MISSION: Introduction Deadlight-Virus

[Reila Tsukino]

Put this at the top of your posts:

Code:

[b]Date[/b]: September 1, 2013
[b]Location[/b]: Where is your character currently?

What has your character been doing for the past three months? How are they taking the appearance of the Deadlight-Virus, how do they feel about it? What changes have been made? What has transpired in their lives? Did they have to flee anywhere? Flashbacks are suggested. And what are they doing now? What are they doing for their country or for their friends to help?

(This is totally like a prompt in middle school). Please make your posts at least 150 words per character and make separate posts.

This is In Character and a One-Shot, meaning you only post once per character. Once you post here you are free to start  threads freely anywhere!

[Gray Fenrir]

Date: September 3, 2013
Location: Off the shore of Gelemorté.

Gray Alexander Fenrir sat quietly on an old bed in the rusty hull of a small fishing vessel on it's way to Creta. It was one of the few vessels actually leaving Gelemorté instead of crowding the ports that led into the large island nation. Ever since the Deadlight-Virus came the whole world seemed to fleeing somewhere or another. Gelemorté was just one of the nations that was kind enough to take in refugees. Albeit only the few chosen ones. It was relatively safe so far in his home nation, compared to some places where the deadly virus was wide spread...

Gelemorté's Iron Edge was searching for answers, just like he has been doing his whole life, searching for the evil that stirred men's hearts so violently. Gray was sure this virus was just another symptom of the circle of destruction the world has found itself caught in for so long. He wasn't going to learn anything just sitting at the Gelemortian military HQ, watching the world go blind and wild. He had worked so hard to finally reach the rank of Praetorian Guard, only to find himself stifled by bureaucracy when the country needed help the most. There was no doubt about it. The virus was making it's way to the Ciel Dominion. It was only a matter of time. Maybe the rest of the country was content with sitting back and waiting for the darkness to overcome them, but Gray sure as hell wasn't.

The past three months had been an emotional roller coaster for Gray. Exactly three months ago he was awarded the rank of Praetorian Guard, an elite solider meant to personally protect Roy de Royaume de Gelemorte, Wolfgang Murinyo. It was the culmination of his entire military career. He had worked most of his life to reach such a position. But with the good comes the bad. And sometimes with the bad comes the even worse. A week after achieving the legendary rank, Gray's mother fell very ill. At once he was awarded temporary leave and he ran to his mother's side.

His mother's illness pulled a family together that had been apart for many years. His hermit father came to his wife's bedside when she needed him the most. Gray had not seen his parents in the same room since he was a young child. And to see them so close together all the sudden was almost too much for the young man to bare. He even cried on a few occasions. His mother wound up regaining her health although not fully cured of her illness. For almost two full months Gray's family was together again. He took care of all the matters of the home while his father never left his mother's side. It was still a difficult time, but Gray was happy, and he had almost completely forgotten about his promotion and military duty altogether. Until the Deadlight-Virus reared it's ugly head.

He was called back to Mt. Jilliané as soon as news of the terrifying virus broke. It was a horrible virus, first attacking a person's vision, then their body, then finally their mind. Most of the country's borders were closed and travel to and from the island nation stopped altogether. The world then spent a little over a month doing nothing but panicking. The military scrambled looking for someone to blame and for something to shoot. But this was a new kind of problem where one couldn't murder their way to a solution. All anyone could do was protect themselves and pray for a miracle.

Gray went about his duties slowly going crazy. All the news coming in from the rest of the world scared him to death. But what scared him more was the fact that no one seemed to be doing anything about it. Granted he had no idea what to do about it either. But he knew hiding and wishing the virus away wasn't the answer. There had been rumors of a worldwide health team being mobilized, searching for a cure. But Gray wasn't content waiting on that either. He personally just had to do something.

So now he was headed to the mainland. His rank allowed him limited diplomatic immunity outside of Gelemorté so he could more or less go to and from where ever he pleased. He would see this virus first hand, and look for an answer himself. He sat in the bottom of an old rusty ship thinking about his newly reunited family. He pulled his jacket tight and hunkered down for the long journey ahead.

[Rachel Ascot]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: The House of Lords, London

"Your Majesty! You may be sovereign of our lands, but that does not excuse you to treat us so lightly!"

Rachel Ascot began to peek over the top of her newspaper, eyes slitted and dull. All around her, the last twenty of what was a huge institution. The House of Lords. Or, as Rachel called it, the House of Unelected Out of Touch Fat Cats Who Demand Higher Wages Without Earning Them. When she had first risen to power, she had thought that the House of Commons was corrupt. But at least the public had chosen between various corrupt figureheads, and screwed over others for money. These were just maniacs who had no idea what they were doing. Spending their days eating expensive cheese and covering up each others horrific drug and/or rape allegations, and paying the political parties for the privilege. Some reason, though, they could stop anything that the government and the queen tried to do and 'review' it, which basically meant 'let's rewrite it with enough changes to save ourselves'. However, Rachel today couldn't even summon the energy to be angry at them.

"Yes, sorry," she said with a yawn, before she pulled up her sleeve, scratching her forearm. "I'm not with it today, this injection is making me feel really drowsy." The sight of her forearm alone was enough to terrify people. Bandages all across with a hospital tag dangling from it. When she said this, though, many of the gentry backed away in horror.

All but one.

"You've become a guinea pig?" The man who asked this, a sly looking man with greasy hair and a pointed chin, made it sound more like a statement than anything else. "Even for you, Your Majesty, that's very rash. You could infect us if it's a vaccine that's being tested."

"No, Cornelius, it's not a vaccine, I'm safe," she clarified, which made some of the other gentry more at ease, shifting back into their chairs. "Though I wish it was. We could do with some good news. No, this is preliminary testing; we found some chemicals that seem to cause allergic reactions in the infected, so it makes sense to see that it doesn't hurt us too."

"And?"

"I'm a bit sleepy, but that's it. Could be a cure, or just something to discourage attacks."

"Very nice," the man Rachel had called Cornelius said wryly. "Good to see that you've not lost your compassion, if you have lost your senses."

"Well, I'll humour you, what am I doing wrong?" She asked, before looking back to her newspaper. "Huh. Crossword's difficult today." Cornelius blinked. He expected Rachel to be a bit more put out, but he decided to carry on.

"Well, you have managed to keep our coastlines, and by extension our docks, safe," he explained, his voice cold and callous. "In fact, except for Aerugo, you're the only one on the mainland to manage to pull that off; anyone who wants to trade with Carraig or Gelemorte, or simply wants to travel by boat anywhere, has to go through you, and since Drachma's fall we've simply taken over their seas. The fishing industry, the transport trade, all the panicking civilians emigrating to far off islands, we own most of that now. The oceans, the world's food supply, all rests with us." Rachel stopped doing her crossword puzzle for a second, looking back to Cornelius.

"Look, Cornelius, I know your dad's a boat builder, but for the last time we're not attacking Aerugo! Izzy's a cool dude, it'd break the rule of cool!" She asked. "Also, Ramadan's got seven letters, right?"

"That wasn't my suggestion, your majesty."

"Good, good, just making sure." Satisfied, the queen began her crossword again.

"I'm saying that we should stop trying to find a cure."

Rachel didn't stop her crossword puzzle this time, if only because she thought she didn't hear it. Then she realised that she had, and began chuckling lightly. "Oh god, I know what you're about to say and I can tell you right now that it's stupid."

"But your majesty, it has brought us nothing but joy!" Cornelius insisted. "We have the power to become the leading economic superpower! We could be rolling in money, but instead you choose to fix a problem that, honestly, has barely affected us."

"Yep, just make sure that you repeat that to the thousands of infected bashing at the barricades along the roads every day, we'll see how much they're enjoying it. Oooh, got another one!" She made a few enthusiastic scribbles in her puzzle. "Besides, if we put aside the factor of being a decent fucking human being, money can't buy good will."

"For once, Her Majesty is correct," said another man who now stood up. A rotund man. The moment he did, Rachel rolled her eyes, and carried on with the crossword. "The disease is a curse, not a blessing! But how convenient that we protected ourselves so quickly and effectively, and how strange that our less friendly neighbours Drachma have been so badly afflicted! It is my opinion that..."

"Yes, Geoffers, I'm the one who created the disease," came the confession, though it was filled with deadpan contempt, as if the accusation insulted Rachel's intelligence rather than her honour. "Singlehandedly, too, with the biology PhD I don't have, and I also didn't make a cure in case it backfired just to spite you and steal your riches Geoffers." She leaned in, wiggling her fingers. "It was all to get your jewels, Geoffers! My twenty five year long plan is going according to plan!"

"Do not treat me so lightly, Rachel!" The man retorted, though he still reached for his watch in fear.

"And what of our standing amongst nations?" Came another voice. "You might have popular opinion with the masses, but how do we know that Chancellor Reinhardt does not see our queen's compassionate approach as evidence that we are an easy, soft target? After all, we were at war with Amestris before RIOTE came along, and where are they now? And what of your nightclub?" Rachel kept her head down, focused entirely on the crossword. "Why, if you're so devoted to saving the world, do you still spend your days partying and tending to the nightclub and playing with your pet elephant?!"

"And where is Dietrich? You still haven't found him, have you?"

"Why is this cure taking so long to make?"

"Your elephant broke my bike!"

"You know, you could all get rid of me any time you liked."

The moment she said it, a silence took over the gentry, the lords and ladies stopping in their tracks. Rachel casually looked up, her eyes darting from person to person. "Just have a vote of no confidence and boot me out. If you can win, of course." She first looked to Cornelius. "After all, as you said, I've brought so much prosperity to the land, but refuse to make more." She then looked to Geoffers. "And just because there are more likely culprits doesn't mean that I didn't make the virus in the first place. I have no evidence against that claim other than my word." She gave a long gaze from corner to corner, all of the other politicians in her sights. "And even when I devote my own body as a guinea pig, that doesn't change the fact that I am a party animal, whose optimism leads her to keep spending money on keeping people happy, when my first priority should be keeping people safe. " She then leant back in her chair. "So go ahead. Kick me out. All you need to do is call for the vote."

The silence was all one could hear in the room, until there was the sound of one man shuffling, and sitting back down in his seat. Then a few men. Then the whole room. Rachel sneered.

"Not everything's changed since the virus came, I see. For all your selfish impulses, you haven't grown the spines to act on them yet," with that, abandoning her newspaper crossword, she began to walk out of the door. However, she paused, and looked back. "You're just like Aurelius. All of you. Or Qin, or even Dietrich, wherever they are. They all thought I was a joke, but when it came down to it, they talked a big game, but the moment someone stole their voice, they crumbled like bread. And I was left standing, still fighting for what I believed in. Just because I saw a way to profit from it doesn't mean that I'm not trying to stop it. Either I will kill this disease, or it will kill me, and no one in this room or anywhere else can say that I don't mean that," Rachel said, turning her back to everyone and opening the door. She walked out, saying one last thing.

"Because, just like before, I'm still the real deal."

The door made a very loud boom as she closed it.

[Emmelin]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Moscow, Drachma

The numbers all looked like a blur to her.  This was ridiculous- the numbers in the hospital and the number of those diseased had progressively climbed to a new high for the past month.  It had started slow, but progressively the number of those coughing blood were reaching a high.   It wasn't tuberculosis- which was the common misconception.  No- they would have a cure for that now- nor was it really a relative.  The scientists sat in their white coats and barked notes to their apprentices, while all Emmelin could do really was ease the pain and try and seal the contagion from spreading.

Countries were in a flurry and people were panicking.  Such- chaos.  There was no order to it.  They knocked over things and then left her twitching in her seat.  It was only now, two hours later, that everything in her office was perfect.  Outside her door, the nurses ran amok in the makeshift refuge.  NO.  Contrary to popular belief, Emme was called into the effort to help those who had no medical coverage or who couldn't wait for the hospital rooms to be cleared.  It wasn't much better in the rundown building.  

She wore her surgery mask and gloves; donning a look of a surgeon.  She'd be no help if she caught it too and started dying.  It was bad enough she couldn't coordinate hands and eyes.  If she went blind, then they'd all be doomed.  Her eyes held a sort of optimistic glow, despite being surrounded by so much death.  It had to be- or else they'd go insane.  

"Another one in, Doctor Kassanov," a man coughed at her.  His eyes were bloodshot and his body shook.  This wasn't good--.. her picture was crooked once more when he had pushed through the door.

"Yes- I see.."  She sort of droned then moved elegantly across to fix the frame.  It took three minutes of mumbles and disoriented worries, but she managed a grin.  "Perfect.  Now.  How much work is before me, today?"

"About seven cases."  

Her eye twitched involuntarily.  The words slipped before she could make anything about it.  "Seven?  What a horrible number."

"Ma'am?"  He sputtered in response.  

Her eyes turned back to the man.  "Right- sorry.  Lead me to this number one person and we will work our way up.  Maybe by then we will have an eighth life to save."  Her eyes lit up, despite the odd look her 'nurse' gave her.  Through the list they went 1-7 until her work was caught up.

Emmelin let out a deep sigh and gave out orders to the other volunteers on what might help those sick to be more comfortable.  

"They need to come up with a cure.  I can only prolong so long." Her body had finally settled into the room in which she did her studies.  They were all the same- in fact- this used to be her house. Out of the honor of her past, she had bought it before it was condemned.   This was probably the first time she'd frowned all day.  This plague was daunting- exhausting even.  Even now, as she sat staring at figures she wondered if there was any way to manipulate a body's immune system into perfection.  Her past three months had led up to this.  Day after day spent trying to cure those who had it, however only managing to isolate the contagion gene.  

She felt hopeless.

[Shinku Kamogaya]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Undisclosed location, Rouen.

