Night seemed to fall earlier than normal. Of course, after a horrendous week that seemed more of an eternity in purgatory than the freedom one might have imagined to come with the capacity to avert disaster, Max could no longer differentiate what one might have classified as 'normal'. After an unscheduled snowfall, a total eclipse and two moons battling overhead for their rightful place in the skies, if one did not stop to include the apparently unanimous decision of every animal in the Arcadia Bay area to simply drop dead at the same moment in time, an early evening could have almost been mistaken for a little gift amidst all the shit that had been piled upon her doorstep, as they headed east, away from the carnage in her wake.

Ignorance truly was a bliss, she decided, as she slumped back into the seat, with her mind still a different world away, within a picture that had ceased to be.

An accident, she could live with. By now, she had probably made more mistakes than any other person on the planet, even without the capacity to undergo its failure, only to rewind, and suffer another. But an accident was still, as it suggested, an accident. An unintended error one neither welcomed nor wished for.

And now she had been handed a choice, knowing the hands beneath each deck, and still lost.

'Hey? You hanging in there?'

With some discomfort, Max realised Chloe had been speaking to her for some time, hardly realising that her words had been passing over deaf ears.

'Yeah,' she tried, already sensing the disbelief in her friend's eyes as she struggled to avoid them, 'just, well…'

She tailed off, and Chloe did not press her. No more words were necessary. At least, no words that would alleviate the situation at hand; in fact, any only seemed to have the potential to set alight the well tindered disaster in their wake, turning the tragedy into the final inferno that would consume the only good she had salvaged from the massacre.

Frankly, Max did not know how she had evaded Chloe's rage for the extent of time that had already elapsed since they had departed the hole that was Arcadia Bay. Then again, she had already rewound once to stop Chloe from taking the fateful path back to the dinner; the first time had only ended in dismay and despair when they had found Joyce's body, alongside countless others, but she knew that she was only putting off that awful moment when Chloe's grief would finally burst through the hardened shell she projected to the world; a shell only a few had been privy to pass.

If it was not today, it would be the day after the next, and even if she found the right combination of words to stall the inevitable, after goodness knew how many rewinds, it would still lie beneath the surface; a time bomb waiting to erupt the fire of her own personal hell.

Even so, Max had yet to find the courage to burst the bubble just yet. Certainly, she saw it as a band aid that would only have to come away from the wound sooner or later, but was she about to actively tear it off, knowing the full volatility of Chloe Elizabeth Price?

Jumping into a meat grinder would have probably held better appeal.

'You want to get something to eat?' Chloe asked abruptly, in a tone that was far harsher than her typical voice which could already fluctuate from that of a carefree punk, to the oppressed martyr.

'I'm alright,' Max replied.

Chloe spared her a glance; it's length was sufficient to alert Max that she'd made the wrong choice.

'I could eat something,' the blue haired teenager sighed, already spinning the wheel in the direction of a dinner that lay tucked beneath the pines, 'plus, if I go any further without some coffee, I might just fuck everything up.'

Max refrained from replying. When Chloe had made up her mind, there was usually little that could be done to dissuade her.

They left the battered truck where it lay; at an angle so slanted that it was all but impossible to determine which of the three spaces Chloe had aimed to park in, before heading into the establishment, their heads tucked low in shame that no observer could hope to understand. It was not every day one encountered a pair despondent girls who believed they were the principal cause of a town's destruction at the hands of a natural, albeit horrible, event. At best, it would be chalked up to survivor's guilt; at it's worst, which was all Max could consider at the present moment, it might have heralded grounds for psychiatric containment.

The dinner itself was a sparsely decorated joint, lacking the spirit of The Two Whales, though not in a cosmetic sense, for more than a few photos were plastered upon the walls; each of evident value to a particular patron or owner of the establishment, but their appeal was all but wasted on Max, who saw only empty faces. Empty faces with too many smiles, a distinct absence of artistic direction, and most importantly, an emptiness in her mind. She knew nor felt nothing to each individual detailed upon the framed portraits, just as she could have never hoped to know every victim of her decision. But like Chloe, they were each held close to at least one heart. Just not her's, and most certainly not one that wove each of their fates upon the palm of one's hand.

The lone man behind the bar was even less accommodating for the survivors of the Bay; evidently at the end of a long day of hell, his disregard for the pair was contort across his face, as he tossed a pair of menus in their direction, before heading back to his station to accommodate a rather burly trucker whose supply of coin had yet to expire, as he ordered another round of liquid courage. Or amnesia, judging from the way he was swaying to and fro upon a chair that looked to be on the verge of giving way at any one moment.

