New York City, New York, USA- July 2005
Waves of vibrations pulsated through a crowd of bodies, swaying rhythmically on the dance floor. Spiked heels pressed hard into black marble as the room illuminated every few milliseconds with a sweep of crimson, gold, or teal, or the bright silver flash of a strobe light. The place smelled like a combination of alcohol and sweat, but the beads rolling down the forehead of a long-haired brunette didn't seem to bother her at all. Wide green eyes glowed seductively behind lengthy dark lashes as her tapered, red-tipped fingers slid through rows of chestnut-colored wavy locks, the ends of her hair falling in a bunch at the small of her back.
The dance moves remained simple enough as the hip-hop music pumped through the night club and everyone on the dance floor seemed to hold one alcoholic beverage or another in one hand. With all of the tipsy people on the dance floor, one would expect that a partygoer might drop the delicate glasses but none had done so that night. She could feel the heat radiate from the guy she danced with as their bodies moved together in rhythm. As the music slowed to an R&B ballad, the brunette's shimmering green eyes conveyed no to the male partner who didn't seem too upset as another eligible lady took her spot. Striding to the bar, the green-eyed woman slid her bare legs carefully onto a leather-topped stool, keeping her black mini-skirt from riding up as she fished through a black pouch around her neck for cash.
"What'll it be?' the trendy bartender asked her loudly over the music, a silvery nametag on his black polo reading Joe.
Spiked, light brown hair adorned the crown of the bartender, but clearly from his stocky stance, accent, and tough guy attitude he hailed from the Bronx, or at least pretended to. The woman at the barstool had to admire the Bronx; they still stood proud despite their humiliating loss last year. Such a shame that those 26 rings and billions of dollars didn't seem to bring anything to fruition in the new millenium except a brilliant t-shirt vendor that told them all to stick those rings someplace else.
"Sam Adams Summer Ale, thanks," the brunette yelled over the music.
Joe from the Bronx nodded and turned away from her. Not that many people flocked to the bar at that point in the night; for now most seemed content with their alcoholic consumption. To her left sat a young couple, side-by-side on the bar stools. The red-haired woman held onto a smoothie of some sort in her right hand while her left hand rested in the hand of presumably her boyfriend. His head tilted in a direction so that it seemed as if he studied every pore on the redhead's delicate, pale hand, but she couldn't tell for sure as he strangely wore red-mirrored sunglasses despite the dark. His clean-shaven face nestled against the soft strands of ruby hair as his other arm snaked protectively around her shoulders. Their intense tete-a-tete didn't interest her at first, but she soon realized that this didn't seem a normal lovers' conversation that she normally would have ignored.
"Do you really think we should be out after all this? A bunch of us almost got killed in the lower levels- one of us did- and we don't know if Apocalypse is really dead or..."
"Jean, it wasn't our fault. Besides, the way the others described his demise, it would be very hard to believe that he'll be back any time soon."
"I know, but Scott..."
"Shh... we're here to relax, right?"
"Alright. You've convinced me." A giggle. "So Mr. Summers, may I have this dance?"
"You know I never pass up a chance to have that body against mine."
"So, you from Boston?" Joe the bartender returned with her beer in hand.
Just as well, she had begun to tune out the couple's conversation anyways. With a toss of her head, she looked up from her hands, which she stared at while listening to them, scrutinizing her latest manicure. A small, flirtatious smile spread across her lips as her mind registered that he had asked her if she came from Boston. Though she didn't feel particularly interested in Joe the bartender, she certainly found interest in ragging on a Yankees fan. She really liked doing that. The brunette knew she ended up in New York for the summer for a reason.
"I attend graduate school across from the home of the World Series champions. That just has a ring to it doesn't it? Boston Red Sox, World Champions."
But Joe didn't answer her question. He froze wide-eyed with his jaw dropped as he stared at the dance floor. The brunette raised an eyebrow at him, trying to figure out if he lived under a rock the past few months and she just broke the news to him. Hearing a strange difference in the noise in the club, she brushed aside her thoughts and then whirled around, trying to register just what had happened.
Her eyes too grew large as everyone on the dance floor stared at a giant ball of red light, hovering just a foot above the tallest head. Either this red light constituted some supernatural phenomenon or the club had quite a lighting system. Funny though that Joe the bartender would look surprised by it. The bright ball, brightly luminescent and shaped like a star in the night sky descended towards the people on the dance floor who all stared as it moved towards them, voices speaking in awe of the light as the music continued to pump through the club. No one danced at that moment though. All eyes remained on the red orb. Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it enshrouded the whole club with this red flash.
The brunette crossed her arms defensively over her face as it washed over her, but the red light just gave her a bit of a tingling sensation. When the light seemed to clear, the brunette lowered her arms and blinked a few times. The club seemed eerily silent, yet louder somewhat as the music seemed to flow more loudly through the club. But only a handful of people still stood on the dance floor.
One, a girl with blond waves, clutched onto a blue-collared shirt sleeve. Clothes piled on the floor, drenched in water, alcohol, and glass. The girl didn't seem cognizant of her surroundings yet. The once-festive flashing lights provided a constant reminder of the emptiness of the club. In slow motion, almost involuntarily, the brunette stepped down from her barstool. A tiny wave of water washed over her toes, just reaching the bar. She didn't bother turning around to see if Joe from the Bronx still stood with jaw gaped behind her. Suddenly as if the water felt like acid, she climbed quickly back onto the stool, pulling her feet up beneath her. Fumbling in her pocket, the brunette pulled out her silver flip phone. Her hand shook as she dialed the numbers.
"Hello, I'd like to report a death... well more like a few hundred actually. At the Morpheum in New York City. I don't know, one minute there was this red flash, and the next ninety percent of the clubbers disintegrated. Basic elements on the floor."
The brunette heard a pause before she received a response. The woman who she'd seen holding the shirt made her way to a booth, clutching the shirt against her with her knees to her chest as she stared at a single solitaire diamond on her left ring finger. To her right, the couple who's interesting conversation she'd listened to before scanned the area, as if they played detective of some sort. They stood at attention, the man holding one hand to his sunglasses and the redhead in a daze of sorts, green eyes glazed over.
"My name? My name is Ailyna Norrington..." A pause. "Yes, from Boston. My father is one of the joint chiefs." Another pause. "You'll connect me?" Another minute.
The other survivors had left the cluttered dance floor at this point and moved in towards her as if flies following a bright light, listening to her voice. Why she appeared so calm when they felt so shocked seemed impossible to comprehend but she knew exactly what had happened. Though still visibly shaken, she sighed, relieved to hear her father's deep voice on the other end of the phone.
"Oh Daddy... it's horrible. I know what I saw. You said I shouldn't tell anyone, but Daddy- it was Red Dawn."