Shinku turned out to be quite the hardy man. He didn't remember falling into the waters around South. He was retrieved by elite RIOTE troops. He just remembered laying on one of the many shores around South, face down in a few inches of water before jerking back to life around the time one of the riote soldiers prodded him with a rifle barrel. Aurel had requested his immediate extraction to Rouen, not to mention he expected the man to reprimand Shinku for his recklessness. Aurel wanted him to scout out Rouen before a large scale exodus, which suited him fine. He had traveled with a group and had set up shop, though Shinku still had to rest. He wrote down orders for the troops and gave them to the nurses that tended to him. He needed to make sure everything was prepared for the rest of Riote's arrival.

Shinku didn't question the order. He didn't even remember the trip to rouen. He was unconscious for most of the flight. He was slightly confused as to why they were leaving Drachma. He remembered thinking in his blood lost delusion that they better not had forgotten his shit back in that icebox, or he would crucify them. That was weeks ago.

Shinku had suffered severe trauma in his attack on South. He had heard that Shula Brighton had died despite his antidote. He could only remember lying in his bed with a wicked grin on his face. But at the same time, he didn't know where to go from there. Aurel chewed him out about the spur of the moment terrorism he decided to commit. Now that he remembered, Aurel seemed slightly dazed and pale. He wasn't really up to date with what had been going on. Now that he thought about it, a lot of regular people were gone. He had caught wind that the cat, Kit, had gotten engaged to Tatyana. Not that he cared anyway. People tended to avoid him, and he didn't blame them. Either they were scared, or they thought he was a dick.

Shinku watched as the television rambled on about a new disease that had been ravaging the world. Deadlight, was it? It seemed that they didn't have a handle on the disease yet. Shinku could only laugh as he took a sip from a glass of water. His demented cheerful attitude started to fade some as his thoughts ran their course. Over the span of a few weeks, Shinku has been waking up to his sheets having spots of blood. One time his pillow had a fist size puddle, which his caretakers had changed. But the nurses were wearing masks. At first, he thought it was a precaution as to remain safe.

Lying in his bed, he thought to himself.But that didn't explain when he would look out the window from time to time. They.. They weren't wearing masks. As he sat the glass of water down, his face was flushed of glee and filled with calm. Why did everyone refuse to see him? As he dwelled on his thoughts, he felt a lump in his throat. Bringing his fist up to his lips, he coughed silently, as he closed his eyes. He could feel warm liquid on his hand. Somewhat afraid to open his eyes as to wait to see, he slowly glanced down to see that blood had stained his fingers, and he had a iron like taste in his mouth. "W-What the fuck..?!" Shinku understood his reason for his isolation. Who could have given this to him?! Was it Aurel?! Did someone at South have it?!


He.. He wasn't gonna stay cooped up here like a prisoner. Sitting up, he wiped his hand off as he quickly got dressed, putting his duster on last. He was gonna fight. He hadn't died yet. Maybe his chimeric body was fighting this illness to the end. He would stay alive.

[Wolfgang Murinyo]

Date: August 15, 2013
Location: Vaingloria, Gelemorté, Ciel Dominion

Venice.

It had happened far too subtly, far too quickly, and what's worse, it had gotten past his radar. This was a moment in time in which the normally quite carefree and laissez-fairre leader of Gelemorté was... Well, not so cheerful. As it seemed, an outbreak of some sort had happened, and it had been spotted in his own nation. Venice had been quarantined off after the first few victims died from the disease, but it could have spread in that brief grace period. He took no hesitation and had the once gorgeous and lively city cut off entirely, without so much as the bat of an eyelash. He didn't like it, though. He peered out the window of his office. The head of Research and Development had begun searching for a cure, but he was afraid that it might be too late; by the time one was made, the disease may well engulf Gelemorté as it had seemed to do to Drachma and Xing thus far. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. And he couldn't say that he liked it. What he especially hated was the decision-making process.

It was a quick choice to seal off Venice, yes, but that isn't to say it was an easy one. A necessary evil. Still... He felt as though he'd just signed over an entire city to the reaper. It was perhaps even worse of a feeling than knowingly engaging in the war with Esparia a year prior. He felt awful about both, but this time... It just felt... Worse. No longer hundreds of men with lives at stake, but thousands; Venice was a big city. A tourist attraction, and one of the most renowned places in the world. It had been a week or two by now, and there were already over six thousand reported casualties. That was... It was madness. And while the king had his own particular brand of madness, this was entirely new breed. And it was a very serious problem that had to be addressed. For that reason, he'd made a decision he felt was best for the populace of the Ciel Dominion.

He'd cut off all travel in or out of Gelemorté. Which was only the start. Following this, every citizen was requested to report for testing, to make sure they weren't infected. Those that were, they kept in a facility where they could hopefully live out a calm and painless last few days, or survive, for the few that managed to do so. It was a temporary solution, of course, and could only really be maintained until they found a cure. Which, they would do. He was quite determined, in fact. He'd have to call up a few friends, though... He could do that. Anything for the people. The people were what mattered most, as a nation without its people was a nation without a constitution of sorts, and such a nation cannot exist! Further, the whole WORLD relied on ITS people, and that only made a cure much more important.

Though for now, he had to worry about his own nation. And he had one plan he'd yet to enact, but which would potentially maintain his nation from the disease. Bar Venice, of course... He could shed tears for the fallen later. For now, however, he pressed a button on his desk. "'Ouya, meh secrets-airyin', couldjas sends inta me rooms them whatsit guys, my defense guy and my health guy and my foreign affairses guy? Send dem guyses up heres, aight? Grassy." A brief statement of approval came from the other end as his secretary called in the aforementioned advisers. Moments later, they entered.

"Gents." Wolfy turned from looking out the window and faced the three men. "As youse alls know, we gatta cris'n'ar hands. 'Fense Guy, I wants youse ta lock down all'a'tah borders in th' Ciel 'Minion. Seal'em tight. Build a big ole wall, if ya gotta, then buildja notha one wrappin' 'round da first, fer good measures."

"Sir, I think you're being a little irrational here, we're an island. There's no chance of the disease getting to u-" Wolfy threw a peanut at him from his desk, where he kept a jar of peanuts just for throwing them at people.

"I'm nat bean un-rash'nal, I'm keepin' us safe. Do't I said." And, unlike in a certain other monarchial nation, the guy complied with no further argument. Because congress, lol, what's congress? and other amusing things. He turned next to the second adviser. "Healths Guy, I wan'all're cashdopeflow be putcha inna 'ccount fer a cure." No objections this time around; for once, everything he was saying was absolutely serious. He turned to the last person. "'S'f'youse, For'n Aids Guy, I wanna work witchas on somethin'. Somethin' We need'a do..."


Date: September 2, 2013
Location: Vaingloria, Gelemorté, Ciel Dominion

SPEECH MUSIC

Gathered on such a momentous day as this, the people filled the streets, flocked together before the Royal Palace in Vaingloria. People from all parts of Gelemorté, gathered together for a single cause, one purpose and one alone. Cameras rolled in the front of the crowds, as security kept the crowds back a little; an important speech was being given today, and all great speakers deserve a little elbow room. From behind the backdrop on the stage, the nearly-forty leader adjusted his suit; it was a rather regal burgundy with gold trimmings, with a white rose pinned to his lapel. He brushed back his long gray-black hair, pulling it into a ponytail, and adorned himself with the crown of the Ciel Dominion. Everything he needed to be a proper king giving a speech to his people.

He walked out from behind the stage, and in lieu of the usually cheery and bright (and weird as everything) anthem, played a much more solemn song, something very similar to a funeral march. And what was he, then, but the preacher, stepping out to the side of the grave to honor the dead? He stepped up onto the stage, and carried himself to his podium, which he stood behind. He cleared his throat, before leaning forward to speak into the microphone.

"Peeps'a th' Ciel 'Minions."

All eyes were on him as he began to speak.

"Iunno 'bout non'a youse, but I kin says, widout a doubt 'n'm'mind, I seen th' face'a evil. Now I 'magines youse're all askin' what 'zac'ly, I'm talkin'. Face'a evil, whatcha mean? Well... I'm talkin' 'bout this 'sease, see. Some'a youse prolly ain't scared it can get ta us. That's true; we's is one'a da top safest zones now fer refugees, includin' some'a youse guys, I'll betcha.

I seen Venice wi' my own eyeballses. It ain't purdy. So yeah, we might be safe, but sop f'a min'te and think; ain't the whole res'ada worlds a lot like Venice? Fulla's sickness? Well, we all gots the right ta thrives here, yeah? An' I dun'even like the thought'a them in our pals' nations, Creta'n'Mestris, goin' tru'wid'dit. So I'm makin' a proclamations, see; I, as king of all'a the peoples'a Gelemorté, Lokheim, Maginea, and La Cilligia, herebys statin' that as a people for the people, an' ain't jus' th' peeps here, the peeps er'where, yah, as a people for da peoples, an' a nation for all nations, we be united as one 'gains' dis crazybad Deadlight 'sease.

I says we takes us a stan' 'gainst this 'sease, for th' ben'fittin've our fella man. Deadlight's a blot on da world's pretty piece'a paper, 'n'it's gatta be 'radicated! We need a cure. But. But, 'tils then, we're 'fficially engaging in a relief effort. Our faithful pilots'll be flyin' us over da big lake ta th' cont'nents, where we'se gonna fin' safe peeps in 'fested areas 'n' rescue'm. We're gonna bring s'pplies ta nations without, an' we can take in all manner've refugees, after making sure they's is clean.

One thing's fo'sho, though; Help is on the way!" He ended his somewhat brief speech with a rather empowering shout, a cry for generosity and selflessness, that which to assist the other nations with. Together, they could do it... Together, they could stand strong in the face of this evil adversary. Together... Say, he had an idea...[/b]

[Anouk Ueda]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Spare room, Steel Rose Pub

The world's a fucking mess. I mean, it always has been, so at least it's consistent, but damn we can never seem to catch a break, can we? Summer vacation rolled around- Kitaro's first summer vacation, but instead of planning elaborate road trips and expensive fiascoes, we all stayed home. I mean, the boys are still so little, and Ken's still so young, so I figure why not save the good trips for when they're both old enough to appreciate them and not just one of them? London summers aren't too bad, either. Not the greatest, and still not as nice as they were back in Vegas, but we did have some fun. Well, I did, at least.
 
My little brother's got himself a steady girlfriend who moved out to the London burbs just for him. If that doesn't tell you plenty already, I dunno what will. But she really is a sweet thing and I've loved getting to know Csilla, even if the poor girl's been a depressed mess. Death's a bitch and I know nothing really fixes it, and drinking only gets you so far. But I've been happy to drive out to Csilla's cottage and steal her on occasions for shopping and general girl time. I know it ain't the same, but it is healthy therapy, and her smile's too infectious to let her sit and stew. Being sad doesn't suit her, and she's made such a change in my brother, so it'd be kind of a shit thing for me to not try to help her out as best I can.
 
The boys love her, too, so makes sense to invite Csilla to be with us as much as possible, and they actually like her as a babysitter. That's a first. Kitaro seems to have a magical, Ela-like quality in his little baby glares that terrify other sitters. On the other hand, in a really strange way, that kinda impresses me. But June was a pretty mellow and kind of somber, days dotted with visiting with Ela's girl and little day trips out to the suburban countryside. I love the houses out there, honestly. They remind me more of the house Ela and I were kids in, and as much as I love my pub part of me thinks something like that might be better for the boys, but if I gave up our livelihood I don't know how I'd begin to support us. No harm in looking though, right?
 
July was much the same with long, slow days and teasing Ela when his birthday rolled around, the boys insisting that their Unca needed a cake, Kitaro insisting that it had to be sword-shaped. But bakeries are expensive and even though I'm a whiz with a hot glue gun, I went to school for business and management, not pastry design. Somehow I got it to be mostly sword-shaped. Kinda. Okay, it just looked like a long tube with a pointy end, but he got the idea! And watching Kenta and Kitaro cover their dear Unca a pointy party cone hat and tie him up with streamers was fucking priceless. I think he liked it all, though, if for no other reason than it underlined very boldly something that was missing for years: his family loving him. I was just glad to be with him and a part of it, but I'm glad about that every day. He somehow puts up with me, my stupidity, and my pain in the assness and hasn't killed me in my sleep yet.
 
Things have even been going well with Nagi and I. I still haven't made the move to sit down and tell Ela about the man in my life or that it's not just some fling, but I'm honestly never quite sure how to broach the subject. I mean, you can't just drop a bomb like that on Ela followed by asking him to pass the salt at dinner. And Izanagi's all the way out in Aerugo, so we don't get to see each other as much as we'd like, but still. I'll tell him soon, though. I decided that I wanted Nagi to meet my boys, and especially meet my brother. Hopefully it won't be like putting two bettas in the same bowl. I had thought about bringing it up this summer, but then the world decided that it had been too quiet and that we couldn't just have a damn breather.
 
The first reports of the virus were a peculiarity, nobody paying it much mind until more and more people were getting it. Deadlights, they call it. First you lose your sight, then a fever, and then your body just freaks. Freaky damn shit, too, and you know it's something when my regulars get twitchy. They're old soldiers and sailors and have lived through everything, and yet, this was bugging them. I couldn't fault anyone for thinking RIOTE was behind this one. Made sense, right? Not much we can do about them, though; I'm not exactly in a position to go on any manhunts these days, and I doubt I'd get a second pardon from the new ruler like I did from Dietrich. So, leave that mess to other people, we got enough on our plates over here, but fuck if I haven't invested in hand sanitizer! Every time one of the boys so much as sneezes, I can't help but twitch a little, looking them over. Yes, I'm being overly worried, but I'm a mom. It's my damn job.
 
