"What the hell?"

It was in that moment of speaking, that Archilles fully understood every word...

____________________________________________

[The Golden Simatar]

The horse carrying the paratrooper plodded along, its ears nervously twitching as it tried to identify the strange noises that were all around. Suddenly, the horse turned to the right and began to gallop quickly, fear overriding any attempt by its rider. As the paratrooper clung on for his life, he managed a glance behind him to see what was spooking the horse.

His eyes went wide as he watched the world seem to be pulled away, as if in a warp of vacumned space. Much like a black hole would act...

He heard several distorted voices behind him, causing him to look back yet again. He saw two men dressed in strange armor and a woman in animal clothing between them...

The strange thing was that their voices were shifting, as if he were quickly ascertaining the language to memory and learning their speech...

_______________________________________

[Valient]

The officer's voice behind him caused Michael Burke to spin in place, his newfound shotgun in his hand and pointed to the man. After a moment of cooperative sighs of relief, he spoke, but turned the shotgun downward slightly.

"I paid. It's on the counter. What's going on here officer? There's something really fucked up going on around here. I was in Seattle, and now I'm here, far from my workplace. If I'm not mistaken, we're in California..."

He didn't want to tell the officer that he was the one who had started it all, the chaos that had slowly but steadily changing the world around them.

The world suddenly lurched again, and both men fell to their feet. The skies stretched and bulged in various places, as if some unseen force were either trying to break out...or in.

The younger Archilles fell to the ground as the world seemed to blink out of existence, only to return once again. Yet it was different now. He had been gazing upon a mounted man, escaping the clutches of some beast and now he was watching two men, one holding a sword to the other's throat.

As his eyes adapted to the sudden change, Archilles suddenly realised he was not gazing upon two men. He was watching himself and another man. If his eyes did not deceive him and the gods were not playing tricks upon him, Archilles was standing here and... there.

Shocked beyond belief, the younger warrior took a few steps backwards before turning around and looking for a way out of this large building. He had to go talk with himself.
__________

Finally understanding dawned upon him. Archilles wasn't sure what happened or why they could now speak in the same tongue, but he was grateful for it. He took a quick moment to follow the boy's gaze, only to find the blur of a man in armour disappear from sight within a massive building.

"What is going on boy... I don't have time for games."

As he recovered from the 'something' he looked around, seeing St. Catherine of Siena looking somewhat battered, he asked "St. Catherine of Siena, are you alright? What is a twister, some sort of demon?" He was still highly on edge, what with the fact he was in purgatory, he had a possibly injured saint, he was in a cart with no horses, and a demon had just attacked.

Kyle's heart was racing as he urged the horse onwards in a vain attempt to escape whatever the thing behind him was. It failed. As he sped towards whereever he would be deposited, he wondered if this was all a dream. If a German mortar had knocked him unconcious. He pinched himself just before he saw the figures, no...it was real.

As soon as the horse's hooves hit the ground, it bolted off. The paratrooper was unready for it and was knocked from the animal's back, pack and all. He crashed to the ground and his helmet went tumbling. As he looked around for it, he spotted it at the feet of a man in strange armor. Kyle looked over and saw another man dressed in armor screaming for help and a strange woman who appeared to be Native American. He was about to move to help the man when alarms rang in his head. He swung his Garand at the first armored man.

"Fucking Nip!" He yelled, suddenly remembering the Oriental's face. The Garand barrel pointed directly at the man and Kyle squeezed the trigger. Click. Nothing. He looked over at the open reciever and wasted no time in ramming in another clip and just barely avoided getting 'Garand thumb'. He raised his rifle again and kept it firmly on the Oriental.

He looked over at the Native American woman, hoping she spoke English.

"Help man...I have Nip covered. He move...his Asian ass is gonna get blown back to Tokyo."

