Nobody said it was easy
It's such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy,
No one ever said it would be this hard.
Oh, take me back to the start.
Coldplay; "The Scientist"
The light that had been provided to the Rescue Operatives during the first few hours of what most considered "humane morning hours" had very swiftly been drowned out by a new wave of torrential rain and screaming winds. The violent downpour rivaled that of the first storm, which had maliciously stewed the night before the catastrophe at hand and made the already arduous task of rescue and recovery an affair of recondite proportions. Cold water pellets struck the backsides of the laborers like the whips of cattle drivers, ironically pressing the factor of urgency more effectively than any other facet that they were aware of at the present time. If that was not enough, cold, North Atlantic winds found enough to lead razor sharp bits of sand and microscopic debris to castigate the already brutalized salvagers by scratching against charred and bruised flesh; stinging red and swollen, even tired eyes; and sticking to already dry throats and clogged nostrils. Hot sweat mingled with chilled water, and the man who was in the best condition was the one who was thoroughly convinced that he was going to die before the day was through.
Had anyone been even slightly aware of the few buried survivors that lie trapped in the basement, they may have grumbled less about their conditions and dug a bit faster. But eventually, as is always the case, the imperfections that categorize people as humans began to settle in. Efforts became just as foul as moods, and by the time the afternoon had come, most were more than willing to call it quits and head home to a hot meal and a warm, decent bed. Yet there were still some who were driven by far more than the desire to be a hero. They were eventually joined by replacements, both workers and volunteers alike. Among them was the brobdingnagian Rubeus Hagrid. As he and the other newcomers realized more and more the truth beyond the bedlam before them, the eagerness to help and the joy of making a much needed difference was quickly overcome by trepidation and guilt. After a speedy introduction by RO leader Roy Ochoa, the volunteers were sent on their way to find where they were needed most. Hagrid's size and unquestionable strength lead him at first to the rubble heap, but when Yanni took one look at the man he sent him to work in the Med-tents.
"His enormous size may cause what's left to collapse on possible survivors in the basement and lower levels," was Yanni's reasoning. Any who were working through the sight could do nothing, save begrudgingly accept the elderly man's decision. Nevertheless, it was disheartening. It didn't take a genius to understand the enormous benefit Hagrid's fortitude would have allowed for them, but at the same time no one could deny the dangers that would be implicated by having such a heavy burden walk back and forth against the already feeble structural remains.
As dismayed as his peers, Hagrid trudged solemnly from the ruins to the shabby rows of brown and tattered tens on the bay side. There, medical workers along with MT chief Zayara Mondragon put him to work moving injured people from one tent to another while placing the dead on the beach and out of sight in hopes of continuing what little bit of hope that still remained among the volunteer workers and the employed rescuers. As they worked through the rubble, Hagrid picked through the dead. He looked for faces of old friends but found none. All were lifeless and estranged to the weary giant, which might have been for the better, but what this truly meant for those still lost, Hagrid wasn't sure. The number of the dead outweighed the number of the living, and Hagrid knew enough of math to understand that the odds were not in the favor of those still trapped below. With a weight heavier than that of all the dead in his heart, Hagrid pressed on, uncertain of what else there truly was for him to do.
Others, however, were not so heavily burdened by the matters at hand. The young intern-like associate that Roy Ochoa had been working so hard to avoid was one of them. With a face as blank as the stones they dug through, and a heart as cold as the winds that bit at face and extremities alike, the young wizard known to Roy only as "The Kid" paced up at down the scene with more of a countenance filled with an unnerving amount of interest, instead of concern. Questions like "Can I help with that?" or "Is there anything that needs to be done here?" were apparently not in the young man's vocabulary. Instead, he would poke into important conversations and ask "Is this this best way to approach the situation?" or "Isn't the ratio for an operation like this supposed to be at least twenty to one?" It took all the strength Roy had to keep from running round and punching the kid square in the face.
"Are you all right?" asked Zayara as Roy stormed through one of the heavier laden Med tents with a frown set so deep that it seemed chiseled there by Father Time himself. When nothing but a snarl erupted from Roy's angled lips, Zayara found herself chuckling. "The Kid, again?"
Nodding, Roy turned his gaze over his shoulder in fear that their newest problem was pursuing him. So far, so good.
"How are these guys doing?" Roy asked after taking a few minutes to calm down. Zayara shook her head, a somber expression upon her tired face. "That good, I see."
"How much longer are we going to be here, Roy?"
The man sighed, offering no more comfort than a simple shrug. It was all he knew to do. Roy himself wasn't so sure how much longer they would have to go through with this. Even he was getting tired of finding nothing but bodies. They couldn't all be dead, damn it! They couldn't be! It wasn't fair...