The virus didn't really worry me much, though, since all the areas that had quarantines in them weren't near me and my family, so ti was sad, but better them than us. I made a call up to Drachma just to check on Pietr, just to see if he was okay, and he said that it was all over the country. He missed us and thought of us, and wanted to see how big the boys were, but wasn't about to risk traveling right now. That was a few weeks though, and I haven't heard from him since; I can only hope he and his bar are doing well out there. I like that giant bear-monster of a man, and I'd like him to stay alive. But when one of my patrons stopped coming and then his wife came in to say he'd gotten sick, that's when it started to hit home. First she just thought his vision was going since they're both getting on in years, and then tested for everything under the sun to explain it, but everything seemed to just point more and more to the Deadlight virus. I started washing everything in the bar with bleach and hospital-grade rubbing alcohol, every night. Sure it takes me longer to get home, but I'd rather be late to bed than bring home something like that to my family.
 
I try not to talk about it around the kids, though. I don't want to worry them, and they've been through enough scary things already; last thing they need is worrying that Mommy or Unca's going to get sick and not come home anymore, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep them from having to go through anything like that again anytime soon. I just hope they find a cure or a vaccine of some kind soon. This isn't the kind of world I wanted my boys to grow up in.

[Gavin Etheridge]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Shannon Manor, Shannon, Carraig

Creig summers are always far too short, and shorter still when the mainland is in a constant state of chaos. I swear, if the world ever hit a state that could be considered as “normal,” it would implode from not knowing what to do with itself. In the old days, Creig mercenaries were hired to go to the mainland to assist countries with their growing piles of the dead who'd fallen prey to the Bubonic Plague, the world feeling that we were a hardier bunch and could take it without it killing the whole of our nation. And at the time, it was true. Creig children are descendents of warriors and warlords who killed enemy clans for lands and women, and we took this barren, rocky island to stand against the whole world. Even the mighty army of Rouen couldn't keep us for long. We could handle anything, our children raised to fight and use any weapon and make a weapon out of anything. We are Carraig, the Children of the Stones. We are survivors.
 
“Death To The Mainland Scum, But Leave Your Money,” has been the joking motto of our country for decades since it is rather true. Anyone at any pub will tell you we don't really need the mainland for anything other than their money, but we've got plenty of that on our own, so we don't need them. But the fact of the matter is, we do, and as their King, it is my duty to oversee their well-being and know the difference between fact and pride. Even I don't really care much for the main continent save for a few people, but I do know that if we lost the majority of the other countries, Carraig would cease to exist. We need them, even if we refuse collectively to admit it, and while they only really need us to supply them with weapons and technology, we need them for far more basic needs of life, like food. Carraig's growing seasons are so short and the bulk of what we grow are all root vegetables; the majority of our foodstuffs come imported from Esparia, Creta, and Amestris now that they're mostly back on their feet again.
 
The summer months were doing well, despite the uncertainty that was still lingering from that festival in Amestris this spring. Few know how close we were to real danger, both from sabotage, and even possibly from my own dear pilot. How could they have understood if they'd seen him crash but come out alive, covered in shiny scales like he'd had in the hospital? That would have gone over superbly, and Brendon would have simply rubbed my nose in it nonstop, and then I'd have had to kill my stupid cousin. It would have made for such a poor summer. The bomb was military-grade, I'd found out, and overly-complicated for what it was by someone who had funds to spare for something flashier than necessary. Early summer was spent looking into the matter, discreetly, as not to upset the delicate lines of affairs between Carraig and the rest of the world, especially when it comes to poking around Drachma since I already know we're not high on RIOTE's popularity list. Queen Rachel even “graced” me with a surprise audience, and despite her outward appearance that suggests she's mad, she really isn't. She's bold but has a good head for things, and offered a sort of “under-the-table” alliance with Creta in much the same as she knows I have with Amestris.
 
Carraig is a neutral country, and has been for hundreds of years, not because we are cowards or pacifists, but because we chose to keep our men alive by not jumping into problems that aren't ours. We learned to offer our services in other ways in order to keep ourselves fed, and technology and chemical advances seem to be the best we can do, and we're good at it. But given that our services and goods are for sale, except for Drachma, anyone is welcome to buy. That said, declaring an outright ally would be dangerous for us and whoever our allies were. My agreements with Amestris are verbal only, so no records can trace it, and only exist through Hans as Chancellor; he has been my friend since before my father passed and began talks between our countries that before rarely had anything to do with each other. To Amestris, we give assistance where we can, just not directly soldiers in time of need. But we do our best to support them without making it too broadly known for the news to pick up on. Summer hasn't been kind to Amestris either, and I know Hans has been distressed, first at losing one of his top Generals, and then the other having to take some extended medical leave following her death. I sent Hans some tokens of my sympathy, but unfortunately there wasn't a whole lot else I could do for him.
 
Especially not now.
 
Now I have a second quiet alliance with Creta, granting me use of ships for goods and a discount in import taxes. I also know that should there be a need, I can call on Rachel and she will send help to us, and in return I am padding her exports with some of our country's new goodies, as they were. Surveillance satellites and weapons upgrades, and if the need arises, use of a specialty team of elite Creig soldiers, but those are really only for special emergencies. Nobody knows about the alliance, not even Bread or Maria, and thankfully nobody in the news has caught on. Right now the world's in a slight state of emergency, but it isn't one that can be resolved through sheer force. If it were, I would have granted that special team privilege to go out and snuff the threat, and then we would all be sleeping better. Creig soldiers are a hardy bunch, and there's very little we can't handle.
 
Unfortunately, disease is something that even our world's strongest can succumb to. In the old days the plague was less of a threat because of our isolation, and as the summer days began to wane reports spread that on the mainland some new disease was spreading rapidly and without cure. At first all eyes looked to RIOTE as the culprit, but they have yet to make a move. Possibly waiting for us all to be dead so they can sweep in and kill what's left of us, or merely take the world while everyone's still too sick to stop them. The Deadlight Virus is a greater threat than most of us know how to handle right now, though, and for Carraig there is no precedence. I will not send my men to go out and collect foreign bodies of the dead to burn; this isn't the dark ages anymore.
 
At first we thought we were safe from the disease, it only being reported in mainland countries. There hasn't been any word from King Wolfgang about how Gelemorte is faring, and so far there is evidence that it is spread through contamination and touch. Suddenly wearing gloves are once again en vogue. But when the first case appeared in Carraig, there was more than a slight panic. The first real case was only just a few short weeks ago, and just a one-off, we thought. But then one became two, two became four. The little village near the shipping docks was entirely quarantined to prevent further contamination, nobody allowed in or out. It had come to us from the outside, through the very ships of goods we need to survive. The food is safe, from what we've tested; fruits and animal meats can't carry it. But the humans who handle it can, and it can be days or weeks before the virus begins to show signs, which meant the four cases there had had time to fester and spread to others, and soon a national state of emergency was declared for Carraig.
 
We are not a large nation by any means, and the whole of our population is less than Creta's largest city. We are but a drop of ink on the world's colored map. Stations have been set up, and those working on the ships for imports are now required to wear hazmat suits at all times until they're disinfected as best we're able. Carraig is far too small in population to lose many people and still hope to thrive, and doing quite possibly the most dangerous thing imaginable, I have ordered the borders to Carraig be closed. All airports are on lockdown, and only ships for food can come in, and even then, there are precautions. There have been a few fresh cases, but not nearly as many as the rest of the world, thankfully, and even though the world is angry at me for denying the general public the right to run here away from the disease, it is for my peoples' own good. I know we ned the world to live, but we need our own country to live, too. Creig funds are being pooled into chemical research centers and night and day we are working to help find a cure not just for us, but for the world, and no, I'm not going to charge so much for it to make profit or make the populace go destitute to save themselves. If the world dies from the plague, there will be nobody left to do business with, and that benefits nobody.

[Ayaka Nanakorobi]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Bedroom desk, Kyoto, Aerugo
 

~A-ya-ka, A-ya-ka, dance the waltz! ~A-ya-ka, A-ya-ka, dance the waltz!

I don't know why the teachers bother asking about how we spent summer vacations or if we enjoyed them when they honestly don't want to know the truth. We're all supposed to conform to the social templates set for us, and deviating from the norm is bad; if you do, it just shows you don't want to be a helpful member of society and may have problems that should be addressed, but not by actual means of help, but instead by private meetings with the teacher, or worse, with your parent and the teacher. And that would only make the problems worse for me. It's all just a lovely lie, and none of them want to get involved.

So I smile and excitedly tell them how before the last term let out, I met the top judge in the country at a party, and how he referred me to a dance school. I could tell my classmates didn't particularly care, but it really was the highlight of my summer. Going to that party was the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I did get a few pretty deep bruises for misbehaving. It was the bravest thing I've ever done, and it might have been worth the pain it brought later, if only because since then I've been at dancing school in Kyoto once a week. Grandfather pays for it, and once Father found out that it was funded and assisted by the very man he wasn't sure if he could control, he became rather enthusiastic about my attendance. But try as he might... I don't think he'll be able to touch Mr. Sato-Chiba.

Father still doesn't know I have his private phone numbers. It still may have been coincidence, but I really do think Mr. Sato-Chiba was aware of what kind of man my father really is, and he didn't seem to like it. That's comforting, at least a little. The power to call for help is in my hands, as long as I have that card and make sure Father never ever sees it. But I attend the dance classes, and he hopes it'll help make a good impression to win him favor with that most important judge. My written blurb about summer only glossed details, though; just happy mentionings about dancing and loving it, even though I still have days where my coordination isn't that great. The teacher has already been made aware of my special needs and has already taken to looking at me like I'm some sort of broken toy that she has to work with. It's more a look of frustration than anything else, as though I should be someone else's problem and not hers.

Someone else's problem, indeed.

Dancing was only the highlight of my summer, and long afternoons working in the temple. The real “fun” seemed to come from the fact that I am able to see things that nobody else can see, whether they're only figments of my imagination, or if they're really there and it's just me who can see them. Different kinds of yokai have been appearing to me, and this summer it started with a kappa. He seemed pleasant enough, sitting in the pond and playing with the fish. I'd gone out there to eat lunch, and he asked if he could share my meal when he saw I had some cucumber slices in my lunchbox. I like them myself, but I wasn't about to say no, so let him have them. The kappa was pretty happy about it and even asked me to come back once in a while and bring him more cucumbers, so I have been, and nobody noticed until a few weeks ago. But nobody else seems to know there's a kappa in that pond. I like him, though; he insists that eventually things will be alright for me. But it hasn't just been that kappa; I've been seeing other kinds of yokai, and talking to them. Most are rather decent, if a little irritable. I do what they ask and go about my business.

Apparently, this deviates too much from that precious social norm, though, and Father unfortunately caught wind of his “darling Ayan” talking to things that weren't there. So while the highlight of early summer was dancing, its low point had been overhearing Father talking to Grandfather and telling him that perhaps I should be put away “somewhere.” Let me go live at some hospital where they can look after me, and then I'll be someone else's problem. Losing me wouldn't tarnish his image any, and if anything it'd win him more sympathy. His precious little girl who survived that terrible hit and run has gone crazy as a result of brain damage. I swear that bastard needs an Oscar.

Summer stayed a quiet kind of tug-of-war, Grandfather defending me and Yakumo so distant that on the days he came home he hardly spoke to me. I miss the brother I used to have who loved me, and I wish I knew what to do to bring him back to me. Doesn't he know his little sister needs him so much right now? But he doesn't like that I see and talk to monsters that “don't exist,” and I'm afraid soon he'll be siding with Father that I should be put away. I'm not crazy though, I'm not. They're really there. I can see them and talk to them, and interact with them. But the little paper I turned in never mentioned any of this; how could it? This is what's real, and what's real is so far removed from the painted picture of what my life and everyone's lives are supposed to be that nobody would know how to react. That's too big of an emotional investment for others to make, especially on my behalf.

I didn't see much of my friends from clubs over the break, and managed to not have any new boyfriends, devoting my free time to being in the temple as much as I could get away with. At this point, I don't care if they pay me or not. Just let me stay there and work and clean and don't make me go home. Grandfather's house is safe enough, but I do still have to spend time with Father. I do still have to be his little princess, and I do still have to try not to scream when he drinks too much and gets physical with me. Yakumo isn't always there to protect me or defend me anymore, and between the two of us? It's like leaving a melon in the way of an incoming train.

I didn't know quite what to think of it when Shizuko was suddenly sick and losing her eyesight. But she'd come into the temple and was fine a few days before, and then suddenly her vision was going and she wasn't feeling well. She went to the hospital when her fever wouldn't go down, and that was the last I saw of her. I knew her; she was in my class last year, and she was a very nice girl. One of the few who'd found the exact temple I work at since I make a point to not tell anyone. But then she was gone, just like that. I made a point not to mention my classmate dying over the summer, or the outbreak of the virus. We all know about it, but talking about it is uncomfortable, so we don't. Masks and gloves are everywhere, and as soon as anyone even looks a little ill, they're sent to the doctors and if confirmed, quarantined. I've been checked a few times but still seem okay, but the doctors said ti does take a few weeks to show signs. I hope I don't get it, but at the same time, death wouldn't be the worst thing to happen to me. Of course, I wouldn't dare mention that to my new teacher. That would be disastrous.

Since the appearance of the virus, however, I'm forced to see my father less, him wanting to travel as little as possible between Edo and Kyoto, and being very busy making himself look good. Leave it to him to try to shine brightly during a crisis, but he's made statements that his money is going to the top pharmaceutical companies in Edo to help research teams find a cure. On the surface it looks very pretty and altruistic, but I know better. He's going to write off every last yen on his taxes and make it all back double at least, and profit from the cure in some way, and then if it works all the businesses will praise him as a helping hero out to do good for humanity. I could vomit.