Matsudaira stared down the soldier, his eyes focuse not on the man, but the gun. His eyes moved towards the ground, then back towards the weapon. There was no better time than now to test his style, the iajitsu that would allow him to use a sword aginst a gun, and win. He estimated the distance would be near ten feet, just enough room to manuver, and put himself in a better position to strike.

He didn't understand the strange gun man's words, only knowing limited English, but he could tell that the words were not freindly. His eyes darted around, and he found the opening. He slowly moved the angle of the sword, bringing it down, in an act that many would easily mistake for yeilding. It looked exactly as if he would put his sword down, but as it came down, the blade moving its tip towards the ground, the sword suddenly flahsed up, his left leg moving out, and pulling the right leg with it. He brought his inside leg around, and turned to the inside, the blade coming around in a wide, flat arc. His right leg, no longer on the inside, but outside, kicked out, widening his stance, and bringing him within three feet of the soldier. His blade came up, then flipped, and down, the sharpen edged sitting on the barrel of the rifle, his eyes burning holes into the soldier.

The adrenaline screamed through his body, and he no longer spoke softly, but barked his words. "Gun! Down!" he shouted in broken, but understandable, English.

Chartrand looked at Burke and shook his head, on hands and knees like a leper begging for salvation.

"What the..."

Suddenly, the sky tore open, like a backlit canopy with holes punched in it.

Large holes...

"Look! Something is coming through."

It was definately a thing... not a who, thats for sure. Chartrand raised his hand to block the glare from the light streaming friom the holes in the dark sky. The ground was rumbling less and less, but the sky still sent a shiver down his spine.

They were... spiders... large, King Kongesque size spiders... except they weren't spiders.

They had a lrge, grotesque head, with eyes that didn't seem to make much sense where they sat. They blinked from where the ears should have been. Well, if spiders had ears.

And the legs. They were positioned like spiders, except their did not seem to be any sort of uniformity to them. Some spiders had 4 legs, while others had as many a 13, all spinning, spinning a thin strand of milk-white webbing down from the sky.

And then there was their mouths... wel, a probiscus to be more exact. It was shaped like a housefly's, except it appeared to be more solid, and less fluid.

It looked almost like a drill...

"Mr., we need to move now! Is your bike gassed up?"

"It sure is!"

"Then lets go."

With but a nod, Mike hopped on the bike, and Joseph climbed on the back. The officer drew out his 9mm, and held on as MIke took off, away from the ever-lowering spiders.

Kyle's Garand barked twice as the Japanese made his move. Both bullets missed and as Kyle swung the rifle there was an audible metalic clang as sword greeted the far end of the barrel that stuck out of the wood. He had heard stories of Japanese brutality towards POWs, but he wasn't going to let this Jap get him. It was interesting, the man was not dressed in the khaki uniform he had seen in pictures. He was not armed with a Nambu pistol or Arasaka rifle, still; he was a Nip.

Kyle gave a smile as his left hand traveled back down the rifle and entered his grenade pouch. He pulled the pineapple out and managed to remove the pin with his one hand and kept the grenade close.

"You try something Nip...we both go to pieces."

The world surrounding the three became warped, the earth trembling as if in fear.

A tree uprooted from behind the knight and crushed him to the earth as it tumbled to a black void that pulled the woman and the samurai along. Screams of panic were drowned in the chaotic noise that had grown to a deafening roar...

"Help me!" the knight cried out softly as his life slipped away. Yet his words rang clearly in all understanding to both the Sioux woman and the samurai.

It was like the current of a river, strong and lethal, dragging all of them toward a common destiny. None of them seemed to be able to fight it as the all were drawn ever closed to the the circular rift. The hmunga slipped through first disappearing from sight.

Heyatawin, the the hmunga, the one named Nip and the new arrival with some sort of smoke stick, a rifle of a type she had never seen before. Though how he had known his enemies name she could not know, save that perhaps their fight had been a running one that had covered much ground.

"Figt among yourselves if you wish to be so stupid. I refuse to help any evil mystery, he has gone into the void now. Join him there."