With an abrupt start, Max realised Chloe's hand was upon her own, and she belatedly ducked her head back down to the menu, before the well built figure could challenge her for staring.

'You want a beer?' Chloe offered hazily, 'it helps. At times.'

She had waved the bartender over before Max had even opened her mouth to respond, but by the time Chloe had relayed her request, the man's look of disinterest had shifted to one of hostility.

'Not for minors,' he answered curtly, drawing a scowl across Chloe's features.

'What the fuck are you talking about?' Chloe snapped with far more vehemence than that which was typically required for a confrontation over a drink, 'I bet I could outlast you in a couple of rounds.'

'You have an ID?'

'Is it necessary?' But the man would not have any more of it.

'No's no. Hurry up and make your order. Water's on the menu, if that takes your fancy, but no alcohol. I ain't getting charged for selling crap to someone underage.'

'Do I look underage?'

A shrug. 'Your friend does.'

Max did not appreciate the scrutiny Chloe turned upon her in the moment that followed: it was a fleeting, instinctive twist of the head, yet what she found clearly left her wanting, at least for the argument she was trying to pose. Max's deceptively youthful face was not exactly the best evidence the blue haired rebel could have drawn upon for an excuse to forget the tornado with a little help from a bottle, and with the bartender refusing to budge, she promptly surrendered.

But, as Chloe always was, it was never a quiet one, as she reached into her pocket, produced a depleted pack of cigarettes, and pinned one against her lips.

'What?' She barked tersely, 'there ain't no law against underage smoking, and I sure as shit don't see a sign around here.'

This time, it was the man who bit back a retort. And with her victory secured, Chloe fell back into the sofa, closing her eyes in a vain effort to clear the swirling turmoil beneath the mop of dyed hair atop her scalp.

After ordering a pair of omelettes, for both her stubbornly aggressive friend and her own stomach, Max found herself alone once more, free to contemplate the lives she had just condemned to the void of existence. To wander amidst the faces that swam up from memory she could only hope to repress, before the barrier broke and they invaded her life once more, leaving the dinner awash with the blood she had drained from their mortal vessels.

Needless to say, it was a dream she did not wish to revel in for too long.

'Hey, what the hell dude?' Chloe was already protesting, before Max placed a finger to her own mouth, silencing her friend as she plucked the cigarette from Chloe, weighed it in her palm for the briefest of moments, and turned it about to avoid scorching her own throat.

'Hey,' Chloe sighed, finally understanding that her friend was not about to attempt to wean her off one of her last unhealthy comforts, 'have you even had one before?'

'It's been a day of firsts,' Max returned in an even tone, before she placed it to her lips, inhaled a breath, and promptly erupted into a fit of hacking and wheezing.

'No kidding,' she heard Chloe exclaim, 'hell, I'm kinda glad you don't smoke pot now. David would have-'

She stopped, uncertain of where to continue from there. She had almost never called him by his name. It was always either 'step-douche', or 'step-dick', 'prick' or simply 'fucker'; never was it David Madsen. Though it was all but a distant, clouded image in Max's mind after her final trip through the strands of fate, the veteran had shown a different side of himself over the last day of his life; one that Chloe could still remember as clear as day. It was the first time she had seen him smile. A proper one that is; one that was not a forced frame chiseled over his mouth for some public event; the triumph as he had emerged from the madhouse was in it's purest form, and after their own little dabbling in the work of a snoop, Chloe had finally understood the euphoria that her step-father had hunted for so long. That indescribable sensation of joy as the final nail in the villain's coffin was hammered through age-old wood; the vindication of all one's suspicions, where all others had perceived naught but smiles and ideals, labeling the watchful as a pariah. She had endured that search for only a few days; he had hunted it for almost six months, and the alleviation of the burden continued to plague her every thought. It was the first time she had seen David capable of displaying the love beneath the warrior's stature he had built for himself; the first time she had seen her mother content in his embrace, entirely unaware that Joyce had in fact never allowed the hunt for the truth to obstruct her own happiness in her marriage. But for Chloe at least, it had seemed the first, and so it was only natural for that memory to cut all the deeper, in the knowledge that they had naught but a day to enjoy it.

'Do you think,' she stammered, catching Max's eye, 'any of them made it out?'

Immediately, she regretted opening her mouth as she saw Max crumble.

'I mean,' Chloe covered quickly, 'they have to, right? Two Whales was pretty solid, and I saw a lot of people manage to get on the road before the shit went to hell…'

Her own resolve ran out as quickly as it had emerged. She could no longer tell if she attempting to dig Max out of her melancholy, or if it was an effort to extricate herself from the madness. Because, she thought to herself, if it was the latter, she was in for a loosing fight.