Classes are starting back, and I will smile and dance as though nothing were the matter while all the world crumbles to a disease with no cure as though that, too, were part of the socially-acceptable norm. I almost want to tell the teacher the truth and how the world really is, burst her bubble, but she's like every other adult and even without the virus completely blind to it all. In an odd way, I'm glad it's happening, if only because it's sparing me nights with that man that I don't want to suffer though, even though I do hope a cure is found before more of my classmates get sick from it.

But all the while, regardless of it all, I'll only talk about the filtered truth that people want to hear and smile all the same.
 
~あやか

[Tokemaru Ishida]

Date: September 1, 2013 - 1:25 PM
Location: Tokemaru Residence (New), Aerugo

Anyone who knows Ishida knows that he's extremely laid back. Almost nothing will stress him out. He does his work at his own pace and knows that he'll die someday and gives no shits about it. People knows he has this understanding that people die and you can't do jack shit about it, so there's no point in getting stressed about it.

But even he can be hypocritical at times.

Date: July 28, 2013 - 10:33 AM
Location: Tokemaru Residence (New), Aerugo

"Alright, that fever's gotten pretty high. I've not yet been informed when the aggres-" Ishida paused as he entered his elder sister's room. He turned his head left and right and then panicked. He noticed the door outside seemed hurriedly open and ran out. He found his sister leaning over the balcony, vomiting into the forest below, a large blanket draped over her body.

"Nako!" He ran to his sister. "Are you okay? Do you feel hurt? Do you feel angry or has your eyesight faded further?"

"Gomen otōtoyo," she apologized in Aerugese. Then in Cretan, "It's just a fever, I don't have Deadlight. And my eyesight's been fading for years. I just need to stop straining then and get some glasses. This isn't happening like with mom."

"But mom hid this from us. We don't know how it happens, Koko-chan. We're incredibly lucky she didn't..." Ishida shut his face and changed the subject. "I just want to be careful."

"Well touching me sure is careful." Without realizing it, Ishida has starting holding his older sister. If she really had the virus, he'd probably get it too.

But Ishida knew she didn't have it. It's been nearly a month since their mother died. If Nako had gotten the virus, she'd have been much more aggressive by now. "Hush. I gotta go."

At the moment, Ishida was wearing his prototype 3DMG, but he took off the sheathes and gas unit so he could move around inside easier. He went inside and linked it to the rest of the gear. He reentered Nako's room. "Please take it easy. Sleep." With that he leaped off of the balcony, firing an anchor into a tree branch so that he glides just inches from the ground. Retracting the first anchor, he fired the next and repeated traveling Spiderman-style, in the direction of civilization.

Date: September 1, 2013 - 1:27 PM
Location: Tokemaru Residence (New), Aerugo

Tokemaru Ishida sat on his bed in his room in his new home. He'd lived in this building since the beginning of July, so he'd gotten used to it. He looked to the wall where two katana scabbards hung. Only one of them held a sword.

The other sword was sticking out of his mother's gravestone.

Date: June 30, 2013 - 5:08 AM
Location: Late Tokemaru Residence, Aerugo

The brother/sister duo walked into what they had called home, not knowing that soon they'd never be able to return here again. The sister was drunk, and the brother was trying to keep her from falling and waking their mother.

The lady of the house had been acting weird lately. She'd been bumping into things a lot, and would not cook or allow anyone to touch her. Ishida had thought maybe she was just sick and didn't want to let us catch it, but he'd not expected this to happen...

A mysterious figure sat in the corner, making a sound as if growling. Ishida, being a cautious  fellow, drew his sword from the wall right next to him. "Oi! Who're you?" He held the katana in front of him calmly. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the light, so when the figure dashed after him, he had no time to move his sword.

So he dropped it, but it was too late. Holding his sister back, suddenly sober, he grit his teeth staring at the impaled corpse of his mother, trying to grab him before the light in her eyes died out. Ishida only was able to grab the two sheathes from the wall before pulling his sister out of the building. He'd heard of things happening in Drachma and Xing similar to this. People going blind, getting aggressive. It was only a matter of time before a doctor got whatever it was, but all the way out here?

Ishida called in some hazmat people from work and told them everything. Including the fact that she'd not been to work in the last few days when her Drachman patient died. They retrieved the katana, burned the building, and cremated his mother. Even so, Ishida had a gravestone made, and erected it where the Tokemaru residence once stood, driving his sword into it, and keeping his brother's if he ever comes back.

Date: September 1, 2013 - 5:00 PM
Location: Mother's Grave, Aerugo

"Has Ai written back yet? Email? Phone call? Anything?" Nako shook her head and Ishida stared at the katana his mother purchased years ago, sticking out of the gravestone he purchased months ago. His name forever etched into the blade that passed judgement upon his mother.

Looking back on it now is easier. Looking at the sword is easier, the grave is easier. Looking at the urn holding his mother's ashes inside their home has been getting easier as well. He's slowly starting to remember his philosophy; his understanding that people die and you can't do jack shit about it, so there's no point in getting stressed about it.

But even he can be hypocritical at times.

[Aaron H]

Date: July 30, 2013
Location: Hartmen household

So.  After about a week of hiding in his hidey-hole, Aaron decided to step outside his house.

"...They have quarentined these areas. It is said it passes through contact."

Uh- what the fuck is this shit?  Aaron stepped right back in his house and locked the door.  Well that was definitely not what he'd expected to hear.  He'd been only in his house a whole week!  The next thing he knew, he was stepping out to hear something about quarantine.  HAHAHA NOPE.  He wasn't dealing with this shit.  

He was instantly going to work and spraying EVERYTHING in his house with lysol.  (As if that would really work, but it was worth a try).  "I'll be damned if the way I die is through disease.  NOPE."  Who he was talking to, he didn't know, because there was effectively no one else in his house.  This would be a repeated thing- until he ran out of lysol.  GOD FORBID THAT HAPPEN.

Date: July 31, 2013
Location:Hartmen Residence

OH SHIT.  He was out of lysol already.  How was he going to cope now?  His eyes blurred and from the research he'd spent all night, that was what one of the symptoms were! OH GOD!  He panicked for a brief time, until he realized that he had none of the other signs, so he was likely okay and just being a complete baby about it.  Strange how he could hear his best friend's voice, despite him not being here.

So, after Aaron had covered himself head to toe in fabric and cloth.  He would be okay in the end- or so he thought.

Date: September 1, 2013 - 1:27 PM
Location: Hartmen household

His vision was gone. Aaron woke up completely blind for a day.  He was in a panic.  This wasn't-- normal.  However, just as he went to tell Jack, it returned to the blur it was.  This wasn't good.  How much longer did her have with his vision?  Aaron squinted as he placed his contacts in.  Any day now....he would never see anything again.  After that?  Would he die?  His hand grasped the telephone and just in case- he plugged in a number for speed dial 1.

[Aurelius Schwartz]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Moscow, Drachma

A lot had happened in the past few months. It was a dark, dastardly time for any to walk the planet. Of all, the darkness itself. Aurelius was among the plagued. It was not his doing, no. Though, in effect, he was being blamed for the Deadlight-Virus. It was to be expected that the unknown would eventually fall into his lap as it always had, and people could be as ignorant as they liked, but pointing the finger at him while he stood watching his daughter die was entirely unacceptable. Entirely. Still, he did not deny it. Let the fools believe what they wanted; it was of no concern to him.

Around him, his empire fell like all the others, corroded and easily forsaken, overlooked. Good riddance, they said. People—people before him were coughing in the streets—losing what defined them solely as people. They were empty—devoid of all that he had once known them to have—what he had hated. Another world was opening its gates to them, letting free something all too familiar. Before he had left his own time, he had seen people just the same as these people, fall. Soulless, voided shells of untold stories were scattered about in Central's streets, baby carriages rolling away towards the sewers. Candles flickered for no one. Flags waved for no one. And time continued its course unabated. Gazing upon the ruin like a skeleton already, Aurel had seen a touch of tragedy—had witnessed what a quick end truly meant. And that was the day he first laid eyes on Father.      

The blurs of clocks ticked on by in faded colors and worn out lessons. He became someone entirely different that day in the far past, possessed by the need to create a perfect peace—a peace where Hild could be happy—a peace where Vanity could let go and Nyx could save her light—a balance among the chaos. That’s what all this was for—that’s what led the course of his life astray. Everything now was foreign to him; he was someone else. The man that everyone hated was only a shadow left behind—a shadow hardly existing without its counterpart before them now. Without the memories—without the seldom efforts exacted already in this time, this Aurel was at a loss. The people around him, he hadn't known them until just recently. He was a ghost haunting over a past life, pretending at a game already lost.

What did it mean to lose direction? Sitting in a Drachman throne, letting fall the crown at his feet, Aurel had spent the last three months simply catching up with himself. There was no need to cause anymore wars—there was no need to fall into the template he had already carefully constructed for himself. No, he was following his own plan, picking up the pieces of so many shredded lives while also shredding more. Hild had been sacrificed for this body. Vanity had been used as the picturesque model of a perfect leader. There was nothing here for him. He felt nothing, while knowing that the him everyone else knew should. Hild’s last words—his counterpart’s last message left to him was simply the word: ‘for,’ but for what?! For the end, for the start, for them, for himself, for the world, for this very moment, he continued breathing forever. And yet it was somewhat discouraging to witness. He wasn’t exactly what they expected anymore; he was the original: a changing, morphing entity with which so much power lied—so much power he did not necessarily deserve.

And this original still questioned his existence each night. Alone, he appeared. Alone, he had found Nyx in the bloodshed of his self-predecessor’s suicide. And only now had he settled down—only now had he finally realized what all this was for. After jumping times, he finally found a small sinew of pause. Tackled by migraines left over from shooting himself in the head, each day was a reminder not to go back to the trigger. He had to exist here. This was where he was meant to be. Xan was here, somewhere. They had something to accomplish. Now that Father was dead and his powers remained in this time, certainly the balance was set. No longer would the power shift into disaster. Instead, he had to build upon suffering so there may be no more suffering. Upon seeing so much destruction, there would be no more need for it—no more desire to cause it ever again. Such a deep misery would well up into the perfect ideals of serenity. Or so RIOTE was forged for. At the helm suddenly, Aurel had taken control with effortless finesse. Knowing no one, nor hardly how to utilize technology, he slowly built himself up, only now to face something completely and entirely unexpected.

A month and a half ago, an outbreak of a strange virus appeared in a Moscow hospital. The news was reported, but it was just another one of those things hardly worth his attention. As the victims grew and restraints were beginning to be used to hold patients down, that was when his attention was warranted. Immediately, he set about finding out more information on this virus and why more and more people were getting it. However, such a thing cannot be so readily contained. It burst forth all over the country, spreading across the tundra at a wild pace, excited, it seemed, by the cold conditions. It festered in people, driving them mad. Whole families destroyed each other before being able to seek help. Fires grew over the mountains, reaching Briggs, and finally the international media. Doors were sealed, people fled without being aware of them already carrying it. It was pleasantly classified as the adage: the beginning of the end.

While it was a bit foreboding, Aurel and the rest of RIOTE remained fairly calm, not exactly sure as to where to stand. These were indeed their citizens, so certainly they should be alarmed, and do something to assist. Therefore, Kit Estential (whom Aurel had previously turned into Gluttony) was instructed to send men out to help. Oddly eager, the usually murderous employed members of RIOTE did just that. But it spread. It spread to them—it spread to everyone. They did not know exactly how it spread; it just did. Most of RIOTE’s reserves were wiped out in a few weeks, reports spiraling all over the news about the fall of the evil Drachman empire. It was ignored. More important things were beginning to step up to the stake. Vanity took off, already distantly accepting of Aurel’s mirrored self and lack of memories, but not enough to consult him over it. She visited hospitals and victims to console their families, already aware of her immunity as a homunculus. It was all she could do. However, all good deeds do not go unpunished. She was found as a pile of mangled body parts, blood pooling in the corner of a grey room. Hazmat suits and machine guns made use of her killers who had already been given over completely to the Deadlight-Virus. (That was what they were calling it). Aurel found Vanity’s remains later, after the events. It seemed the afflicted were becoming more and more aggressive, turning on anything with a heartbeat. To die by the hands of her own citizens so late…was truly a shame. But that’s all it was.

Drachma had fallen. RIOTE was lost. Among the graves—the ailing—the afflicted, Aurelius rose to his feet. There was nothing to be done here any longer. Their research was collapsing under them, doctors falling prey to their very cause. It came time to leave—leave it all behind without looking back. There was much debate. To Aurel, it was as if he were abandoning all he had gained; except, he hadn’t been the one to gain it. Therefore, he only felt distantly towards it, acting as he believed he should for the greater good. …if there was any good still left in him, as many would dispute. Sometimes, he found, he was even beginning to believe he himself lacked it. He kept others away, hoping not to taint them with his own corruption.

Despite that, there were those that would have none of it: Nyx, Kit, Tatyana; they were all there for him regardless of his flaws and lack of humanity. His most trusted ally and his daughters. Well, there was a catch to that. Nyx, of course, had no actual blood relation to him, but had he remained in the time he was meant to have lived out his life, surely he would have married Evelyn. Instead, he left her there with her brother and the watch-bracelet he had given her when she had lost everything. Now, today, Nyx wore that same bracelet, passed down through the generations to her hands. It was a wonder in and of itself that of all the people in the world, she would be the one he was able to call a daughter.  However, of his two daughters, Tatyana was blood-related. You see, as he was able to gather, he had had a daughter in the future. This daughter had accidentally walked into his black hole and ended up in the current times for about three years. For some of that time, she had ironically found her way into RIOTE, presently informing him that RIOTE was not existent in her time, otherwise she would have recognized him. She assisted with the reopening of Rouen’s borders and establishing a new populace of immigrants among the broken. It became just the paradise—just the utopia that both he, Villetta, and Tatyana had imagined. However, that innocent spirit, which had assisted with the country’s rebirth, was stolen away by her very own hands. Tatyana killed Tatyana. Sent by himself in the distant future, this Tatyana’s mission was to kill her younger self so as to break the circle. Abruptly that life ended. A life is still a life. Was she different even though she was the same person? Had she felt death even though she was still alive holding the knife? Aurel couldn’t fathom it much less understand where his future self had been coming from, but in the time following, he grew to accept it; even though, to him, he was much too young to have any offspring, especially having never married.

