Re: MISSION: Introduction Deadlight-Virus

[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...

[Kit Estenial]

The last three months...they seem almost seared with everburning fire in the back of the Czar's eyes. The blinds were closed as light filtered through the dust-filled air in columns, bringing the only light to the one room apartment. One large bed, small fridge and stove, and nothing else. He sits, his knees to his chest, as he looks at the room and his jaded memories form his old resting chamber with its magnificent trappings and the crimson and golden colors that he once awoke to every morning. The beaming face of Nyx and NIN every morning as he entered sleepily, rubbing the nightmarish images from his eyes. The beauty he got to behold...the woman who had snapped him back to his right mind as the maddening emotion of Gluttony began to rest.

"We don't have to tell them now...we can wait. All this will blow over and then we'll tell them, okay?" He did and did not regret that statement to her. He meant it, god did he mean it, but...it didn't just blow over. Deadlight didn't just go away. Her laugh, her smile, her love, all stripped from him. He barely got to see her once she was put into intense care. He could bare to see her like that. He cursed his humanity. He hadn't ever felt as much pain as he had when Aurel walked out of her room for the last time. Tatyana was gone. The diamond ring that had stayed in his care would never reach her finger. Never...an absolute he hadn't wanted to live by. Nothing in his life was ever hopeless...his pain would always end one way or another. But this...death WAS absolute. The pain of it was also absolute. Even with NIN in his care, Kit would never quite be the same as he ever was, no matter what.

Three weeks. After evacuating, the haze of panic as they found refuge, he had to make a choice. In his condition, he was not able to help anyone. Not even his daughter. Catatonic, he sat and sat, staring at the wall lost in memory. He'd feel the weight shift the bed and see her...Tatyana in a gown of white. He'd smile and talk to her, such mundane things as breakfast and the occasional television show he had glimpsed weeks before. Always the same conversation. But it didn't matter. He had her again and that was all he wanted. For only so little time he'd known her, but when one has witnessed morality so many times...lost so much...he needed her. Like a plant to sunlight. He'd then inch close to her, her warmth so close as he kissed what turned into a whirling shroud of white smoke.

His face would be stark every time. Tears would stream down so unreserved. Then he'd fall asleep to just wake up and have the same thing happen again. Days and days would pass. Then, as he inched closer again to feel her embrace again, he hesitated. She look saddened, begging for him to hold her. Begging for the cold to be gone. It broke his heart to absolute pieces. Nothing had existed to him than this specter and now he had to end this. A small voice, his own from the past, commanded that he stop this virus as to keep this pain from all others. "I can't help you. You aren't real. You are a torture to me and I won't disgrace Tatyana by worshiping a ghost while there's work to be done. Leave me."

Again, she left in a column of smoke and this time she didn't come back. Kit was free. Things faded and Kit's eyes cleared. He was blinded no longer. The pain remained, but it would be the driving force to keep him going. To sustain his work towards destroying this...sin.

[Alejandra Rovella]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Vaingloria, Gelemorté

Everything was fucked up. The whole world, gone to hell. And here she was, a few months away from bringing two innocent lives into the world. But things had to get better by Christmas, right? Well, they had two. Alejandra Rovella would settle for nothing less. Especially after the summer she had been having. Telling Caj that she was pregnant was the first of many ridiculous things she had to endure. He had taken the news well enough, without the initial shock. He had been around a lot since, which is saying something, considering his hatred of Gelemorté. He had been there in July when she found out they were having a boy and a girl. Alejandra had wept and she liked to think Caj got a little emotional as well.

The real test had been shortly thereafter, when she had flown home to finally break the news to her parents. It wasn't something she had wanted to share over the phone, clearly. There had been some serious emotions... her father had offered to take Caj into another room for a private chat, which Alejandra had refused. There had been a lot of shouting back and forth between daughter and father before Violetta had made it clear that shouting would upset the babies. Everything settled out after that. Alejandra had kept her arm tight around Caj's waist as Caj met the rest of her giant family and the pregnancy was announced. It had been one big party (and no fights to be had). Violetta and Salvatore agreed to fly out for Christmas to be with Alejandra for the babies' birth.

After Alejandra got back, she settled into her work. She had never actually brought up her pregnancy at work, despite constantly growing in size. Flowing clothes and the general idiocy of her coworkers kind of help. She had planned to tell everyone around her birthday, but the world decided to start heading to hell. A virus hit Drachma and Xing and she watched Wolfgang take the world by storm, so to speak. Now it was time to introduce her coworkers to her giant belly and batten down the hatches. Caj would come towards November to spend the last month with her, if he could secure travel to Vaingloria. In the meantime, she'd just have to survive.

[Dunstan Hue]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Dublin, Carraig

There is an idiom that says that when you search for answers, you have to know that you're not asking the wrong question. At first, it sounded silly to Dunstan. Not so much now.

"So, Lugo," he said, with a slight indecisiveness. He glared into the mirror, one eye looking back to his reflection, expecting it to move. The other eye was, as always, closed. He couldn't get it to open. Apparently, Lugo could. He then looked a little more proudly. "Lugo," he said with more assertion. Then he bowed his head. "Lugo," he mumbled.

He won the fight apparently. In Drachma. He had taken on Shinku Kamogaya hand to hand and won. Well, Dunstan didn't. Dunstan was fat, podgy, almost constantly high or drunk and could barely hold his breath, never mind fight. Why else did he make sure to blow up his opponents up weeks in advance? But that was exactly the problem. He didn't win the fight.