'How much further you think 'till Seattle?'

Max only gave a shrug.

'You manage to call them yet?'

'Phone lines are still down,' Max sighed, pulling her phone into plain sight to see, before she let it drop to her lap in the same instant, 'at least last time I tried.'

'Well,' Chloe prodded gently, 'what's the harm in trying again? Would be, I don't know, hella nice for them to hear that their daughter isn't dead in a ditch somewhere.'

Damn! She caught herself too late, and her features were already softening when she realised Max was no longer listening to her, as she gently tapped the screen, before bringing the thin metallic sleeve up to her ear, leaving Chloe to only pray her friend was not about to self destruct.

This time however, Max did not put down the phone, and her eyes widened in the silent realisation of her own flawed presumption, as the line began to chirp.

'Max?'

'Mom?'

'So what'd she say?'

'Well,' Max started, tentatively as she were only a newborn taking her first step, 'she's glad we're alive, I guess.'

'You guess?' Chloe asked in mock horror, earning an immediate glare from Max, before she realised it's joking nature. Evidently, Max was not in the mood for jokes yet. Neither was Chloe, in fact, though she did not know it. It was hard upon the older girl to know her friend's family was alive and safe, when her own remained unaccounted for, and she fought with dogged determination to be happy for Max where she could, but by God it was hard!

'Dad's not back yet, but he should be by the time we pull in. Should only be a few more hours back to Seattle.'

'You got internet back home?'

'Unless my parents turned by room into a python cage while I was gone, we should. Why?'

Chloe's eyes dropped, and this time it was Max regretting her attempt to lighten the mood, as she realised there had been something of far graver significance behind the innocuous request.

'They're meant to have, like, casualty lists, right? I want to be able to know if, well, you know, they turn up.'

'I get you Chloe,' Max finished for her, 'don't worry; we'll find them.'

Chloe seemed at ease, and for once, Max could breathe a sigh of relief. She had already rewound once after she had stupidly allowed her tongue to slip into the doubtful semantics of 'someone had to have survived'. Of course, that had not given the brightest image of their friends' survival, and Max, unable to watch Chloe's own loss of hope, could not stand to have lived with such upon her past.

The bandage held over the festering wound.

From behind the counter, Hall watched in suppressed satisfaction as the two girls cleared out of his business. They had eaten in relative silence, aside from a few words of Seattle and a few landmark or two as they tried to plot their way home, and paid for their meal, leaving a slither of a tip one could have only expected from a pair of students. Or rather, as Hall suspected, but had no way of confirming, a punk troublemaker and her student friend. His cook had charged off early, begging the need to check on his family in the nearby town of Arcadia Bay, only an hour before the storm had flattened it, and although Hall was genuinely concerned for the poor soul, that little altercation had also left him short handed, in an occupation he had an almost miniscule degree of experience in.

Despite their brief standoff over the beer, Hall amended with a sigh, he was at least grateful they had been accommodating enough to order eggs. Any other dish on the menu of a joint that stood mostly upon it's drink rather than the odd stuffing it doled out to passersby would have been a nightmare for him to trundle through, and it would have only been an embarrassment. But disaster had been averted; the two teens were gone; the drunk at the bar was still ready for another round with the funds to spare, and in the same time, one of his regulars; a dour faced resident of the late Arcadia Bay by the name of Waters, had come by to drown his own sorrows.

Only for it to rear it's ugly head again, as the doorbell chimed once more.

The newcomer was draped in a dull jacket, soaked through with the life of the storm, as he slunk through the doorway, casting his eye to either side with natural disdain, before making his way to the bar and pulling himself atop one of the elevated chairs.

'What can I get you?'

'Just a shot.'

'Anything specific?'

A mumble that was lost on Hall's deafening ears, and with a slight scowl of irritation, he leaned in closer to hear the man's request.

'Come again?'

'Gin, and uh, a word or two.'

'On what?' Hall demanded, roughly snapping away from the stranger. He was liking his predicament even less, and he leant back ever so slightly, making sure the revolver he had stashed beneath the thin wooden tabletop was still where he'd left it.

'Aside from these lads, anyone else happen to pass through here in last houror so?'

'Can't say if anyone did,' Hall replied carefully, 'Waters popped in a couple minutes back; he who you're looking for?'

He was unable to stop a grim smile from spreading across his features as he watched the newcomer find himself face to face with the titan. Although any man who had known Waters could have probably defined him as the gentle giant, the man's oversized frame had a habit of intimidation. As was it Hall's habit of using his friend's physique to ward off any trouble in the establishment; it kept order, and Waters never declined a chance to bolster his fragile ego, so it was practically a no brainer he had chosen Hall's dinner as his local get away.