His first encounter with this older Tatyana had been received through the mail. It seemed, after having been sent into this time, she had forgotten herself briefly only then to have finally recollected:  

Hello dearest Aurelius,
How fares you?  I must muse how odd you must feel receiving a letter from an unknown source, but I shall let you know, that you know me very well, or at least you WILL know soon enough.  You will meet me soon, then, again in a few years.  How much fun it will be that I will remember none of this then, but for now, I know all about you.  As people, we never fall far from home, do we?  Everything cycles and soon, you too will be consumed by the loops time holds for you.
Nevertheless, this is not why I have contacted you.  No, I am by no means attempting to taunt or anger you, but simply warn and motivate you.  Give me three days and I will show myself, until then, rest assured I could never think of wronging you.  
Godspeed to you until then.
                                   Sincerely,
                                                           T.S.

She was flawless. Whoever her mother was… it made him wonder if it really was possible to love someone so completely. He questioned it every time he set eyes on her since she appeared to him. That—that right there was the result of something far from him now. She kept her distance from him for obvious reasons, but… Was the future not already meant to be changed? After her deed of taking her young self’s life, Tatyana did not ask to be returned to her time. He did not know why. And he did not inquire. But Tatyana did come to him. How painful must it have been to have your father right there, but for him to not be your father. Nothing about them reflected this—not until the very end.

Tatyana was the first to be infected with the Deadlight-Virus. Almost immediately, she began coughing. That was the only way they were able to tell. It was like a cold—a normal sickness that time and vitamin C could easily wash away. But then…she began to lose her eyesight. In a matter of time, she was bedridden, already fading away before their very eyes. Nyx would bring her soup, chiming about how they would go to the amusement park when she was better. He remembers yelling then—being angry with his words, and saying “NYX SHE’S DYING.” As if the cold, hard truth would bring either of them any relief. He immediately regretted it. He regretted a lot. He didn’t know anymore.

Through it all, he was there. People were in an out, buzzing by, doctors, nurses, Nyx, Kit, people. He didn’t know—didn’t care; he was just there, through it all. Aurel became one with an uncomfortable sofa chair, sleeping sometimes, other times speaking to her in such a soft voice he hardly understood himself. He didn’t know he had it in him to care so much. He felt himself falling apart, the only thing keeping him together was her pale hand clutching him, squeezing, sinking further and further under the surface where he couldn’t reach. He couldn’t comfort her. He could do nothing, but witness the death of a daughter he hadn’t even had yet.

"Please..." she would say, ”please, don't make me go through this again." A rupturing voice, shaking, edgy, pieces already falling away around him. Her grip—that tight embrace of hands—dragging him back and back again.

“I won’t,” he had replied, knowing full well that when Tatyana was born, he would never allow her near his alchemy. There would be precautions—so many precautions. Because if he failed, he knew he would lose her forever. This very moment. This moment. Her fingers slipped from his, her consciousness zoning in and out with fatigue and spurts of aggression. He couldn’t.

"I don't want to let go." But she was already dying—dying like so many other before them all. Everything was falling apart—melding away into nothingness. His very soul dripped down into the carpet, seeping into it like the blood from her lips. "I stayed to tell you about it,” she managed out, “I didn't want you to catch it again.” All at once, he had understood. The reason for her staying in this time was for this. The words of warning she hadn’t gotten out in time were already wasted. A sad, bittersweet smile donned his face.

“It’s too late,” he had whispered. He was already with her—already part of it all. His country was simmering into ashes, not snow; her words, his words, their breath coming together. It was already too late. But he wouldn’t die, no. “It’s a small price to pay…for all of your suffering.” She was gone. So suddenly—so fluidly.  At least, in the end, she was home.

Not long afterwards, Aurel wandered out of the room in a haze. It took her weeks to succumb; he didn’t even know what day it was. He didn’t even know who he was anymore, but it was over. That in there was just a body. The halls outside were empty and plagued, dust gathering on shelves, suitcases awry in the alleyways, overturned. He fell away from himself, stumbling into things until he found his way back to where he usually spent his days. There, he found Nyx, and effortlessly collapsed.

Being there—where Tatyana was, experiencing that was entirely different than watching someone else go. While it was sad and prickling to witness death, it was a whole other beast to be at the gate again. That warty smile, creeping over a face that isn’t even a face. The blob of a body cackling and laughing away at the one and only human that had outsmarted a god. The Philosopher’s Stone inside him simmered, fizzed, bubbled through his bones and the very core of his being, eating him alive from the inside where the virus grew and festered. Whiteness, everywhere. He could hardly see this faded world—the fury of so many misshaped lives. Stone after stone after stone upon the graves of the young whose bodies had all gone lain before his path. Skeletons. Closets. Unspoken words. Regret. The whispers of that man before the trigger took him away. He had sent him there—he had sent them all there. He had caused Tatyana’s death just as he had caused her life. He was the scale with which balance choked him, tapering away everything—everything and nothing. Over and over it would happen until there was no energy left—until The World’s foolish smile was blotted out by his own hands. Until then…

“Shit,” he breathed.

[Iris]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Central City, Amestris

The wreckage was everywhere. Everyone was suffering and nobody could do anything about it. If it weren't for her new abilities, she would be dead. Iris knew that for a fact. She was living on borrowed time, it seemed. She should have been dead MONTHS ago. In fact, it was closing on a year.

..A year, huh. Everything was gone. She wasn't allowed in Fort Briggs, because it was on lock down with the closeness to Drachma and the fact RIOTE had owned it briefly, but still- she could relish in the fact that she got the memorial she had wanted up.

The pain never really went away. Sure it sort of eased, but not very much. As of recent days, she was even forgetting how old she was. What did they look like? At the time she had been so blurred by tears that the memories were askew with moisture. Her shoulder twinged slightly, as if to tell her how things went down- how she should have died. Breath forced out of her. It was scary. At the time she had been terrified and still to this day it frightened her.

At least then, she wouldn't have been alone.

Her whole life she'd been surrounded by people, but now- they were vanishing. It was almost as if everything she touched was leaving before her eyes. Maybe that was the curse of what she accepted. Her body tensed, then rejected the tears that pushed at her eyes. No. She wasn't going to cry. Iris didn't cry. Still..

She wiped at her watery eyes and took a deep breath. All of her artwork was still in what was left of what had been her home. The bitterness wasn't really there, but the numbness was slowly taking her. She could feel herself asleep despite moving. What was there to fight for? Her soul told her; she needed to keep others from feeling this way.

Was she so weak? Her eyes moved across the streets which were increasingly vacant and yet full. What was it full of now? Fear. These people didn't know how to react to this sickness. RIOTE. RIOTE DID IT. They had called upon the appearance, but- it didn't make sense. If they wanted to do biological war- why was it on their own people?

This wasn't just the blame game. People's lives were at stake. All these people were doing were running and pointing fingers, but really- who was she to blame them? She shook her head and sighed. It had all been a blur since the festival: a less than savory blur that lacked any real outlines. She couldn't really recall what she had even accomplished. Maybe things would clear up soon. Pink eyes rose up and stared hard at the sky. Somehow.. somehow she doubted it. There were more storms brewing before a peace could ever fall.

[Dawsic]

Date: September 6, 2013
Location: Central City, Amestris

I was at my usual haunting grounds I suppose. The pain and misery mixing with depression and grief finally drove me out of the house. Not only had the epidemic claimed his mother (who had little chance against the virus) but had also claimed his little brother he spent nearly his whole protecting. I had set beside his bed while he was fighting the virus in a coma. I finally returned home when the doctor assured me that Zach would make a full recovery however, the minute I walked through the door. I got the call I never wanted to hear. The virus claimed his life. Grief-Stricken, I ran out of the house to who knows where. When I finally rubbed the tears out of my eyes I found myself back where at my old haunting grounds. The Ice Cream Shoppe. The plague has claimed almost half of all lives in Central. I had plopped into my usual spot and covered my face with my hands. The Doctors had told me I had been unable to catch the virus for unknown reasons. However I will still suffering from the It Should Have Been Me moment. My dad, who I hadn't seen coming had plopped down across the table I was at. I looked at him with an obvious glare. It was his fault he was the "all powerful healing alchemist who could cure anyone". I ignored most of what he had to say until he told me that Zach wouldn't have wanted me moping for the rest of my life and said that he loved me. In response I hugged him, something I wouldn't have dared to do in 5 years.
I had just packed his bag and walked over to the nearest bus to Central HQ. I didn't like to but unfortunately for me, It was time I did something. For the past year I was in a coma induced by Aurelis, who had my face memorized from my first visit in Drachma. I had waken up to a nightmare. People sick and dying of a plague. I watched as my mother, Shawnee, fall victim to the virus first. Then in horror, watched my own brother, who I spent most of my life trying to protect, die right in front of me. Back to the present I had jumped onto the bus, Ready and Willing to give up my old life for a one involved in the Amestrian Military. I had lost my license for starter alchemy. I was about to earn it back and then some. However leaving my old life behind wasn't the only reason behind this visit. I was going there to attempt to find out the origins of this virus and its cure. and I'm not going to stop even if it killed me...

[Murazar Dauthi]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Somewhere in Amestrian Airspace

Murazar was piloting an old KA-60 Kastaka that he tactically acquired from the RIOTE air support reserves. Murazar had taken the blackbox and disabled the IFF indicator, which considering his instruments were going haywire from nearly clipping a mountain twice and almost getting shot to pieces by both Drachman and Briggs Anti-Air weaponry. He was trying to control the crappy twenty-year old aircraft before he crashed into the ground. Also all the controls weren’t labeled, in the same places as the helicopter’s he had trained on and there were two Amestrian military jets trailing him.

A voice came-over his radio communique, “Unknown craft you have entered Amestrian military airspace. Either turn your aircraft around and reenter Drachman airspace or we will shoot your aircraft out of the sky.” Murazar laughed as he grabbed the rappelling cord and attached it to his swiss seat harness. He put the helicopter into a steady nose-dive as if he was going to land before steadying it out just above the tree tops. As a voice came yelling over the radio as some kind of last warning he jammed a piece of metal into the lever space to make it go up just as he came into a clearing. It jerked suddenly and he fell out. Just as he heard the rope make a tightening noise and he slowed down just enough not to be fatal he unclipped the rope he was attached to and fell through a bunch of tree branches before hitting the ground rolling and stopping just short of breaking his face on a rock.

He breathed haphazardly as he got up sharply and started running, he cradled his right arm as sharp pains went through it. Adrenaline was jolting through his body, it was the only thing that was forcing his body to move. That fall damn near killed him, he was pretty sure his arm was either broken or severely dislocated. His thoughts flashed back as he ran through the woods to what he remembered was a town to the west where he could hole up for awhile in.

It was what felt like ages ago as Drachma’s population were infected with a lethally destructive virus. Vanity slaughtered, Aurel infected and dying, the entire population murderous and dying. It was high time to leave the country. Few countries would have him, most people that knew about him would kill him on sight. The good thing was that most people who knew him were dead already, the next was that most people that were still alive would probably die from the virus and lastly most countries would be more worried about the riots and failing government structure. He had no purpose with anyone anymore except himself. Survival was it, he had no family, no loved ones, and his friends were either dead, dying or vanished in thin air. He remembered running in the streets, escaping mobs, fire and destruction. He limited his alchemy use and survived until he made his way to an airfield that hadn’t been wiped out, demolished or broken down from no maintenance for the aircrafts.

Life generally sucked, but now he was in Amestris running in a forest with a busted arm and nothing but himself from two military jets that were probably radioing a garrison to investigate the forest. It would be futile, because by then he would have already received medical treatment and been on his way to the next town and so forth until he reached and isolated enough area to wait out this virus. Once it was over or at least managed he could check on his network of contacts and maybe any surviving friends.

[Hans L. Reinhardt]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Central City, Amestris

Everything has been different since June. Chancelloir Hans Reinhardt sat at his desk at his home office, grateful to be at home for the day. There was no idea to go in for political business, nor visit his office in Central HQ. He could sit and mull over the paperwork of running a country here, in the peace of his own home. And his life had been anything but peaceful recently. Amestris seemed to continue on badly, despite all of Hans' best efforts. In fact, if it wasn't for his management, the country could have easily fallen apart at any time. Starting in June, South HQ was attacked. A RIOTE operative was suspected, but he had gone to the wind and they could not confirm the source. However, Hans was very willing to see that man dead, but it was unseemly to send out a death sentence in this day and age. He could be thankful that only the HQ had been destroyed and some surrounding buildings had suffered minor damage. Since June, the HQ had been rebuilt with speed and South City was once again back to its usual fervor as a new city.

However, that had just been the beginning. Within two days of the attack on South HQ, he had lost one of his best generals. Shula Brighton had been poisoned in the attack and did not recover. Hans had taken it hard for he had viewed Shula as a daughter-figure, being fond of her. It had been especially hard to make the phone calls to her family, her finace and her best friend to share the terrible news. The funeral had been simple and moving, which was very much like Shula Brighton had been in life. Hans was dealing daily with the grief and he was better. Shula had been tucked away with the saddness about his little Liese. Another loss in his long life.