Heyatawin tried to fight against the pull, her feet slipping out from under her. It was irrisitable and she found herself falling past things she could not understand, that she could not place within her realm of undrstaning and experience.

((Well, thanks Tar for letting me join...))

Jake reached up and lifted his hat slightly to wipe the sweat of his brow as he walked up the sidewalk to his home. He stared ahead of him at the neighborhood street, the heat forming a mirage of waves in the air rising from the hot surface of the black pavement. Jake shook his head as his vision blurred suddenly and open the door to his town house. He stopped in the doorway, welcoming the wave of air conditioning, before continuing to the kitchen.

"Jesus, it's hot outside," he said to his father, who was finishing the dishes. Jake grabbed a glass and put it under the sink to fill it up with water.

"I'm going to Target in a minute, you want to come along?"

"I'm not feelin' to well," said Jake as he gulped down his water. "Feel a little dizzy or something."

Jake's father nodded. "Just a little dehydrated," he said. "Get another glass of water and just lay down for a bit. Well, I'm out of here, back in a bit."

Jake watched his father leave as he gulped down a second glass of water. He put down the glass and walked up the stairs to his bedroom and flopped down on his bed.

"Ah man," he muttered into the blanket.

******************

Jake woke with a start as he fell, dropping hard on a gray road. He winced and rolled over to stand. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crushed cell phone.

He groaned. "Ah shit," he grumbled, tossing away the phone. He looked around and his eyes grew wide. "Where in the hell am I?"

He stared at his surroundings in a mixture of wonder, shock, and a sudden surge of fear of the unknown as he looked at the fields on both sides of the straight road. Endless fields of tall grass were all he could see around him.

"Hello?!" He shouted at the top of his lungs. He waited, but only the slight breeze whispering past his ears gave answer. He stood in thought for a moment, trying to recount everything that had happened up to this point. From the time he ate lunch with his friends to the walk home in the heat to the time he collapsed onto his bed.

"Is this some messed up, boring dream?" he wondered aloud. He remembered the sharp pain of his crushed cell phone being jammed into his thigh and shook his head. No, this is no dream... He though solemnly. Giving up in trying to understand what had happened, he sighed deeply and picked a direction to walked down the road.

Later, after walking for what seemed like hours, Jake suddenly stopped. He looked at the ground beneath his feet and realized that the paved road had ended and instead dirt was under his feet. He glanced behind him to the see the dirt road vanishing in the horizon and wondered how long he had been walking along the dirt road. Jake lost interest quickly and licked his lips, his mouth dry in thirst. He went back to trying to guess where he was as he continued his walk.

The ground suddenly shook violently, causing Jake to trip forward. He stumbled over the shaking ground and as he struggled to keep his balance, the shaking ended.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell was that?!" he shouted loudly. "AAARGH!" he shouted in anger at his situation. He kicked a rock, hard, from the dirt road. He didn't watch it, his eyes on something far off in the distance. It looked like a small building or a vehicle, but it was hard to tell. Jake walked quickly down the road, hope rising that he may have finally found some other living thing other than bugs and grass in the middle of nowhere.

As Kyle stared at the Oriental before him, his eyes shifted behind the man to a large fallen tree. The American arched an eyebrow, it appeared the tree was moving to his left. It was then he looked down and noticed it was him moving right. Kyle looked over and watched as the Native American woman disappeared into a large hole.

Forgetting about the samuari, Kyle turned and tried to run, but foudn himself being sucked in. Looking at the grenade, he threw it as hard as he coudl to his side and watched as it flew away and landed behind some rocks. The explosion sent several small stones airborne and one hit his helmet. Kyle stumbled and fell.

He barely managed to turn himself around on the ground. His heart was smashing against his ribcage and his breathing was coming in quick, shallow breaths as he clawed the earth in hopes of saving his life.

When Kyle looked behind him, all he saw was the gaping black hole before he was stucked in.