A nervous laugh left the man's mouth, and he turned back to Hall, careful to avoid contracting Waters' gaze once again, as the bartender produced his own spirits.

'Not quite. A pair of girls? Late teens? One about there,' he waved a hand about his own head, 'and one about here?' The hand moved to his neck.

'What's it to you?'

'So they were here?'

'Didn't see,' Hall snarled, deciding it was time to end their little dance, 'I was out back, and I try to avoid pushing my nose into other people's business.'

'Then who was behind the counter?'

'Look kid-'

Hall hadn't even finished when the man snatched up his glass, before he slammed it down upon Hall's outstretched hand, sending more than a few shards of broken silica through to the bone.

Hall shrieked out in agony, and ripped his hand away from the table, screaming obscenities at the psychopath. In the same moment, Waters' own hand dropped to his belt, only realise the his own pistol was no longer in its holster.

He never saw the flash of steel in the murderer's hand, as the switchblade slipped past his ribs, before withdrawing in an instant. Then it returned with a vengeance; twice, to be precise, and then the blade was gone, allowing the tide of blood to escape the punctured man unobstructed.

The trucker himself was barely comprehending the sudden escalation of violence off to his left, and he had only begun to turn when the young man tore at the air separating the two of them. He caught him across the throat; the blade itself was unable to cut neither deep nor seriously into the windpipe of the staggering figure, but the simple shock was enough to send the uneasy man tumbling off his chair, as he clasped at his throat, unable to determine the extent of the damage.

Hall was still trying to determine if the drunken man had in fact broken his neck, when the stranger decided to remedy that doubt little doubt, by proceeding throw himself upon the gasping man, as the blade darted back and forth across a steep arc, until naught remained the of the poor man's face but a tapestry of broken flesh.

Of course, his loss was Hall's gain, for beneath his screams, the barkeeper was able to finally detach the blasted revolver from it's hiding spot, and he pulled back the hammer with an audible click.

His assailant; slick with the blood of his most reccent victim, seemed to hear it as well, but Hall was not waiting for him to realise his own fate, as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet ripped into the stranger's hip, and drove him to the ground, before Hall opened fire again.

Nothing.

Then the muzzle flashed; only, it was not Hall's gun that had expressed its fury, and Hall felt something warm seep through his chest.

'I asked you once,' the stranger whispered, leaning over him, as he tried to steady his own weakening movements, 'so I'll extend the offer one more fucking time; where the hell did they go?'

'Fuck you,' Hall spat, 'I ain't-'

He got no further. With a shrug, the stranger simply let go of the desk he had used for a support, dropped atop him, and plunged his thumbs into Hall's eyes.

'Where?'

Hall was still shrieking when he felt the name slip past his tearing vocal chords.

'Seattle! Fuck, it was Seattle! God!'

He pulled his hands up to the red sockets that remained, as if in some vain hope that the act might suddenly restore his sight, but his tormentor was no longer paying attention. Numbly, he fished a phone from his pocket, dialling in a number, before he realised with more than a little annoyance that his hands were still slick with blood; of both Hall's and his own. After a careful moment taken to daub his hands upon a convenient napkin, he completed his message, punched 'enter', and tucked the communicator away for further use, as he slumped against the wall, searching for the strength to stand once more, even as Hall continued to mewl and scream at his side, clawing blindly at his old sight.

Then, and only then, did the door explode in a shower of broken glass.

'Drop the weapon!' Emendus roared, 'Drop the fucking gun!'

He did not bother to wait for a reply, letting one accurate round fly that simply gutted the raised firearm from a distance, leaving the bewildered murder disarmed, surrounded by two corpses, and one soon-to-be cadaver.

'Clear right,' Praesentius called in his comm piece, 'Adrentius, watch that blasted flank! Fire discipline you idiot!'

'Clear left.' Came Maudus' report, 'zero contacts.'

Emendus only partly comprehended their reports, as he felt the adrenaline deploy into his system, through the countless little pins scattered across the interior of his chest piece. It had been almost three years, and eighty seven deployments, since he had lost all function to the Gladius Organ, or the Adrenal glands, to use its human equivalent, after a stray round had clipped the Guardsman through the side, but the pain was still as raw as the first time he'd used the artificial stimulants. Not that it was unwelcomed though; it helped him to feel alive, as his eyes narrowed behind the red lenses of his helm, assessing every motion of the murderer before him.

The man's hand fell to his side, scrambling desperately for something in his pocket, and Emendus made the same choice he had taken a thousand times in the past. He neutralised the threat, as he opened fire again.