It had taken some arranging, but he had sorted out losing two generals. It made sense that Spade Aeries would withdraw upon losing his future wife. The military was doing the best it could, but it was stretched a little thin. Everything seemed to be starting to settle in when August hit and the world went to hell. Rumors swirled in Drachma of a mass wave of deaths, starting slowly and building up. No one could quite place it. And yet, it spread. It spread all over, even hitting Amestris. Hans was forced to make the harsh call of quarantining North City (and so soon after reclaiming Fort Briggs from RIOTE!) and East City when the virus spread to Xing. Creta and Aerugo had been able to keep it contained and those pathways were still open. But the world was scared. The Deadlight Virus was causing a panic as each country struggled to find a cure. Hans had recently been in preliminary talks with Wolfgang to create a world-wide health coalition to find a cure. Wolfgang had suggested Gelemorte as the meeting place for all world-leaders, promising they met his testing requirements. Several hundred brains were better than one. Amestris was taking in refugees, if found to be noncontagious, but the resources of the military and the country were continued to be stretched thin. A cure needed to be found, as well as the culprit. Hans Reinhardt sighed and stared out his window. This was just the beginning.

[Nyx]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Moscow, Drachma

It seemed ages ago, and yet it was so close and surprising. Nyx couldn't tell whether it had been months or seconds since the outbreak, it had all hit with such impact. Cities fell, bodies every day collapsing onto the pavement. Since the first encounter with the more aggressive of the former men and women and children, not a day had passed that she did not carry both her quiver and bow and her trident. Especially not since Aurel had contracted the disease himself. He was taking it far better than most, likely due to his mixed blood, like other chimerae who'd become infected, herself not inclusive; she'd been fortunate. As it stood however, he was far too weak to defend himself. Normally, he'd have had a much better guard for himself; Vanity and Kit were both homonculi, immune to the disease entirely, and the many other men and women of RIOTE who would defend him if they had to. But of all those, only Kit remained, the others dead, the lot of them, Vanity included. And Tatyana...

(Click Me!)

Tatyana had been among the fallen. Nyx had personally cared for her as long as she possibly could, perhaps even prolonging the life of her sister. And not only did she do so, but she did such with a rather matured and steadily determined manner. Blindly optimistic, stubbornly clinging to the idea that Tatyana would pull through. It was not necessarily intended to make herself feel any better, nor to make Tatyana feel better and more at ease, nor particularly was it intended for Aurel. It just was. And so the words she chose to speak were spoken, the words of comfort and hope. Innocently, what she had been doing was misunderstood by her father, alas; at some point, he just became frustrated with her and for perhaps the first time, raised his voice at her, screaming the inevitable; that Tatyana was dying. While Nyx was not particularly pleased with that, she didn't get upset, nor angry; no, she merely frowned at Aurel. "...I know that. But that's still no reason for you to yell like that; you just lost your dessert tonight, Aurly!" Even as she half-jokingly chastised Aurel, she never moved from Tatyana's bedside, still trying to coerce her to eat some of the soup she'd made. It was chicken noodle soup; everybody eats it when they get sick.

But of course, Tatyana wasn't sick for very much longer. Or rather, she may well have been sick for perhaps much longer. Nyx honestly had no idea, for the passage of time was lost to her as the days went by; she would go several days without eating, not realizing it, only noticing the need for sustenance when her stomach began to hurt. She could still recall that last day, so vividly. She'd been making another batch of soup; Aurel went to check on Tatyana, and she'd ceased moving. No dramatic last words, or none that Nyx was privy to, at least, no gathering by her bed side, nothing special at all; she simply died, gone like an evanescent feather on the wind, there for but a brief second before being swiped away again. For life was a cruel mistress, surely, but she was by no means the great actress depicted on the silver screen; no, there was no chance for a grand revelation of truths, nor for a heartfelt goodbye. There was nothing but a soft fading of a beautiful light. What once had been a sister and a daughter was now simply another body. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And that was the end of it. All that followed such an end was sorrow and despair...

But Nyx would not let such pangs of the heart touch her. In a moment of maturity and sheer emotional strength, she made it through the revelations of Tatyana’s death almost unfazed, outwardly. While on the inside, she was heartbroken, she didn’t show it, for Aurel didn’t need to see that. She had to be strong for him, because he shouldn’t have to just brush off such a tragedy. Perhaps he could have taken it with the strength Nyx displayed, yes, but it was his own daughter, his only daughter by blood, for that matter. Nyx had indeed expected him to break down, or grieve for days on end, or show some form of awful mourning.

But that simply wasn’t the case. Rather than great sadness, it almost seemed… anti-climatic. Aurel had come to Nyx immediately after the discovery, and collapsed on the ground, just barely able to utter that she had finally left this world which had never really been hers. Nyx stopped stirring the soup and she ran to Aurel’s side to ensure that he was alright. He had passed out, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from shock, but Nyx had a feeling it was more than that. He had been growing weaker, it had seemed, and it was certainly not a good thing. She found a phone and made a call; he needed help, and help he should receive. “Hallo,” she spoke, as calmly as she could muster, to the man on the end of the line, managing even to use her casual greeting of the Western Amestrian tongue. “It’s Nyx Schwarz.”

“Can I speak with Dr. Emmelin?”

[Alaina LeClair]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Central HQ, Amestris

Summer had been pretty awesome. She and Jay had started actually dating – blowing up McRonald’s didn’t count as a date. Alaina had learned in the past couple of months that it was wise to keep Jay out of the kitchen unless you wanted your arteries clogged with vast amounts of grease and whatever other insanely unhealthy things were put into the food. Now, of course, the food was good. Alaina had tried deep fried pigeon once, it wasn’t bad but she lost a few decades of life eating it.

And then just a few weeks ago, she’d been promoted to Head of Defense in Central HQ. Too bad that shortly after, she’d be fighting an enemy that wasn’t really there. How does one plan defensive tactics against a disease? Alaina lay back on the small couch in her office, her arm thrown over her face. This was horrible. Parts of Amestris had already been quarantined. It couldn’t be too long before Central was shut down as well. She didn’t have anywhere to go – no one to worry about outside of Central – but the threat of having Central confined suggested to her that the disease was close.

Relief efforts were already being planned, or at least that’s what Alaina heard. She hadn’t even thought it was that bad at first. Had anyone? It started with a cough right? But it only grew from there. Eyesight would go next, followed by sanity. Alaina picked her arm up and held a hand in front of her face. Yeah, she was still okay. Her eyesight was fine. Hopefully it wouldn’t abandon her though. Alaina briefly wondered if her parents were okay, but they had basically disowned her and never kept in contact. How many people, in just the last month alone, had died already? Alaina grimaced; the thoughts making her feel sick to her stomach. So many people that had caught it and probably realized too late that it wasn’t an average cold.

Alaina stared at the ceiling. What now? What was she supposed to do? Hanging around her office all day wasn’t really a great idea but carrying on like nothing was happening wasn’t on her agenda either. Instead, she stood and made her way to the door. There had to be something she could do to help, or at least occupy her mind. She had a feeling this was just the beginning of a huge world-wide disaster.

[Alder Finch]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Home in Gelemorté

Well, summer sure had started fun. The blonde haired pilot had been having a lot of fun those past couple of months with Rufio. They’d bought two cats and had a whole scare with a raccoon in Rufio’s apartment. Oh, Alder had even met Danté; a strange young boy that Rufio knew. Alder wasn’t sure whether to love or despise him. It was a love-hate relationship. Mostly hate, but still. Alder still hadn’t managed to persuade his blonde haired companion to fly with him - the guy really hated airplanes – but Alder wasn’t about to give up on that. Overall, even with Danté showing up at random times, the summer was great. Summer was always great, the most fun part of the year in Alder’s opinion.

However, there was no fun to be had now. This was serious. He sat down on the sofa, though for once he didn’t stretch out and throw his limbs across the arm rests. At the moment the blonde was seated on the edge; feet flat on the floor, elbows on knees, and head in hands. A laugh bubbled from his lips, though it held absolutely no mirth. What had happened here? What had happened everywhere? Just a few months ago, everything was fine and wonderful and perfectly normal. Yeah there were little mishaps every now and again – but little things, like thunderstorms and whatnot. This was a new level of terror. A pandemic. When people first heard about it, Alder paid it no mind. It was just a little cold; it would come and go within a few days. A month.It had been in circulation for over a month and the symptoms seemed to get worse and worse. Even to the point that Gelemorté’s renowned Venice had been quarantined. Funny how you never want to go somewhere until it’s shut off from the rest of the world.

Being a pilot in the military, Squadron Leader at that, Alder knew he had responsibilities. Before, they were easy to put off. Just little missions here and there that weren’t a big deal. But this, this scared the pilot. He’d be flying for far more important matters now – not that his country’s matters weren’t meaningful before. Refugees needed help, others required relief efforts. Alder ran a hand through his hair, his teeth clenched. He was scared, worried, just non-Alder like. The worry wasn’t even for his own wellbeing though. His fear was trained on Rufio. What if he were to contract the disease? What’d Alder do without him? He laughed yet again, a smile pulling at his lips. He’d have to deal with Danté all on his own. He’d probably “accidentally” end up seriously injuring the kid.

All jokes aside, this was terrifying. Alder almost wished he didn’t have anyone to worry about. These feelings were clouding his sense of judgment (although it was quite lacking). His mother was…somewhere in someplace, he wasn’t concerned about her. His father was six feet under – Ha! No chance of Dad catching the disease! His attention was trained on the wellbeing of Rufio and, God forbid he admit it, Danté as well. Alder hoped, at least, that if either of them got the disease that he himself would die first. Selfish wish, really, but he didn’t want to watch his friends and loved ones wither away.

Sitting up straight, a determined gleam in his eyes, Alder grinned. What was this foolish brooding? He was stronger than that, he had to be! He was commander of his country’s flying forces! Plus, he was pretty sure Tsu would laugh at him if he failed miserably and died or something. Standing, Alder brought a hand up to straighten out the goggles that perched atop his head. Yeah, he had this under control! Striding out of the room, Alder headed straight for the hanger. There were countries in trouble out there! He had a team to form and a king to contact.

[Zayne O'Reilly]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Dublin, Carraig

The redhead’s summer would have been considered boring to most people, but for Zayne it was just simply peaceful. He had music to practice and books to read. He was happy. Other people got their enjoyment by going out and spending time and money with friends but Zayne didn’t need that type of fun. He was a little hermit, stuck in his den with his shell. Regardless though, he was content. Until he heard the news. He wouldn’t have been concerned had he not heard about how quickly this thing was spreading and how deadly it seemed to be. Apparently it targeted eyesight first. Yes, that’d be interesting for Zayne. He was already colorblind, he really didn’t care to lose any other aspects of his sight. Oh, and dying didn’t sound too enjoyable either.

Carraig, such a small nation. They could be completely wiped out if things got out of hand. He should have been worried, he really should have been, but he couldn’t find it in him. It was probably the shock of it all, but he didn’t want to get worked up about it either. If he did, he was sure to begin believing that every little cough that made its way past his lips was that cough. If he woke up with sleep still in his eyes he would assume he was suddenly blinded. No, he didn’t normally worry like that but who wouldn’t in a case like this? It was enough to scare anyone.

Currently, Zayne opened a stall door housing his mare. He didn’t have friends to worry about catching the disease. Well, there was Molly. Yes, her safety was something to be concerned about. Zayne shook his head and entered the stall, picking up a bucket so that he could sit upon it. Molly would probably see the disease coming and scare it away with some bagpipes or something. He needn’t be concerned. Instead he focused on the furry creature in front of him. Roxanne, his mare. He didn’t think animals could contract the sickness, but the worry still prickled in the back of his mind about poor “Roxy”.

Zayne sighed and brandished an apple, holding it out for her. He’d miss these days. If wasn’t sure, with the way things were going, when the next time he’d be able to come out here would be. What if they forced everyone to stay put in their houses? Would it even be safe to go to the barn? Could animals be carriers? The thoughts flew through his mind quickly, bouncing around the walls of his skull. No, he needed to stop. This was his time to forget about the outside horrors if only for a minute. Zayne grinned when Roxy nuzzled his hair, sniffing in search of more treats. This was something to remember, when everything else in the world fell apart. The smell of hay, the gentle breeze toying with his hair, the soft lighting of the barn, the warm fur of his mare’s coat beneath his fingers, her warm breath blowing curiously on his face. It was perfect, an escape. Zayne smiled and rubbed her nose once more before turning and leaving the stall. It was time to crawl back into reality.

[Spade Aeries]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Central City, Amestris

Who are you? He’d whisper to himself in the dark. Who are you? The man that pulled the trigger when he could have let it go. He could have let her go. Just like that, the justice undone. He could have crumbled there and seen Shirley run. Run away and never look back. But he didn’t. He learned that day—he learned that he was not the man he thought he was. He wasn’t a man at all. He became his job—he became what they wanted: a man that would pull the trigger. He was a killer—a murderer. Spade Aeries, the hero. Just like them. It wasn’t even his name. It wasn’t even him.

Who was he? He stopped asking one day. One day, he took up the cards and started playing his hands. Lady luck was such a sexy lady that there were no more questions to ask. Just beer. He learned how to walk in straight lines—how to drive drunk—how to speak coherently. Because of alcohol, he broke free from the memories. FUCK THAT SHIT. It was cool. It was all good. Day in, day out, he drowned himself because the noose was too scary. He was a coward.

And his car was loud, flashy. He got a lot of attention. He knew how to flirt. He stole so many hearts that he could have built a Christmas tree out of them. Not like that made any sense. Really, he didn’t give two shits—not that he would ever give even one. What he did give was free rounds and good sex. One night stands, every night. He didn’t care who he woke up with…so long as he didn’t wake up alone. He was a fool.