The moment he was back in Carraig, he went back to the doctors to find out what was wrong with him. The answer was nothing.

Not even amnesia. In fact, Dunstan Hue had never had amnesia in the first place.

As he soon discovered, the reason that he couldn't remember his past life was that he was trying to remember events that had never happened. Dunstan Hue was one of many aliases, one for each country. Dunstan Hue, Jacob Mariner, Paulus Ansgar, Vladmir Vodlov, Julian Mamschtein, Kasa Hideaki, all just names and fake lives. All for the same man.

Lugo Brenhian.

Dunstan searched the house once more. It took him forever, but he had finally found the notebook behind security measures even he paled at. Of course, given that this was a notebook he hid from everyone, it made sense that Lugo would make sure that not even he could find it easily. He had also found what Dunstan... was... just a harmless mechanic who spent his days high and drunk and gave what he could to charity. Apparently, Lugo didn't even smoke pot, and was near teetotal. And the charity was not something he considered.

The man Dunstan was now was something of an inbetween of these men. He had the charity work, drinking and smoking added on, but otherwise he found that Lugo was simply an even more extreme version of himself. Dunstan could be surly and was a lecher, but ultimately harmless to those he cared about; he enjoyed bombing, but he would rather annoy others than kill them. Lugo, however, was a psycho. He was a bitter monster who detested everyone and only did anything for his own gain, and thought nothing for the lives of others. Plus, he had a lot of thoughts about women that even Dunstan thought dark and depraved. For Dunstan, women were to be wooed and have fun with. For Lugo, women were objects and slaves. Overall, Dunstan knew that Lugo was not the man he wanted to be. And so long as he was in control, it didn't matter who came first. If this was Lugo's body and mind by right, then it was Dunstan's by inheritance, and the little niggling voice in his head could do nothing to stop it.

Still, therapy had to be postponed. The Deadlight Virus. Gavin had all but shut off the routes in and out of Carraig, and Dunstan found that his business tumbled. People died and had less need for a bomber. He couldn't let anyone know about Lugo, because that would kill the mechanic side business that he now relied on to live. Still, he would inevitably have to warn someone, but the who could be worked out later.

Dunstan looked back up to the mirror, saying Lugo's name one more time.

"Doesn't really suit me, I don't think."

[Roarke Moray]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Dublin, Carraig

Roarke had decided that maybe thinks weren't so bad being a chimera. Sure, there were still some issues here and there. But a definite bonus was that chimera did not appear to contract the Deadlight virus that had come crashing down on the world recently. Not that Roarke was going to go get infected JUST to make sure, of course. Because that would be dumb. And a lumbering hulk he might be, but he was not dumb. Roarke stayed in Carraig as normal and continued about his life as normally as possible, just as he had done prior to the virus. Sure, it wasn't a great way to go through life. But he wasn't some fancy scientist or a diplomat. At most, he started assisting with unloading the cargoes bringing in supplies to Carraig. Gave him a chance to work out all his beastly muscles.

So life continued for Roarke Moray much as it had always done. He would roll with the punches and follow his Kingly-King down whatever path he decided to go. That was what soldiers did and Roarke was definitely a soldier. He was also hungry... and kind of tired. When would he get to retire to his fantastic manor house and just VEG OUT? Gosh.

[Ryuu Sato-Chiba]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Kyoto, Aerugo

The world was changing and the people of said world were running to catch up. A virus was taking its hold on many areas of the world, like the rest tried to fight back. Aerugo was no different. Borders between Xing and Aerugo had closed and there were restrictions everywhere. The change had not effected Ryuu too much, in terms of his job. A special task force of border security had been created, but luckily was not his department. He would continue policing the country and judging crimes. It was all he could do.

His fathers were still thriving and Ryuu was enjoying what life he could. He spent his quiet evenings at his home, his weekends at various dance studios. He ran into the young Ayaka on occasion, watching her blossom in her dance lessons. It disgusted him that her father still lived and breathed, secretly hoping the man would drop dead. Not a nice thought for such a high-ranking official... but, he couldn't help it. The man made his skin crawl. And since Ryuu wasn't one to commit crimes, all he could do was keep Ayaka safe from a distance. It helped that the snake of a man didn't exactly trust his angle. And knowing that the Pīsumēkā was watching his girl closely meant that the bastard had to behave.

Ryuu shook his head to clear the thoughts from his mind. He disliked thinking about the situation and needed to clear his mind. He had better things to attend to, like helping to keep his country in one piece. It was all the dancing man could do, after all.

[Tsuboi Ryūji]

Date: September 1, 2013
Location: Kyoto, Aerugo

He was back to his routine. Stood out in the frigged September morning air in just his trouser practicing his swings. His forum finally back slowly shedding the fat he had put on with depression eating. After all he had to be back in shape to protect his lord. This un-seeable threat even had him on edge.

The scare his mother had was a slap to the face. Luckily she only had anemia but it was a stressful few weeks. The Deadlight-virus had only just been discovered and the symptoms weren't well known. Seeing his mother in an isolation room with men in hazard suits behind glass had broken him.

Drinks had been down and even more candy had been chewed. It had been hard but when his mother had been cleared Ryuji hadn't cried harder in his life. hugging the small woman close while he sobbed into her shoulder. Happy that she was alright.

Now she was back to her job as an in house nurse while Ryuji worked on shedding his baby fat and getting his head back into the game. It was also time to pay his father a visit.

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