The minute charge at the heart of the round ripped apart the target's hand before he could reach whatever he had held in his pocket, as did it destroy the weapon in a hail of sparks. That, and it had the added effect of filling the dinner with screams afresh, damning him to the depths of hell for creating a cripple of a man who lived on the hunt.

'Clear!'

'Alright you son of a bitch,' Emendus seethed, clearing the space separating the pair of the combatants in the briefest of moments, 'where is the target? Where's the timekeeper?'

Nothing. With his hand still on the trigger, the Guardsman checked for a pulse; shallow and weak, but still present.

'Orteus, get in here; we have a critical target. Stabilize, and wake him up. I don't care if it puts him in the grave; we need a damn lead.'

'Bugger was going for his phone,' said Claudius, hefting the shattered remains of the second 'firearm' Emendus had dispatched with excessive force, 'shit.'

'You can still recover something from that, right?'

'I can't work miracles,' the Guardsman sighed, 'but I can try. No promises though.'

'Then bag whatever you can salvage and prepare to move out. We gotta bail, fast.'

'Is anyone there?'

Immediately, the air was alive with the clatter of steel, as Emendus, Claudius, Erenus and Regenus snapped their weapons to attention, training them upon the source of the noise. Upon the blinded bartender, who continued to lie in a growing pool of his own life fluid.

'Is anyone there?'

'What happened?' Emendus demanded roughly, before he stopped himself, switched his tone and tried again, ever ready to exploit the cards that were handed to him. 'Patrol 11, we have the subject in custody and multiple casualties on site; I need a paramedic now.'

There was no reply of course from the supposed dispatch center, but his report had seemed to put the poor man at ease.

'You officers?'

'Aye, you're safe now. Now tell me, please, what the hell happened over here? We heard gunfire and-'

'He just came in and started asking about a pair of girls,' Hall sobbed, 'I just thought it was too fucking suspicious, so I told him I didn't. Then the bastard just went fucking insane! Is Waters still there?'

Emendus took a brief glance away from the sorry form laid out before him. A heavyset man, reeking of alcohol even through his suit's air scrubbers, was off to his right, missing a tangible face, whilst on his left, another was crumpled up in a fetal positition. A quick check from Regenus already signalled the worst.

'He didn't make it.'

'Oh God,' Hall cried, 'what the hell did I do?'

'Hey, hey,' Emendus broke in, 'listen, do you have any idea why he was after two girls?'

'Like hell if I know!'

'Did they come by here? Mr, I need to know; if this SOB was after them, they could still be in danger, you understand? Were they here?'

A hurried nod.

'They took the window table about half an hour back.'

'Did they say where they were going?'

'They mentioned something about Seattle,' Hall murmured, 'I really didn't pry. Is the ambulance coming?'

'Hold on, sir,' Emendus soothed, before he shut off his suit's exterior speakers, limiting what he had to say to the Guard comm net alone, 'Oretus, belay my previous order. Stabilize and prepare to extract the prick. We'll interrogate him back at the safehouse. Take Adrentius and Maudus with you and lock him, and see if you can get a trace on the phone's last contact. We'll head for Seattle and see if we can pick up the trail.'

'Understood, Warden.'

'Hey, you still there?'

Hall's weakening voice echoed off the upturned dinner's walls, but no sound replied him, as Emendus waved for his team to extract. He had lost too much blood to survive for long, and although Emendus was fairly certain Orteus might have provided some means of alleviating his pain, the costs would have been too high. A literally alien substance in a blinded man's body would have only invited greater suspicion, Emendus thought, as Orteus tossed him an empty syringe. With silent affirmation, the Warden followed his men from the dinner, halting only to lay the emptied syrette upon an unoccupied table near the entrance of the dinner. With it's interior daubed with enough forensic residue, it would be easier for the cops to write this one off as a drug induced bout of violence.

'What's that, Praesentius?'

'Don't know,' the Hunter exclaimed as he departed the dinner with a small roll of paper between his fingertips, 'a souvenir? It was on their table.'

'Is that a cigarette?'

'Great Father knows. Want it?'

'I sure as hell don't,' Emendus shot back, 'but Maudus might. Get him to pull whatever DNA samples he can off the saliva.'

'Wait,' the Hunter said, 'this shit goes in their mouth?'

Emendus gave him an irritated look, as he saw the mock terror passing beneath Praesentius' helm.

'That's disgusting.'

'You're not wrong there, Hunter.' Emendus sighed.

Behind them, Hall's demands had risen to a scream, damning them to the depths of hell for their abandonment. But Emendus, nor any at his side, ever looked back.