He got himself another job, blurred through the ranks, became someone important. Hah, important to others. He threw himself out on the battlefield, hoping someone else would end it all for him. Instead, he watched the people around him die. Each time, he came out of it. His dog tags sneered at him as if what was printed there still held meaning. They thought so. He was selfish.

Finally he started to care—started to care what happened to people. He began to feel again. Slowly, the numbness faded away. Slowly, he began to see again. Confused himself—got mixed up in words like love. He tripped over someone and went crashing into another, but she was too short to catch him. He began teasing her, began noticing that his tower of paperwork was being leveled by an alien force. Or a ninja. Or an Ishvallan. He’d blink and shit would be different. He couldn’t find his paperclips because they were actually where they were supposed to be. He had coffee waiting for him at eleven sharp. Who did that shit? Hung over, dank, dreary, headache, and that bright smile. Brighter than the office fluorescents. He’d have to squint sometimes. It was annoying, really. He was oblivious.

What light through yonder window breaks? Anything for a phone number. Thing was, he already had hers. He flirted anyway, but he couldn’t handle her, no. She was right. Sometimes—sometimes there’ll be a day when you just can’t. At first—first glance, she was just female. She was something to practice cheesy lines on. Sometimes they’d get her and she’d have to look down, but most of the time, she’d just roll her eyes. Couldn’t handle her, seriously. He was an idiot.  

How old were they when they started this? When was the first time he laid eyes on her? Small things. The little things. Details he’d normally know, he didn’t. At some point, he stopped paying attention. At some point, all he saw was her. He’d worry, he’d time her, he’d make sure that she was safe... At some point, he called her a friend. Shula Brighton, that girl who obviously dyed her hair blond. She was no blond. And he was brunette.

Wars, fights, battles, live or die. There came people he loved, want it or not. He was so desperate, he clung to them—hopelessly clung. Even when they fell away out of his reach, he never truly let them go. It wasn’t Spade’s style to just let go. He wouldn’t forget. He’d let himself be tormented instead. At least it kept them alive. He didn’t care if they would want him to be happy. He wasn’t happy. He was never happy. He was just good at drinking and flipping people off. He was human.

It was only when he thought he was going to lose her that he found himself again. All at once, he faced the image in the mirror—the voice that came from his parted lips—the cold, green embers behind the shades. He really was Spade Aeries, nothing special. The personas he thought he kept in storage were already dusty, decayed lies of something long gone. The man that pulled the trigger was him. Finally, he could step back. Finally, he found someone that didn’t accept just the surface. She was perfect, and he didn’t deserve any of it. He hated himself.

All along, she was at his side. When had he stopped noticing? When had he noticed? When he saw her there pretending, smiling on through her suffering as if it were just a dream they’d all wake up from, that was the very moment that he wanted the game to stop. It wasn’t funny. He could see through things; he just couldn’t see through himself. Lives—life—existence wasn’t meant to be played with. If you’re happy, smile. If you’re dying, don’t. Why, are you happy? Do you want to die?! He wanted to scream and yell and shake her and say no. But that was only how close they were. He could only tell her to pretend better. Fool him—fool him because there were some things he just didn’t want to know. He was afraid. He was afraid, and he loved her.

Took her dying the first time to admit that.

She was so innocent. Some days she’d let her hair down. Some days she insisted not to. She was so much more beautiful with her hair down. God, it took so long to get her into the bedroom. He stopped drinking—stopped smoking. He was overwhelmed with soberness—overwhelmed with how much more he saw. The world was glowing—everything was so much…brighter. Shu, she was everything. And for a short time, he had her back.

You know, they never did move in together. Couldn’t see her every day. They both had their jobs. If he knew then that he’d find himself loving someone again—loving her…he’d never have let her be the Head of South. No way. It wouldn’t have happened. None of this. None. So much would be different. So much still would be. His hands—his empty hands. Clasping nothing, clutching nothing, he wasn’t there. He just…he just wasn’t there. It was over. All of it, finished just like that. How easily. How quickly. How quietly. The world ended.  On June fifth. His sad voicemail left on her machine was already just a dream away.

How many times had he called now? Just to hear her voice. ”This is General Brighton, and if you’re hearing this, I am away from my phone. Leave a detailed message and number and I will get back to you. Namaste~” He couldn’t hear it enough. Now that it was gone—now that it was washed away forever, that was all he had left. An answering machine.

His brother, Saeji Shen—Ace Aeries was murdered. Spade had received the news from someone in Xing. Rushed over. Plane ticket. No time to tell anyone. Shu probably didn’t even know he was out of the country. He didn’t even know he was out of the country until he was standing at a grave beside his parent’s. The young Emperor who stepped down peacefully—the little brother who stole the cheerios, four eyes, he was already dead—dead before his older brother. The dirt was fresh. He had no family left. The coffin only had a head in it. Where were the people now?! The sad, black umbrellas? The rain? Emptiness was all around him.  

But death surrounded him. Like a plague, he wondered if maybe he was so lucky at everything else because he was stealing away the lives of everyone he loved. What was he even doing? Couldn’t he have waited even a day? Just a day. He’d miss his brother’s funeral, but it was okay. The squirt would forgive him. They weren’t really that close anyway. Spade left when he was sixteen, so how old was he, like five? Still, they were family. He loved the little loser who took notes from him. Ace was there when he flirted with Shula for the first time. Ace was there when he burned down the bar. They were growing closer then as siblings. You know, a little fire to keep the relationship alive. Xing came to Amestris’ rescue countless times. They were in it together—they were fighting it together. But he was taken from him. In a faraway land—in the country that Spade had grown up in, Ace was killed.  

And he had a good idea of who it might be that did it. He didn’t get angry. He didn’t know really how to feel about it. Markus, Josef, so many others were already grabbing at him, dragging him down, yelling in ghostly whispers. He didn’t hear any of them. Not anymore. Not after that phone call.

“I'm sorry, but I have terrible news to bring you. Shula Brighton died this afternoon.”

He couldn’t remember any of it the next day. Why his Xingese escorts were so worried about him. Why his pillow was wet or why his hair was plastered to his forehead. He didn’t get it. They had to tell him. Again. He had to hear it again. He fell apart again. He stared at his phone logs for hours, trying to disprove that Chancellor Hans had even called. He heard his own voice in his head, going in circles. What had he said? Had he just hung up? He’d stare at the times listed and pretend he had just hung up—that he hadn’t said all those things. What had he said?

Oh, that’s funny. What a terrible joke. Fuck you. Why the fuck didn’t you send someone to get me? Where were the guards? SHE HAS A FUCKING ARMY! WHO ARE YOU TO TELL ME THAT?! WHY. WHY DIDN’T YOU FUCKING CALL ME SOONER?! WHY. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU COULDN’T FIND ME!? FUCK TIMEZONES. WHY. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK I WOULD SAY?! HO’ SNAP, GUESS THAT’S IT THEN. No, no it’s cool, man. No worries. This is Shula were talking about. It’s SHULA, Hans. Most of it was a blur, but the residue—the leftover echoes of his own voice continued to bounce off the walls, suffocating him as they fell away. “Oh.”

He missed the funeral. He missed her family. He missed seeing her one last time. He missed her last words. He missed holding her hand. He missed kissing her. He missed holding her. He missed hearing her will. He missed comforting Csilla, being strong for her. He missed saying goodbye. He missed…he missed Shu. Her dress. Her hair. What was she buried in? How had she died? He was on a plane when the dirt covered her. He was flying while she was in the ground. So far. So far away. So separated. So lost. Going nowhere.

For days he slept at her grave. His phone died. It rained. He caught a cold. He wanted to sink into the mud and meld into the fabric of her coffin. It was the only way to embrace her now. Her name. It was on the tombstone. That was all.

He was dragged away at some point. Didn’t know who. Probably someone that cared. Made him eat. Charged his phone for him. Made him sleep. Washed his clothes. Made him drink water. Water tasted like chemicals. It would taste better with acid in it. His stomach burned. He threw up anything he ate. At some point when he was alone and supposedly sleeping, he just left. Leaving the door wide open, he walked to the bar. Sat down. Ordered champagne. The media found him. He didn’t know he was being kept from them until they burst in. Questions. He laughed. He cheers-ed them. Kept the champagne flowin’. Cameras were rolling. Oh, he was so sad.

Quickly, he fell. All the gravity of a billion worlds threw him over the edge. He didn’t even see it before he fell. Skeletons, bodies, screams. At the top of his lungs, he’d bury his face in the couch and lose it. He lost so much, he stopped holding onto anything. He had no part in anything that happened. He locked himself away. He got so drunk he passed out. Woke up with bruises. Broken chairs. He was arrested three times. Got off just because he was Spade. No one wanted to keep him. He was like stray.

Eventually, the pound did get him. The psyche pound. People talked to him in soft voices, afraid that any loud noises would end up breaking him. He had vodka in his water bottle, it was fine. He was handed drugs and told to take them. He was forced to share how he felt, but he didn’t even know what the word meant anymore.

He gave his car keys to someone, he forgot who. Didn’t care. He tried to overdose. Mixed booze and pills. Threw them up and woke up in the hospital. He quit his job. Found himself at Shula’s grave again. It was a month. There was no out of it.

What do you do when a loved one has died? Can you just go on? Do you honestly think that going on is even an option? Thinking back to Shirley, he began to question if he even did love her. Killing her—shooting her dead was nothing—nothing like this. It was better. Killing someone was better than this. And it made him hate himself more and more—made him wonder why the body under the ground had ever loved him.

He became numb. The drugs took effect, driving him like he was the car. He didn’t even think about it. He was a drone, living, walking, breathing, eating, for nothing. He would fall asleep on the kitchen floor surrounded by bottles. He slept so much. Probably because he wasn’t supposed to mix them, but he did anyway. Slowly, he was killing himself. He didn’t even care—didn’t even think about what she would want. She couldn’t want anymore. She was dead.

He had nothing of hers. He was just alone. Finally, people stopped butting in. No more knocks came at his door. No more prescription drugs. He was on his own to lose even more. The Deadlight-Virus was stealing away his city. Beer sold out everywhere. People were frantic, worried, losing their own loved ones. With bloodshot eyes, he blankly watched. Wait, was it his city?

It snapped him out of it. Briefly, he found himself in his Amestrian uniform at the revolving doors of Central Head Quarters. He didn’t belong anymore, but it was the only place—the only start that had lead him to happiness.  He was hoorah-ed inside by so many familiar faces. He was thrown back into the spin—lost again in the everyday. There were still…lives to save.

Only, they weren’t hers.

He began to regularly go to therapy and talk about all sorts of confidential things. He laid his heart out on the table and watched it burn alive before his very eyes. Take it, it's broken. He left day after day without that heart. His sleeve was empty—his smile, empty.  And he was fine with it. He had nothing left to give. His skills he used to organize the city and to order Amestris to action against the unknown virus spreading across the world. Suffering was thick in the air, people crowding the hospitals like locusts. He watched on as powerless as any. His face he used to plaster all over the news, assuring the people that everything would be okay when it wouldn’t. His hands he used to sign paperwork. He never looked over his sunglasses. Never thought of revenge. And wished every single second that the past three months were just a nightmare he'd wake up screaming from.

[Csilla Angelis]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Outside London, Creta

Things had been starting to get easier. Csilla had remained locked in her house for almost a week after coming home from Shula's funeral, grateful for the leave she had been granted. Anouk and Elastor had finally broken in, Anouk to help clean up her mess of a house and Elastor to hold her as she cried for the billionth time. But after that, things had moved forward. Gradually she had returned to work, staying mostly in her office by herself. Anouk took her out plenty and she got to babysit the boys, which definitely helped. It was hard to be sad around those two. Elastor was her constant rock in all of this, there in his silent, brooding way. He was literally and figuratively the shoulder she needed to lean on. It got better. The bags under her eyes disappeared and she appeared out in something more than yoga pants and an oversized hoodie. Her bedside table acquired a new decoration: a beloved picture of Shula and her now sat next to a picture of her as an infant with her family... both pictures flanked a candle. Her own small memorial for those dearest to her who had moved on.

Smiles crept onto her face on a more daily basis and things seemed to make themselves right in the world. She did try to reach out to Spade on occasion, but the news she had heard was never good. He had sunk low, like she had, but he did not have the same level of support she did. She had resolved to go to Amestris to visit Spade and grieve together, but Deadlight changed all that. The news filtered in slowly... deaths in Drachma and then Xing... some kind of mystery virus. Before Csilla could blink, it had escalated. Now countries were quarantining cities left and right and everyone was racing for a cure. She'd been careful, but London had not been hit by the virus as yet. An odd case here and there, but it had been contained. It was still unnerving. Csilla could only hope that herself and those left that she cared for were unaffected. She couldn't bear another loss.

[Elastor Ito]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: London, Creta

The only things that were really worth relating these past few months were… a pointy tube cake that looked like an elephant trunk...or a sock. Getting tied up in streamers. Pointy hats. July fourth (also the fourth of July) was his 24th birthday. Made him think back a little. Even while two crazy, insane, sugar-high kids were running circles around him with colorful objects. Last year, it wasn’t like this. He hadn’t let anyone close. He wouldn’t have put up with this. Even still, he wanted to cower in a dark corner and swat away all those damn family-loving smiles that were slowly tearing him away from everything that had ever been familiar to him. Solidarity. It was over. He had to keep telling himself. It was over.

It put him on edge even more seeing them so happy. When he looked in the mirror in the morning to shave, he saw it in himself too. It scared him. Still. Made him think back to a time when Takatori wanted to take everything away from him and watch it burn. Slow suffering. It builds like a row of dominos. Each. One. Knocked. Over. Until none remain. It was his life—it was their life they had survived until now. Any moment, he was ready for it to begin again—to see those dominos form. But they never did.

Zen Howler returned briefly from his travels in Xing. It was sometime in April near Easter or something. That was initially when the two of them began to create a way to counteract Vanity’s poison. Now that there were immortal monsters made out of alchemy living in the world, precautions had to be instilled as well as measures against those already infected. Like himself, of course. Most of those weeks were blurs. He wasn’t sure if he was dying or just getting worse, but at some point, Nu found out. Without him having to tell her, she noticed. He had to take off of work. Using his vacation days as a ruse, he was bedridden, relying entirely on Zen’s blood to survive. It was a sad day.

Ninety percent of his blood belonged to the moldy-cotton-candy-haired fool now. After so many transfusions, the symptoms were entirely fading. He only stumbled sometimes, and it was usually when no one was home. He returned back to work after about two weeks or so. Zen and him ‘hung out’ before the man took off again on his travels. Ela was in his debt. He gained an entirely new respect for the idiot.

Three months down the line, and he was on his last few transfusions, having to actually go to the hospital now instead of straight to Zen (since he left). And he went alone. Even if Nu knew, she never confronted him directly, therefore, he stayed absolutely silent about it. She was better left kept in the dark. It was a taste of her own medicine—it was just like how she was keeping him in the dark. About something. Of what, he had no idea. It was something, and it was there. It didn’t involve danger, but it most certainly made her happier. Enough for him not to complain.

When he normally would have demanded answers, he didn’t. Something about her having her own life and him having his kept him silent. He resorted to his old ways always, and it usually involved completely pulling away. He was either all in or all out. The last few months, he was all out. Distant and hardly around at all, he usually supported his sanity by going to work more. When he wasn’t at work, he was busy playing the role of a rock.

Csilla had lost her best friend. He didn’t know the details, but it involved South City and RIOTE. The very word angered him. In the end, he was powerless. All he could really do was stand there and watch Csilla cry. Honestly, he wasn’t much of a help. Doe-eyed and completely out of his element, he attempted by giving her more affection than he had ever dared to before. Slowly, it was working. She found her smile again, and that was really what they both needed. His found his too, then.

Shula was the only one who easily saw through him. In a sense, he was morbidly delighted that she wasn’t around him anymore, at the same time, she was a part of those he cared about. So, in actuality, he did care. She was a caring person. She had infiltrated him like it was easy. She made him feel violated and open in a matter of moments. It was impressive, and he really wished she wouldn’t teach Csilla any of that. Instead, she was another victim of RIOTE: the organization that birthed men like Takatori. They shredded lives. She didn’t deserve it.

Next came the Deadlight-Virus. He found out about it at work before it really hit the news. He kept it to himself and especially far away from the children. RIOTE was behind it. He was ready for a manhunt. They were going to die. He was ready. Kill. He became like a moth to Rachel, hovering about her awaiting orders. Still awaiting orders. Instead of attacking Drachma, however, Drachma fell on its own. He was shocked, baffled, bewildered. RIOTE…wasn’t behind it? The entire country contracted the virus, people dying in the streets. It was a plague. But London seemed safe for now; still, it didn’t stop Ela from bursting in and demanding that no one leave the apartment for extended amounts of time. Nu was to close her bar. They’d live off his money. This was no joke. It was time to be serious.

[Vincent Richelieu]

Date: September 11, 2013
Location: Fort Rose, Jilaine, Gelemorté

Summer was as every other summer for Vincent. He would spend time programming his personal computers, buying new clothes, running errands for the King. Everything was peaceful until about mid-August when a pandemic broke out. They're calling it the Deadlight Virus.

Vincent sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He hated what was happening to the world. If everyone was blind, how could they see how amazing he was? But in all seriousness he did hate it. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it. A serious feeling of guilt had been in him ever since Venice. The King gave the order, but he supervised the whole thing. His soldiers carried it out. He would be seen as heartless now, but he couldn't refuse a direct order from the King. He was just following orders...

~Flashback~

Date: Mid-August
Location: Fort Rose, Jilaine, Gelemorté

Vincent swirled around in his chair a few times, fiddling with a small PDA in his hands, anxiously awaiting orders. With the emergence of the Deadlight virus, he was on edge. When he learned that Venice was infected, he knew the King would take action. It wouldn't be wise to keep the ports open with a contagious disease infecting the CIEL Dominion. Something had to be done about Venice. He just wasn't sure what yet. That was up to King Wolfgang.

It wasn't long before he was called for action. The orders were upsetting. He and his people were instructed to quarantine Venice. That would mean that everyone in there would die whether they were infected or not. Innocent people would die. It wasn't fair to them, but orders were orders.

He and his battalion got on a plane and flew over to Venice in armor and gas masks. Most of the men were armed too. If an infected person was to try to flee, orders were to shoot on sight. The whole plane ride gave him and uneasy feeling. Not just because he was thousands of feet over lots of water, but because of what he was about to do. And what made it worse was that he couldn't even smoke in this armor.

Upon arriving at Venice, everyone was in a panic. The streets were in chaos. People were either infected, dead, or scared. It wasn't a pretty sight. The once peaceful tourist attraction, Venice, was now a pit of disaster and disease. It would be a shame to close off such a city.

Getting as close to the gates to the city as possible, he rallied his men. "Alright, as you all should know by now, Venice is infected. We've been instructed to cut off all contact with Venice and quarantine the entire island. I know it may seem like we are abandoning our fellow people. I know it may seem like we are turning our back on them. But what we are doing is for the good of all of the CIEL Dominion. Our orders are straight from the King. We are not to interact or come in contact with any of the citizens. If one of the infected-and we are to assume all citizens are infected-comes at you...you are to use the guns in your holsters. It is a necessary sacrifice for the good of the entire Dominion. If just one of us is infected, kiss the dominion goodbye. Put your emotions away and quarantine this island!” With that, the men moved to the wall and started sealing the gates. It took many hours to get everything done.

The work was difficult emotionally as well as physically. It was really hot and it made the uniform itchy. His hair was sweaty and probably sticking to his head and he really wanted a cigarette but the helmet had to stay on. At one point, a frantic infected citizen started running towards him and he promptly gunned him down. There was no way the mission would be jeopardized because of him. He wouldn’t fail his King or his country. He felt bad about killing that person, but he figured they were going to die soon anyways. He just saved him the trouble. They would thank him from Heaven. He was a hero and if not…he was just following orders. He did nothing wrong. The soldiers who saw him gun down the citizen bowed their heads as they knew he did what needed to be done.

A few more hours passed and the quarantine was complete and a few soldiers were left for border patrol before the rest got back on the plane. No one was happy about it. There were a few casualties after the one Vincent had gunned down. And many citizens had shouted at the soldiers, calling them monsters and traitors. Some cried. Some begged. Some asked why we had forsaken them. How could we turn our back on them and leave them to die? It wasn’t his fault. It was the right thing to do. He was just following orders…  

~End Flashback~

It wasn’t the best day of his life; that was for sure! It certainly wasn’t good for his conscience or his image. People probably thought badly of him now. He would just have to win them back. His men however, will probably respect him more since that day.  

At that moment his phone rang as he stood up and put out his cigarette. He had business to take care of. It was time to go.

[Jay Furor]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Central City, Amestris

The days following that excursion to McRonald's were rather great. Nooo, they were better than great, they were the best days. Indeed, she and Alaina went off on picnics, and to movies, and occasionally to boxing matches and food fights; normal dating stuff, right? And all was well, all was good. She'd even gone on a little shopping trip- one of the few she'd ever been on, in fact!- and purchased a dress of a certain shade, which may perhaps be white, and of course, a rather pretty ring to compliment it ever so nicely.

It was gold, and very nicely decorated, and had an inscription on it, though Jay couldn't, for the life of her, read the fine print on it. Something about love, she presumed; she lacked ideas, and told the jeweler to just do what he did best. Mind, she had chosen the gem personally; a diamond, right in the center, the size of a small Lego building block. It was a rather hefty purchase, particularly due to the quality of the diamond, but overall, she knew it was the best possible choice. But of course, even which such preparations for a wedding, there would be none; not then...

(Click Me!)

Of all of the people Jay would have expected to die before her (this list is rather small, you may imagine, given her reckless streak.) Shula Brighton was not, and had never been among them. She hadn't even been aware of the incidents in South City for several days after it had occurred. She was by no means one to cry, and especially not one to admit to crying, but all she wanted to do for a few days following was to let teardrops fall like rain.

Shula had been a close friend of hers, and at such moment, it was only then that she noticed they hadn't been quite as close as she would have liked; they hadn't hung out enough, she hadn't sat around with Shula and Spade and talked for hours about nothing as often as she could have; she and Alaina hadn't done one of those double dating things with the engaged couple. And now... Now it was too late.

It didn't take her long to realize though, that as harshly as she had taken Shula's death, Spade had to have taken it scores more painfully, infinitely more hurt by the terrible news than anyone else. And that was why she decided to hold off on giving Alaina the ring. It wouldn't be fair; it would be like salt in the wounds of her best friend, and she wouldn't have that. So soon after his fiancee met a tragic fate... Wedding bells would be the very last thing he'd want to hear.

She found him at her grave. Jay had, in fact, come to lay flowers by her final resting place. A bouquet of roses, as white as the purest snow; just as Shula had been such a radiant and pure individual, casting a warm glow on Amestris. But as she approached the grave, she found Spade, at last, curled up by the graveside, wrapped in not even a blanket; he looked like he hadn't eaten for days, as if he'd only just fallen asleep after not being able to sit awake for his beloved any longer. She woke him up as best as she could; he still seemed groggy, and she doubted very much that he was even aware of the fact that he'd been removed from the graveyard. She got him into her car and drove him home. First thing in the morning, she had ready for him a decidedly filling breakfast, to use the term loosely. Some sort of fried bird, and chocolate ice cream over similarly fried waffles. And a cup of coffee, of course. She practically had to force him to eat, however; he was still rather unresponsive, whether from being tired, or from being depressed.

Whichever it was, she had to feed him either way. Provided him with water, charged his phone for him, in case anybody called for whatever reason. Through it all, nothing really helped; he threw up whatever she gave him to eat (I mean... filet of seagull with enough grease to fry a herd of elephants... You know how that goes...) and was reluctant to drink any water or anything. He seemed resigned to just stop doing anything.

At some point through it all, the press hounds came knocking at the door for Spade's opinions on the attack on South, how he felt about losing his bride-to-be, and what he was going to do about it. Ah, the vicious bloodhounds, they. Jay kept them at bay for a few days, until they finally got what they wanted. Spade had apparently left, in the dead of the night, for whatever reason, and Jay worried. She worried for him... He'd be better eventually, if not sooner, then later. But for now... She couldn't help but be concerned for him.

She found him when he turned up again, a day or two later. He was perhaps even worse off than before. He ended up in a psychological ward, so he could get the help he needed. Not much helped there either. Not long after, he tried to kill himself; Jay took him to the hospital. It was bad enough that Shula'd died, she didn't need Spade to die too! But he just wasn't Spade anymore; she kept telling herself he'd be better, but she was losing hope... Maybe he'd be fine, maybe he'd never get better, she didn't know, had no way of knowing. She simply had to wait.

And then, in the midst of all of this, a disease struck the world with all the suddenness of a bullet making its impact. Had she blinked, she'd have missed it. The news called it Deadlight, the people called it the end of times. It started of innocently enough, but once you had it, there was nothing you could do. She went to work as quickly as possible; while there was no hope for the hopeless, she could still try and save the lives of those who weren't infected.

Gratefully among those uninfected lives came Spade, rising through the fog of confusion like a soaring eagle, unfettered by the strife and chaos around him. She was glad to have him back at Central. They needed him there. There was so much to do, so many people to save, so many to protect...

Alaina and Janis-Ilona; her love and her child, recently two years old. She made a solemn vow that even if she had to die for them, neither would come near the horror of the virus. Now, more than ever, there was a resolve in her eyes to defend the ones she cared about most. Spade as well. Alex, Csilla, Hans, even Betty and Turnkey. It was her duty and her responsibility to ensure that they all came out of this unscathed.

And yet... Somewhere, somewhere deep within her, she could see everybody around her, one by one, falling like dominoes, herself sitting helplessly, powerless to stop any of this. She had to fight that voice, constantly scolding herself for such thoughts. She didn't want to think them, she didn't want to see what her mind's eye showed her; everything would be fine. It would all end well. Everybody would be okay. She just had to keep believing that...

But it wasn't okay; people were dying, and there wasn't a cure in sight. That was bad enough, as it was, but even worse than that, worse than all of the death and sickness, even if it was a selfish thought to have, was that Spade wasn't the same. He had come back, yes, and risen like Lazarus, come back to save them all, though even he lacked the answers they needed most.

No, he had changed... He'd somehow fallen deeper into despair, and the only difference was that he'd gotten much better at hiding it under false smiles and empty words. It wasn't all okay, it may never be okay again. He'd suffered a heavy loss. She could do only very little for him. But what she could do was stand by his side, through it all. Thick and thin, she'd be there for him; a shoulder to cry on, someone to keep him on both feet. She had his back through it all.

She glanced out the window of the lobby at Central HQ, thinking over all that had gone on in the past months. The sun was shining brightly, despite the darkness cast over Amestris and the rest of the world. The tree leaves had begun to change color, some forming vibrant oranges and yellows, even in the early days of September, a stark contrast to the colorless lack of emotion in the man she considered a brother to her. Magnificent black birds flew overhead, wingspans the length of a man's body; but they deceived in appearance, for those were gluttonous buzzards, despite the sheen of their feathers. Simply a nice day. Far too beautiful a day outside for such awfulness to be abound in the world...

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